Thursday, December 31, 2009
Thursday, December 24, 2009
Wednesday, December 23, 2009
Sunday, December 06, 2009
Monday, November 16, 2009
Tuesday, November 10, 2009
Sunday, November 08, 2009
Tuesday, November 03, 2009
Saturday, October 31, 2009
That’s One Small Step for A Man
I'm not here to cause controversy or to stir things that are perfectly complacent in where they are, but I do want to tell the truth. Neil Armstrong's famous statement "One small step for man, one giant leap for mankind." was said as he stepped on the moon's surface. The first man (in the general sense of human kind, not meaning specifically male, even though there have been no women on the moon) to really conquer another planet was a profound moment in human history and no words greater described that moment than Armstrong's words. If it was really his words to begin with.
Neil Armstrong has said that he thought of the famous line while eating lunch after his shuttle had landed on the moon. This, I'm sorry to say, is a lie. Think about it. Isn't it convenient to think of the most profound statement signifying mankind's quest to conquer space, to have occurred while having a turkey club sandwich? I think it's a little too convenient. Maybe if it was a tuna melt, I’d reconsider, but it wasn't and I’m not.
Actually it started a few weeks before Apollo 11's launch. Neil Armstrong was lying in bed, reading a book to relax himself to sleep (as he does every night), when his wife (at the time), Janet, asked from the bathroom "Neil, hunny, what are you going to say?"
"What do you mean, dear?" Neil replied.
"Well, on the transmission." Janet said as she exited the bathroom and climbed into bed. "We're all going to be able to hear what you say when you step on the moon."
Neil was a little perplexed by the thought.
"Gee, I didn't think about what I would say." Neil replied.
"I'm sure something simple will be just fine.” Janet said “You could say anything and it wouldn't matter because you were on the moon when you said it."
Janet assured Neil not to be worried and Neil smiled and kissed his wife. But Neil was worried. He didn't know what he was going to say. He started to spend his free time reading books, listening to the top songs of the day, anything that would give him inspiration for what to say.
It became dire once the launch neared. Janet began to see that Neil was stressed out. She just chalked it up to going to the moon, but Neil was actually petrified of not being able to find something to say when he is on the moon.
Two nights before the launch, in a housing complex that NASA put the Armstrong family in, Neil was distressed. At that point Neil was debating between saying something funny like a Groucho Marx's quote "I've had a perfectly wonderful evening, but this wasn't it." or something serious like "Never fear the abyss beyond you." (Which is often attributed to a line from a bathroom stall). That night, after being unable to get to sleep, he decided to take a walk.
Neil walked some miles to a park, thinking about what to say, when something got his attention. It was a homeless man who was piling bottles on the grass. Neil assumed he was drunk, since the homeless man's pants were off and because he kept yelling, "So what if I'm drunk." to someone who wasn't there. Neil fingered his pockets for his wallet and drew out a few dollars. He walked over to the homeless man and gave him the money.
"Thanks mister." the homeless man said.
"No problem." Neil replied.
"Wait. You're the astronaut aren't you?" the homeless man asked.
"Yes, how did you know?" Neil said, surprised.
"I saw you in the newspapers. My house is made out of them.” the homeless man said. "Gonna walk on the moon, right?"
Neil nodded sullenly.
“I don’t know what I’m going to say?” Neil said quietly. He began to tell the homeless man how he had been struggling with what he would say when he was on the moon. Neil asked the homeless man what he would say, but the homeless man just turned around and started to tend to his bottles.
Neil nodded his head and turned to walk away. As he did the homeless man turned and said, "One small step for man, one giant leap for frog people. Just wait until the frog people go on the moon. They'll jump so high."
Neil continued walking, trying to shrug off the ridiculous statement, but later as Neil lied down on his bed, he soon started to think that the homeless man might have something. "One small step for man" was the beginning of a pretty good line, Neil thought. The frog people part, well he decided against it when he put his left foot on the lunar surface six days later, but who could blame a plagiarist for covering his tracks?
