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Nurikabe: The End of a Very Long Beginning

This is the end to a very long beginning. Looking back at the past three years, I don’t think there was a day I didn’t spend thinking about this project in one way or another. And as we move into production, I feel like it would be good to reflect a bit on some of the things we learned from the experience.

 

1. Motivation is not discipline: At the beginning of any creative endeavor you probably feel very motivated. After all, it takes enthusiasm and creative energy to come up with an idea for a project. And maybe that motivation will carry you through developing that idea into a workable outline. But eventually that motivation fades. It doesn’t fade forever, of course, resurfacing anytime. But it will inevitably fade. And the idea you’ve been excitedly working on? Well, the excitement is gone and the work remains. It is at times like this that discipline comes in handy. Motivation and the energy that comes with it is fickle and unreliable. Discipline is not. It’s an “either you do it or you don’t” mentality. So even when things were hard, frustrating, intimidating or felt impossible, we both knew that nothing was going to happen unless we made it so. 

 

2. Unique doesn’t always mean original: In our research, we read through many volumes of folklore and fairytales. And though no two stories were the same, some were more similar than others. In Japanese folklore many stories can be summed up as such: A spirit causes trouble, so a monk prays a lot and the spirit goes away. In Latin American folklore, we found quite a few stories that bore a striking resemblance to Cinderella. The Japanese character Momotarō is similar to Tom Thumb and Thumbelina, all of whom in their respective stories are children born in odd ways to childless parents. Since our project’s focus is adaptation and folklore, we knew our film wouldn’t be something entirely new. But in our research, we realized that the most interesting thing about adaptation is not how similar things are. It is the differences between each story that make them interesting. For something to be interesting and unique, it doesn’t have to be completely original, it just has to take the material in a new direction. 

 

3. It’s all on you until it isn’t: As we’ve mentioned in previous posts, this is our first large scale collaborative project. We are used to relying on ourselves for everything, from the first draft of the script to the final cut of the film. The weird thing about this project is it felt very much like everything we’d done before until it wasn’t. We had to create the story, write the script. It was up to us to find a cast and crew. As stated before, we understood from the beginning that nothing would move forward on the project unless we made it happen. But now it feels like something is about to change. Now, we have to pass our vision on to our cast and crew, relying on them to make this thing a reality. And while it does relieve some pressure on us, it can be scary to hand off almost three years of work to others and trust them to make it good. We have to stay on top of things, making sure everything is in control and moving along nicely. But we also have to let go a bit, letting everyone do their work. Ultimately, we can’t do this by ourselves, as film by its very nature is collaborative.

 

4. Caution and anxiety are two different things: We have taken a lot of care in planning for production. Making sure everything is ready, our contingencies and backup plans, that is the result of caution. Caution is good in pre-production as it makes you take a step back, consider possible obstacles or issues. Anxiety, on the other hand, has no place in filmmaking. It makes you doubt everything, throwing you into a swirling storm of what-if’s. It’s a paralyzing force that narrows your focus to only the problems without considering any solutions. If left unchecked, that anxiety turns to self-doubt, which affects the entire production. Because if you don’t believe in the project (or yourself), why should anyone else? In my experience, the best remedy to anxieties (other than good preplanning and backup plans) is a simple question: “And?” It switches the focus from the problem back to the solution. Worried about what happens if something goes wrong? And? If it happens, you’re going to have to deal with it anyway, so it doesn’t help to get worried about it. It’s an attitude that’s gotten us through many stressful periods in all sorts of environments. No matter what happens, at the end of the day you’ll likely get through it unscathed. It may not be fun, and it may not be perfect. But it will be done. 

 

5. Never forget why you love it: A little while ago, I saw someone give a talk about being successful. They said that you shouldn’t do what you love because one day you’ll be working hard and realize you aren’t enjoying it. They argued it was better to figure out what you’re good at and learn to be passionate about it. Personally, I find that a rather depressing way to live. For all I know, I only have one shot at life. Seems like a waste to give up on pursuing my passion without at least trying to follow it first. And yes, there have been times on this project where everything feels wrong. Times where it feels like it’s too much to handle, where frustration and challenge overwhelm any positivity. But in those times, it’s good to remember why you started. Because if those young Nishimoto brothers, who were so fascinated with the behind the scenes features on DVDs, could see what we are doing here today… their excitement would be enough to power us through this project ten times over. 

 

That flame of childhood excitement, it is still burning inside us. Sure, it might not be as easily accessible as it was back then. But it’s light has been with us every step of the way on this project, and it will continue to light our way ahead.

^{Photos By Amy Nishimoto}

We have been Thomas and Curtis Nishimoto. We’re making something that, for lack of a better term, is really cool. And we cannot wait to show you. - TC

Nurikabe: Working With Others

It may be the last week of classes, but there’s still so much work to do! We spent the last week meeting with our production heads, trying to get everything in order for the shoot in June. There’s equipment to gather, costumes to make, shots to list, and schedules to make. We have more than a month to do it all, but that time is certainly going to fly by faster than we anticipate!

