A Pigment of My Imagination

    Clearly, this gestational period for film was a critical one. Because of their limited use of sound, silent films were able to hone in on telling a story visually. Thus, the lack of dialogue was not a crutch to be overcome, but rather a fortuitous blessing. It enabled pioneer filmmakers to constantly refine their craft, needing to make each shot count.

If a picture can tell a thousand words, then these early moving pictures told volumes. Suddenly artists, painters, and magicians could use their craft in ways that were never before appreciated, and could create fully-dimensional life on screen with crudely recorded streams of images. This new medium allowed for the interaction of both high and low culture in a daring way never seen before.

Film was initially met with both fear and wonder, a feature which stays with it till today, constantly attracting millions of new viewers film after film. It is easy today to merely take all the film techniques we see for granted, to assume that it was always just so. We forget just what a radical experiment film was and how ultimately it is still a very young medium. The explosion of film’s growth in the last century is a testament to its artistic storytelling power. Even if modern audiences are unaware of, or choose to disregard it, nearly every frame that they see today is profoundly indebted to the silent flickers of the early 1900’s and owe tribute to the visionary pioneers of film history.

    Due to masters like Griffiths and Edwin S. Porter, cinema did have a strong tie with American traditions and aesthetics, but the medium continued to develop somewhat independently in Europe at the same time. Drawing from very different cultural, psychological and artistic influences, European filmmakers with little access to American films were birthing their own piece of cinema history.

In Germany, filmmakers were taking the new medium and experimenting in bold, non-traditional ways. They were more interested in a non-naturalistic and subjective use of film to tell dark, psychological stories. This led to German Expressionism, a world of abstract symbolism, and perceptual distortion, of wild, chaotic worlds, which reflected the inner dreamscapes of the mind.

They tried to portray inner subjective reality in objective external images, thus not only telling their characters’ story, but also showing his mind and emotions. This exploration not only radically altered film’s visual style, but also expanded film’s narrative potential to a whole new, deeper level. Expressionism can be seen strongly even today in the work of Tim Burton and others who work in the dark world of the surreal.

Moving further east on the map, the Soviets saw the nascent film medium as a potent tool for their new regime. Visionaries like Sergei Eisenstein seized the chance to chart unexplored territory of artistic potential. Although his first masterpiece, “The Battleship Potemkin”, was clearly a propaganda piece for the government, it is nevertheless a defining moment of film history that is relevant to this day. There, Eisenstein sought to reach the psychological depth and the emotions of the viewer.

He explored the use of sound and image stimuli on the audience, using force and counterforce, and the juxtaposition of images to create something far greater than a mere additional property. His use of montage (a staple tool in modern cinema) and fast cutting were instantly respected for their power to move a story along and were quickly adopted worldwide.

    Enabling this evolution of the art form as a social establishment was the technological and theoretical development that was making it all possible. As the physical machine capacity to record images grew (brilliantly exploiting persistence of vision), filmmakers were forced to move beyond the simple staged setups and individual shots of early flickers. They saw that audiences were becoming more sophisticated and constantly in demand of something more engaging. Thus, they were forced to develop not only their machines, but also their storytelling and communication skills. Enter Georges Melies, the “father of narrative film.” Melies played a crucial role in the early stages of film, taking pictures beyond the simplicity of the Lumiere’s staged skits into a complex new art form. His “A Trip to the Moon”, was not only one of the earliest movies to play with special effects and take advantage of visual illusions, but really took audiences on a journey to a whole new world of possibility never before imagined, and created a strong bond between films and science-fiction, and dreams and fantasy at large. This piece perfectly illustrated the bond between films and the sense of magic and wonder that we all long for.

Following Melies came D. W. Griffiths. Griffiths was responsible for most of the techniques that today we take for granted as the basics of cinema grammar, yet these all had to be created from scratch, or at least solidified for the first time into a unique application. It is staggering to see how within merely two decades of the art form’s conception, most of today’s established theories were already being discovered. Griffiths took the idea of an expanded narrative and really explored how to make use of what made film unique, creating an entirely new visual language. His use of close-ups, cross-cutting, subjective shots, flashbacks, camera movement and carefully composed shots set the standard for everything to follow, till this very day. It is easy today to take these things for granted, but it is really impossible to overstate the groundbreaking nature of these early pioneers.

