Tuesday, December 15, 2009

Sad Truth or Funny Fiction? (Part 2)

Here's a simple question with a not-so-simple answer. If American Movie was a spoof - if it was a fake documentary comedy - how would your reaction to the film be changed? And if This Is Spinal Tap was a real documentry, how would your reaction to that film be changed?


" This goes to eleven! "

Monday, December 14, 2009

Sad Truth or Funny Fiction? (Part 1)

When you told me you'd like to study a comedy this semester, I decided we should do two: American Movie and This Is Spinal Tap. I thought we could cover more ground that way. When we're done with the unit, you can say you saw (1) a documentary, (2) a parody, (3) a dark comedy, and (4) a straight comedy. So that's one reason why we're watching Tap.



There's another reason. There's one simple rule about parody that most recent parodies miss completely, and I'd like you to learn the rule. Ready? Here is comes...

The more similar a parody is to its source material,
the funnier it is.

That's it. That's the secret. And that's the reason why so many parodies are just...not...funny. For example:


Do you think this movie...



...actually looks like this movie?



And do you think this movie...



...looks anything like this movie?

You can tell just from the posters that the filmmakers have absolutely no idea what they're doing. If you want to make a funny horror movie, then you have to make a movie that actually looks like a horror movie! Or a superhero movie! Or a disaster movie! Or a romance! Or a...whatever!

Check out this next bunch. Can you guess which is NOT the parody?







Exactly. In fact, I'm not so sure they all aren't parodies. One more time.  Can you tell which of the following is the 21st century parody, and which are the 1970s originals?













You can barely tell. That's because the filmmakers understood the foundation of what they were making fun of; they weren't simply taking cheap shots at the most obvious aspects of their satiric target.

This is why I think This Is Spinal Tap is so successful. I think it looks, sounds, and feels like a real documentary. So, do you agree? Give some support to your response. Pick some moments from the film that either feel very real, or not real at all. Compare it to moments of American Movie in terms of realism and tone.

Also, can you think of any other parodies that support my rule? In other words, can you think of any parodies that work because that look and feel like their source material, and can you think of any that fail because they don't? Hey, can you think of any that break my rule? That I'd be interested in hearing about!

Thursday, December 10, 2009

Independent Viewing Project Criteria

Here are the criteria for your Independent Viewing Project. Remember, you have one of these due per grading quarter. Any you hand in after that will be extra credit. You may only hand in one per week, and you may not use any film that you have seen prior to this class. There are a wide variety of films on the list, so be sure to select one that is appropriate for you. If you need any help selecting a film, see your instructor. Click on the images to enlarge.




American Movie - Tragic Comedy or Comedic Tragedy?

This will probably be your last formal writing assingment for the quarter, so make it good. It's worth 50 points.

Task
In a one-to-two page essay, answer the following question:
Is American Movie a tragic comedy or a comedic tragedy?
Format
This is a formal essay, so beware of grammar, punctuation, tense, language usage, spelling, etc. It all counts.

Content
You're going to want to do a few things in your essay. You'll want to have a thesis stating your central claim - basically answering affirmative or negative to the question. You'll want to define your terms. Just what is a tragedy and a comedy? (The previoud blog entry should be very helpful.) You'll want to support your response with evidence from the film. You might want to address elements of the opposing side of your arguments. What counter arguments might someone who disagrees with you address? Address them yourself.  Be sure to consider the entire movie when crafting your response. Was the last day's viewing sadder than the first and second? Maybe. Does that instanly make it a tragedy? How does one even determine if the ending is sad or not? Mark is still pretty pittiful, but he completes his filmand makes good on all of his promises. So think about it.

If you'd like to review parts of the film, it will be available in the IMC at the front desk. You can check it out for a period and view it in the AV lab in the back of the IMC. If you have any questions, please ask.

Final Exam


Here's a definition of auteur from Wikipedia:

The term auteur (French for author) is used to describe film directors (or, more rarely, producers, or writers) who are considered to have a distinctive, recognizable style, because they (a) repeatedly return to the same subject matter, (b) habitually address a particular psychological or moral theme, (c) employ a recurring visual and aesthetic style, or (d) demonstrate any combination of the above. In theory, an auteur's films are identifiable regardless of their genre. The term was first applied in its cinematic sense in François Truffaut's 1954 essay "A Certain Tendency of the French Cinema."
Your task? 1. Research and study an auteur of your choice.  2. Compose a written report.  3. Share your findings with the class in a 15-20 minute presentation.

