blog.

Bad Boy Bubby

Thu, 26 May 2011 07:50:15 -0400

Bad Boy Bubby… we watched this today in scriptwriting, and… wow.

I’m going to quote something now that I heard when I went to see Reginald D. Hunter at the Comedy Festival.

“Bad Boy Bubby… now that’s a fuck you movie.”

…. and that’s exactly what it is.

It’s a film that takes your perceptions and completely turns them on their head. It’s unexpected, confronting, but mostly just so harrowing, and it became exceptionally difficult for me to watch.

To illicit such a strong emotional response from a viewer, and I know others were in the same boat, is an indication of extremely powerful filmmaking. There were times watching the movie that I felt physically sick, which is incredible if you consider that far more graphically violent movies usually garner nothing more than momentary queasiness.

It’s hard to assess this film properly because it affected me so greatly. I know after talking to other people that they hated the film. I didn’t hate it, I think my problem was more that I was unable to process it properly because it was simply so different from anything that I have seen before. Despite all of the times where I felt as though I might have to leave the room because it was difficult to watch, I never looked away. Like it or not, this is a sign of truly engaging filmmaking.

Realism

Wed, 11 May 2011 04:53:00 -0400

This week we discussed both realism and neo-realism in relation to filmmaking and it got me thinking, kind of ironically, about how much I enjoy stylised films.

Perhaps it’s my love of all things cinematography, but there is something so beautiful and appealing about the escapism that stylised films offer; think Sin City, Kill Bill and even Pan’s Labyrinth, which even in its harrowing, and realism-focused sections, still offers elements of a beautiful landscape of stylisation.

I think this is also because I often associate the idea of “realism” in films with gritty, bleak and often quite depressing films. Stylised films can be this way too, but as an audience member you feel you can escape from it a little better because it isn’t exactly true to life. With the exception of Pan’s Labyrinth, which only employs stylisation in part, the movies listed above both aim to challenge and shock, but with a different impact than those that employ the sole use of realism techniques.

I know not all films employing the use of realism aim to affect audiences in quite this way, however my already established negative association does impact on how I respond to this type of filmmaking. It’s pretty impossible to wrench yourself from the depths of depression when watching something that adheres to the style of realism.

For example, everyone (lots of people, probably not everyone ever) says that Titanic will always be known as one of the most ultimate tearjerkers. I’ll humour this because I did cry in it – when I was about 10. Now looking back and after watching it again, all I can think is, if Kate had shuffled over a bit, there was totally enough room for Leo on that plank of wood. If we are humouring its “ultimate tearjerker” status though, it still employs lots of “chick flick” elements – elaborate costuming, sets and A-list actors. Yes it’s based on true events, but it didn’t change my views on the world, nor did it affect me profoundly.

On the other side of the equation is realism. Thirteen was one movie that I felt used many of these techniques (documentary style filming, young then-unknown actresses, gritty surrounds) to great effect, and affected me far more deeply than Titanic – and Leo didn’t even have to die. Now think Holocaust, Nazis, and World War Two. Or basically anything that has come out of Germany… ever. No-one knows how inject a big dose of kill-me-now into films quite like the Germans. I know I’m stereotyping, but I have never once been recommended a German film to watch that was happy. Brilliant? Yes. Profound? Yes. Moving? Yes. Happy? Of course not. They all employ realism though, and I guess that’s why I find it so hard to disconnect, because it feels real to me, and that’s a bitter pill to swallow.

Do we have an attention span problem?

Mon, 02 May 2011 10:26:50 -0400

As part of the apparently tech-savvy (I think I missed the memo) generation Y, I do get annoyed sometimes when people of a certain age refer to our generation as one which seeks instant gratification due to the accessibility and immediacy of information. I really really want to argue this point, but when it comes to myself, and I can probably speak for many of those in my generation, I really can’t do so truthfully, especially when it comes to film.

I know that I get distracted really, really easily - shiny things - and this does spill over into my idea of good entertainment. While I do appreciate classic cinema, and in particular the way that it was filmed - as I am a great believer in the power that cinematography has in a film - I do generally respond better to entertainment that is always providing me with a sense of pace, or something new to look at.