Thankfully, we’ve surrounded ourselves with talented people, who all seem to be just as enthusiastic about this project as we are. And that’s really exciting! It’s nice to have help, to know that we don’t need to figure everything out on our own. 

However, it is a little weird. Our style has always been ragtag and chaotic. Pretty much all of our previous films were shot in the span of a day or two, with limited equipment, and a nonexistent budget. We’re used to doing all the jobs ourselves, from lightning to camera to sound. There was no need to communicate our vision with others because we were responsible for everything from the get-go. 

^{Photo by Amy Nishimoto}

So it’s a little disorienting to be working with a bigger crew. It’s required us to put more thought into what exactly we want the finished product to look like. We’ve had to work on effectively communicating those thoughts to other members of our team. Planning has never really been our strong suit. Our previous works have been much more improvised. The process of making them was something along the lines of “this is what we have on hand. How can we make this fit into what we want?” For this film, it’s more like: “Here’s what we want. What do we need in order to get it?” We can’t show up on set, place down a camera, and hope for the best. 

Well, we can, but we probably shouldn’t. 

So there are some challenges to working with more people. However, there are also numerous advantages. As said previously, we’re used to doing everything ourselves. Having an actual crew helps lighten that burden, distributing responsibilities among multiple people. 

Additionally, each crewmember brings a new perspective to the set. This film has been stewing in our minds for years, so we’re a bit locked into a certain conception of it. Our crew is not so limited in their thinking, which allows them to suggest changes and ideas we’d never considered. Their input will hopefully make our film better than anything we could have made on our own. 

At the end of the day, it all comes down to trust. We trust in our crew's abilities, confident that they are the best people for the job. In turn, our crew trusts in us. They trust that we have a clear vision of what we want and a plan to enact that vision. Our job is to make sure that they can do their job. Once we do that, all that’s left is to place down a camera and hope for the best. - TC

Nurikabe: Keeping It All Organized

We rush ever faster towards production! The anxiety is creeping in a bit as we get closer to shooting, because there’s still a lot that needs to get done, and we have eight short weeks to get it all figured out.

In good news, we’ve almost got all our crew together. We have our cinematographer and production designer locked in, as well as a few production assistants. Additionally, we’ve applied for a shooting permit to film on the C&O canal, so once we have that, our location will be secured! 

I think the one thing that I appreciate now is all the time and effort it takes to plan a production like this. We’re filming at only one location, with a minimal cast and crew, making a twelve minute short. Our film is nowhere near the scale of a full feature, and it’s taken us months just to get everything in order! It has certainly been an educational experience, so we thought we’d share some of the lessons we learned from pre-production.

 

Lesson one: Time management is your friend. As it is with any large undertaking, it’s easy to get overwhelmed by all the things you need to get done. Sitting down and making a schedule can help make it all a bit less daunting. Make a list of everything you need to complete before you can move into production. Do you need actors? Crew? A location? Figure out the steps you need to take, and then set deadlines for each. Having a set due date for each task makes them less conceptual (“I need to cast sometime in the winter”) and more concrete (“I’ll post a casting call on November 10th”). 

 

Lesson two: Prudence and accountability. You have your deadlines, now stick to them! It is incredibly easy to procrastinate, especially when it comes to making big decisions. Putting things off will cause trouble for you down the line, so respond to those emails, check your to do list. Ask someone you know to hold you accountable. Having a friend that won’t let you get away with slacking off can ensure that you stay on task. 

Lesson three: You don’t know what you don’t know. There’s always something you miss, a question that you don’t know to ask. And there are so many questions you need to answer. How are people getting to set? What equipment do you need? How long is each scene going to take? And so on and so forth. Find the answers, make sure they’re thorough, and don’t assume anything. Things rarely work themselves out. You’re the one that has to make things happen. 

 

Lesson four: Resilience and Forgiveness. Making a movie is hard. Really, really hard. And even with all your planning, things won’t go according to script. So you need to be resilient. Take a deep breath and find a solution. Make peace with the fact that things aren’t always gonna go your way. You’ll miss an email. You’ll realize that you need something that you don’t have. Something will go wrong that is beyond your control. Mistakes will be made and accidents will happen. When these things occur (and they will) you need to pick yourself up, dust yourself off, and keep moving forward. Because you still have a movie to make. 

 

And the only thing that can ever stop it from being made is you. - TC

Sleeping with a Friend: Sex, Friendship, and Love in "When Harry Met Sally" and "Sleeping with Other People"

Spoilers for When Harry Met Sally and Sleeping with Other People.