    Tracing the history of film development, both as a storytelling medium and as a science and craft inevitably immerses us into the realm of silent films. From the earliest days of the medium, film was in a very unique position in the world’s evolution of artistic forms, being a mix of visual expression, composed images, and a literary sensibility towards storytelling and the development of words as a communication tool. Sounds and images, words and pictures. The potential for style and substance simultaneously, and the conflict that these seem to naturally incur. Filmmakers have always had to wrestle with this precarious balance, although ironically, these issues weren’t really visible for quite a while in the early days of film. For modern audiences, we seem to somehow instinctually accept the tension between high and low culture. In the earlier days though, none of this was a given. The early “flickers” were seen as cheap entertainment, as mere trifles, amusements for the masses. People would crowd around, absolutely spellbound by the simplest little tricks of light and shadow. Simple toys like the zoetrope seemed like magic to a generation hungry for something new. The audiences were ready for something different—and film was it.

I find it captivating to study the development of film as a social phenomenon. In the overall history of the human race, film is still an infant oddity, merely a century old, yet in that short time, film has become a major world force. Film is thus not only a medium that draws from a very rich artistic and social heritage, but has also served as a proponent of culture. It is thus, not just reactive to culture, but actually proactive in influencing and actually shaping the world. Film has practically become a world religion in its own rights. This is seen very clearly in the founding days. Hollywood became the new Mount Olympus. Movie palaces were erected as new public temples, shrines to the gods and goddesses of the silver screen, where the masses would flock to worship their idols. The very act of strangers coming together into a dark, silent space, all staring intently at one thing, with the one intention of partaking in a communal story experience is a testament to film’s unique potential.

(Essay written for History of Cinema class…)

I have really enjoyed this class, and especially getting to not only read and study about, but also watch a variety of classic silent films. I have been a lover of films since I was a young child, and have always loved to read and study. For years now, I have tried to get my hands on any kind of film history or production book I could find, and all of them would attest to the groundbreaking power of silent films. However, up till a few years back, I had virtually never actually seen any of these much-praised films, and my knowledge had only been theoretical, limited to words on a page or small images in a book. This class has been a great gift, a chance to dive headfirst into such a rich world. It has been fun to sit down and study the topic more systematically and fully. To mix my fan-boy passions for the subject, with a higher academic knowledge, and ending up both better educated, and all the more excited about film history and filmmaking.

Having watched some of these films now, it is clear what a direct impact silent cinema has had on modern filmmaking. In fact, silent films are not just some relic of the past, and even though film has moved on in some areas, the power of silent films is still seen strongly every day. It is not only something that is nostalgically remembered, but forms the very core of what we today know film to be. They are not only the birthplace of modern film, but part of the very definition of film grammar itself.

About two years back, I had to read this article in an English class about Superman and his role as an American icon. Written by Gary Engle, the article “What Makes Superman So Darned American” is an excellent look into the character, his development, and his significance on American culture.
http://cc.ysu.edu/~satingle/gary_engle.htm

Then I had to write a review/summary of it:

In his essay “What Makes Superman So Darned American?”, author Gary Engle describes the myth of Superman and his alter-ego Clark Kent and discusses how it relates to America’s history of immigration and assimilation. Engle starts by revisiting his childhood dilemma—deciding who would win the fight between Superman and cowboy legend John Wayne. His constant back-and-forth ended, he says, when he realized that the two would never battle because they didn’t start fights, but rather defended the American way of life.
Even in a country full of regional legends and myths such as Davy Crockett and Paul Bunyan, Engle comes to realize that Superman is “the great American hero”, one who incorporates the cultural traditions, beliefs, and indomitable spirit of the American way.

Although Superman has endured many transformations over the years, there is a core to his story, and this is key to its meaning. Superman is orphaned on planet Earth after the destruction of his home planet, Krypton. He is then rescued and raised by the Kent family of Smallville. Once grown, Clark Kent moves to Metropolis to be a reporter by day and world savior by night. Along the way, he falls in love with Lois Lane.
According to Engle, Superman is such a popular and resonant character to Americans because he is an orphan and an immigrant. From the first Pilgrims to today, America has been a country of immigrants. Like Superman, many Americans were forced to flee their native country because of famine or war, and traveled to America, in hope of a better life. Engle says that, as opposed to Batman, and other superheroes who wear a mask to hide their humanity, Superman actually is an alien, who wears the disguise of a human to hide his special powers.