Neil knew no one would believe the homeless man if he claimed the line was stolen from him. No one, until right now. I used to be that homeless man and one day, when frog people do go to the moon, they’ll jump so high!
Friday, October 30, 2009
Saturday, October 24, 2009
Wednesday, October 21, 2009
Monday, October 19, 2009
Saturday, October 17, 2009
Bob Fossil (From the Mighty Boosh) Talks to a Baby
Oh, look it's a baby. Hey baby. You’re in a stroller aren’t you baby? Do you like that stroller baby? That carriage made out of flower petals and cheap, harmful plastic? Yeah I bet you like that stroller, baby. You're such a baby. (laughs) I was a baby once, baby. Yeah back when Carter was president and lama skins were illegal. My mom even called me baby, because she didn’t know how to say my name. She would just give my bottle and call me baby, then she would leave with her bottle and get called baby by some mustached Ted Danson look a like. What's your name, baby? I bet its Nathaniel. Hey look everybody this baby's name is Nathaniel. (laughs) I'm just messing, baby. You look like a Jim Brown or a BJ Mankowitz. Maybe I’ll ask your mom when she gets back from the toaster store. She seems like a nice lady. I mean don’t get me wrong I’d stick it in her, but real classy like.
(silence)
Hey, baby. Have you heard the one about the tarantula and the leopard? No? Oh. I read it in a joke book by this guy named R.T. Scott. He’s like some kind of journalist who rescued animals from weirdo-pervert circus people. Then after a tortoise blinded him, he wrote down all these jokes he learned from the horny circus people. It’s really funny. One time I read it on a train and I laughed so hard I puked on a Japanese businessman’s shoes. He was pissed.
(silence)
You sure don’t talk much little guy. Are you even a guy? (checks) Yeah, you're definitely a man, baby. You’ve got some cock on you, baby. It's like a stuffed turkey neck. (laughs) I’ve never seen one so big. Hey baby have you ever thought of doing pornos? You know wank rags, erotic kaleidoscopes, that kind of stuff? It would be awesome. The woman would come in and see your soft white baby body and then she'd see your big black cock and be like "I want to ride that Dalmatian station." (laughs) We could make a lot of money, baby. I’d be your like manager slash personal caterer and we’d tour the upper northwest. We could make some real dough. I promise no one will exploit your freaky cock, baby. Scouts honor.
(silence)
Oh, here comes your mommy. I guess I’ll be going, baby. I’m not so good with goodbyes. So, umm, you stink, baby. (sniffs) Oh wait that’s me. I forgot I wrestled a fishmonger this morning for a Kit Kat. Well if you ever want to see some animals come to my zoo, Bob Fossil’s Fun World. It’s the only place in town where babies and scorpions can gamble on zombie pictures.
Adult Swim 1-8-07
Sunday, September 06, 2009
Tuesday, August 18, 2009
Sunday, August 02, 2009
Sunday, July 19, 2009
Colbert Word - Week of July 19th
(Source articles: Drivers and Legislators Dismiss Cellphone Risks)
Monday, July 06, 2009
Colbert Word - Week of July 5th
Obama Raises Concerns About Freedom and Judicial Independence in Russia
Russia to Open Airspace to U.S. for Afghan War)
Thursday, July 02, 2009
Sunday, June 28, 2009
Colbert Word - Week of June 28th
(Source article: Teenagers Are Building Their Own Job Engine)
Sunday, June 21, 2009
Colbert Word - Week of June 21st
House Unveils Health Bill, Minus Key Details)
Friday, June 19, 2009
Sunday, June 14, 2009
Colbert Word - Week of June 14th
U.S. Officials to Continue to Engage Iran)
Friday, June 12, 2009
Colbert Word - Week of June 4th
Sunday, June 07, 2009
Thursday, June 04, 2009
Tuesday, June 02, 2009
Looking Out Windows #1
Saturday, April 18, 2009
Xavier: Renegade Angel
Forged from 2/4ths of the minds behind the art collective, PFFR, (who were also responsible for Wonder Showzen; the show about kids, for anyone, but kids), Vernon Chatman and John Lee bring us, Xavier: Renegade Angel. A CGI animated show about a philosophical “being” named Xavier who goes around interjecting himself into people’s lives, problems, minds, etc. It seems that wherever Xavier shouldn’t be, he’s there.