When Harry Met Sally (1989), a now–classic film, has plenty of references to other classic love stories, from discussions of Casablanca (1942) to the Louis Armstrong and Ella Fitzgerald oldies on the soundtrack. Interspersed throughout are talking heads of elderly couples sharing their love stories, marking the pivotal points of Harry and Sally’s story. At first, the pair is positioned as complete opposites — Sally the high–maintenance optimist to Harry’s smarmy cynic — yet as their friendship develops, their vulnerabilities and compatibility gradually come to the fore, and the two prove endearing and funny in equal measure.

But first, some false starts. The film begins somewhat stereotypically, trapping Harry and Sally in a car driving from Chicago to New York. Their initial antagonism and the question they debate — Can men and women really be friends? — are just red herrings, however, that mock the forced antagonism of other rom–coms. The road trip that might have taken ninety minutes in another film is over within fifteen, and Harry and Sally separate with no expectation of meeting ever again.

Nevertheless, this is a rom–com and they are reunited twice more — during a flight five years later, picking up their disagreement right where they left off, and then a third time five more years later, after both have just exited serious relationships. This time, they go to lunch, unpacking their respective breakups and finally agreeing to be friends. Although both are getting over their exes and have no intention of dating, the film hints at what’s to come — the beginning of their friendship mimics Harry’s dating pattern that he described earlier, getting a “safe lunch” together before going to dinner, as the film’s theme, “It Had to Be You,” plays unobtrusively.

© Sam Valadi / CC BY 2.0

What follows is a montage, both morose and comedic, of the pair moving on from their breakups and wandering New York City together, while a phone call between them is heard in voiceover. The sequence ends with a split screen as they watch Casablanca on the same channel from their respective apartments. Although the contrast between Sally’s cheery bedroom and Harry’s dreary one reflect their differing personalities, the scene emphasizes their compatibility and connectedness. The couple spends much of the film seated across from one another at various outings, filmed in shot–reverse shot, but here they are side–by–side.

Although their determination to remain platonic complicates their eventual romantic feelings and delays their happy ending by a few months, Harry and Sally’s compatibility is underscored by their friendship. They are brutally honest and courageously vulnerable with one another, sharing details of their romantic trials and sex lives, including the iconic scene in which Sally fakes an orgasm in a diner to prove to Harry how easy it is. The film’s ultimate message has nothing to do with whether men and women can be just friends, instead demonstrating that the best relationships begin with friendship.

Sleeping with Other People (2015) has a very similar premise and structure, to the point that writer–director Leslye Headland described it as “‘When Harry Met Sally’ for assholes.”¹ In it, Jake and Lainey, who lost their virginity to each other in college, reunite twelve years later after each has gone through a bad breakup. Both are serial cheaters who sabotage all of their relationships — Jake because he is cynical about love and too immature to just break up with his girlfriends; Lainey because she keeps going back to her neglectful recurring fling, Matt. Although it also asks whether men and women can be friends, the film is similarly disinterested in answering that question, but for different reasons.

Jake and Lainey admit to their mutual attraction very early on in the movie, but agree not to act on it, determined not to sabotage their nascent friendship. This accord is followed by a montage of the pair growing closer that mirrors that of When Harry Met Sally, including the split screen at the conversation’s end, the voiceover updated from a phone call to a text exchange. Yet while Lainey is shown getting over Matt, Jake continues his womanizing ways and the split screen of the last shot expands to fill the whole screen to show his departing one–night stand, out of frame while he spoke to Lainey.

Although Jake and Lainey have similar issues with commitment and even, it’s suggested, sex addiction, only Lainey is shown actually overcoming her problems, finally standing up for herself against Matt and applying to med school, a long–delayed ambition. Jake, by contrast, remains the same for much of the montage and the film, rarely opening up to Lainey, only to suddenly realize that he’s in love with her. Lainey reciprocates, but neither acts on their feelings — she’s moving to Michigan for med school and he’s afraid to ruin their friendship.

© Sofiamoreiralima / CC-BY-SA-4.0

Jake’s static character development is epitomized by the scene where he teaches Lainey how to masturbate, using a plastic bottle to demonstrate. Instead of mutually learning about relationships from each other, as Harry and Sally do, Jake instructs Lainey about relations with men and herself, placing himself in a position of mastery. He does not change so much as realize that Lainey is “the one,” a concept whose existence he spent his entire adulthood denying.

This is the one of the main differences between the two films. When Harry Met Sally is dominated by its leads and the growth they experience together. Rare is the scene that isn’t an intimate or important moment for the two, as they come to terms with their flaws and their love. Significantly, Harry and Sally watch their best friends Jess and Marie fall in love, an undeniable reminder to snatch up a compatible partner when you find them. In comparison, Sleeping with Other People distracts from its main romance with other flings and its secondary characters tell Jake and Lainey what their flaws are, instead of showing them. The movie is a little grittier, a little meaner — in its portrayal of its characters, the framing of New York’s streets, even in its EDM soundtrack and movie references (The Graduate (1967) and Misery (1990)). Although both films share a similar message — the importance of friendship as a foundation for love — and feature a happy ending, the former is a cleaner depiction, emotionally and filmically, while the latter isn’t afraid to show life’s messiness, even if it confuses the narrative.

