HopkinsCinemAddicts

To Be or Not To Be: The Question of What to Depict in Documentary Film

Documentary filmmaker Trinh Minh-ha has repeatedly suggested that the documentary film should encompass the practice that “what [one] sees is life looking at [them].” This belief, which is shared by other documentary filmmakers, stresses that the documentary film should serve only as observer, capturing solely what the camera lens reveals without any manipulation. Furthermore, neither the film director nor the audience should “impose meaning on every sign [in a film].”

The intent of David and Albert Maysles’ documentary Grey Gardens (1975) is to capture the raw, unedited elements of what is taking place in front of the camera without offering any additional auteurian input. As such, it respects the parameters that Trinh Minh-ha sets forth. In contrast, although Lucien Castaing-Taylor’s Leviathan (2012) also falls within the genre of documentary film, Castaing-Taylor approaches the subject with preconception. Although he allows the camera to capture all that which is perceivable at the location, he does utilize cinematography and editing to distort what has been captured, ultimately creating what can almost be described as a dystopic reality.  

The Maysles brothers crafted Grey Gardens in the style of cinéma vérité; where they wanted the only witness to the action to be the camera. They allow the actions within the Bouvier Beale household to depict the everyday lifestyle and mentality of Edie and her mother Edith, which unfold as they simply record the unedited and unhindered experience. This determination to be faithful only to what is occurring in front of the camera is exemplified in one scene that captures Edie Bouvier Beale’s unedited dancing around the house. The depiction of the decrepit household and Edie’s bizarre behavior create a dystopic moment that arguably pushes the audience to stray away from the experience of “pure” documentary practice and cinéma vérité. Nonetheless, if this action is one that Edie would do even when there is no camera present, then it can only be a study in truth or “vérité”. The fixation to stay “true” to documentary is further noted when the directors capture a moment when both Edie and Edith are arguing. Though it is obvious that the two women do not want to be recorded, the Maysles brothers nevertheless continue filming. In this way, the film fulfills Trinh Minh-ha’s requisites for documentary film that every element is simply captured to create a film without a particular agenda, but one that is even unwilling to edit in response to the subject, and which would otherwise unintentionally make the content false.

In contrast to Grey Gardens stands anthropologist and filmmaker Lucien Castaing-Taylor’s Leviathan. Similar to Grey Gardens, Castaing-Taylor’s film unobtrusively and continually films what is occurring at his location, in this case a commercial fishing boat at sea. The long takes and lengthy sequences that linger on the details of the location are not unlike the cinematography in Grey Gardens; however, the similarity ends there. Castaing-Taylor chooses a filming approach that when paired with his chaotic and disorienting sound design at times confounds the audience. For the first several minutes of the film, it is not clear what is being pictured or what is occurring. Castaing-Taylor shows a collection of abstract images that do not immediately seem to portray anything that is pertinent to the subject of the film, but creates the sense of a removed and dystopic reality. It then becomes slowly apparent to the audience that the filmmaker is on some sort of marine vessel. In this way, this film is different from Grey Gardens as Leviathan offers a swayed perspective. It is apparent that the camera is being utilized to promote the idea that there is someone filming and observing, and that a particular audience is must be present. In fact, the audience seems to be behind the eyes of the observer, lending its unique perception and perspective. In this way, though the film seems to be capturing what is occurring at the location, the personification of the camera wreaks havoc on perception and adds an agenda to the film that arguably breaks the conventions of documentary filmmaking.

The comparison between Grey Gardens and Leviathan begs the question of whether or not it is ever possible for a filmmaker not to impose some sort of auteurian input when depicting a particular subject in a documentary film even when he or she includes every detail of the location and the subject. On one hand, decisions can be made that ignore the will of the subject of the film that ultimately lends a feeling of violation. On the other hand, the film maker can open up the content to allow for personal perspective to shape what is being shown.  What is clear is that in either case, it could be argued that each of these documentary films has, nevertheless, adhered to Trinh Minh-ha’s stipulations with respect to documentary film making. That is, each depicts images that are presented without the filmmaker himself imposing meaning or deducting context. Rather, the images are presented for the audience to perceive as rudimentary elements that they have to reconstruct for meaning without judgment. The means are different, but the ends can be said to be same. To be present in a location after a filmmaker has provided the details of the context as in Grey Gardens might be considered easier; however, it is still possible to recreate the context of a location even when all the details of the context seem not to be visually present as in Leviathan.

Mr. Robot and The Governance of Consumerism

Mr. Robot, a critically acclaimed drama thriller television series authored by Sam Esmail, focuses on the lonely and troubled Elliot Alderson. Elliot is introduced to us as an eccentric cybersecurity engineer, and he becomes an enigmatic vigilante hacker as time goes on, one whose motives are unclear even to us. To complement its labyrinthine narrative, Mr. Robot has a distinct visual style which reinforces the isolation and oppression every character faces, and this artistic approach will be the main focus of my discussion. (However, there is no need to fear for spoilers—I will only be analyzing the first episode of the series.)

Within the show, one of the main antagonizing forces is society itself; Esmail demonstrates how consumerist culture can drive people apart from one another, especially in Elliot’s case.

Consider the following exchange from Mr. Robot’s pilot, "eps1.0_hellofriend.mov,” in which Elliot delivers a fervent speech on the evils of our modern world to his therapist:

                                 KRISTA
What is is about society that disappoints you so much?

