Wednesday, August 26, 2015

Motion and Editing: The Double Life of Veronique

Krzysztof Kieslowski's The Double Life of Veronique is one of the most gorgeous looking films you'll ever see, largely for its almost fantastical use of light and sense of composition. It's one of those films where the pause button is useful: you can simply stop on an image and look at it, admire it, soak it in. 

Yet Kieslowski also had a great sense of camera movement and editing. With carefully calculated camera movement and precise editing, a scene that could be boring, a bridge to get from one place to another, becomes invigorating cinema on its own. In this case, there's a moment early in the film when Weronika spends the night with her boyfriend and then in the early morning has to rush off to school. Let's take a look at how Kieslowski takes what could have been a simple bridge moment and makes it interesting. 

We start with medium still shot of Weronika running around a curved street


                                        As she goes around the bend, the camera moves with her as she goes up these steps

       She turns right and so does the camera, as we now follow her through railing and vines running alongside a building

We could see her face at first, but now it's cut out of the frame as the camera begins to move downward with the action

It continues its decline, cutting off more of Weronika

And more...

And more...

And now we find out why. There's a puddle, and Kieslowski wants use to really hear the splash

And see it

This then prompts an abrupt cut to a closeup of Weronika running

As the sun fills the screen, Weronika is rendered almost invisible. It all happens in a flash, but the juxtaposition of the puddle and splash to this dazzlingly bright close up provides a jolt for the viewer. But there's also a nice correlation because the splash of the puddle prompts a cut that splashes the screen with sunlight. Because she's running we can guess Weonika is late for school, and so we can speculate Kieslowski wants to give a sense of palpability to that urgency. 

Before we know it the split-second burst of light is gone

and the camera slows down and lets Weonika run away from it. End of scene

How could this have been boring? We see it all the time in movies. That shot of something in motion with the camera placed in front of it, and as it goes past the camera does a neat pan and watches it move away from it. Kieslowski simply made a few decisions to change this, and while it may have taken a bit more time, the viewer notices it, and more importantly, in this case, feels it. 

All of this is simply to say that for filmmakers, think about how you can take a simple moment like this and employ smart camera movement and editing to make your film more interesting.

And for viewers, look for things like this that are strange or unusual and ask yourself: why? Good directors fill there movies with moments like this from The Double Life of Veronique, and so often they go unnoticed. Always try to notice more. 

Tuesday, May 12, 2015

Mad Max!

Just a few days before Fury Road opens...wait, I've never actually seen Road bad as that sounds, mending that problem for some reason I feel will actually make this week better 

Wednesday, April 15, 2015

Spring Update

As of tonight, my thesis on The Road is done. That is, done enough that I can present it on Monday and then answer what will likely be some fairly intimidating questions from some fairly intimidating academics. I can't wait. It's not officially finished though until the end of the semester, when a complete draft is due for sending off for publication to various scholarly journals. There will be no word for a while whether it will actually be accepted for publication, but I've been working long and steady on this thing and I like to think that my chances are decent. I won't mind if it comes to nothing, though. I did the the best I could. 

As I've been studying the novel (this week I'm reading it for the third time this semester) my love for it has reached an almost inexplicable level. I suppose there's a good chance of that happening with any novel one spends so much time with, but that does not erase the fact that I think The Road was perfect novel for me to study and that perhaps because so no book will ever stick with me more for the rest of my life. I don't want to elaborate right now, though; it's all written down in my paper and I need a break from for a few days.