Film is evolving to suit this desire, for better or for worse, setting up a frenetic pace that runs you through the film at breakneck speed, especially for those much-loved action thrillers. Other genres are following suit too though, and while the storyline might be unraveling slowly, you can bet that the editing is faster, moving to capture several different angles in the one scene.

Today we looked at two films that support this evolving notion. Don’t Look Back, a 1967 documentary directed by D.A Pennebaker that followed Bob Dylan’s 1965 tour of England, and a surveillance scene from one of the Bourne movies (I can’t remember which one but it’s not all that relevant).

We were examining these as examples of ‘cinema verite’ (meaning ‘film truth’) and ‘direct cinema’, two very similar concepts within filmmaking. From what I have gathered, these movements essentially seek to give films a more truthful quality by establishing a ‘realer than real’ documentary style. This is often gritty and a little unsettling, utilising hand held shots, jerky zooms and correcting focus where necessary. This is indeed evident in one of the most groundbreaking of films for this genre, in feature length form, Don’t Look Back.

A more modern film that utilises many of these same principles is the Bourne trilogy, and in particular the surveillance scene we watched today. After just one minute in, I had counted nearly 100 edit points, complete with awkward zooms, extreme closeups and jolty camera movements, in order to give the viewer a documentary experience, and a chance to feel a part of the action. Someone commented that this gives a real sense of voyeurism, and this is indeed exactly the purpose of this stylistic choice.

The point of all this really is to illustrate that this style of cinema is perfectly suited to a new era in filmmaking. An era supported by those filmmakers spawned from a generation that expects more from a film, and has much less patience for scenes that drag out, or in particular have no change in the editing for some time.The conventions and expectations have now been established to such a level that there is no going back from here - but just think. By the time the next generation or two roll around, we’ll be the ones saying that back in my day, we only had one hundred cuts per minute.

Tumblr.

Mon, 18 Apr 2011 05:14:34 -0400

The other blog system was driving me crazy so I moved to tumblr. It’s a bit hipster, but I’ll forgive it.

The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly of Modern Sequels

Mon, 18 Apr 2011 05:10:58 -0400

Speed

Speed - A passable and really quite enjoyable actions flick, if only to watch Keanu Reeves attempt to vary his facial expression.

Speed 2 - Hilariously bad concept, and not even in the so-bad-it’s-good way. Note: The words “speed” and “cruise ship” do not belong together.

Sex and the City

Sex and the City the Movie - A complete and seamless continuation from the hit TV series that cemented its place in pop culture, it’s a perfectly acceptable chick flick.

Sex and the City 2 - Just no. Bad writing, shoddy acting and some flat out blatant racism combines to produce a clunky, overblown film that praises consumerism in a capitalist society, even more so than the series if you can believe it.

Kill Bill

Kill Bill Volume 1 - Flat out awesome film

Kill Bill Volume 2 - This may be cheating a little, as technically these movies are two parts of one whole, single film, only split due to Quentin Tarantino’s inability to persuade executives to make what would have effectively been something like a seven hour movie. However, this second film works so well because the first and second film were conceptualised as one whole complete story, resulted in the first seamlessly flowing into the second. This is the very thing that makes a sequel work.

Pirates of the Caribbean.

Pirates of the Caribbean 1, The Curse of the Black Pearl - Excellent. Woo Johnny Depp and clever writing.

Pirates of the Caribbean 2, Dead Man’s Chest- Cool. Good film.

Pirates of the Caribbean 3, At World’s End - WE GET IT. At three hours, this film is about an hour too long (although it seemed like 20 in the theatre). I understand that it’s an epic, but honestly, please shut up now. I think I said something similar to this to the friends I was with when I saw this film. While it definitely had it’s moments, not even Johnny Depp himself could save this repetitive, money-grabbing nightmare of a sequel.

Pirates of the Caribbean 4, On Stranger Tides (yet to be released) - God help us. Let’s pray it’s short.

Toy Story

Toy Story 1, 2, and 3 - all excellent films for children that appeal to adults as well. Clever, well written and seamlessly executed, with each film able to stand alone in it’s own right, but also able to make sense as part of a chronological sequence. This is how to do a sequel.