Few shows boast such intellectually dense episodes (clocking at 11 minutes each) that can often be supplemented with the most crass, lowbrow comedy you could think of. It’s not odd to sit through an episode and not be able to come out the end with something tangible. It’s become almost a requirement to watch an episode a few times to really understand what’s going on. Even at a certain point it feels like you’re being fucked with, which is part of what Chatman and Lee wants to do (I think). (Side note: Read this recent interview with The AV Club about their show to see more on that point.)
An example of that would from their previous show, Wonder Showzen, where on the final episode of the first season, (called “Patience”) the last 15 minutes of the show was the first 15 minutes, in reverse. Not surprisingly (to them or the viewers) the show was canceled in its second season. Xavier carries much of the same mentality as that example, but plays with the audience so well, that it can often leave you laughing and frustrated.
When you have 11 minutes to do a show, you really have to get the story out, but Xavier can be on two different spectrums. It can be so dense with jokes and story, that it’s to fast to follow, requiring subsequent viewings, or so mundane in its forward action that it can become essentially a talking head. Like in the episode “Shakashuri Blowdown”, Xavier “battles” himself with words that leads to more than half the episode of back and forth dialogue that absolutely goes no where.
The first episode of the first season Xavier postulates the existential question “What doth life?” and it seems to be the running theme of the show. A philosophical question that is virtually unanswerable and through the distractions and absurdities that Xavier takes us through, the question almost seems to be useless and hollow to begin with. Xavier is the type of character to ask those questions, but would be totally uninterested in finding the answer. It’s not surprising then that the writers of the show will often go out of it’s way to make a joke or to shit on something deep and meaningful, to express how consuming those questions can be. They’re able to take this daft character and dismantle institutions like religion, consumerism, violence, sex, the things that we all are aware of, but futile to stop it. (The episode “Signs from Godrilla” not only tackle all of those in 11 minutes, but does it hilariously.) It’s through this meandering, clueless character that embodies what our culture has become. Xavier himself talks like a surfer, looks nothing like a human, but has all of the stereotypical tropes a human character would have. He’s picked on because he looks different, by ignorant people, but soon learns their ignorance and picks on other people. His God is not Jesus or Allah, but himself; self-righteous and sure he can solve anyone’s problems. Xavier is more than a mirror to society, he is society, self aware, but uninterested in changing and above all, looking to be entertained.
That’s if you look that deep into the show. The show is made for you to laugh and if you learn something, that might be the opposite effect of what Chatman and Lee want. Or is it? Needless to say, there are few artistic things that challenge the viewer in its complacency and Xavier not only does it, but also makes fun of the fact that they have to do it.
Friday, February 20, 2009
2 or 3 Things on 2 Or 3 Things I Know About Her (TFR Article)
by Meseret Haddis
Looking back at Godard’s career, 2 or 3 Things I Know About Her comes at a pivotal transitional period for the filmmaker. The film follows a Parisian woman, Juliette, as she works as a prostitute and mother over the course of a day. Godard’s previous two films (Made in U.S.A. and Masculine Feminin) as well as those that followed (La Chinoise and Weekend) moved away from the “theatrics” of Pierrot Le Fou and towards political theater, which absorbed his later work. In certain points in Godard’s career, he is able to show that political and philosophical understanding almost have no differences, as they are linked toward social and emotional progress.