As I've been studying it I've also revisited John Hillcoat's 2009 adaptation of the novel, which I loved then and still find quite good. However, the main argument in my paper (which, not to be vain, I'm really pretty fond of) could barely be made based off the film alone. When I've wrestled with so many ideas in the book and then see the film and discover they're absent, the film becomes a little less interesting. I suppose that's what intense scrutiny of a novel does to its film counterpart. All of the movie's other virtues, though, remain intact: Viggo Mortensen's dirty, harrowed face, Guy Pierce's imperfect mouth (his character is described in the text: "when he spoke his mouth worked imperfectly, and when smiled"), the visual imagining of the gray, blasted landscape, and flawless re-creations of crucial scenes (the bunker, the father's childhood home, that terrifying encounter with the cannibals). But there are sentences in the text that give rise to complexities and problems that simply cannot be captured in the film. Example: when the father washes blood from the his son's hair, in the book he turns it into a ceremony. This is fascinating. It allows one to consider the role of ceremony in this story, and in particular, in the father's actions. In the film, we can only see the washing out of the blood and the son weeping. It is very emotional, very sad, but it doesn't really go beyond that.

Other things cinema related of late: I've seen Inherent Vice three times now, the last two viewings in the span of 24 hours. I wanted to see it again after that, but decided to wait until the blu ray comes out in two weeks instead (as expected for a Paul Thomas Anderson film, the cover art is new rather than just a print of the theatrical poster, which always makes buying the blu-rays of his movies a little more exciting). When I start writing on here again regularly, the first thing I want to post is a piece on the film. 

Watching it also prompted a little neo-noir kick: over Easter weekend I saw Body Heat, Red Rock West, and After Dark, My Sweet. All three are spectacular. I'd started Body Heat four or five years ago, but fell asleep half way through and never returned to it. It's one of the most thoroughly entertaining and all-around well made thrillers I've seen in a long time, that is, next to After Dark, My Sweet (anyone else get a Lauren Bacall vibe from Rachel Ward in it?) which made me long for James Foley to have a late career comeback. He's only 61, and while he's found a nook directing House of Cards episodes, it'd be a shame if his film career ended with that dumb Bruce Willis/Halle Berry Hitchcock-wannabe Perfect Stranger from 2007. 

I also finally started to dig into the Jaques Tati criterion blu ray set with a long-delayed viewing of Mon Oncle. There's more Keaton here perhaps than in any of his films, and it's also probably the most accessible title in his filmography (though I might actually start a stranger to his work on Hulot's Holiday just because it's only 87 minutes as opposed to this one's 116) Next on the agenda: Trafic. And speaking of French things, I re-watched The Aristocats. It wasn't as great as I remembered, but the soundtrack is still killer, and the inciting plot element--that the butler is angry because the old lady is going to give her fortune to her cats--is downright hilarious. 

Wednesday, March 11, 2015

Bright Wall/Dark Room: Musicians and Fans

The March issue of the wonderful film magazine Bright Wall/Dark Room is out. I'm pleased to have a piece of my own on Margaret Brown's great 2004 documentary about Townes Van Zandt, Be Here to Love Me, in the new edition. Subscribe today and enjoy! 

Sunday, March 8, 2015

Dave Carr and The Sweet Spot

A few weeks ago, Dave Carr's death left a giant gap in the world of journalism. Gone was this bony, scratchy-voiced, witty, no-nonsense media presence who made the cut-throat, often intimidating world of news production seem like a fun, delightful, and even comforting place. I call it a gap because while another may fill his position, the sheer aura of his presence is irreplaceable. 

His success at the New York Times, where he was employed from 2002 till his death, seemed almost inexplicable. How did this lovable goofball with a severe history of substance abuse suddenly find himself at one of the world's most prestigious news publications so late in the game (he was in his late forties when he joined the paper)? Having not worked at the Times (smile) or any newspaper publication for that matter, I can't quite say what made Carr's presence so invaluable in the newsroom. But I can guess. Besides the fact that he was a hard-nosed, intrepid reporter and a good writer, Carr seemed to exude-almost simultaneously-a causal, funny demeanor and a shrewd work ethic that would not tolerate negligence or laziness. He never seemed to take himself too seriously, but he took his work dead-seriously, and from my surmising this is what made him such a valuable and beloved member of the American media. 