So filmmakers - tread carefully when exposing your first pride and joy of a film to the horror that can be a sequel. If you need any more reason, all you have to do is remember Samantha’s scene from Sex and the City 2 - Samantha standing in a market square in Dubai, manically hurling condoms about and screaming, “I HAVE SEX!” at the top of her lungs. The world could have done without bearing witness to this sad send-up to what was once a fun, flirty and indeed influential series. Just think up a new idea - we’ll thank you for it.

Sequels

Mon, 18 Apr 2011 04:47:38 -0400

No class today so I’ve decided to blog about something that I have been thinking about for awhile, and that is sequels.

I’m sure everyone had experienced the mix of delight and dread that accompanies the announcement that one of our beloved films has spawned a sequel. On one hand it’s fantastic news - a chance to enjoy the continuation of a story we have come to know and love. On the other hand, we are often so haunted by the ghosts of terrible, terrible sequels that we can be more than a little skeptical. Bad sequels can spell the death of a great story, and what’s more, can taint our opinion of the classic (or just plain awesome) original.

I think that sequels often fail because filmmakers undertake the almost impossible task of attempting to recreate the original magic of the first movie in the follow-up with the same success. In addition, audience expectations are significantly higher, especially if the first movie was a success. With an unknown film, audiences go in with a clean slate, not knowing what to expect. However in a sequel, viewers have prior knowledge of the excellence of the first movie, and are thus more critical of its sequel.

In many cases, filmmakers should know when to say no to a sequel, in order to preserve the originality and integrity of the original film, however I believe there are some exceptions. They are; when films are adapted from a series of books, and thus the sequel is necessary, when films are a part of a comic book franchise, or (and this can be a crossover with the aforementioned point), when films are a part of a particular action blockbuster movie franchise.

For example:

The Batman series and the James Bond series, where up until recently they were made as stand alone films. However the more recent phase of setting the films up as sequels to one another has worked.
Die Hard - what are we up to now? Five? Or as I like to refer to it, the eleventy billionth Die Hard movie. However, this is a good old fashioned action flick franchise, complete with Bruce Willis and explosions. Nothing wrong with that - there’s certainly no originality and filmic integrity to preserve here.
Terminator and Rambo - Arnie and Sylvester just doing what they do best. Not really my cup of tea, but no complaints.
Other noteable mentions that prescribe to the three points listed above that qualify films for exemptions in my book are the X-Men (comic book, action blockbuster franchise) , Harry Potter (book series) and Lord of the Rings (book series) franchises.

I will also examine some sequels that do not prescribe to these exemptions and why, or why not they worked.

Tim Burton (11 April 2011 5:32:20 PM EST )

Wed, 13 Apr 2011 10:05:00 -0400

In this week’s class, Tim Burton was mentioned in relation to filmmakers who are less concerned with facts than with presenting their own perspective on reality.

Tim Burton

The words “original stylistic palette” and “fingerprint” were used by Emma, and I think they are a perfect representation of the style and individual aesthetic that Tim Burton brings to all of his films. This ties back in with what I focused on in an earlier blog entry about signature style in filmmaking - a viewer can always tell when they are watching a Tim Burton film.

I find his artistic vision to be astounding, but perhaps what I find more incredible is his ability to execute this vision to the degree which he does, without it feeling pretentious. I understand that this is also a matter of personal taste and preference, as many people find his work to be overdone, too involved, or even a little self-referential, however I am a big fan and will defend his works in a forum that encourages long rants about my opinion - the purpose of a blog, correct?

Tim Burton played a huge role in influencing me to start to dabble in filmmaking - not that he spoke to me personally, although I wish he had - as I found his voice to be so prolific in modern cinema, and yet so left of field in the same breath. I admired how his films seemed to transcend the divisions between conventional, mainstream film and arthouse filmmaking, to be able to be called a true example of how this crossover can be mastered.