Engle shows that much of America’s history rests in dealing with cultural dislocation. In literature, he says, American legends like Daniel Boone, Natty Bumppo, and Huck Finn are all condemned to restless travel, searching for the American dream and a national sense of identity. Individual mobility, Engle states, is an “integral part of America’s dreamwork”. This is why learning to drive is a part of manhood, and why writers like Charles Kuralt and William Least Heat Moon take to the roads of America to expand their humanity. Engle says it is no surprise, then, that Superman can fly. This flying allows him great personal freedom, making him essentially omnipresent, thus eliminating the curse of dislocation.
Superman the orphan, like many Americans, is forced to form a new identity, so he can assimilate into his new culture. He chooses to be the geeky Clark Kent. And while Kent seems far from heroic, Engle says, Superman and his weaker alter-ego are required for the myth to be complete and succeed.

Indeed, Engle argues that Superman is more effective than the Western legend because he transcends the Western’s flaws. Westerns were in many ways a precursor to Superman, tales about men exiled from their homes traveling west to start a new way of life, and, along the way, having to learn from and incorporate the traditions of the natives who were already there. The limits to the Westerns, as Engle says, are that they were pastoral, set in rural locales, and historical, forced into a specific, although inaccurate point in place and time. Superman solved these issues by being contemporary and global. Clark Kent moves from a rural town into a cosmopolitan metropolis, a move that many Americans could relate to personally.
The creators of Superman tried to give him not just cultural, but also religious significance. Engle highlights Superman’s bright red cape, which unlike any cape before it, seems to grow right from his chest and serve as the wings of an angel. After further research, Engle shows great spiritual symbolism in Superman’s Kryptonic name, Kal-el. In Hebrew, the affix “el” (Isra-el, Micha-el) means “of God”. “Kal” means “swiftness”, and “hal” translates to “all”, making Kal-el mean “all that God is”. The name Kent appears in the Bible meaning “I have found a son”.

Because America has no national religious icon, Engle argues that Superman himself has become a kind of religious myth, a “visitor from heaven”. An American’s non-denominational tale of a savior, the protector of the helpless, the defender of justice, truth and the American way. Engle argues that Superman is a young child’s ideal vision of a hero, and puts John Wayne to shame.

    Director Michael Curtiz brilliantly used black and white photography to create a beautiful and classic look for his film, Casablanca. As opposed to color, black and white really forces the cinematographer to carefully plan out his lighting setups. And though, technically, black and white needs more finessing to get the picture exposed correctly, when seen, its very format creates a dramatic play of light and shadow.
In film, the visual elements captured by the photography always serve a larger purpose—to serve the characters, and add to the story. One place in Casablanca in which this is seen is in the classic “of all the gin joints…” scene. This takes place after Rick reencounters Ilsa for the first time at his bar. This scene is set later that night as Rick is having a drink in the dark, trying to wash away the feelings that arose when he saw Ilsa.

Because this scene was shot in a studio, the DP could control every light in the scene, without having to worry about natural light. This whole scene (excluding Rick’s flashback of Paris) was shot very low-key. Right away, this clearly defines that the scene takes place at night, which the previous shot (the front exterior of Rick’s Café, with the sign lights turning off) established. The scene starts with a medium close-up of Rick sitting at a table at his bar. All the overhead lights are off, and he is alone, a wine bottle in front of him. This careful setup establishes not only his location, but also reflects his thoughts at this point—he is mad and heartbroken and wants to hide from others and forget the past.
As we track out, we begin to see some detail in the background, but it’s mostly in shadow, drawing our focus to Rick. Rick is wearing a solid white jacket, and he is strongly lit from the side, making him really pop out from the background. We now see that the scene is light with very high contrast (though later in the scene, once Ilsa enters, the whole value system lights up a bit more). This contrast, together with the side facial lighting (which splits his face in two) illustrates a part of Rick’s personality—he is two-sided, at this point in the movie, we don’t know who he will end up supporting in the film or what his motivations are. At this point in the scene, his face is mostly under-lit, so his dark hair fades into the background, drawing you to his eyes. The harsh underlighting also creates strong shadows in his face and shows the furrows in his forehead. This shows his deep vulnerability and frustration, while whenever he has his “public face” on, like with guests at his bar, he always has a soft, even lighting.
All this time meanwhile, in the background, we see the tower search light probing the city, coming in and out of the shot, a constant reminder of the dangerous world he lives in, and how he feels he’s always being watched. As Sam enters, he emerges from the darkness and stays that way. He is not really lit himself, there is only the small amount of light in front of him that reflects into his dark face. This serves to make Sam part of the background, and not compete with Rick, it almost makes him like a ghost, like a voice in Rick’s head.