Alienation of Character and Content
The alienation effect is a tool pioneered by the German playwright Bertolt Brecht to insure that the audience doesn’t relate or empathize with a play’s characters. This can be achieved through disjointed scenes, self-aware characters and broken fourth walls. The audience is drawn away from a sense of emotional investment and, instead, focuses on the ideas being expressed in the play. Godard, a self-proclaimed student of Brecht, uses many of the playwright’s techniques in achieving this effect.
As the film begins, Juliette (Marina Vlady) is introduced. The woman is first described as Marina and then as Juliette; this break of the fourth wall continues throughout the film, as Juliette narrates her emotions and thoughts, often in the midst of conversation with another person. There isn’t much room for the audience to identify with Juliette, often because she seems cold and mechanical (a result, she admits, of the life she lives).
Other characters share the self-awareness that Juliette expresses, as well. During certain points in Juliette’s day, a store clerk or a bar fly will look into the camera and say two or three things about her self (“I come to the city twice a month,” “I have hazel eyes,” etc). As we follow Juliette, we are reminded of the invisible wall that separates her and us, and when we look to other characters we hope to find a connection or situation that is able to help us fall into the fantasy of the film, but it’s never there.
There seems to be a consistent attempt by Godard to keep the viewer aware, at all times, of his film’s fabrication, to continue to look critically at the expanding city of Paris that is being quietly destroyed by capitalism. Godard whispers in the final scene, “Thanks to Esso, I drive safely to the land of my dreams and I forget the rest. I forget Hiroshima, I forget Auschwitz, I forget Budapest, I forget Vietnam, I forget the S.M.I.G., I forget the housing shortage, I forget the famine in India. I’ve forgotten everything except that, as I’m going back to zero, I’ll have to use that as my point of departure.” Godard is warning us of the intended effects of a capitalist society, something that he mocks unabashedly later in the film Weekend. The quite citizen is what they want and their control has become so great that Godard himself has to whisper his thoughts to the audience, because what he is saying is creating new consciousness, new beginnings, essentially; destroying the old.
Modernization: Creating New Consciousness
2 or 3 Things is littered with shots of a growing “Paris Region,” as it is referred to in the film. Transition scenes are cut with shots of cranes and trucks at constructions sites, over which Godard’s narration is heard, attempting to draw connections between Juliette and the city’s modernization.
I don’t think it’s a coincidence that Brecht’s alienation technique and Marx’s theory of alienated labor are similar in what they express. They both speak to the disconnection between product and production. With Brecht, we are shown the idea or meaning behind the dialogue separating the audience from the play or film; with Marx, we are shown the consequences of capitalism as workers becomes disconnected with the objects he’s producing. Marx explains, “The externalization of the worker in his product means not only that his work becomes an object, an external existence, but also that it exists outside him independently, alien, an autonomous power, opposed to him. The life he has give to the object confronts him as hostile and alien.”[1]
Juliette is a character who’s aware of this disconnection, but seems incapable of doing anything about it. In one of the last scenes, she asks her husband, Robert, about their evening plans:
Robert: We’ll sleep… What’s the matter with you?
Juliette: And after that?
Robert: We’ll wake up.
Juliette: And after that?
Robert: The same. All over again. We’ll work. We’ll eat.
Juliette: And after that?
Robert: I don’t know. We’ll die.
Juliette: And after that?
Godard is making the point clear and how this can be related to a factory worker, of this disconnection from what we are doing. Juliette is aware of the monotony, but Robert is not. He’s confused as to why she would ask him these questions in the first place. Juliette later states, “I’ve changed and yet I’ve gone back to being myself, so what does that mean?” Whether or not this means that she’s done commodifying herself to her husband and other men is unclear, but the statement is posed to the audience. Will you make the change? Or have you not even realized the situation you are in?
[1] From Economic and Philosophic Manuscripts of 1844
Image as Language
“Language alone cannot accurately define an image,” Godard proclaims. But it’s also clear that both are being pushed together in our society. As Godard adds, “Words and images intermingle constantly. You can almost say that living in today’s world is rather like living in the middle of a big comic strip.” Godard continues to examine the scenes and questions if they’re being described effectively and accurately with images.