¹ Nick Allen. “Sleeping with Other People.” Review, September 11, 2015. https://www.rogerebert.com/reviews/sleeping-with-other-people-2015

A History on the River - Finding Our Location

Updates: these past few weeks we’ve been trying to secure the proper permission to film on location. It’s still a developing situation, but projections look good. It also gives us a chance to talk about location scouting for our film.

As we have written in previous posts, our film is a modern fairytale structured around elements and themes of folktale. But for our setting, we didn’t look to books for inspiration. Instead, we turned to our own childhoods.

We grew up in rural central Maryland, where Virginia and West Virginia meet. Our summers were spent outside in the woods, on hiking trails, and around campfires. And at the center of all of those memories is the Potomac River. 

We Nishimoto Brothers owe a lot to the Potomac. We would often hike or bike down the canal paths. Every Christmas, we would hike up to Jefferson Rock and watch the cars drive on the opposite bank. Our first job was creating promotional videos for River and Trail, a local rafting company. 

So, we figured the Potomac and the surrounding area would be a good location. More specifically, we came up with the idea of having our characters hike down the C&O Canal. If you’ve hiked down the canal, every now and then you’ll come across locks. Some of them are better preserved than others, but they are very interesting features on the trail. Accompanying some of these locks are lockhouses, lodging for caretakers of the lock back when the canal was operating. These houses are quite old, dating back to the 19th century. They are quaint, historic, and a little creepy. That makes them the perfect place for some mysterious happenings.

In preparation for production, we visited the lockhouse we were interested in last summer. It’s about a quarter mile hike from the nearest parking lot, making it a very isolated location. The first thing that struck me about the house is its simplicity. It’s very unassuming, a simple white house. It’s the kind of building that you won’t know what’s inside until you go in. 

Stepping inside, you feel like you have gone back in time. All the furniture is wood and the walls are adorned with black and white photographs of past inhabitants and the canal when it was in use. A steep narrow stairway leads up to two bedrooms separated by a thin wall. The house sleeps eight people, which seems like a large number for such a small building. With the shutters closed, the house is extremely dark. From a filmmaking standpoint, this is good. It will let us control the light better. 

^{Photo by Curtis Nishimoto}

The only major drawback to the house (other than its remoteness) is that there is no electricity. This is good for if you’re trying to live like it’s 1873, but rather inconvenient when you’re trying to shoot a film. We spent the night in the house, the summer heat painfully reminding us of the lack of air conditioning. I (Curtis) can’t be sure I slept at all that night, it was so hot. Nevertheless, we made it to dawn. And as we walked down the trail, the warm morning breeze in our faces, our heads were filled with questions on how we would pull off a film production in the house.

Almost a year later and we’re a few months away from the shoot. Challenges aside, we know that the lockhouse is a perfect location for our film, so we’ll take it, heat, bugs, and all. - TC

^{Photo By Curtis Nishimoto}

Nurikabe: Dealing with the Anxieties of Film Production

There’s this joke which posits that babies actually have the ability to teleport, and that’s how they manage to disappear even though you only looked away for a second. It’s only when they get older and realize that teleportation is impossible that they lose this ability. It’s starting to feel like people that make movies are the same way; they only are able to do it because they don’t realize it’s impossible yet.

That’s a very convoluted way of saying it’s been quite a week. We’re now starting to lock in our cast and crew. Or at least we’re trying to. Thing is, up to this point, the ball has been in our court. We’ve needed to come up with the idea, write the script, choose a shooting date, et cetera, et cetera. But now, we need a crew. The only thing we can do about that is spread the word and hope that people respond. And the waiting is the hardest part. 

Maybe it’s just that we’ve entered the part of the semester where all the big things are coming due. Things are getting stressful, and this project is no exception. There’s a bit in Wallace and Gromit where Gromit is riding a toy train, frantically laying down pieces of track as the locomotive barrels forward. That’s what this feels like. We’re barreling towards a destination and we need to get all the tracks laid in order to get there. And right now, we’re waiting for others to hand us the next piece of track. 

Right now, we’re at a tipping point. We have our cast assembled. We have dates picked out and reserved at the location. We just need hands to fill our crew. And it’s a bit scary. Because the last few years of our lives have been this film, this story. But now, we’re asking others “Is this something you want to be a part of?” As artists and creators, our work is an extension of ourselves. Part of our identities are put on the page, in the film. And it’s a difficult thing, to put yourself out there, to be vulnerable. Because when we ask “Is this something that interests you,” we’re also asking “are we someone who interests you?” Are our ideas worth your time? Are we worth your attention? Do you believe in this project, and by extension, do you believe in us? 