Part 1 - Research
You'll want to collect a variety of sources to educate yourself on your director. These sources can include books, print interviews, video interviews, newspaper and magazine articles, journals, websites, etc. Just be sure that each of your sources are reliable. (Note: Wikipedia is a good source to find further sources. Look to see at the bottom of the entry where the Wikipedia author got his or her source, and check it out for yourself.) Be sure to use the IMC's access to old newspaper and periodical articles, found here. Another resource you might find helpful is the special features on the DVDs of the director's movies. You might find helpful interviews or commentaries.

Part 2 - Composition
Your written report should contain the following components:
  1. a brief biography with significant childhood or educational moments (Why and how did this person become a filmmaker?)
  2. professional history, including significant films, awards, honors (What has he or she done?)
  3. central aesthetic, thematic, stylistic approaches (What makes this director's films special?)
  4. a review of a significant film from the auteur (What movie did you watch, and what did you think of it?)
You must cite all of the sources you use! Include cited quotations and a list your cited works in MLA format. If you have any quesitons regarding correct citation, please check with your teacher, the TLC, or a librarian.

Part 3 - Presentation
Your presentation should include an abreviated version of your report. In addition, you should show at least one short clip from the movie you viewed (less than 3 minutes) and comment on the clip(s). A visual aid would probably be helpful. Consider using a PowerPoint presentation or a handout.

Here's a list of auteurs from which you can choose. The list is by no means complete. If you have one you'd like to write about who is not on the list, please okay it with me first. Be sure that you can find ample research on your selection. If you can't, try another. Wikipedia will probably give you a good idea of what each on the list has done, so that might be a good place to start looking just to pick. If you still don't know whom to pick, takl with your instructor. When you select one, let everyone know who you've chosen by posting your name and the director's name in the comments section of this entry. It's first come, first served, no repeats - so act fast.
  • Akira Kurosawa
  • Alfred Hitchcock
  • Billy Wilder
  • Brad Bird
  • Brian DePalma
  • Buster Keaton
  • Cecil B. DeMille
  • Charlie Chaplin
  • Clint Eastwood
  • D.W. Griffith
  • David Cronenberg
  • David Fincher
  • Don Siegel
  • Ed Wood
  • Federico Fellini
  • Francis Ford Coppola
  • Francois Truffaut
  • Frank Capra
  • Fritz Lang
  • George Romero
  • George Roy Hill
  • Guy Maddin
  • Hayao Miyazaki
  • Howard Hawks
  • Ingmar Bergman
  • James Cameron
  • James Whale
  • Joel and Ethan Cohen
  • John Carpenter
  • John Ford
  • John Frankenheimer
  • John Huston
  • Johnnie To
  • Kathryn Bigelow
  • Katsuhiro Ōtomo
  • Martin Scorsese
  • Mel Brooks
  • Michael Curtiz
  • Michel Mann
  • Mike Nichols
  • Milos Forman
  • Oliver Stone
  • Orson Welles
  • Quentin Tarantino
  • Raoul Walsh
  • Ridley Scott
  • Robert Altman
  • Robert Rodriguez
  • Robert Zemeckis
  • Roger Corman
  • Roman Polanski
  • Ron Howard
  • Sam Peckinpah
  • Sergei Eisenstein
  • Sergio Leone
  • Sidney Lumet
  • Sophia Coppola
  • Spike Lee
  • Stanley Kubrick
  • Steven Soderbergh
  • Steven Spielberg
  • Sydney Pollack
  • Terry Gilliam
  • Tim Burton
  • Victor Fleming
  • Walt Disney
  • Walter Hill
  • Werner Herzog
  • William Wyler
  • Winsor McCay
  • Woody Allen
  • Yimou Zhang
As always, if you have any questions, don't hesitate to ask

Wednesday, December 9, 2009

Defining Tragedy and Comedy


These two masks symbolize "the theater," they symbolize "drama." They are the facew of comedy and tragedy, two sides of the same coin. Comedy and tragedy can, at times, be pretty easy to differentiate from one another.

This character is tragic.

This one is comedic.

Can you  figure out the rest?









Sometimes it's not so easy to tell the difference between the two.




Your task: As a class, define "tragedy" and define "comedy".