Godard wants to show the audience that a new language has to be created, that our language has a set of limitations. Even in 2 or 3 Things I Know About Her, we must be wary of words, particularly so when they come from Juliette (“Words never say what I’m really saying”). In one scene Juliette is getting her nails and hair done, and she’s being asked questions by the woman doing her nails, but before Juliette answer the questions she makes a comment for the audience (that the woman doesn’t hear) and then answers the question. At one point when she’s asked about her kids she says, “Words never say what I’m really saying.” And answers the woman by saying their fine, but very naughty, you know.” Godard continues this expression of what we say can’t always capture what we mean, that (as it is said in Le Petit Soldat) the only truth is photography.
By the end, as the title perhaps alludes to, the film feels intentionally incomplete. You can’t whittle down a woman to two or three things, because more is required to complete the picture. Godard isolates information and asks that we use it to better understand the picture and, more importantly, to change it. For the people of Paris to change the bad things that were happening they had to understand modernization, what its effect is on the people, economically and psychologically and by examining two or three things is a great way to get started.
2 Or 3 Things I Know About Her is playing at the Film Forum until February 24th.
Nicolas Roeg: An Auteur’s Visual Journey (TFR Article)
by Meseret Haddis
In examining Nicolas Roeg’s early films, it’s not surprising that the filmmaker officially broke into his career as a camera operator and cinematographer. There’s something extremely distinct in his films, especially the first two, Performance and Walkabout, wherein he functioned both as director and cinematographer. An arresting visual style, matched with simple performances and montage editing, helped to create a fevered, dream-like experience of images and sound.
Sound vs. Images
At many points in Roeg’s early films, there seems to be a conflicting motive between what we are seeing and what we are hearing. A great example of this type of juxtaposition is in Walkabout, where two children are stranded in the Australian Outback after their father kills himself, forced to find civilization under the guidance of an aborigine boy doing his walkabout (a journey of survival and an initiation into manhood). As the opening credits begin, we hear the scrambled noises that fall in between radio stations; the children later use the radio as a means of comfort. Treading along in this new environment and trying to survive in a desolate land, they cling to the one artifact that reminds them of their home.
After the credits end, a red brick wall fills the screen. The camera slowly tracks rightward as music from the aborigine instrument, the didgeridoo, is heard. Behind the brick wall, we see a cityscape of Sydney. As the shots of the city and people compile together, there are shorter, rightward tracking shots of the same brick wall, although the Australian Outback is now revealed in place of the city. The viewer transitions from one jungle to the next.
In the film Performance, Chaz – a thug on the getaway for disregarding his boss’ orders - hides in a retired musicians’ commune until he leave the country. Music is an important element in the film. In fact, here’s where the struggle between image and sound becomes clear: one must dominate the other. This relationship mirrors the conflict between the two main characters (Chaz and Turner), wherein one has to dominate the other. Mr. Turner’s struggle is an internal one, represented by the sound of the Moog synthesizer, while Chaz’s is a struggle of getting out of the country.
The Sun and the Lens Flare
While lens flare was once considered a clichéd indicator of amateur cinematography, Roeg uses it as an effective cinematic device. In Don’t Look Now, for instance - a story about a couple’s life after the death of their daughter – the wife, Laura, meets a blind psychic who views her daughter. At one point, the psychic warns Laura that her husband is in danger. Her husband, John, who is renovating a church, receives some mosaic pieces from the bishop and wants to compare them to the original. But as he steps onto the ladder, the camera is pointed directly at a floodlight. As he climbs past the camera, the lens flared, melded with an image of the psychic and giving an ominous premonition to John’s fate.
In Walkabout, the sun is constantly shown alongside the vast landscape of the Outback. It’s not odd that the sun’s appearance throughout the film mirrors the daunting feeling that the two children are experiencing while traveling in the wasteland. The constant barrage of heat also contributes to the mindset of these characters, becoming increasingly primal as the films progresses. After the children meet the aborigine boy, a montage of images of the sun leaves the viewer a little dry-mouthed and warm.