Besides the written pieces available to us, as well as his 2008 memoir The Night of the Gun, perhaps the best access we have to Carr's enduring and endearing persona is a weekly series he did with the Times' film critic AO Scott called The Sweet Spot. It was a simple concept in which the two would meet during breaks or off hours in the Times' cafeteria and discuss aspects of American/world culture in both a light-hearted and serious-minded manner. In other words, they took topics worthy of discussion and presented them in ways that were casual enough to be wholly entertaining while also touching on the important ideas that made such topics worth discussing in the first place. In a way it was a perfect outlet for Carr in that it encapsulated that aforementioned twofold strategy with which he went about presenting himself. He wanted to find a place for serious contemplation while also acknowledging the utter joy of simply gathering and conveying information and communicating with another human being. Talking with others can be fun and informative, seemed to be almost a mantra Carr lived by. It sounds cliche, but, given his rough background and the wonderful redemptive aspect of his success, you can't help but take it seriously. 

Nearly all of the Sweet Spot videos I've watched have been entertaining and, usually, enlightening. They're the perfect videos to watch when you hit Starbucks for your morning coffee, have ten minutes to spare before you have to be at work, and feel you might as well spend that time doing something other than just sitting there. I'm the perfect case in point. My Friday 1PM class was canceled because my professor, who had been in New York the entire week, was delayed yet another day because of some fierce snowstorms. Normally when that class ends on Friday I rush off to the train and arrive in Dallas at 2:58 with only a few minutes before my 3:00 shift starts. But because the cancelation, I was able to leisurely head to the train and catch an early ride with a good hour to spend in the city before I had to commit to the drudges of the workday. So I hit up a coffee shop, got a drink, opened my laptop, and started watching Sweet Spot videos. This was the day after Carr died.

One of the best is their discussion of Lincoln. It begins with Carr and Scott sitting at a table and talking about how the hour grows late and soon the twinkling of city lights will be around them. Normally it's broad daylight when they record the videos, but this one must have been done at end of the workday. The late hour gives Carr a perfect segue into the discussion of Spielberg's 2012 historical drama of our 16th president: "speaking of dark, I spent a week last night watching Lincoln last night." Carr's central complaint about the film is that it's too slow. Criticizing Scott for naming it the second best movie ("not second best history lesson, second best attempt to codify an important epoch, but second best movie") of the year, he establishes that for him in a movie he wants a rollicking tale to unfold. He develops his argument by comparing the film's opening Civil War battle footage to the opening of Spielberg's Saving Private Ryan, another movie, that to Carr, did a good job with the history but a bad job entertaining the viewer. Right away one gathers where Carr's priorities are with cinema: he recognizes when something is good, but if he's not having a fun time with it, he's not going to be happy. In many ways Carr is a representative of the common moviegoer, someone who doesn't mind if something is challenging or entertaining as long as they aren't checking their watches to see when they get to leave. Scott, on the other hand, is the antithesis, an highly academic film critic who called Amour, that interminable foreign movie about old people and death, an even better picture than Lincoln. 

This doesn't allow for too much deep analysis of the subject, but it does provide a very funny and entertaining dichotomy that ultimately seems to be one of main ideas behind The Sweet Spot. What also makes it such an enjoyable program is that these guys seem to just really enjoy talking to each other.

Carr goes on to call Spielberg a "bit of a gasbag," before offering one of his funniest complaints: "It ended five times, or four--I lost count. I don't know how many times I put on my coat to go and then had to take it back off." Asking for a defense of this problem, Scott says that he liked the multiple endings, and "if you keep going, you'll get to us." Not a terribly deep thought, and he doesn't expound on just what he means, but it's just interesting enough to give the viewer a little something to chew on. That's what The Sweet Spot is: it's like Scott and Carr are in that coffee shop and we're just eavesdropping on two friends having a friendly, casually intellectual discussion of the things they care about.