                                 ELLIOT
Oh, I don’t know. Is it that we collectively thought that Steve Jobs was a great man, even when we knew he made billions off the backs of children? Or maybe it’s that it feels like all of our heroes are counterfeit. The world itself's just one big hoax. Spamming each other with our burning commentary bullshit masquerading as insight, our social media faking as intimacy.  Or is it that we voted for this? Not with our rigged elections, but with our things, our property, our money. I’m not saying anything new. We all know why we do this. Not because Hunger Games books makes us happy but because we wanna be sedated. Because it’s painful not to pretend, because we’re cowards. Fuck society.

                                 KRISTA (O.S.)
                               (echoing)
Elliot.
                                 (beat)
Elliot. You’re not saying anything. What’s wrong?

                                 ELLIOT
                         (smiling slightly)
Nothing.

(0:12:15 - 0:13:26, formatting and emphases mine.)

In this exchange, Elliot’s estrangement from those he should communicate honestly with is already made clear, and his anger is directed explicitly towards society. Throughout the scene, Krista and Elliot are practically never in the same frame. The only time we see them together is in an establishing shot, one which pits Krista and Elliot on opposite sides of the office, with Elliot’s completely black outfit contrasting heavily with the cream-colored sofa and curtains. However, his outfit is only one aspect which makes Elliot seem out of place. The rest of the time, the two are always in their own close-ups, making both characters seem as visually in their separate headspaces as they are mentally—this being coupled with disorienting cuts to different close-up angles of their faces.

Elliot’s frequent voiceover of his thoughts over this scene only further cement his distance from his therapist, and his monologue on society’s evils is intercut with real-life footage of factory workers, fallen celebrities, and social media feeds. Elliot is not tied down to the visuals of his therapist’s office—that is, not tied down to Krista. It can be said that everything we see and hear about Elliot in the first fifteen minutes of the series has to do with his pained and total aloneness.

Esmail continues to showcase his startling visuals throughout the episode. Later on, when the company Elliot’s cybersecurity firm protects, E-Corp, visits Elliot’s workplace for a briefing on a recent hack, our protagonist meets Tyrell Wellick. Tyrell is a pivotal character later in the season, and the way he is introduced is rife with importance. Our first clear visual of Tyrell places him in a low depth of field close-up, his visage in the far right quarter of the frame as the rest of the shot hovers out of focus. To be clear, when I write “far right quarter,” I mean it:

Elliot’s reaction shot to Tyrell is not unlike this one.

(The actual shots themselves were not included due to copyright reasons.)

Elliot and Tyrell are opposing forces. Both of them occupy spaces in which they are as far as possible from one another, showing their mutual isolation in the world they will eventually unite to combat against. However, even their aforementioned eventual unity is hinted at in these shots. Every background figure and object is out of focus, and Elliot and Tyrell can only clearly see one another. They are destined for a special bond, even if they are both first totally alone when they are introduced to one another. Their future is also foreshadowed in their dialogue; when Elliot’s mental voiceover starts to think an incredulous sentence about Tyrell, Tyrell finishes it for him in open speech. This unites their identities for a single moment. Incidentally, Tyrell finishing Elliot’s sentence also leads to them being in the same frame together for just a second, before extremely distanced close-ups take over once more. (This style of framing is so common in Mr. Robot that Saturday Night Live (SNL) has even remarked on it in a parody of Mr. Robot.)

Esmail’s decisions to frame characters in these ways can be seen in other interactions and scenes of the first episode—as well as for the rest of the series. So far, we have discussed how these visuals portray characters in relation to each other, but Esmail also portrays characters in relation to bodiless presences or omnipresent forces in the world. One of the most telling displays of an abstract force becoming a menacing presence in relation to Elliot comes at the end of the pilot episode.

Elliot is going through a triumphant moment. He strides through Times Square—the setting of Mr. Robot being New York City—as something he has worked for finally comes to fruition. (A spoiler coming for the end of the first episode, now.) A huge first step in his grand plan as an official vigilante hacker is completed when Terry Colby, the CEO of an all-powerful corporation suspected of committing inhumane crimes for profit, is arrested due to Elliot’s hacking.

When we see Times Square with Elliot, nearly every building with a screen is reporting the news, and beneath the gargantuan, towering skyscrapers, Elliot walks into the center of the frame. He changes from being a small figure at the side of the screen into being the dominant visual in its center. The camera even slides into a low-angle position. A huge screen takes up the majority of the background behind Elliot, and the screen displays a news report on Colby’s arrest. It looks like Elliot is in control, and he is, both in the narrative and in the frame.

Elliot slowly pulls down his hood, turns his face up to the light of the screens, and looks around. But there is a subtle shift in the visuals. As he turns, the camera cuts to a different shot of Times Square. Elliot is now level with the camera, and the glaring ads of McDonald’s and Coca-Cola cut off Elliot at both sides of the frame. We can see now that it was only due to our perspective that every building appeared to be broadcasting the news of Colby’s arrest. Even the wide, massive screen that had taken up the majority of the last shot—the screen that reported Elliot’s victory—has become dwarfed by the innumerable amount of advertisements still present in Times Square. Now that the crowd of tourists and city folk is visible, we can see that all of them are indifferent to Elliot’s heroic act.

As the final insult to injury, the camera returns to the first shot of Times Square, where Elliot is seen from a low-angle camera and beneath the enormous screen that reports on Colby’s arrest. That is the shot where he was in control. Elliot throws up his hands and smiles in the genuine joy… and finds out that he has no control at all. Not in the frame, and not in the narrative, because ominous men in black approach the blissful Elliot from behind and threaten him into getting into their car. As this happens, the camera also cuts back to being level with Elliot; this is the Elliot that is bombarded by advertisements. The camera even breaks the 180-degree rule as the men in black accost him, cutting between different men in black circling him, and Elliot has no choice but to comply with his white-collar captors. This disorienting sequence shows how Elliot, even when believing himself to have power, actually has none when combating the force of society.