When his exhibit came to ACMI last year I went along (I also saw the Dennis Hopper exhibit which was incredible), and it completely blew my mind. It was as though now that I had seen the exhibit, I could participate in his films on a whole new level, and seeing his works progress from the initial sketches and notes, to the finished product was fantastic. This was especially incredible for an aspiring filmmaker such as myself, as it allowed me to view his vision as it came full circle. It gave these finished products a third dimension, and gave me a greater appreciation of the artistic process itself.

Tim Burton’s pre-production sketches of Edward Scissorhands and the Queen of Hearts.

I think what I admire most about Tim Burton as a filmmaker, and indeed as an artist, is his fearless pursuit of originality. The first Tim Burton film that I remember seeing was Edward Scissorhands, and it completely changed my perspective on filmmaking, characterisation, sets, costuming, lighting, everything you could think of, and as clichéd as it sounds, really opened my eyes to a perspective that had been missing from my diet of blockbusters and teen movies. Especially those involving, though not limited to, overcoming the adversity of getting the most popular guy in school to ask you to the prom, and it working out okay in the end due to a particularly upbeat montage involving you getting a new makeover, and he did ask you in the end because it turned out you are actually a supermodel underneath all the daggy hair and glasses and didn’t look like a foot after all. Or something.

Edward Scissorhands

The beautiful world Tim Burton created within “Edward Scissorhands”

Anyway. Edward Scissorhands was one of the most beautiful depictions of love in cinema that I had seen up to that point in my life ( I was probably about 12, and before that I’m pretty sure all I had to go on was Titanic), whilst remaining fiercely original in it’s portrayal. From that point forward I was hooked.

I know I’m raving on here but I did just want to mention one more thing, and that is the use of a muse. For Tim Burton, this muse has been Johnny Depp, and to a lesser extent his wife Helena Bonham Carter, but focusing on Johnny Depp, their progression together in breaking new ground and writing new conventions for cinema has been incredible. Their work informs each other, performance enhancing performance, and something greater is born. Whilst what can be seen as an almost obsessive desire for collaboration has been contentious, with many cinema-goers exhibiting a “been there, seen that” attitude, I believe that the end product is always remarkable, and better for the collaboration. It is for this sake that I hope that their desire to work together never fades. I don’t believe that either of them would be at this point in their careers if it weren’t for each other.

Tim Burton working with Johnny Depp on the set of Sweeney Todd, and with wife Helena Bonham Carter at the French premiere of Alice in Wonderland, which she also starred in alongside Johnny Depp.

So in closing, as film is a truly visual medium, and Tim Burton is the master of exploiting this visual world - he will remain, to me at least, as one of the true masters of his craft.

Cult Films (5 April 2011 4:14:44 PM EST)

Wed, 13 Apr 2011 10:04:00 -0400

I always hear about films having a cult following, and while I understand the general principle and can identify films that fit into this particular genre or culture, I still went away and Googled (yes it’s a verb now) it to see if the internet could put it into better words for me.

Good old Wikipedia (I just used it as a starting point, honestly) gave me this:

“A cult following is a term used to refer to a group of fans who are highly dedicated to a specific area of pop culture. A film, book, band, or video game, among other things, will be said to have a cult following when it has a small but very passionate fan base. A common component of cult followings is the emotional attachment fans have with the object of the cult following, often identifying themselves and other fans as members of a community. Cult followings are often associated with niche markets or subcultures. Cult media are often associated with underground culture, and are considered too eccentric, bizarre, controversial or anti-establishment to be appreciated by the general public.”

And then this example:

“There is not always a clear difference between cult and mainstream media. The film Pink Flamingos is known for its disgusting scenes, and only a small number of people are drawn to this movie. Therefore it can be classified as a cult movie. Franchises such as Star Trek, Star Wars, Batman, and Harry Potter have core groups of fanatical followers but still attract mass audiences, so they cannot be considered true cult films.”

Source: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cult_following

This was corroborated by FilmSite, which said this:

“Cult Films have limited but very special appeal. Cult films are usually strange, quirky, offbeat, eccentric, oddball, or surreal, with outrageous, weird, unique and cartoony characters or plots, and garish sets. They are often considered controversial because they step outside standard narrative and technical conventions. They can be very stylized, and they are often flawed or unusual in some striking way.”