Now, this is step one of a two-part process. The better you do here, the better you'll do on part two. Feel free to snowball off of your classmates' ideas and be sure to discuss what parts of their definitions work and don't work. By the end of the comment page, you as a class should have a prety good working defiintion of both comedy and tragedy.

Note: We're not defining sad and happy, so don't over simplify your answers. Get specific, and choose your words carefully. Use whatever resources you like, just be sure to cite them in your comments. Also, to get this right, you'll likely want to comment several times to help your classmates refine the two definitions.

Good luck!

Tuesday, December 8, 2009

American Movie - Any Thoughts?

Here are two articles about American Movie.  The first is an interview with Mark Borchardt and Mike Shank given right about the time the movie came out - in 2000. The second is a review of the film around the same time. Read them both. I have a question for you at the end.



Arts: Film: The loser who made Milwaukee famous

Mark Borchardt was an obsessive, alcoholic, no-hoper, wannabe film director. Then someone made a documentary about him.

Fiona Morrow. The Independent. London (UK): Jun 23, 2000. pg. 1 Copyright Newspaper Publishing Plc Jun 23, 2000

There isn't much we don't already know about the American Dream: it's been served up by Hollywood since the moguls discovered California. Yet despite all candy-coated make-believe, it has retained its currency; there are still millions of Americans daring to dream the impossible dream. Mark Borchardt is one of them. An intelligent guy from a Milwaukee backwater, Borchardt has fancied himself as a film-maker since he was a kid with a Super 8 camera.

Brought up on low expectations, he took the factory jobs, cleaned the crematorium, delivered newspapers, married the wrong girl, had three kids, split up and wound up back at mom and dad's place, all the time imagining his movie.

The early films were typical teenage boy stuff: quick horror flicks with titles such as The More the Scarier, and The More The Scarier III. His friends had nothing better to do, so everyone helped out. The same friends were happy to muck in when he began his first serious short film Coven, and started talking about his feature film, Northwestern. Director Chris Smith met Borchardt at a film festival and, intrigued by the enthusiastic self-promotion on display, asked if he might follow the progress of Northwestern in a documentary. Borchardt agreed, and four years later, American Movie won the Grand Jury prize at the Sundance festival.

It isn't hard to see why. Borchardt is the perfect documentary subject: an obsessive, passionate, borderline psychotic alcoholic. He is also very articulate, knows his movies and is apparently capable of persuading almost anyone to do almost anything.

His family and friends are worth the ticket too: Uncle Bill, the ancient coot, plenty rich, but living in a trailer; mom, extra, sometime camera operator; Kenny, the jailbird associate producer; and Mike Shank, Borchardt's brain-dead best friend and the other star of the show. If you haven't already worked it out, I should point out that American Movie is hilarious.

Still, I was slightly apprehensive about interviewing Borchardt and Shank. I knew from the film that Borchardt could be extremely belligerent. But it was Shank who really worried me. Shank, the one- time drug user and alcoholic, has wound up with a fried brain. What the hell were we going to talk about?

I concentrate on Borchardt. He's been drinking all day, but is obviously on a high from the press attention. American Movie has played well in the States, and his telephone has been ringing with job offers and potential investors for months. His short film Coven has sold nearly 3,000 copies via the American Movie website, and, bizarrely, talk show host, David Letterman has made him the Late Show's political correspondent. Not bad for a kid from Menomenee Falls, Milwaukee.

I begin with the obvious opener: Did he ever imagine the documentary would lead to all this?

"Not at all," he replies. "You don't set yourself up for the fall. I knew something would come of it, but I didn't anticipate this, sitting here, in London, being interviewed. Cool man". He speaks in a very particular, skewed vernacular. The delivery is intense and small talk is not his thing. But has all this media attention distracted him from his dream to make Northwestern?

"Oh absolutely, but along with that distraction has come women and money and that's so great, too, man. The heart grows and yearns and says you've really got to make the film you want to make, so just by natural momentum, you come back to it. Of course this has been distracting - you have all the money in the world to drink - but this fall I start shooting." When I ask Borchardt if he has he managed to finance Northwestern on the back of American Movie, the strength of his personality comes to the fore. His reply is delivered like a steam train, barely stopping to draw breath.

"The money for Northwestern means nothing, because money can't make a good script. It hit me all of a sudden: I'm gonna raise $70- 100,000 on my own and shoot the film. I've had plenty of legitimate offers and I never responded to any of them, because this is a personal film and I don't want no dude putting in money and then turning around and saying, `by the way can my girlfriend be in it?', or any of that crap. It's just going to be me, waking up one morning this fall, grabbing a cup of coffee, picking up the camera and a tripod and taking off down some lonely rural road."