It is almost as if no act of justice can stop the force of consumerism, the slave-driver that is capitalism; it is almost as if no amount of saving the people from corporate greed will save them from themselves. Elliot tries to be a hero, and he is punished for it. But those are stories for the rest of Mr. Robot to tackle, especially with the neurotic and complicated Elliot as its protagonist. If not for the compelling, twisting, and achingly incisive narrative, one could very easily watch the show simply for its beautiful and dynamic shots, which tell stories and explain relationships without a single spoken word.

 

Works cited in this text:

“eps1.0_hellofriend.mov.” Mr. Robot. USA Network. June 24, 2015. Amazon Prime; Television.

What is HOUSE (and house music)?

This web series would not be possible without my parents, who have always raised me and my siblings to love and respect music both as solace and as art.

My dad is a Navy man, which resulted in me living in eight states and attending a combined total of seven elementary, middle, and high schools before I attended college. The things that were stable in my childhood as a result: family road trips and discussions about music, a deep love for my parents and siblings, and a fascination with how people interact with the world around them.

HOUSE, in particular, comes from the stories of my dad. My parents attended undergrad and met at the University of Illinois at Chicago during the late 80s and early 90s. The Chicago house music scene has its roots in the early and mid-80s as radio personalities and club DJs mixed elements of disco, electro-pop, synthesizers and drum machines (such as the Roland TR-808, the Korg Poly-61 synthesizer, and the Roland TB-303 bass synthesizer) and eventually hip-hop to create new sounds that were danceable and innovative. Thus, came the emergence of house music. By the time my parents would arrive in Chicago, house music had expanded to an international audience, included several sub-genres, and became a unique community with a plethora of stories about who exactly made up various house music scenes.

Never one to shy from a good story, my dad would both play house music and tell me stories of what it was like to witness the house scene as a young person living in Chicago during the late-80s. And from that, the inspiration for HOUSE was born as I wondered “what must it have been like to be immersed in something that sounds so vibrant?” and “what must have it felt like to create something like house music?”

If you are a beginner to the world of house music or even to the realm of film production (especially documentary film production), there are three things that I think are important to know for a better grasp on both of these worlds: (1) house music and film production are all about community and being supported by a community, (2) house music and film production are all about passion (for others, music, movies, art, etc.), and (3) house music and film production are all about expression.

Film and house music are both blends of other mediums from which a certain “language” has emerged. At least in my experience, the language of video media (film especially) and of house music is reliant on emotion and experience. With this in mind, I like to think that a documentary web-series about house music, and documentary storytelling of all kinds, is some sort of weird blend of the subjective and objective. You capture someone’s truth while acknowledging that yes, “truth” itself is sometimes informed by emotion, experience, and expression. What is a good story, really, aside from someone communicating what it means to embody an identity, be part of a community, or simply exist as someone experiencing the strangeness that is life?

HOUSE at its simplest, is a story of community and connection within the house music fan bases in Chicago, Detroit, and Baltimore, told through the voices of fans and creators alike. It goes through all three cities and features interviews with those who consider themselves “house heads” or part of the house music community. HOUSE explores how a genre of music can be a sound and a feeling.

Just as importantly, HOUSE’s production is also a story of community and connection between people who love storytelling. Those people have ranged from my dad and my professors who have supported me and helped me create this project (shout outs especially to Meredith Ward, Matt Porterfield, and Lawrence Jackson!!!) to my friends and fellow students who have been a part of the production team, individuals who have been interviewed (and people who have offered tremendous amounts of help in pursuing people to interview), and everyone else who got roped into this ride. One of my friends (another film major) and I constantly joke about how any sort of film/tv/web-series/visual media effort is really just a massive group project. BECAUSE IT IS! And hopefully, to anyone reading this, you’ll get to see that through this blog!

Picture from Chosen Few Picnic and Festival, July 2018 (where we shot part of the Chicago episode!)

Next time: “Casting" a Documentary, Producing and Logistics, and Directing

Until then, some house music:

In The Beginning (There Was Jack)

Move Your Body

Hot Stuff (Ralphi Rosario And Erick Ibiza 2018 Rework)

 

What Do You Do When You Finish Filming?

That’s a wrap! Filming has officially concluded. To say that a weight was lifted off my shoulders is an understatement. Everything was finally over. It was time to rest easy. We’re done!

Well. Not exactly. We’re almost done.

A film isn’t over after shooting wraps. It seems kind of counter-intuitive, but there’s a lot of work that needs to get done after filming ends. The bulk of this? Editing.

Editing is an entirely different skill than filming. Directors, creative agencies, corporations, and organizations all hire editors to oversee videos, movies, shorts, and other creative content. I worked in editing over the summer and learned how to use specific editing software programs such as Premiere and After Effects. There’s a whole new world that lies in editing, and it’s an integral part to finishing a film.

(See above a screengrab from the editing process. Mireille has been doing an awesome job with color grading!)

In simplest forms, there’s two major aspects in editing: the picture and the sound. Mireille is overseeing the picture cut, which is an enormous undertaking. But sound?  Sound requires a unique specialization. When the sound in a film is good, you don’t notice it. On the flip side, when the sound in the film is bad, it’s the only thing you notice.  Knowing this, I wanted someone who knew sound well to help me with my project. I asked around to see if any professors could recommend someone to me. After searching around, I got put in touch with a sound engineer from MICA who will be overseeing the audio aspects of the project.