Blending and the Illusion of Continuity
Dissolves were a technique used during the early days of cinema that lead viewers from one image to another without losing the audience’s train of thought. The logic, thus, was to ease the viewers into scenes without startling them by a cut. However, if executed properly, viewers can certainly follow a story that is cut and mangled. On example is in Bad Timing, where a young woman and a doctor have a relationship that goes terribly wrong. The film opens with the young woman is in the hospital, and we watch as a doctor dances around the questions posed by the police. During this sequence, the doctor remembers aspects of his relationship with the young woman; a fight, a look, them having sex, etc. By the end of the film, we can piece together what happened to this young woman; although it feels disjointed and erratic, it’s actually quite logical. Roeg pointed out that the film is constructed according to the shape of human memory and, thus, doesn’t develop as one complete story but, rather, in pieces.
Order is something that Roeg likes to play with frequently, especially the flash-forward. In Performance, Mr. Turner is shown early in the film, long before he’s introduced. We don’t hear any dialogue, nor do we encounter any other significant information about him. But a connection is being created here between Turned and Chaz. Roeg uses the flash-forward in a way to temporarily disrupt continuity, or to give the illusion that things are out of sync when, in actuality, they aren’t.
There’s a particular scene in Don’t Look Now where John and Luara are having sex, but while they having sex the continuity is intercut with them dressing right after and it goes from them having sex to each of them dressing and back and forth until both acts are completed. Here, the illusion of time is suspended between the couple having sex and then re-dressing, but the cutting blends together the time of the couple having sex and of them dressing into one time frame, comparing the routine of their having sex with getting dressed.
There’s a definite arc to Roeg’s early films - from a visual director who captured counter-culture and beatniks in Performance, to a director who blended images and content to convey story and emotion in Walkabout, and to a complete dismantling of how continuity works in relation to what we are seeing. Roeg’s early work is a testament to a strong visual story and the progression of someone who wants to astound the audience by making them not want to look away from what they are seeing.
Samuel Fuller: 3 Films, 1 Sound (TFR Article)
By Meseret Haddis
I recently watched Samuel Fuller’s first three films, I Shot Jesse James, The Baron of Arizona and The Steel Helmet. Like Rossellini and Hitchcock, Fuller’s early films show a director in control of the frame, with a remarkable vision capable of capturing an audience through images. However, it was Fuller’s control of sound and music that I responded the strongest to.
A great example would be from The Baron of Arizona. In the film, James Reavis (Vincent Price) is on a mission to make an orphan girl, Sophia (Ellen Drew), the inheritor of Arizona. His quest takes him to a monastery in Spain where he has to forge the land rights that the King of Spain gave to the fictitious Baron of Arizona in an ancient book guarded by the monks of the monastery. James has spent years in the monastery until he is finally able to gain access into the library, where he can forge the claim. But before he is able to do that, another monk informs James that there is another copy of the King’s land rights at an official’s house in Madrid. By itself, the information doesn’t seem that devastating, but Fuller is able to build the importance and gravity of the James’s reaction with sound. At that moment of realization, James’ look is accompanied by a crash of noise that devolves into music.
Fuller through these three films is able to marry sound and image to create profound moments of sympathy, realization and anger. In I Shot Jesse James, music and sound are used to underscore a certain mood. The first time we see Bob Ford’s chance to kill Jesse is underscored with a spark of music. Here, the camera assumes Bob’ point of view, looking at the back of Jesse, suggesting his vulnerability as a character. But it isn’t until the sudden appearance of music that we fully realize the threat to Jesse’s life. The shot’s composition and angle alone couldn’t have conveyed this feeling; the music assists us.