And it’s unclear what the answer to those questions are. We haven’t gotten as many responses as we’d like, although we hold out hope that we’ll get more. That’s the important thing, that we don’t lose hope. At the end of the day, all we need is a story, some actors, and a camera. At the base level, that’s all a film needs. And as long as we believe in our story, that it’s one worth telling, we’ll find a way to tell it. 

One way or another, we’ll make it to the end of the trail. 

-TC

Nurikabe: Updates and The Writing Process

Updates: I wish we had some tangible updates to share with you, but unfortunately, it’s all just emailing people. This week, we’re finalizing our cast and putting our crew together. We’re creeping ever closer to production, which is very exciting! 

Alright, we’ve covered the research process. Now, we get to my (Thomas’s) favorite part: writing! I think I’ve always wanted to be a storyteller. As a kid, I was reading all the time or making up my own stories. And while I don’t read as much as I used to, the second part is still going strong. But I never really got into screenwriting until my freshman year, when Studio North started their underclassmen writers room. For some reason, I always had this notion that I needed to fulfill certain requirements in order to be a writer. “I don’t really read much, so I can’t be a writer” and similar thoughts always held me back. And then I joined this writers room and was basically told “alright, you’ve got a week to write this episode. Go.” And that’s when I realized that there was only one real requirement of being a writer: you write. So I did, and I haven’t stopped since.

Process. Every writer has one, and I’m no exception. Everything I’ve ever written has started as a blank Google document. At the top, I put a general summary of what I want to do. For this project, that was some sort of modern fairytale. Next, I make a list of characters. Character is everything for me. Before I can start writing a story, I need to know who that story is happening to. I write out a short bio for each character, outlining their strengths, weaknesses, fears, and desires. And slowly, each one takes shape. 

I knew that there would be three characters, as that number often shows up in fairytales. They would be college-bound seniors, a state of being that was fresh in my mind. And they would all be anxious about something. Because fairytales often serve as ways to teach children, to help them confront and make sense of the world. Certainly, that transition to college, to adulthood is a time of learning. And as I thought about what anxieties that brought with it, my characters presented themselves.

Three friends, Amanda, Jenny, and Grant, each with their own unique hurdles. Grant is a homebody, lacking the drive and confidence to take hold of his life’s direction. Jenny is insecure, fearing that her decision to attend a community college makes her inferior to her peers. And Amanda doesn’t want things to change. She’s not ready to let go of the life she knows just yet. Now I just needed to figure out a plot that would force them to confront these fears. 

I can’t tell you too many details (can’t spoil the film before we’ve made it!) but I will talk about its creation in general. Once I have my characters down, I write down the typical story outline (hook, inciting incident, first act turning point, midpoint, second act turning point, climax) and write a sentence for each. It’s not much, but it gives me enough structure to start filling in the details. Sometimes I’ll write a treatment, but usually I just jump right into the script. I’m a slow writer. I can’t “just put something down on the page.” It can be painful, because often I’ll know what I want to do, just not how to do it. I tend to pace around my room, saying different lines until I find the right one. I usually make a vibes playlist, a collection of songs and scores that I think capture the feeling of the film, and play it in the background. I’m also directing and editing the film in my head. It’s not written explicitly on the page, but I’m thinking about how each scene is shot, how the lines are being delivered, and where the cuts are. Sometimes, it feels like I’m watching the movie in my head and just writing down what I see on screen. 

 

In short, writing can be overwhelming and exhausting. Every sentence feels like an hour, each page an eternity. But at some point, the script gets finished. Then I send it to some friends, get feedback, and start all over again. All this effort for about twelve pages. Will it all have been worth it? Will that work even show through in the finished product? Only time will tell I suppose.

^{Photo by Curtis Nishimoto}

Revisiting "The Social Network"

Spoilers for The Social Network

Over ten years after being lauded one of the best films of its decade, David Fincher’s 2010 film The Social Network, with its sleek directing and punchy dialogue courtesy of Aaron Sorkin, still proves an engrossing watch. The Shakespearean-esque drama flashes between the founding of Facebook by Harvard sophomore Mark Zuckerberg and two lawsuits that occurred a few years later, which respectively accused Zuckerberg of stealing the idea for Facebook, and of pushing his co–founder Eduardo Saverin out of the company.

© Charis Tsevis / CC BY-NC-ND 2.0

The film’s Mark Zuckerberg is socially awkward but egotistical (never a good combination). The screenplay describes him as “a sweet looking 19 year old whose lack of any physically intimidating attributes masks a very complicated and dark anger.” He wants to be the smartest and coolest in any room, wants to be liked and admired by everyone, but in lieu of affection, he’ll accept their jealousy, to the point of presuming it in everyone he meets. Erica, Mark’s fictional girlfriend, puts it best when she says:

“You are probably going to be a very successful computer person. But you’re gonna go through life thinking that girls don’t like you because you’re a nerd. And I want you to know from the bottom of my heart that that won’t be true. It’ll be because you’re an asshole.”