Ultimately, the lighting works well in this scene to illustrate Rick’s inner dilemma. The light seems very controlled and almost painterly. You can tell it was artfully crafted for an almost surreal look, not natural realism. Despite some simulation of natural light, like the window in the background, the lighting is all designed to highlight Rick. This scene shows the emotional power of low-key lighting to set a dark and depressing mood that can be full of fear and mystery. It also shows that when setting up a shot, you don’t have to see every detail in the background. If it is distracting or interferes with the subject, it can be placed in shadow and made into negative space. This scene in specific, and the whole movie in general clearly demonstrate the power of cinematography and lighting in developing character, and show that no matter how qualified the photographer is, or how stylish the shoot looks visually, it should all be there only to serve the story.

(A project I worked on last year for a “Film as Art” assignment, analyzing a specific shot in the film, doing a whole run down of what comprises  that single image. A great little film, by the way.)

Film: “The Matador”
Director: Richard Shepard
Cinematography: David Tattersall

This entire film was blessed with a unique vision. From the quirky and eccentric characters and dialogue to the great art design and cinematography. Acclaimed director of photography, David Tattersall, brought to this movie a great sense of style and fashion, and a sense of professionalism above the film’s budget. The photography throughout the film is nearly always bright, saturated, and colorful and the shots are strongly based on shapes and lines and color contrasts to create visual tension and movement.
This scene in the film is when Julian Noble (Brosnan) and Danny Wright (Kinnear) go to a bullfight in Mexico City. It takes place about 25 minutes into the film. These two main characters first met in the hotel’s bar, had a fight, and later made up in the scene in the hotel’s driveway. Danny’s business tells him that the sale might not go through, and that he is going back to the States, leaving Danny to wait in Mexico. Overhearing this conversation, Julian, in desperate need of a friend, offers Danny a ticket to a bullfight. Danny is at first reluctant, but ultimately accepts to go. This specific shot happens pretty early on in the scene after we first get an aerial shot of the arena and then the camera travels up through the crowds in the stands to show Danny and Julian talking, we then cut to this overhead shot, looking over them, into the bull ring.