The Steel Helmet provides another example. The film concerns Sgt. Zack (Gene Evans), a soldier fighting in the Korean War and the sole survivor of his company. In the first sequence, we see Sgt. Zack with his arms tied behind his back, crawling through the grass with the dead bodies of his company strewn about. The music coveys the physical struggle Zack is going through, contributing to a sense of anxiety within the audience. As he continues to struggle, we see a low angle shot of a gun pointed to the ground. Zack stops struggling and plays dead until caught by a Korean soldier. As the shots cut together between the soldier and Zack, the music and tension build. Similarly, when Zach is finally unbound, our anxiety lessens alongside the music.
In these three films, sound and image are often used in a way to build tension only to a point, so that only silence can alleviate or elevate a conflict. Take this clip from I Shot Jesse James, where a singer joins Bob Ford inside a bar and eventually plays a popular tune (which turns out to be a song about Jesse James). At a certain point, the singer remarks that Robert Ford is a dirty little coward, although Ford forces him to finish the song. At this point, Bob is grappling with what he has done to his friend, Jesse. Fuller adds no music to soften the blow of the look or the mood in the bar.
Fuller’s control of sound shows how effective it can be to convey a certain look or feeling with a soft tune or a loud noise. In these three films, Fuller understands the implication of what certain music or sounds have when married or juxtaposed to an image. He places such an importance on the music and sound in the beginning of these films that you can’t help but pay attention and notice when the sound is saying something that the images can’t express. Fuller understands that emotions can be told through looks, but that a look can have such a greater impact, if it’s accompanied by the right sound.
Sincerely, Not Surprised (TFR Article)
To The Academy,
The very fact that I am writing to you forgoes the fact that I don’t believe in you. By putting the delusional perception that you exist within an objective, artistic world aside, I want to talk to you about, well, you. I was not surprised by your nominations this year. Deep down in the crevasses of your psyche, I’m sure that you hoped to shake-up the business a little with a few glaring omissions and well, who cares about them anyways, right?
This, I’m only assuming, is how you went about your nominations:
Academy Member 1: “I’ve been seeing a lot of ads for ________ lately.”
Academy Member 2: “I know. It’s been making a lot of money, too.”
Academy Member 1: “Yeah. We don’t want to have any trouble with the industry by not forgetting to nominate ________.”
Academy Member 2: (Rubbing his beard) “Well let’s call ________ and see what he thinks.”
Academy Member 3: (On the phone) “I just got done having lunch with the producer of _______ and he thinks a nomination will do even more to bolster box office numbers.”
Academy Member 1: “Well I guess we can’t escape it now. Let’s give _______ a best picture nomination.”
(10 minutes later)
Academy Member 2: “Well that’s all the nominations.”
Academy Member 1: “Are we forgetting something?”
Academy Member 2: “If we did, it must not have been a very memorable film.”
Academy Member 1: “It’s a good thing we got ________ a nomination this year. Last year his film ________ was such a piece of shit.”
Academy Member 2: “That was his film? How did I miss that?”
Academy Member 1: “It was released earlier in the year.”
Academy Member 2: “That makes sense. I don’t really watch films before November. I mean, do you know how many films come out in a year?”
Academy Member 1: “A lot, I know. I’m just glad they release all the good ones near the time when we have to vote, so it makes it easier to do our jobs.”
Academy Member 2: “Yeah, you can knock out a few nominees in an afternoon.”
Academy Member 1: “So do you want to go get a bite to eat?”
Academy Member 2: “Sorry, I can’t. I got to meet _______ over at ________ so he can give me a lot of money for his nomination.”
Academy Member 1: “Good luck with that.”
Now I’m sure I’m not doing justice to the Academy by playing out this scene. Clearly, not all of the Academy Members are this nice and sincere.
What boggles my mind about your organization is this idea that you exist independent of the industry, picking films that truly represent our time and advancements in the art of film. But you know, and I know, that that is a load of bull. Slumdog Millionaire nominated for best picture? What are you, the Hollywood Foreign Press?