It sounds hopelessly romantic, but Borchardt is completely wrapped up in the mythology of the film-maker as great artist. He doesn't want to be the next Quentin Tarantino. He wants to make cinema "like Kubrick and Fellini, Godard and Polanski. American Movie has absolutely nothing to do with my work. It has exposed me to Letterman, people from Hollywood and New York sending me scripts and flying me out to auditions and all that crap. But remember, you're responsible for your own push-ups, your own sit-ups and your own daily writing, man. It's completely free and comes from your own self- discipline. Celebrity is to screw as many women as possible and to pay for good beer, that's all that's worth". The film paints him as something of a procrastinator, did he recognise himself on screen?

"Yep. This drunk dude walking around. But I also saw a talented, determined person in a set of circumstances that don't usually allow for those things to occur. I don't know what other people are thinking and I don't care. I'm after my American Dream and I'm starting to live it."

We talk about movies for a while - how much Borchardt hates them, particularly when he's on a drinking streak as he has been all year - when, out of nowhere, Shank pipes up. "Mark likes anything with black girls in it. I've never met anyone in my whole life who likes black girls as much as Mark. All day, like 50 times a day he's going, `Man, there's another black girl.' When he looks for magazines he purposefully picks out the ones with black girls in them." This is revelation is delivered in dead-pan monotone, and leaves me floundering. Luckily Borchardt rises to the bait.

"Well dude, of course I'm gonna take what I like. Do you arbitrarily take out magazines?"

Shank: "For Christmas I bought him a calendar, but I should have got him this Playboy Women of Colour. I think next year you can be expecting that."

Borchardt: "Oh, that would be totally cool dude, definitely."

I'm staring at two men dressed like the boys you ignored at school - Iron Maiden T-shirts, too much hair - talking about porn as if it they were discussing their favourite cereal. I manage to stop goldfishing long enough to ask Shank if he felt at all exploited by his portrayal in American Movie.

"If you ask me I was accurately portrayed and I'd rather have the audience response it gets - the laughter and all that. I'm just a guy with a brain. I got a friend at AA who was shooting $2,700 of cocaine into the base of his skull everyday and they had to cut out a third of his brain, and he functions more normally than I do.

The success of American Movie has inevitably changed Borchardt's life: he's been offered a part in Todd Solodnz's next film. "I'm considering it as a job opportunity, but I won't go if Mark can't come with me." So, Hollywood looms for both of them?

Borchardt: "I've gotta do some stuff out there, and there's some weird, great stuff happening, but I would never take it seriously. I'm not going to be corrupted. I'd like to screw a bunch of chicks, but I'm not gonna get sucked in." The American Dream lives on all right.




Movie Review; 'American Movie'
Turns Camera on Indie Filmmaker
 
Kevin Thomas. Los Angeles Times. Los Angeles, Calif.: Nov 12, 1999. pg. 18
 
(Copyright, The Times Mirror Company; Los Angeles Times 1999 all Rights reserved)
 
Chris Smith's "American Movie," which took the Grand Jury Prize for best documentary at Sundance this year, is sure to draw lots of laughs. Here's this small-town Wisconsin guy, Mark Borchardt, trying to make a movie on a shoestring with the help of some pals, in particular his spacey, shaggy musician friend Mike Schank, while coaxing money out of his frail, bleary 82-year-old uncle Bill Borchardt. These people say and do goofy things from time to time, and they all sound like the people in "Fargo."
 
Chroniclers of the independent filmmaking scene, however, may not be so easily amused. We know all too well that the world has an abundance of Mark Borchardts, and the likelihood of any of them getting anywhere is no better than winning the lottery.
 
Even so, although overly long at 107 minutes, "American Movie" is an incisive, largely absorbing work and a far more mature effort than Smith's "American Job," which sent the message, intentionally or otherwise, that menial jobs are beneath young white males.
 
Never condescending to Borchardt, a tall, lean 30-year-old with a goatee, long hair and outsize glasses, Smith assumes a detached stance at the start and sticks to it. In doing so, he invites us to see Borchardt as an archetypal all-American individualist determined to pursue the American Dream in an era of lowered expectations.
 