When Erica tells Mark that she just wants to be friends, he tellingly responds, “I don’t want friends.” His inability to connect to others is self–inflicted and he can’t stand it either when those close to him have other friends. In one scene, he approaches Erica while she’s out with friends, invading her night with them and trying to get her alone. Later, when Eduardo reveals that his emotionally manipulative and abusive girlfriend Christy frightens him, Mark unfeelingly replies, “Still, it’s nice you have a girlfriend.”

These slightly sympathetic, painful moments of failed connection are both undermined and underscored by Mark’s ruthlessness. He constantly drags down his friends to his level in an attempt to put himself on top. The film implies that he spread a story that Eduardo committed animal cruelty to discredit him and called the police on his business partner Sean Parker after Sean partied with underage college students. After Erica unceremoniously dumps him, he creates Facemash, a website where undergrads can rate female students’ appearances, judging one girl against another like “barn animals.”

Altogether, the film presents Mark as pitiful but reprehensible. Yet its execution is muddled by its admiration of Zuckerberg’s ingenuity, or rather the ingenuity of his creation. One has to wonder how many men have come out of The Social Network wanting to emulate, not condemn, its main character. Nevertheless, it stands to question if Mark even is the genius of the movie. The idea for Facebook originates after a conversation with Harvard seniors Cameron and Tyler Winklevoss and Divya Narendra, the plaintiffs in the other lawsuit against Mark. It is Eduardo who provides the initial funding for the site, his roommate Dustin Moscovitz who inspires the famous relationship status feature, and Sean Parker who attracts investors for it. Even Facemash, the closest he gets to a truly original invention, is inspired by a roommate’s idea and a creation of pure cruelty and childishness that depends upon an algorithm created by Eduardo to work perfectly. Mark may be intelligent but he’s also as unoriginal as he is impulsively cruel.

Mark’s real skill seems to lie in his ability to use and discard the people whose ideas and money he is deploying. Of the entire cast, Erica is the only character who cuts Mark loose before he can do the same to her. She exists as both a voice of reason and a white whale for Mark, framed as the reason he works so relentlessly on Facebook. Like most of the female characters in the film, all of whom are supporting characters, she is subjected to casual sexism by Mark and other men. Most women in the movie are glorified window dressing, background props objectified by the frat guys and venture capitalists around them as an implicit condemnation of these male characters and the toxic culture of the spaces Mark inhabits throughout the film.

Yet the movie is guilty of the same mistreatment and objectification as these men, and not once are any of these women or their experiences with misogyny treated with true gravity. The nearest we get is a seconds–long close–up of Erica in tears after being taunted by some male students for her bra size, which Mark has mocked online.

For all of its slick, masterful packaging, The Social Network’s condemnation of Mark is obscured when it fawns over his intelligence and revels in the toxicity of his ambition. It also stands to mention that the real–life Mark Zuckerberg began dating his wife, Priscilla Chan, around the time of the events depicted — ironic considering Erica’s centrality in Facebook’s creation and the treatment of women throughout the movie.

Mark Zuckerberg at South by Southwest in 2008. © Jason McElweenie / CC-BY-2.0

The film’s last scene further muddies the waters. After a grueling day of depositions retreading his vicious ousting of Eduardo from Facebook — at one point, Eduardo bitterly spits, “I was your only friend,” while Mark glares back, silent — Marylin, Mark’s lawyer, tells him, “You’re not an asshole, Mark. You’re just trying so hard to be.” Here the film, via Marylin, invites us to sympathize with Mark and his conflicted, boyishly vulnerable expression, despite the reprehensibility we have seen on display, despite the confirmation yet again of how self–inflicted his anguish is.

Yet sympathy does not seem to equal redemption. Or perhaps we’re meant to pity him instead. Left alone, Mark pulls up Erica’s Facebook page and sends her a friend request. In a chilling last shot, the screen fades to black as the Beatles’ “Baby You’re a Rich Man” plays and Mark refreshes over and over, hoping that Erica will accept his overture. Having watched Mark get in his own way every time he neared something resembling human connection for two hours, having watched him refuse what he needs in favor of what he wants, we know better.

Nurikabe - Films and Folklore

Not too many exciting updates for this post. We’re in the middle of sending and receiving emails for cast, crew, and location. We can’t wait to tell you all about those, but we want everything to be in place first. 

So instead, let’s talk about where our story left off. We had just decided on a topic: folklore and adaptation. That’s a very specific and not at all nebulous topic to research, right? Where do you even start for something like that?

Well, the answer was to talk to our faculty mentor. See, every recipient of the Woodrow Wilson Fellowship must find a faculty mentor, someone who can help guide the student through their research. And for a film project, it seemed pretty clear to us who our mentor should be: Professor Matthew Porterfield. 

Not only does he teach production in Johns Hopkins’ wonderful Film and Media Studies program, Matt Porterfield is an accomplished independent director! Some of his notable features include Putty Hill and Sollers Point, not to mention that he’s directed numerous short films. Experience with making movies in Baltimore and on a small budget? Sounds like our guy. 