Source: http://www.filmsite.org/cultfilms.html

The example I am using is that of Fight Club, and it’s consideration as a cult film. If you Google “Cult Films”, Fight Club will always come up as a top hit or reference in many of the websites listed.

It is interesting to note that the films subject matter actually focuses on the idea of an underground culture as mentioned above, by virtue of the underground “fight club”. I guess it is not too much of a stretch then to expect that a film about subculture inspires a subculture who worships it. A case of life imitating art?

Fight Club is perhaps one of the most recognised “cult” films, certainly of recent times, along with films such as A Clockwork Orange and even Pulp Fiction, although all of these films may be considered to cross over to mainstream consumption at some points due to growing popularity, and what I see as an increased acceptance of films that do not fit the Hollywood stereotype.

However, what does annoy me is the idea of viewers who deliberately seek out this underground “credibility” in the films that they watch, feeding into this idea that films offer so much more credibility if they are popular to the larger, “underground” film scene. They’re cool films to like in essence. Much like the rise of the idea of underground indie music scene vs. “mainstream” pop culture, I decided long ago not to buy into what was effectively credibility-seeking bull****. I hate the idea that cult film-making, something that I respect and an idea that I will buy into, because it refuses to conform to the Hollywood mold and dares to create something different and oftentimes challenging and rewarding, will go the way of this current attitude towards the music scene. They are so tightly enmeshed as elements of pop culture though, with one influencing the other, that I can see this happening in the future, and can indeed see the start of it happening today. I really don’t want people to judge movies and those who watch them based on the choice to view something “alternative”. Instead, the merits of the film at hand should be examined.

It reminds me of people who quote left-of-centre films that no-one has ever heard of, not because they enjoyed watching it but because of its underground merit. This often means that films aren’t called what they are - bad - because they are protected by some sort of niche following. This is no way in reference to Fight Club, A Clockwork Orange or Pulp Fiction by the way, simply an observation on the baffling popularity of some crapola films. These obscure (and not in a good way) films completely lack the ability to have any sort of mainstream crossover, and there-in seems to lie the appeal - so maybe that’s the point.

Fight Club

Narrative vs. Non-Narrative Films (28 March 2011 6:14:56 PM EST )

Wed, 13 Apr 2011 10:04:00 -0400

This week we again looked at short films, covering a spectrum of styles including narrative-driven, experimental or non-narrative driven, and documentary, which can probably be said to fit inside the first of those two distinctions.

What I found most interesting was the debate over non-narrative vs. narrative driven films. This was prompted by the short film “Daybreak Express”, a non-narrative film depicting a cityscape whilst following the journey of a train across New York.

It is true that for the most part, people ultimately crave a narrative. A story with a linear plot presented with a clear beginning, middle and an end, and that which also offers a clear purpose to its presentation. As a part of this package, we have also come to desire (if not expect), a resolution that will give us closure for what we have come to see as ‘our’ characters in ‘our’ story. We have invested in this film, and we want our expected results.

However, experimental films, by definition, contradict these well-worn conventions to present an entirely new viewing experience. Experimental films are not narrative driven, although they do tend to be thematic. I think that in order for an experimental film to work effectively it does need to possess some elements of “story” by the way of a theme or indeed themes, or else it runs the risk of becoming just a jumble of random footage. Whilst some might argue that this too can be classified as experimental filmmaking, it becomes tedious to watch and often leads to the audience becoming restless and thus disengaging.

In saying that, I found the making of my experimental film (as part of my year eleven and twelve Film and Television subject) to be the most creatively rewarding of all the short films that I produced throughout those two years. It gave me a chance to look beyond the idea of simply telling my story through narrative, and forced me to think of how I could produce an engaging work entirely through my chosen themes.

I do acknowledge though that experimental filmmaking often treads the fine line between what is creative brilliance and what is overblown and self-indulgent. This is why I consider the experimental genre to be the most subjective of all the filmic genres. It constantly runs the risk of being misconstrued, misinterpreted or just simply misunderstood, however perhaps this is the beauty of this style of filmmaking – its artistry is always up for interpretation.