After the sound editing is over, the film will be completely done. That means we’re done! Well. Not exactly. We’re almost done. Okay, okay, what could I possibly need to do now?

After all of the editing is done, I’m going to want my film to be seen. After all, that’s the point of a film: to be seen. This means, film festivals! Applying to film festivals provides a great opportunity to get your work shown, see other projects, network, and make connections for future projects. Most importantly, it’s a great way to enter into a community of creators and get feedback on your work. It’s equal parts exciting and nerve-wracking, which is perhaps a great reflection on how this entire process has been.    

(Pictured above, the poster for the film)

After applying to film festivals, we’re done! Well. Not exactly. I’m kidding. This is actually the end! No tricks this time.

Seeing everything come together in these finals stages has been an incredible and rewarding journey. I am so proud of what I have done and am so grateful for the hard work and dedication of everyone involved. A warm thank you to everyone who’s helped or supported me. Film is truly a collaborative process and I wouldn’t be here without all the help I received from others.

And for the last time… cut! That’s a wrap on Unawakened.

As a post note, if you're interested in checking out the trailer, it's available at this link: https://drive.google.com/file/d/1NuHSLKAEeZLUVHheWK4C2gEWuw6yMoAD/view?usp=sharing

Human Roles Revealed in Alien Settings: Female Presence in Sci-Fi Films

“First contact” movies – where humanity first encounters beings or intelligence from another world often contain grand themes that are intended to test the limits of what it means to be human.  In the midst of such existential themes, there are three first contact movies that also reflect upon our societal values towards women and reflect our shifting attitudes towards women in general.  Three movies, Contact, Arrival and Annihilation, not only examine fundamental themes relating to humanity’s existence, but also show the rapid evolution of the role of women in our society.  Collectively, these three movies demonstrate the ever-changing perceptions and ideals relating to what it means to be a strong, independent modern-day woman.

Prevalent male and female social forces manifest themselves in all three movies.  In Contact, released in 1997, Dr. Arroway is portrayed as a brilliant scientist, but whose efforts are constantly thwarted by men.  Her male superior (David Drumlin) kills off funding of her project in Puerto Rico, dismissing it as pseudo-science and impractical.  Drumlin later steals credit for Arroway’s discovery of the original messages and is eventually chosen as the initial Earth representative for the journey to visit the aliens who left the message.  Drumlin is chosen over Arroway primarily for political rather than merit-based reasons (because of Drumlin’s willingness to embrace a message of faith/God over Arroway’s message of science).  Another male character, Michael Kitz, the National Security Advisor, is a constant thorn at Arroway’s side, and even turns hostile as the movie ends in accusing Arroway of helping to perpetuate a hoax on the world.  Even Arroway’s love interest, Palmer Joss, turns out to be Arroway’s primary hurdle in that Joss pointed out Arroway’s lack of religious faith as a disqualifying trait to be Earth’s representative.  The main beneficial male character in Contact was a super-rich industrialist S.R. Hadden.  Hadden was the only private party willing to invest in Arroway but he eventually dies in space due to cancer, and is thus unable to help Arroway defend herself when she is eventually accused of fraudulent conduct.  Contact features a strong, intelligent and confident woman, but who is buffeted both professionally and personally by a world that is still controlled by men.  We get the sense that these male-dominated forces eventually dishearten Arroway’s spirit and it is only in the support of Arroway’s male love interest, Joss, that Arroway is able to regain a sense of purpose and resolve.

The theme of male/female conflict and control is also prevalent in Arrival (released in late 2016) but also features an evening out of the playing field.  Banks’ partner in the project (and eventually her husband) Ian Donnelly is a renowned physicist.  Donnelly makes some positive contributions to the deciphering of the alien’s language, but it is clearly Banks who is the driving force in communicating and understanding the meaning of the overall message.  Banks is the one who first approaches the communication from the basic levels and she eventually understands that the message is being communicated from a perspective where time is not relevant.  In developing an understanding of the alien language, Banks herself is able to perceive reality in way that is not entirely time-dependent, which means that she experiences flashes of the future.  This ability allows her to prevent a global and possibly inter-stellar misunderstanding which could have resulted in tremendous negative consequences for humanity.  Arrival presents Banks as not only equal to but greater than in several respects to males.  Arrival does not, however, entirely dismiss male contributions.  It is because of her romance with Donnelly that she feels more complete personally and professionally.  Banks’ daughter, Hannah, is born with Banks pre-knowledge that Hannah would die young from an incurable disease, and Banks still makes the choice to have that child with Donnelly.  Donnelly is unable to cope with the fact that his daughter will eventually die and leaves Banks and Hannah.  This illustrates the choice-driven female strength portrayed by Banks’ character, which is vastly different than the men-ruled world of Contact.