Wednesday, March 4, 2015


There's a good piece by Jesse Hassenger up at the AV Club that takes a skeptical look at the the news that Neil Blomkamp will be the next director to tackle the Alien franchise. There's all sorts of interesting points made (particularly the idea that internet fandom informs filmmakers what to make) that you can mull over all you want by reading it. What I really wish to get at here though is this: what do these die-hard fans really want? Why are they so disappointed by all these reboots and yet still keep asking for more? What role does nostalgia play into their love for these franchises to begin with? If these reboots/remakes had come out when they were young, would they cherish them as adults? And by the way, not to base this stuff on critical reaction, but Blomkamp's latest, Chappie, is getting meh reviews. Time to panic?

Sunday, February 22, 2015

Oscars 2015!

Don't be mislead by the title of this post. I've nothing really to say about this year's Oscars, for one, because I didn't watch them, and two, because, in spite of the fact that a few really great films were considered for awards, I just don't care. At this point it's almost more enjoyable to read the twitter posts of people poking fun at the show than actually watching it.

That said, I do have one thing to say concerning the broadcast: If you were disappointed that Eddie Redmayne took home the Best Actor award (I love, love Michael Keaton and would have been happier over his taking home the gold than any Oscar win ever), be glad that he improved massively on his fellow-nominee Benedict Cumberbatch's performance as Hawking from the 2004 BBC film. Out of curiosity, I watched snippets of it through the night, and, for those of you who think Cumberbatch can do no wrong, check this out. It's an awful pairing of subject and performer, partly because Cumberbatch's physical appearance is nothing like Hawking's, and also because his impression comes across as a bad imitation of Eddie Redmayne playing the famed physicist. I know that's impossible since this film came out ten years before, but that's how desperate and silly Cumberbatch is in this. All one needs to do is see the final scene of the film, which is so clumsy and stupid (not just in terms of the acting, but from the choices of uninspiring shots from director Philip Martin) it makes The Theory of Everything look like a masterpiece. This is not, however, to bash on either Cumberbatch or Redmayne. They're two of the coolest actors working in Britain today. I thought Redmayne was the highlight of Tom Hooper's Les Miserables, and Cumberbatch has simply been so entertaining in everything since Sherlock premiered in 2010 that an early mishap in his career ultimately matters little.

 (P.S., I actually did see live the back-to-back technical victories for The Grand Budapest Hotel. The reaction shots of Wes Anderson's lovable smile made me think that if this film actually took home all the top prizes then I would be genuinely happy just to see him smile more)

Prediction Oscars 2016: When the the show finally ends, we'll be stoked that James Gray's Lost City of Z is coming before long.

Sunday, February 8, 2015

Thursday, February 5, 2015

A Walk Among the Tombstones. C+

It's a grim, dead-serious, and pleasantly low-key, adult-oriented thriller with Liam Neeson, yet that's not enough to make A Walk Among the Tombstones entirely satisfying. It needs more characters like the mysterious gardener who writes stories and keeps a bird coop atop a building (the Icelandic Olafur Darri Olafsson, who's been a character actor in a few Hollywood films and hopefully will be in many more in the future) in order to add flavor to what's a fairly ordinary (though admittedly at times pretty creepy) plot. Scott Frank, who's been a great genre screenwriter for a while, proves he's definitely capable in the director's chair (this is his second go round behind the camera, following The Lookout). The film is seeped in atmosphere (autumnal setting and all) and assured camera arrangements usually built around wide shots that give the film a really nice city-noir look. With the exception of one unexpected slow motion scene featuring a girl in a bright red coat, this is as no-nonsense as a movie can get. The film is set in 1999, just before Y2K (referenced several times) and the onslaught of technology in our everyday lives. The movie seems to relish the fact that it can operate in pre-cyber territory and simply deal with the reality of evil in a more primitive form. If only it had a little more sparks flying in the areas between Neeson and the bad guys to make this well-made, well-acted, and well-intentioned thriller just a little more interesting.