All that said, experimental filmmakers should always be prepared for a chorus of “I don’t get it”.

A still from the film “Daybreak Express”

Filmmakers and Distinctive Style (28 March 2011 5:55:06 PM EST )

Wed, 13 Apr 2011 10:03:00 -0400

This week we watched a series of short films, including “Flowergirl” and “About A Girl”. We did however analyse these thoroughly in class, so instead of repeating myself here, I wanted to write about a filmmaker’s signature style – the unique trademark that allows viewers to identify films and connect them almost instantaneously to their creator.

I began thinking about this after watching “Flowergirl”, a film directed by Cate Shortland. As soon as the film began, I was immediately reminded (though not in a good way) of two of her films that I has previously seen – the short film “Joy” and the award winning feature “Somersault”.

Although “Somersault” has won several AFI Awards amongst others, I have only to say that 2004 must have been one slow year for our film industry. It was a tedious film, but that is not why it reminded me of her other work. The identifying thread running through all of her films is her saturating use of purples and blues to give scenes unnatural tones, occasionally punctuated by overly warm oranges. To be frank, I have no idea why she does it, and I have equally no idea why it annoys me so much - but it does.

I think it comes back to my point in my last blog entry about filmmakers who make art for art’s sake. After a lengthy class discussion about the colour palette in “Flowergirl”, I could see the merits of the colour choice to a point, (and thanks to the people that said this), it did help to highlight the alienation of the characters in this particular instance. However, there’s simply no need to do it all the time - it’s all very well and good if it offers emotional cues, however in the case of “Somersault” and “Joy”, it only served as a slightly weird distraction. Enough about Cate Shortland though, I’m sure she’s a very nice person.

“Trade marking” of this kind can be used for good rather than annoyance though, the most well-known example possibly being Quentin Tarantino. I think that his distinctive style has actually served to make him more famous, and has indeed propelled his career forward, earning him a cult following along the way. Everyone knows when they are watching a “Tarantino”. The use of excessive yet stylised violence, committed calmly by characters who are often wearing black suits with skinny black ties, the use of bold red, black and sometimes yellow tones, the way that his music is scored… I could go on and on. Although however wildly the plotlines may differ in these films, they all work together to form a chronology of work that is scored by undercurrents of his personal style. I find it fascinating that such parallels can be drawn between films of the same maker, and that they can be used in such a way as to permanently embed filmmakers in their creative works.

While it is true that “trade marking” can pigeonhole filmmakers work, I believe that a signature style of filmmaking can both help and hinder your filmmaking career, but often leads to curious and exciting filmmaking nonetheless.

Characterisation (12 March 2011 5:57:08 PM EST)

Wed, 13 Apr 2011 10:02:00 -0400

I wanted to look at characterisation in my blog this week, not only because we discussed it in class, but because I think it’s one of the most interesting aspects of film-making. Well constructed characters can mean the difference between a good film and a great film.

Characters are undoubtedly one of, if not the most important element in bringing the story of a film to life. Without characters there would be no story - they drive the narrative, and are responsible for portraying the emotion that allows audiences to connect with a film. This is why it is so imperative to develop characters that not only operate on a number of levels, but are also believable, and hold some resonance of truth for the audience. Most importantly, the audience must find some way to connect with the leading characters in the story. If an audience cannot empathise with a character, there is no reason for a film to exist, because the viewer won’t care what happens to the character, which will distance them emotionally from the film, leading to ultimate disinterest. All great films strike a chord with audiences because they can understand a character. They care about the outcome and journey with the character through the course of the narrative. Clever and careful characterisation is the cornerstone to successful and powerful movies that will resonate with audiences.

An example of this is the character of Dracula in Francis Ford Coppola’s adaptation of Bram Stoker’s Dracula.

In this film, Vlad returns from war to discover that his wife Elisabeta has committed suicide after hearing a false report of his death. A religious man, he can’t bear the thought that she will be damned forever, and proceeds to destroy his church and abandon his religion. He vows to avenge her death, and in order to do so, rises from the grave as Dracula. He meets Mina, the fiance of the man handling his estate, and believing her to be the reincarnation of his beloved Elisabeta, he sets about charming her, disguised as the younger version of himself.