Fortunately, he agreed to work with us and help make our film happen! His first job: to help us find materials to research. In the summer after our freshman year, he graciously provided us a list of movies and books for us to read, watch, and ponder about. Some of the books were simply collections of folktales from various cultures, such as Japanese, Native American, and Appalachian. Some, like The Uses of Enchantment by Bruno Bettelheim, were about fairy tales themselves.  And yet others discussed film, such as Andre Tarkovsky’s Sculpting in Time. Some of these books were harder to work through than others, but they helped us think about the function of story and film and put us in the correct mindset to begin working on our own artistic creation. 

I found the films to be more interesting and memorable. Whether that’s due to my tragically short attention span or general disposition to the medium, I do not know. But I will say, there’s nothing that ignites the imagination more than being handed a list of films that you’ve never heard of before. I’d like to share with you the highlights.

 

Arabian Nights, Volumes 1, 2 & 3. I think these were my favorite of the bunch, despite them being somewhat difficult to follow. Inspired by the original Arabian Nights, these films feature a myriad of tales centered in modern day Portugal. I couldn’t summarize them all, as that would take too long, but one included the ghost of a cow testifying at a trial! So that’s cool.

 

Kuroneko. Gotta love Japanese ghost stories. Set in historical Japan, this film follows two spirits as they take vengeance on a group samurai. It’s not all that scary, but it’s got a beautifully eerie atmosphere to it. Plus I’m a sucker for anything having to do with ancient Japan. 

 

A Ghost Story. Of all of the films we watched, I think that this is the one that I need to watch again. Because to be completely honest, I didn’t get it the first time (I mean, a seven minute single take of a woman eating a pie, what’s up with that?). But upon reflection, I think it’s a beautiful film about love, loss, and life. It’s simple, creative, and unique, and I’d be lucky to create something as thought provoking. 

 

I think that’s it for now. We’ve included a picture of the complete reading list, in case anyone’s interested in replicating our research experience (be warned Norte, The End of History is over 4 hours long!) Till next time! - TC

Nurikabe - The Story So Far

It all started with a question: “what do you want to do?”. That’s what Dr. Natalie Strobach, the Assistant Dean for Undergraduate Research, asked me two years ago in our first meeting. I was confused; I had applied for the Woodrow Wilson Fellowship Program with an idea for a documentary about the Maryland Wind Festival. Wasn’t that what I was going to do? She informed me that I wasn’t obligated to follow through with that project. The application determines if you’re selected for the program, but it doesn’t dictate what you do with the grant. “But surely I am making a documentary of some sort,” I thought. After all, it is a research grant. As it turns out, I had a very limited understanding of what research could be. As I walked out of that meeting, head swimming with thought, I was no closer to an answer. What do I want to do?

 

Spoiler alert: I figured it out. As it turns out, research as a film major is a little different than STEM research. Like STEM researchers, we research a topic and publish a work surrounding that topic. However, we aren’t writing essays or publishing to journals. We (as you can probably guess) are using our research to make a short film. Publishing our research means submitting to film festivals. This opens up our project to be about anything we want, as long as it’s approved. So, with that in mind, I considered what I wanted out of film, why I wanted to make them so badly. And after a lot of thought, I came to the conclusion that I’m here to tell a story. So I decided to focus the project on storytelling, specifically myths, fairytales, and folklore. It also gave me an opportunity to connect with my heritage. Despite being half Japanese, I didn’t grow up knowing much of Japanese culture. I don’t even speak the language. But as a child I did read stories and fairytales, either translated into English or illustrated in books. I thought that this was a good opportunity to dig a little deeper in those stories. - C

^{Photo by Thomas Nishimoto}

I was always an unofficial part of my brother’s project. I kept up with his progress, helped him brainstorm ideas, and it was a given that when it came time to film, I would be on set. I officially joined in the end of my freshman year, when I received a Wilson Fellowship of my own. In my first meeting with Dr. Strobach I was given a choice: pursue my own project or join my brother’s. I thought about it and came to the conclusion that when I graduate, that I want to have something to show for it. By combining our grants, my brother and I would have twice the budget than we would’ve had individually. But more importantly, working together meant twice the creativity, twice the potential. - T

^{Photo by Curtis Nishimoto}

We are Curtis and Thomas Nishimoto. For the past two and a half years, we have been working to create a short film based on our research. And as we approach the start of production, we’d like to show you where we are, how we got here, and where we’re hoping to go on this project. - TC

Duplicity and Darkness: Human Nature, According to Fargo

Spoilers for season 1 of Fargo.

“This is a true story.” The first episode of Fargo begins with these words, superimposed over a sweeping landscape whose few signs of civilization — a thin road, a telephone line — are overwhelmed by the wintry wilderness and shrouded by the night. The lights of some unknown city glimmer just over the horizon, barely visible. As the words fade — “true” the last one to disappear — and the haunting orchestration swells, a single car appears, dwarfed by the nature around it but inexorably driving towards its goal. Its headlights might seem like the light at the end of the tunnel, but its driver is far from a civilized presence here to illuminate the night.