For years Borchardt has been working intermittently on "Northwestern," which he describes as about a bunch of guys "drinkin', drinkin', drinkin' "--and which sounds more than a little autobiographical. Early on in "American Movie," Borchardt is forced to abandon the project once again, for the usual reason, a lack of funds. Instead, he resumes work on a supernatural horror thriller, "Coven," shooting in 16 millimeter. Even if he succeeds in completing it, it will have taken him three years to do so. That Borchardt's hero is "Night of the Living Dead's" George Romero is evident in glimpses we get of "Coven." ("Coven" screens tonight and next Friday night at the Nuart at 12:15 a.m., accompanied by 1981's "The Howling.")
 
To his credit, Borchardt, who began making movies at 14, is a resourceful, knowledgeable craftsman; he knows what he wants and how to get it. He's strong-willed, hard-working and focused. He's chronically deep in debt and in a precarious position in a looming custody struggle with his ex-girlfriend over their children. He supports himself delivering papers and working as a cemetery maintenance man. He's a motor-mouth who can be pretty wearying but has an open, affable quality that makes you hope he somehow miraculously beats the odds and enjoys some measure of success.
 
His Swedish-born mother is supportive, and her estranged husband, Mark's father, wishes his son well but is understandably dubious. Even more so is one of Mark's brothers, who says he thinks Mark would be better off working in a factory and wonders who would want to see "Coven" anyway.
 
At one point Mark pauses to consider that here he is, 30 years old, and having to clean up a filthy restroom at the cemetery. The question he needs to ask himself is how he would feel about still doing it at 40.



 
Mr. Cowlin here. You know what? I just erased my initial question. It was about the two above articles. But you know what? I don't care. I love this movie so much, I just don't want to disect it right now. So forget it. Here's the question I really want to hear you answer: What's your favorite part and why?

Wednesday, December 2, 2009

Night of the Hunter - Review by Ebert

I've posted a review of The Night of the Hunter by film critic Roger Ebert. He wrote it for his on-going Great Movies series. Read through it. I've got some questions for you after.



"The Night of the Hunter"
Roger Ebert - film critic

Charles Laughton's "The Night of the Hunter'' (1955) is one of the greatest of all American films, but has never received the attention it deserves because of its lack of the proper trappings. Many ``great movies'' are by great directors, but Laughton directed only this one film, which was a critical and commercial failure long overshadowed by his acting career. Many great movies use actors who come draped in respectability and prestige, but Robert Mitchum has always been a raffish outsider. And many great movies are realistic, but ``Night of the Hunter'' is an expressionistic oddity, telling its chilling story through visual fantasy. People don't know how to categorize it, so they leave it off their lists.

Yet what a compelling, frightening and beautiful film it is! And how well it has survived its period. Many films from the mid-1950s, even the good ones, seem somewhat dated now, but by setting his story in an invented movie world outside conventional realism, Laughton gave it a timelessness. Yes, the movie takes place in a small town on the banks of a river. But the town looks as artificial as a Christmas card scene, the family's house with its strange angles inside and out looks too small to live in, and the river becomes a set so obviously artificial it could have been built for a completely stylized studio film like "Kwaidan" (1964).

Everybody knows the Mitchum character, the sinister "Reverend'' Harry Powell. Even those who haven't seen the movie have heard about the knuckles of his two hands, and how one has the letters H-A-T-E tattooed on them, and the other the letters L-O-V-E. Bruce Springsteen drew on those images in his song "Cautious Man'':

"On his right hand Billy'd tattooed the word "love'' and on his left hand was the word "fear'' And in which hand he held his fate was never clear''

Many movie lovers know by heart the Reverend's famous explanation to the wide-eyed boy ("Ah, little lad, you're staring at my fingers. Would you like me to tell you the little story of right-hand/left-hand?'') And the scene where the Reverend stands at the top of the stairs and calls down to the boy and his sister has become the model for a hundred other horror scenes.

But does this familiarity give "The Night of the Hunter'' the recognition it deserves? I don't think so because those famous trademarks distract from its real accomplishment. It is one of the most frightening of movies, with one of the most unforgettable of villains, and on both of those scores it holds up as well after four decades as I expect "The Silence of the Lambs" to do many years from now.

The story, somewhat rearranged: In a prison cell, Harry Powell discovers the secret of a condemned man (Peter Graves), who has hidden $10,000 somewhere around his house. After being released from prison, Powell seeks out the man's widow, Willa Harper (Shelley Winters), and two children, John (Billy Chapin) and the owl-faced Pearl (Sally Jane Bruce). They know where the money is, but don't trust the ``preacher.'' But their mother buys his con game and marries him, leading to a tortured wedding night inside a high-gabled bedroom that looks a cross between a chapel and a crypt.