Annihilation takes the male/female dichotomy to an even greater extreme.  Lena (we are not told her last name) is initially portrayed as a doting, pining wife of Kane.  Kane has disappeared for a year, and Lena is going about her duties as a teacher/researcher.  When Kane comes back from his mysterious mission, Lena learns that the nature of Kane’s mission and that she may be one of the few who is able to solve the mysteries of the Shimmer and cure her husband.  The military has deduced that females may be more resistant to the effects of the Shimmer and organizes an all-female team to enter into Shimmer.  While each member of Lena’s team eventually succumbs to the Shimmer (which apparently acts as a way to greatly heighten and splice genetic mutations), it is only Lena who is eventually able to reach the source of the Shimmer (i.e. the lighthouse) and destroy the Shimmer (which in turn helps to restore “Kane” back to full health).  In dramatic contrast to both Contact and to a lesser extent Arrival, Annihilation (made during the MeToo heights of early 2018), males are portrayed as not just powerless, but also as essentially useless and in need of rescuing.  Kane is rescued by his wife, Lena.  However, the real Kane does not, in fact, survive the Shimmer, and only appears as a clone that has some of Kane's memories.  Females are the ones that are necessary to complete the all-important mission – and females are the ones that take on male-dominated roles.  The female team wields the high-powered military guns and kills (or attempts to kill) the monstrous mutations caused by the Shimmer.  Additionally, we see that Lena engages in an affair with her colleague Daniel before Kane decides to take on the assignment to go to the Shimmer, and we infer that it is because of Lena’s affair that Kane decides to leave for the doomed mission. This again reinforces the notion of the power of female action on the male mindset. 

All three first contact movies present humanity’s introduction to alien life in starkly different manners.  Contact, Arrival and Annihilation all present grand themes that force the careful viewer to think about some typically cherished core values.  Apart from such grandiose schemes, however, these three movies also introduce an interesting comparison and contrast to gender themes that are prevalent at their respective times.  One of the best lessons that we can gather from viewing this trio of movies is that our ability to understand the messages from the outside is best understood by examination of the dynamics and implications of the relationships that we internally hold. 

What You Do For Filming

I spent my weekend in the depths of a frat basement.

When planning for this project, I front-loaded a lot of the heavy lifting so that I had time for re-shoots. Luckily, none were needed, so for the second weekend there were only three scenes, totaling two pages. In filmic language: it was going to be an easy couple of days. However, I had left some challenges, namely, shooting in a bar.

(A shot taken from the first, successful (!!), weekend of shooting)

Bars, unfortunately, want you to pay them to use their space.  I called around to see if we could get in somewhere for free and offer screen credit, and was rejected by what felt like every establishment in Baltimore. It makes sense that they would want to be paid, but, unfortunately for me, it was too much for our budget. I sat down with Mireille to try to figure out what to do.

She grimaced and then said, “can we shoot it in a frat?”

I’ll admit, I wasn’t fond of the idea, but we didn’t have any better ones. I started contacting some of my friends in fraternities to see if I could use their basement for free. Success! The boys were going to let me convert their basement into a movie set for the morning. Wonderful news! Not so wonderful – converting the space into looking like a bar and not a frat.

Where to start? Cleaning. To my production assistants (hereby, PAs) – have I mentioned how much I appreciate you cleaning the frat for me? If I haven’t: thank you so, so, so, much. PAs have a rough job on set. They basically have to do whatever needs to get done and the work isn’t glamorous. I remember being a PA and having to run around and do laundry, get food, wrangle actors together, and the works. And, unfortunately, on my set, this meant the PAs had to gather beer cans off of the floor. Thanks guys!

PAs are incredibly important to a set and often underappreciated. They keep things running smoothly by doing the small tasks the rest of us don’t have time to do. I had wonderful PAs on set with me. They didn’t complain. They did their jobs. And we wrapped a couple of hours early. Seriously, that’s a big deal. So thank you PAs! Your presence has been noted and appreciated.

I’m not sure that I have any insightful lessons for the week, or any tips to carry home. However, I will say that filming takes dedication, it takes rearranging plans, and it takes some creativity. I never would have expected to be filming in a frat basement, but you make things work. In the end, it all looked great. So, thank you boys, for letting me use your basement. And thank you PAs, for converting the basement into a shootable location! That’s something we can all raise a glass of beer and toast to.

Magnolia and Short Cuts: Interwoven Connections Between Families and Strangers

Paul Thomas Anderson has on occasion made clear that Robert Altman has served as an inspiration for his films. Thus, it is not surprising that Anderson’s Magnolia (1999) and Altman’s Short Cuts (1993) both treat the theme of interwoven connections between families and strangers. Anderson progressively, albeit chaotically, brings together every last minute detail of the characters and their back stories which then slowly merge together, unbeknownst to the characters or the audience, to culminate in a point of origin: the relationship and domination of two prominent paternal figures. Short Cuts begins in a manner similar to Magnolia, where chaotic and sporadic camera cuts between the various scenarios that Altman addresses during the course of the film. As in Magnolia, it is not immediately clear how the characters are interrelated, but different from Magnolia, Altman makes subtle, but mundane, intrusions that make the interconnections clear.  

In Magnolia, Anderson utilizes quick successions of intensely packed movement shots as he introduces each of the subjects of the film, creating an almost “jumpy” feel. This intermittent “peeking” into the lives of the individual characters not only leaves the audience unsettled, but echoes the unstable lives of the characters. For example one of the main personas Jimmy is a game show host who cheats on his wife, but it is also suggested that he probably molested his daughter and is dying of cancer; as well as related to past and present child contestants from that game show that appear in the film who have been traumatized by the game show experience. In addition to this, the audience is introduced to Earl who is the producer of Jimmy’s now failing game show and is also consumed by the regret of having abandoned his wife and child as well as his son who uses motivational speaking techniques to peddle sex to a gullible audience. Anderson counterpoints these saccadic excursions with hard zooms; on Jimmy that highlights him as an “important” figure; on an image of Exodus 8:2 on a poster that is in the background of Jimmy’s game show that references and foreshadows an apocalyptic raining down of frogs, as well as on an almost illegible text underneath a painting in one of the character’s house that reads “But it did happen.” All of these elements serve to remind the audience that “every detail counts” to reach a certain point.