I’m a filmmaker for the people and I’m not in it for the awards or for the money. Down the line, if I ever were to make a film that garners the attention of the Academy for Best Direction or Best Picture, I would stop making films. Because that kind of praise isn’t worth sacrificing your artistic soul.
For me, to list a number of films and artists that you forgot to include in your nominations seems arbitrary because I don’t need a list of films to show proof of my convictions. To be honest, I haven’t seen any of the films that have been nominated, because, frankly, modern cinema is dead.
Sincerely,
Don’t Care About the Oscars
Sunday, January 18, 2009
It’s a Comic Book, Not a Film. (TFR Article)
By Meseret Haddis
Jean-Luc Godard’s Made in U.S.A. is hard to describe. Anna Karina plays Paula Nelson, a proto-type of noir-film detectives, who often narrates the film as she processes her thoughts. She’s a journalist who has come to Atlantic City (Paris) in search of her lover, Richard, whom she discovers is dead. The film follows her, following leads, questioning suspects, all to get down to the truth of Richard’s death.
It’s not surprising that when I watched this film I was reading as much as I was listening, which was something that started to happen when I began watching Godard’s post Pierrot Le Fou films. Made in U.S.A. and Pierrot Le Fou, both use the images of comic book characters and cartoons juxtaposed to images that were filmed. Masculin féminin, released in 1966, also splits narrative into boxes (or vignettes), mimicking the method of comic book storytelling. A comic book, much like these three Godard films, can have juxtaposed ideas, images, and dialogue; characters hare panel frames and, subsequently, thoughts.
What Godard does in Made in U.S.A., is transform each scene into a kind of panel. An example would Paula’s attempt to follow a lead into a doctor’s office), turning her head in paranoia while a nearby female doctor puts on her coat (pictured above). Later on, these two characters are introduced; Paula points a gun at her, and leads her into an examining room. When another gun-toting doctor enters, Paul turns her head again, mimicking the same motion she made a few seconds earlier. Through the flash-forward (something effectively used in comic books), we watch the sequence play-out in the context of the situation. This repetition of movements or sequences seems arbitrary at first but, when viewed in context, they fit together.
Made in U.S.A.’s visual style also creates parallels to comic books. A color palate of red, white and blue litters the background of many scenes, which all take place in Atlantic City, France (fictional, of course, but so is Gotham City). The Technicolor pops like the color in a new comic book pops, with an abrasive punch. Godard’s words don’t fail in their punch, either, as he takes the panel frames of how comic books are structured and uses that fragmentation to structure the film’s story.
The way the film’s narrative is atomized into pieces and fragments adds to the characters relationship to time the same way comic book characters relate to time. Super heroes are generally a certain age, perpetually defeating villains and saving the day. Made in U.S.A. mirrors that feeling. Paula tells a barman that she’s 22. He replies, “22 years from now, you’ll be double that,” to which Paula adds, “Yes, I’ll be 26.” Time has no effect on Paula, who is trying to discover the cause of Richard’s death. Time seems to stand still, with dates being mentioned, but again, without the context, they’re just words.
At the bar, Paula talks with a man named Thomas about sentences. Thomas believes that sentences are meaningless (”The dictionary says so”). Paula explains that words put together make sentences, “Which makes perfect sense”. Thomas replies, “I disagree. Sentences can’t both be meaningless and make sense.” Soon after, the barman interjects: “If you won’t make sentences, I can’t understand or serve you.” In reaction, Thomas conjures a few nonsensical sentences (”The glass isn’t in my wine,” “The barman is in the pen’s jacket pocket,” etc).
Godard’s film is a sentence with missing words, yet those missing words are essential to understanding the sentence/film. Each given word, like a frame in a comic book, is an important contributor to your understanding of the film. Sometimes the most memorable panels and frames in a comic book are at the beginning or end, but they are only memorable because of the frames between them. Which means essentially, that you need words to make a sentence, not the other way around.
Made in U.S.A. is now playing at the Film Forum until January 22.