Mise-en-scene Breakdown:
1.    Dominant—Because of the circular, centered shape of the arena, and the because the two main characters serve to frame the shot, our eyes are first drawn right to the center of the arena, where the matador and the bull’s showdown is taking place. The shrinking concentric circles of the ring appear from overhead like a bull’s eye, drawing you right to the center.
2.    Lighting Key—This shot uses high key lighting and with a fair degree of contrast. This key really helps emphasize the strong colors and all the visual details of the crowds and the bullfighters.
3.    Shot/Camera Proxemics—This shot is a medium wide shot of Julian and Danny, but because of how it’s angled, you also get an extremely wide view of the bullring below to really sell the idea that they are watching a bullfight. It is set up in a way that you have foreground and background action going on at the same time, so while the camera might be only a few feet away from the main characters you can still see what is going on hundreds of yards below in the ring.
4.    Angle—This is shot from a high angle shot. It is not a bird’s eye, because this would have made the two actors less important. Rather, the angle gives prominence to the actors, letting them fill up a large portion of the screen, but lets you look down, almost as a POV shot as if you were another crowd member sitting a few rows higher than the two characters, looking straight down into the action.
5.    Color Values—In this movie, colors serve to represent different characters, Julian normally being a bright orange, and Danny being a blue. In this shot, the whole world is dominated by reds and yellows and browns—Julian’s colors. Julian himself is wearing a beige and red shirt with an orange/brown leather jacket on top. This color scheme really links Julian to the background setting both visually and symbolically. A central metaphor in the film is the link between Julian and the world of the matador. And the colors in this shot cement this connection that Julian is right at home in this fighting world, a world of action and adventure, but also a world of death. Danny, on the other hand, is a complete opposite color. The turquoise shirt he is wearing seems to pop right off the screen due to the extreme contrast. Despite this though, we start to see bits of Julian creeping into Danny’s character. At the beginning of the film, Danny was always surrounded by dark, almost purple blues, but now his color scheme is gaining some of Julian’s warmth giving it more a greenish color. Also, a subtle costuming trick—the collar on Danny’s shirt is rimmed with red and yellow stripes, showing how he is being affected by Julian.
6.    Lens/Filter/Stock—This was filmed with very wide angle lens. The wide angle gives an extremely long depth of field, which is proved because even the matador, who must be hundreds of yards from the two actors, is still in sharp focus. This was probably filmed using slow stock film which gives the film its very rich, detailed, and saturated look.
7.    Subsidiary Contrasts—After first looking right at the center of the bullpen, our eyes are drawn up and out. The circle shape of the ring guides our eyes around the frame till we reach Danny and Julian. We realize that just as there is a battle going on in the bullring, there is also a sort of battle between these two characters.
8.    Density—This image is very high density. You see tons of visual detail crammed into the shot (like the thousands of people you see seated). Yet because all these people are mostly in the far background, they are smaller, and so don’t totally distract us from the main character action in the foreground.
9.    Composition—The dominant shape about which the shot is composed is clearly the circle. The concentric rings create the bull’s-eye image. The circle helps to visually unite Julian and Danny. Also to break up the image from being strictly centered, we have Julian and Danny each placed roughly on the left and right imaginary vertical lines of thirds, respectively.
10.    Form—This shot is closed because it does not look like a random image, but rather, a highly composed and well-framed shot that ties foreground and background into one.
11.    Framing—This image is somewhat loose. It sets up the vast wide shot and also gives the two actors prominence on the screen, but still giving them room to move around and act.
12.    Depth—The way the image is shot, there is almost no middle ground, but rather a very sharp drop-off between the foreground actors and the background arena. This really clarifies that Julian and Danny are the main characters. A more eye-line angle would have made them “one of the many,” but this angle really separates them from the rest of the crowds and juxtaposes them directly on top of the arena fight.
13.    Character Placement—The two actors are at opposite ends of the screen to show their antagonist and to serve as a “frame within a frame,” highlighting the arena far below.
14.    Staging Positions—In this shot, we only see the back’s our the two actors, demonstrating how little we know about them, and how little they have revealed to each other.
15.    Character Proxemics— At this point in the movie, Danny is still very wary of Julian and not sure how to take him. Although a friendship is starting to develop, there is still a sense of mystery separating the two characters. Because of this, in this shot, they are at opposite ends of the shot, with the background action separating the two of them from each other. Symbolically saying that Julian’s “matador” lifestyle isolates him from Danny and his suburban life.

So as a bit of an addendum to my previous post, I wanted to discuss briefly the concept of names in film. One of my biggest pet peeves in film (btw, I hate the word pet peeve, but until I find a functional equivalent, I’ll have to stick with it) is when you spend most the movie wondering what the characters are actually called.
In the case of “The English Patient”, for example, we only hear references to Almasy for the first hour or so, or people call him just Count, and I think only one do we hear his full name. Often people joke about his name being foreign and hard to pronounce. Which in the sense of the story could all work to build his character. But for me as an audience, I found it extremely annoying. If a movie presents a main character and expects me to connect with them, the least they can do is be perfectly clear as to what his/her name is. Granted, in some rare cases, this information is withheld on purpose from the audience, to make the character alienated or mysterious. But most times it seems it is done merely as a mistake.
Especially in a case like this, where is a bizarre name, the filmmakers should find a simple and clever way to show us names: on a nameplate on a desk, painted on an office door, on a name-tag, etc., something to give us something visual and definitive to latch on to. I’m not saying that all details in a film should be spelled out and spoon-fed to the audience (and certainly if the name is “Joe” or the like, it doesn’t take much work), but I believe that a name is crucial to developing a character (just like their physical appearance or costumes), and thus, needs to be clarified.
Often, I think filmmakers don’t stop to think about this little detail and how it might affect the audience. In their case, they’ve been living in the world of the story for years and know all the names and details from the script, and so maybe they assume all this information will automatically be picked up by the audience, instead of realizing that sometimes that audience needs to be fed at least a few solid pieces of information before they can really engage.
Just my two cents.