I found this character so engaging because he operated on so many levels. The man who lived as Dracula, out of touch with his humanity and plagued by his grief, is undeniably a monster. Selfish, manipulative and ultimately evil, he follows the conventions of a traditional, one-dimensional villain. However if you glimpse beneath the surface of this character, you identify a person shaped by circumstance. We don’t empathise with him because we condone his actions, instead we empathise with him because we observed the “fall from grace” of such a “good” man into something that does not even remotely resemble what he used to be. We want to see him redeem himself, and indeed, therein lies the key to building a successful character - the support of the audience. Whilst Dracula’s character flaws are exaggerated and extreme, we still see some of ourselves in him, and we feel the emotion of his loss, understanding the power that grief has to change a person.

Characters in movies fail if we do not see enough of ourselves in them. That is, they do not echo some basic truth of our humanity. We disengage from these characters because they are unreachable. If they are too “good” we find them impossible to relate to, or set about an impossible ideal. Likewise, one dimensionally “evil” characters are fine for a traditional villain, but doesn’t make for a very engaging character. The character of Dracula is so perfectly created, it lingers with the viewer for some time.

Dogville (16 March 2011 8:03:17 PM EST )

Wed, 13 Apr 2011 10:02:00 -0400

This week we watched a series of films that fit within the conventions of a ‘melodrama’. From all of these films, I wanted to focus on Dogville, as I found it the most challenging film to watch.

The set was the first thing that threw me about this film. It felt as though it was the set of a play that was yet to be finished - floor still marked with tape (see image below). It’s no surprise then that I found the film more theatrical than cinematic as a whole, which left me feeling immediately unsettled. I was intrigued though as to the direction that the narrative would take, just taking into consideration the unusual setting.

I did feel that this choice of set perhaps encouraged the ‘over-action’ so often (or pretty much always), associated with melodrama. Exaggerated accents and strangely out of place miming, due to lack of doors, or fully developed sets, were a bit distracting and only served to remind me that I was watching a movie. I found that I couldn’t lose myself in the story because I was constantly being reminded of a reality outside of the film. These particular choices detracted from the credibility and believability of the characters, reminding me that they were in fact “acting”, and I immediately disconnected.

It is because of many of these factors that the film seemed a little self-indulgent on the part of the film-maker. It felt to me as though the film was more of a platform for the presentation of his artistic vision that for audience enjoyment. Some of the choices made serve no purpose in furthering the story, and indicated a refusal to sacrifice the artistic vision in order to satisfy a mainstream consumption.

I did appreciate the vision, and also the underlying intelligence of the film, but it certainly put me offside, and it’s not a film I think I could watch again for quite some time.

Set of Dogville

The New Conclusion (5 March 2011 12:38:18 PM EST)

Wed, 13 Apr 2011 10:01:00 -0400

In modern film-making, there is now a greater desire to create pieces that allow audiences to decide on what they believe the outcome of the film to be. While some people believe that this type of film-making leaves viewers unsatisfied with the conclusion, I appreciate the intrigue of this approach, and believe it can be used to create a more thought-provoking work. One of my favourite films, Donnie Darko, uses exactly this device. Without giving too much away to those who haven’t seen it, part of the reason why I loved this film was that the ending left something to the imagination - to believe that what transpired, especially towards the end of the film, was either real, or imagined. I think that this approach allows the audience to be slightly more involved in the film. If audiences have to “make up their own mind” about the conclusion, it requires them to engage with the film in order to reach this decision.

A more recent example of this style of film-making is Inception, which leaves the audience questioning what is real, and what is created. I mention this because it struck me whilst watching Sunrise. Films of this period especially, tend to conform to the classic conclusion. That is, all conflicts are resolved in a manner that is satisfactory to the audience, all questions are resolved and all “loose ends” are tied up neatly. Whilst this is a formula that has been proven to work in the context of creating feature films, I would like to think that the notion of choice for the audience is a device that when used correctly, can greatly enhance the creativity and intrigue of a film.