Altman’s approach in Short Cuts is more of a subtle knife. Altman highlights the experience of “suburban” mundane living. All of the action takes place in the same neighborhood whose residents are interrelated only by chance. He does not create subjects that are overtly conflicted, but rather only hints at their instability. For example one of the characters Gene, a policeman, makes up unbelievable stories to hide his affairs, whereas another character Lois works from home as a “sex phone operator” while she carries out her domestic duties, and a baker becomes violent because his custom cake has not been paid for. As in Magnolia, the audience is placed on shaky ground, but this time it is the result of anchoring the action in the mundane existence while “peeking” in on the aberrant behavior of some of the characters.

Both Altman and Anderson choose to end their films with a cataclysmic event. However, Anderson’s film creates resolution. The interrelationships between seemingly disparate characters are brought to light, conflicts are resolved sometimes by unrelated people, and the biblical plague that has been foreshadowed throughout the film ensues. Though Short Cuts culminates with an earthquake, which can be considered cataclysmic, it does not have the supernatural and apocalyptic feel of Magnolia’s ending. Furthermore, the ending neither serves to unify the characters nor provides the sense of completion or coming “full circle” that Magnolia does. Instead, Altman chooses to “explain” away any after effects of the earthquake in the context of a nightly news report playing on a television that has been present since the beginning of the film, thus underscoring that all coincidences and aberrations can be put under the umbrella of “everyday” living. In the end, Anderson takes an absurdist direction to unify all of his components and brings the film to a point of resolution through an apocalypse. Conversely, Altman departs from the seemingly mundane human experience, slowly moves in an absurdist direction, and finally leaves the audience in limbo without any real resolution with respect to the relationships between the characters.

Altman and Anderson both explore the possibility that in the end we are all interconnected. Anderson leaves us with the feeling that our interconnectedness may be real, or may be imagined. In fact, Anderson’s filming style and choice of repeated soundtrack (one example being the song One is the Loneliest Number covered by Aimee Mann) leaves the audience with a bizarre hallucinatory feel in which we are uncertain if the interconnectedness is created within each person (“One” is a pseudonym for heroin as drug use persists throughout the film) or is a manifestation of human collective. Altman, on the other hand, suggests that hidden within our very mundane existences lies a web of interconnections of which we may not even be aware; and that our unwillingness to be privy to it may eventually lead to cataclysmic effects on our psyche and our actions. 

Life on Set

Unawakened is the first project that I have ever directed. Although I’m a first-time film director, I’ve been on several sets, both professional and student, and I’ve learned and grown with each one. Each one has a different environment and different way of operating, and each one is useful in different ways. On each set I learned a little more about what it meant to take on my role – whether it be a production assistant, a boom-operator, or a casting director. This set wasn’t any different. It may seem weird that you learn how to be a director when you are a director, but there’s really no other way. You often don’t know what something is like until you do it, and directing was no different. As much as I had prepared and anticipated the day that was to come, I still had no idea what I was getting myself in to.

(Seeing my name on the slate was thrilling - and made everything feel so much more real)

The first day on set was terrifying. I didn’t sleep well the night before. I was worried that my actors weren’t going to show up, that my crew wouldn’t show up, that I would be missing equipment, something would break, that all the footage would be lost - essentially that the set would fall apart under my watch. None of this happened. Thankfully. Nevertheless, the possibility of it happening kept me up at night. But even though I was terrified out of my mind, I was equal parts excited as well. This was my project, my vision, that was coming to life. And everyone on set was here to make it happen. It was given an incredible opportunity and it turned into an incredible experience.

That didn’t make the first few moments on set any less terrifying. The crew started to file in and my nerves and jitters started to wear away little by little. The actors started to file in about an hour in after that. I took a few deep breathes. I could do this, I just needed to find my footing. By the third take, I had started to find that footing. I started to get into the groove of calling “Action!” and “Cut!” at their appropriate times (there are some takes that have an awkward amount of time after the scene has ended because I forgot I had to say “Cut!” for the camera to stop rolling). But overall, I became more confident in what I was doing, and I was ready to lead this crew. After all, if I didn’t, no one else was. Talk about a pressure-free job.

(A fraction of the equipment that was stored in my apartment)

Despite it being a turbulent pre-production process, the filming process itself went quite smoothly. We finished filming early every day, and there were no major mishaps. The true testament of the weekend, though, would come when we played back the footage. There were a few tricky shots that were filmed. The most complicated? A forced super-imposed shot in which we had to time up two distinct shots. This meant: the camera couldn’t move. The lighting couldn’t change. And the actors had to time their dialogue so that the two scenes, when played over one another, lined up.

The stakes were high. We wouldn’t know if this fancy trick of a camera worked until we played back the footage. If the timing was wrong, we would have to re-film the same scene that had taken two hours to set up and film. My cameraman and DPs took the footage and played it back in Premiere, Adobe’s non-linear editing system. I waited, patiently, to see if I got the go ahead from DPs – that we could move on and that the shot had worked. I busied myself with other things – there’s always something to do on a film set. A few minutes later, Mireille walked over to me.

“It’s going to work.”

I sighed a big sigh of relief. The timing worked. The footage looked great. Everything had gone smoothly. With one weekend tackled and one to go, I felt good about where we were.