This film, an epic tale of a mapmaker’s romance and tragedies set in WWII, seemed to steal both audiences and critic’s hearts alike when it came out in 1996. The following year, it won by a landslide at the Oscars (taking away an impressive 9 Awards, including Best Picture, Director, and Supporting Actress). Thus as a fan of grand period pieces and romantic dramas in general, I knew it was about time I finally saw this flick.

Despite all the hype, my viewing of the film left me a little cold. I don’t know what exactly it was, probably a combination of many elements, but somehow I could never fully connect with the story or the characters. I haven’t watched other Anthony Minghella films to see how this one compares with his later ones (although I do want to see most of them), but I know he was a pretty well-acclaimed director before his early death a few years back.

From a technical point, the film is pretty impressive. It is a grand romance tale, with numerous characters, set among a dramatic war-torn canvas. In some ways, it feels is a throwback to old Hollywood romances like “Gone with the Wind”. The film has a smashing cast. Ralph Fiennes plays the Count Almasy. The film opens with his disastrous plane accident that leaves him charred and approaching death. Hana (Juliette Binoche) is a nurse who decides to leave the war train and move Almasy to an abandoned house to care for his as he grows weaker. Almasy then, through means of his Herodotus diary/photo book, begins to tell us his tale and what led him to where he is now. I must say, this method of storytelling (a main character on his/her deathbed sharing flashbacks of their life with a younger bedside audience), although quite popular (recently used in “Benjamin Button”) and rather poetic, I personally find it a little distracting, and would sometimes just like to see the story play as a live account, instead of always breaking the narrative by going back to a dying storyteller…

(caption credits below go to IGN.com, who not only write excellent film reviews, but terrific captions, just couldn’t pass this one up to share)

Do you prefer your Ralph regular…

…or extra crispy?

Kristin Scott Thomas plays Almasy’s lover, Katharine Clifton, who cheats on her husband (Colin Firth). Willem Dafoe plays Carvaggio, the thief with a secret past (he immediately calls attention to his performance as a wild personality, but personally I found it distracting, and his personality never really seemed to pick a consistent tone). Finally Naveen Andrews as Kip, who falls in love with Hana (and I must say, he always seems to play the same character, but certainly has improved a lot by his “Lost” days). I must say, Kristin Scott Thomas and Juliette Binoche both are probably some of my favorite actresses working on Hollywood today. They each, in their respective ways, always feel very classy (in a Golden Age Hollywood kinda way), while at the same time having a very international and edgy feel of modernity, so it’s a treat having them in the same film. Fiennes here seems to play a snobby jerk for the first half of the film, and I could never really see him as the “hero” of the story. Apparently many film fans consider his and Thomas’ romance here to be one of the all-time film romances, but personally, I always felt it was a little forced and based on mere infatuation and loneliness, instead of true love. And even if it is true love, I find it hard to support an affair, no matter how desperate the circumstances. Also, there a too nudity, which really adds nothing to the story, except to highlight the scandalous nature of the affair, I suppose.

John Seale’s cinematography is large in scope, and really stands out when you see the planes flying and the wide shots of the desert sands, and showcasing the production design and period set decoration. However, the look of this film is a little dated and definitely feels like a 90’s movie.

Gabriel Yared’s score is a rather bizarre mix of very classical-feeling romance music, and ethnic desert, wailing voice music. Ultimately, it felt a little too distant and not conceptually cohesive. I was never quite bought the burn make-up job on Fiennes, granted I’m no expert on burn wounds, but it always seemed a bit too plastic-y, and his whole performance as a dying man a bit too forced.

All in all, a solid film, one with a large scope and ambition, but one that falls a little flat for me. I’ve heard that it improves upon more viewings, and so maybe it’ll grow on me after subsequent watching. Still though, I wish Hollywood made more movies like this, as I’d rather see an overly ambitious film than an overly cautious and cliché one.