This is our villain, Lorne Malvo, a coldblooded contract killer who leaves chaos in his wake wherever he goes. Malvo is no man, but an apex predator, a wolf, a comparison he himself enjoys making. He’s skilled at putting on a charming face when he wants to, whether playing a harmless pastor, a caddish dentist, or a quippy wanderer. Yet, the wolf lingers beneath, unsettling all who glimpse his true nature. Like the series itself, which is in fact completely fictional, this dissonance between exterior presentation and interior reality creates a sense of narrative distrust and suspense. Fargo itself is predatory in the way it preys on audiences’ fascination with truth. Nothing is what it seems, which makes Malvo and the show alike all the more dangerous and unpredictable.

Malvo’s duplicity and underlying malevolence are mirrored by the setting of Fargo. Most of the season takes place in the Minnesota cities of Bemidji and Duluth, whose wholesome, friendly Midwestern façade and pristine, snow–covered landscapes are undermined by the dysfunction which lies beneath. Fargo’s “antihero,” hapless insurance salesman Lester Nygaard, is similarly deceptive. A broken washing machine’s brutal thumping is our first sight and sound of the Nygaard household, before the camera tilts up from the basement to Lester and his wife Pearl in the kitchen, and it immediately foregrounds the dysfunction of their marriage and Lester’s capacity for malevolence — hidden underneath the floorboards, but violently pulsing, ready to explode.

Fargo presents a rather bleak outlook on human nature and fate. Frequent establishing shots of the Minnesotan wilderness signal that this is the animal kingdom, for all that its characters live in towns and work 9–to–5s. The camera often crouches animalistically behind objects, whether they be snowdrifts or steering wheels, giving the impression of a stalking predator or cowering prey. In the world of the show, doing good is often a pointless quest in futility and one chance encounter can loose the raw, animal savagery lurking beneath a veneer of civilized humanity. Lester and Malvo meet entirely by chance in the hospital and by the end of the pilot, Malvo’s sinister encouragement has driven Lester to kill his nagging, domineering wife, bashing her head in with a hammer after a fight. And so begins Lester’s move up the food chain. He is now both predator and prey, and struggles with this dual existence for the rest of the season.

At times, Lester is cold and calculating, tampering with crime scenes, evading the police, and eventually pinning Pearl’s murder on his brother. But he sometimes reverts to a bumbling coward who can never quite shake off the suspicions of Deputy Molly Solverson, the hero to Lester’s antihero and Malvo’s villain. Throughout the season, Lester wears a bright orange puffy coat, the lurid color resembling that worn by hunters to avoid shooting each other. It simultaneously marks him as both hunter and hunted, a predator and a sitting duck, with no hope of blending in with the stark, muted color palette.

By the season finale, Lester has seemingly transformed from failed salesman to successful alpha male. Following a one–year time skip in episode 8, he’s remarried to the adoring Linda, started his own insurance shop with a slick, masculine façade, and wears sharp blazers and dark–colored turtlenecks. But his past is inescapable and Malvo soon returns to Bemidji to murder Lester, setting in motion a sequence of events that ends in both their deaths. After Lester injures him with a bear trap, Malvo crawls away to his rented cabin to recover and is shot dead by a former police officer, Gus Grimly, who has been lying in wait there. Gus had previously tried to have Malvo arrested, only to have Malvo threaten his daughter Greta. His triumph over Malvo is a triumph of family man over callous killer, of law and order over a vicious predator. Yet Malvo dies as he lived, sowing mistrust and suspense. Neither his severely injured leg nor Gus’s initial hail of bullets are enough to do him in and it takes two bullets to the face to exterminate his threat once and for all.

Malvo’s death also unearths the truth of Pearl’s murder, sending Lester on the run. He dies two weeks later, after running onto the thin ice of a lake in Glacier National Park. In contrast to Minnesota’s flat open landscapes, Montana’s mountainous wilderness is claustrophobic, closing in on him. In truth, he has been on thin ice this whole season and his fall — shortsighted, self–inflicted, and accidental — is a thematically appropriate conclusion to his story. The natural swallows the human, in a trope oft–employed by the Coen brothers (creators of the 1996 movie the series is based on), warning the audience that compromising morality is a slippery slope.

Fargo’s ruthless message about the fragility of humanity is strengthened rather than softened by its seemingly paradoxical happy ending. In a nod to the original film, the show’s last shot frames a pregnant police chief, this time Molly Solverson, her husband Gus (the officer who defeated Malvo), and Gus’s daughter Greta. The only family to survive the season with every member alive, the camera lingers on them curled up together on the couch, watching TV — a happy family, a slice of Americana, a reassurance that at least some good guys have a happily ever after.