Artificial Intelligence and the Screen: Modern Depictions of the Machine in Film

    Science Fiction has been a genre in the film almost since the beginning. From Fritz Lang’s groundbreaking 1927 film, Metropolis, to the Star Wars franchise, the proliferation of movies made in this area has seen an evolution as it changes with the times.  These films typically feature advanced gadgetry or machines, but leave the human element more or less the same.  More recently however, with the current rapid growth of modern software technology, more and more films are exploring the possibility of a future or a present where there are human-like automata. Alex Garland’s Ex Machina presents an in-depth view of a singular machine, while Alex Proyas’s film I, Robot offers a view of a hypothetical where machines are omni-present in society. Even though AI is generally viewed in an unfavorable light, the way films examine it is fascinating.

    Ex Machina is a meditation of the psychology of AI and it illustrates this though a detailed account of one machine, Ava. Artificial Intelligence is described as a type of awareness that is displayed by machines rather than an organic creature such as an animal or a human. The film, through detailed and emphatically scientific test sessions, raises a couple of possibilities when it comes to dealing with an entity that has the characteristics of a human being, but it in itself is clearly not human. Ava is shown to have an objective in the film of connecting and interacting with the person who is picked to test her, Caleb, but in the end, abandons this relationship in favor of escaping the confines of the testing facility she is kept in.  The idea of AI here is to for Ava to develop independent responses that match the main objective of connecting and interacting with Caleb.  Ava, however, appears to have another goal.  Although Ava’s objective is not explicitly stated in the film, but given Ava’s ultimate actions, it appears that Ava’s objective was to simply escape. Artificial Intelligence in Ex Machina is generally presented as having a specific programmed goal in mind, and to do the most possible to execute such goal. However, unless it was programmed to do so, AI should not change anything else in the outside world that is not necessary for the purposes of completion of its intentions. If we assume Ava’s goal is to escape and to integrate into the human social system, then the actions she does to get there are both logically and intrinsically necessary, and are not in contradiction to her core AI programming.   In hindsight, that the film does not make Ava’s intentions clear is a flaw since it is imperative in creating an AI being – that is, having a true AI being means having to accept the planned outcomes of the AI’s motivations.

    In contrast, I, Robot, ventures into the idea of an AI governing multiple machines and the consequences of such a hive mindset. Asimov’s Three Laws of Robotics drive the robots in this film. The Laws entail that a robot may not injure a human being or allow a human being to come into harm. Additionally, the robot must obey the orders given by a human except when it violates the first rule. Lastly, as long as it does not conflict with the first or second rule, a robot must value its own existence. In I, Robot, the instigating action is the murder of a human by the hand of a robot, which directly conflicts with the Three Laws. This anomaly is only allowed to come to be as a result of human volition to program the robots to oppose the Laws, and the fact that the robots are not individually controlled, but are under the control of an AI. As a result, a question this film raises is whether these rules, which are only in place for human protection and robot preservation, are actually flawed and unnecessary. However, in the film the NS-5 robot population are programmed with these rules in mind, and eventually their implementation is overridden by the anarchic plans of the master of their connected minds.   Like in Ex Machina, this movie also explores the inherent contradiction of trying to apply rules to AI.  The very nature of AI in both movies appears to preclude the notion of universal adherence to pre-programmed rules. This speaks to how even though the Laws were set in place for robots, they do not explicitly account for the possibility of an evolving AI controlling such robots. The introduction of an AI in the equation brings about countless confounds and variables that most certainly could lead to an unforeseen circumstance. The fact that the AI controlling the NS-5s is volatile and dangerous in that the objective it sought to complete is detrimental to the human race does not paint AI in an overall hopeful light insofar as this relates to the ability of humans to control the AI.

    While both Ex Machina and I, Robot appear to portray largely pessimistic views of the future of AI, it is made evident that they dive into different aspects of the nature of AI and the possible application of such advancement into society. As technology continues to advance further and at a faster rate, such concerns and potentialities become increasingly relevant.  The contradictory nature of AI makes control of AI almost impossible.  That film is a widely consumed medium makes it the ideal outlet for the exhibition of such prospects, and the warnings that both films appear to make hopefully will be heeded by those who advance the science behind AI.

             

 

 

 

A State of Emergency

In my last post, I stated that the law of physics states that everything that can go wrong the week before a shoot, will go wrong. I was right, but not because I wanted to be. If I thought missing props were bad, it didn’t compare to the 44 hours beforehand.

44 hours before we were set to shoot, I got an email from my lead actress:

“This email is in regards to the Unawakened short film…. I will no longer be able to be apart of the film. I’m so so sorry for the inconvenience this has caused.”

My entire body froze. I took a shallow, panicked, breath. What could I do? What should I do? I wanted to scream. I did scream. My thoughts raced. I sat on the ground and cried for a brief moment. But I didn’t have time to wallow in self-despair. Not when I had film to film in 43 hours. I picked myself up. It was time to make a decision. The clock was ticking. I called my DPs.

“We have an emergency.”

The next twelve hours that ensued were complete and utter chaos. Out of respect for the schedule of my cast and crew, I set a 24 hour limit to figure out whether we were going to shoot that weekend or postpone the entire project. I weighed the pros and cons of both options for several hours.

Pros of delaying the shoot:

1. I’d have more time to sort this problem out
2. I could recast more thoroughly

Cons of delaying the shoot:

1. Locations have been set
2. Crew has been determined and scheduled
3. Talent (barring the lead) has been contacted and scheduled (the lead male coming from out of state)

There are a lot of moving parts that come together for a shoot, and they take a ton of planning to get them all to operate as one machine. As I started to talk through pushing the schedule back even just one week, the parts started to fall to the wayside. I would lose crew – most importantly one of my DPs. Locations would have to be re-determined. Casting and scheduling would have to be completely reorganized. I had to shoot this weekend.