Soon Willa Harper is dead, seen in an incredible shot at the wheel of a car at the bottom of the river, her hair drifting with the seaweed. And soon the children are fleeing down the dream-river in a small boat, while the Preacher follows them implacably on the shore; this beautifully stylized sequence uses the logic of nightmares, in which no matter how fast one runs, the slow step of the pursuer keeps the pace. The children are finally taken in by a Bible-fearing old lady (Lillian Gish), who would seem to be helpless to defend them against the single-minded murderer, but is as unyielding as her faith.

The shot of Winters at the bottom of the river is one of several remarkable images in the movie, which was photographed in black and white by Stanley Cortez, who shot Welles' "The Magnificent Ambersons," and once observed he was "always chosen to shoot weird things.'' He shot few weirder than here, where one frightening composition shows a street lamp casting Mitchum's terrifying shadow on the walls of the children's bedroom. The basement sequence combines terror and humor, as when the Preacher tries to chase the children up the stairs, only to trip, fall, recover, lunge and catch his fingers in the door. And the masterful nighttime river sequence uses giant foregrounds of natural details, like frogs and spider webs, to underline a kind of biblical progression as the children drift to eventual safety.

The screenplay, based on a novel by Davis Grubb, is credited to James Agee, one of the icons of American film writing and criticism, then in the final throes of alcoholism. Laughton's widow, Elsa Lanchester, is adamant in her autobiography: ``Charles finally had very little respect for Agee. And he hated the script, but he was inspired by his hatred.'' She quotes the film's producer, Paul Gregory: ``. . . the script that was produced on the screen is no more James Agee's . . . than I'm Marlene Dietrich.''

Who wrote the final draft? Perhaps Laughton had a hand. Lanchester and Laughton both remembered that Mitchum was invaluable as a help in working with the two children, whom Laughton could not stand. But the final film is all Laughton's, especially the dreamy, Bible-evoking final sequence, with Lillian Gish presiding over events like an avenging elderly angel.

Robert Mitchum is one of the great icons of the second half-century of cinema. Despite his sometimes scandalous off-screen reputation, despite his genial willingness to sign on to half-baked projects, he made a group of films that led David Thomson, in his Biographical Dictionary of Film, to ask, ``How can I offer this hunk as one of the best actors in the movies?'' And answer: ``Since the war, no American actor has made more first-class films, in so many different moods.'' ``The Night of the Hunter,'' he observes, represents ``the only time in his career that Mitchum acted outside himself,'' by which he means there is little of the Mitchum persona in the Preacher.

Mitchum is uncannily right for the role, with his long face, his gravel voice, and the silky tones of a snake-oil salesman. And Shelly Winters, all jitters and repressed sexual hysteria, is somehow convincing as she falls so prematurely into, and out of, his arms. The supporting actors are like a chattering gallery of Norman Rockwell archetypes, their lives centered on bake sales, soda fountains and gossip. The children, especially the little girl, look more odd than lovable, which helps the film move away from realism and into stylized nightmare. And Lillian Gish and Stanley Cortez quite deliberately, I think, composed that great shot of her which looks like nothing so much as Whistler's mother holding a shotgun.

Charles Laughton showed here that he had an original eye, and a taste for material that stretched the conventions of the movies. It is risky to combine horror and humor, and foolhardy to approach them through expressionism. For his first film, Laughton made a film like no other before or since, and with such confidence it seemed to draw on a lifetime of work. Critics were baffled by it, the public rejected it, and the studio had a much more expensive Mitchum picture (``Not as a Stranger'') it wanted to promote instead. But nobody who has seen "The Night of the Hunter'' has forgotten it, or Mitchum's voice coiling down those basement stairs: "Chillll . . . dren?''



As you probably noticed, I highlighted a few of Ebert's passages in pink. I'd like you to pick one or two and comment on it - do you agree or disagree? Why or why not? As always, please give support for you claims. And feel free to comment on the responses of others.

Also, are there any passages that I did not hightlight with which you severly agree or disagree?


Tuesday, November 24, 2009

Orange County: 13:34

There are six entries on which for you to comment. Here's the first. It's comedy time, thanks to Ben.