I determined that I had to shoot this weekend, even though I wasn’t quite sure how that would work out. I started by going back through the people who had been interested in the project on Backstage and then started reaching out to groups within the Hopkins community.

“Hi, my name is Ceci. Due to an emergency I have to recast the lead role for my senior thesis and I think you’d be a great fit for the role. Can I talk to you about your availability for the upcoming weekends …” the cold calls started.

After three hours of sending emails, posting notices, and calling people, a text message popped up from one of my friends. “My friend reached out to me saying she was interested in your project. I think she’s a good fit. Can I give her your number?” Half an hour later I was on the phone with her. The next morning I met her for coffee.

I sat with her and explained the premise and the commitment. “Does that all sound good to you?” It wasn’t until she nodded and agreed that my whole body relaxed and I let out a sigh of relief.

I smiled. We had figured it out. The shoot would go on.

Piercing the Image: The Dichotomy of Studium and Punctum in Film

If you have ever studied film theory, most likely you have come across the Latin terms studium and punctum. Roland Barthes, the theorist who coined these terms, describes the studium as that moment that reveals the cultural intention a photographer, or in this case a filmmaker, wishes to impart to an audience. The studium, in effect, is a generalizable impression in which each of us participates culturally. The studium is clear and is absorbed in a natural way, usually impassively. The punctum, on the other hand, is that part of the image that disturbs the studium. It is the element that “pricks”, “stings” or “cuts a hole” in the studium for the individual viewing the image.

Carlos Reygadas’ film Post Tenebras Lux (2012) embraces the dichotomy between the studium and the punctum by creating an intentional interplay between familiar, almost mundane moments, which are frayed by shocking incongruities. In contrast, Harmony Korine’s Gummo (1997) uses every frame to shove the viewer into altering his/her preconceptions. In effect, Korine creates an amalgam of puncta to create the studium that represents the culturally accepted “normal” for the tragic inhabitants of Xenia, Ohio.

Throughout Post Tenebras Lux, Reygadas allows the spectator to witness moments of mundane life in rural Mexico through lengthy shots and sequences that create the impression of a still image in the manner of the studium. These long takes whether of a person, place or thing allow the spectator to inspect the scene and receive it as a recognizable moment. For example, the film opens with a young child running through an open field inhabited by a few farm animals and a few dogs. The camera follows the child, pausing every now and then to “study” a moment of this very long take. Reygadas allows you to have a good long look at the child in an impassive manner, albeit with perhaps a sense of curiosity. In this way, Reygadas creates for us a studium of the pure innocence and freedom of a child unencumbered by any other constrictive elements.

In a similar manner, Reygadas shows us the interior of a house almost as a series of still lifes, which capture the serene sense of home and family. This time, however, the serenity is suddenly interrupted by the appearance of an animated and dystopic red devil. It is Reygadas’ intention to introduce this element of shock and perplexity as a counterpoint to the images of home and quietude. In this way, the devil is not the punctum, but rather is still part of the studium. The punctum arrives when Reygadas utilizes an exceptionally long take to “watch” a little boy as he stands in his bedroom, ostensibly looking at the devil standing in the doorway. This image “educates” the audience, in the manner of the studium, by showing us all of the elements of a typical boy’s bedroom. However, something about the scene is disturbing. You are drawn to the manner in which the boy is shown. He is standing in the middle of his room, yet there is nothing in his room that would have allowed him to ascend or descend from the top bed of a bunk bed, where he was obviously sleeping. The punctum in this image is positional. It cuts a whole of uncertainty in an otherwise mundane image, and leaves us unsettled.

In sharp contrast to Post Tenebras Lux, where studia and puncta are interwoven to put the viewer on shaky perceptual ground, in his film Gummo Korine provides us with no clear studium. We never have the sense of consensual perception of location or feeling of familiarity. Rather, Korine clutters each frame of the film with countless different elements that create a shock effect that shakes us to our core. The entirety of each frame is jarring, and we perceive the contents as a collection of puncta that leave us searching for a studium. For example, towards the end of the film Korine shows the main young character sitting in a tub filled with filthy water and eating dinner from a TV table placed across the tub. A child in the bathtub should be an easily recognizable studium, but nothing in this frame resonates with a culturally accepted norm. Should the punctum be the child’s peculiar appearance and striking profile that give him an otherworldly look? Or should it be the foul and unhygienic bathroom and bath water? Or perhaps it should be the fact that the boy is slurping down grotesque food while he is bathing in increasingly darkening bathtub water.

Korine has utilized the camera to capture the inhabitants of a town in Ohio, and he is telling us that the studium is one that we should not recognize because it belongs only to the accepted perceptual experience of this specific population. As a result, the studia in Gummo are culturally locked and alien, and difficult to assimilate. All of the scenes leave us with a sensation of a near normalcy that has been horrifically twisted. Though both Reygadas and Korine used non-actors in their films, Korine’s intention was to capture the very real condition of a non-fictional location. The images that Korine shows us represent what is actually occurring in a society that is not commonly portrayed in film. In fact, in an interview with IndieWire, Korine states that he is interested in studying societies that other directors do not want to particularly address.

Though originally conceived as theoretical constructs for still photography, the studium and punctum can also be used to great effect in film. One could even argue that the multi-dimensionality of film allows for a more versatile and interesting use of studium and punctum that can introduce an extra layer of interest and provocation.