In director Jake Kasdan's movie Orange County(2002) the story takes place in Southern California in character Shaun Brumder’s (Colin Hanks) senior year of high school. He wants to become a professional surfer until one day he finds a book in the sand which makes him want to be a writer. The author of this book is a professor at Stanford and this makes Shaun aspire to go there to become a writer. The problem is though, that the college counselor mixes his application with another kid and he gets stuck in Orange County. This sets Shaun on an adventure to find a way into Stanford.

At 13 minutes and 34 seconds, Shaun is running away from the college counselor’s office right after he finds out that his transcript was mixed up. He thinks his life is ruined because now he can’t become a writer. He believes the only way to become a successful writer is to get into Stanford where his idol is a professor at.

This shot shows how Shaun is “trapped” in Orange County. Others around him encourage him to just go to the community college in the area like everyone else does, but Shaun doesn’t want to be “everyone else”. If he can’t go to Stanford he feels like there’s no way for him to get out of Orange County.

It was a good choice by the director to choose this narrow passage for this part in the movie. With the walls presence dominating over Shaun, it depicts how he’s trapped in Orange County with the rest of the kids there. With the walls being so tall it signifies how there is no way out, at least that’s what Shaun thinks. The long corridor makes it seem like Shaun’s been running forever or is running away from Orange County.

This long shot of Shaun running depicts how far away he is from what he wants to do in life. It also shows how small Shaun is to the world around him along with the walls of the corridor towering over him. As Shaun runs towards the camera it represents that by the end of the movie he’ll overcome his problem and get closer to the world around him. The director uses a wide angle lens to make Shaun seem smaller and to make the walls seem way bigger than him. Shaun is far away so it makes it so he has less power since he just got rejected from college.

When I was picking which shot to use for this I was assuming I would pick a shot with a lot going on. Then I saw this shot and it shocked me how much was in it. It’s a pretty plain shot and to the naked eye there isn’t much going, but because of the circumstances in the movie it makes perfect sense. It’s the perfect shot for a kid trying to escape his current situation.

Alright honestly, does anyone see this shot in the way I do? Or am I just blowing it out of proportion?

Mr. Cowlin here. Ben's last question got me thinking...How do we know when we've blown things out of proportion? How much is 'too much' when it comes to analyzing movies? Any ideas?

Becoming Jane: 22:45

Stephanie submitted this entry. I especially like the off-center nature of the frame's subject.

The 2007 movie Becoming Jane, directed by Julian Jarrold, is a historical film inspired by the early life of famous novelist Jane Austen (played by Anne Hathaway) and her relationship with Tom Lefroy (portrayed by James McAvoy). Jane Austen is the youngest daughter of Reverend Austen (James Cromwell) and his wife (Julie Walters). She has yet to find a suitable husband. Jane desires to become a write, to her mother’s dismay, and the delight of her father. Thomas Lefroy is a promising lawyer but has a bad reputation that he describes as “typical” for companions of that era. His wealthy uncle is unhappy with his behavior and sends him to the countryside to learn his lesson. After a bad first impression upon meeting Mr. Lefroy, Jane cannot stand the arrogant Irishman.

Throughout the movie, Jane turns down the affections of numerous men including Mr. Wisley (Laurence Fox), the nephew of Lady Gresham (Maggie Smith). She denies his proposal. Tom and Jane’s hate soon begins to turn into a growing affection. The mischievous Tom continues his advances and Jane begins to take the idea of marriage seriously. They get to know each other gradually, and eventually fall in love.

Tom, Jane, her brother and cousin receive an invitation from Tom’s uncle and benefactor (the Lord Chief Judge Langlois of London). The judge was about to give his blessing for Tom and Jane’s marriage when he received an anonymous letter informing him that Jane’s family was poor and refuses to give the blessing. Jane is upset when Tom tells her that he can’t marry her, not knowing that Tom had a good reason; he is his family’s only hope for survival. Jane goes back home and accepts Mr. Wisley’s proposal that she earlier turned down.

Tom soon realizes that he cannot live without Jane and comes back suggesting that they should runaway. Jane agrees and leaves with only her sister Cassandra knowing. On the way, Jane stumbles upon a letter from Tom’s mother, and realizes his situation. She tells Tome that they can’t do this with so many people depending on him. Tom insists otherwise but Jane says that he won’t be able to support his family if he runs away. Jane says that she loves him, but that if their love destroys his family, it would destroy itself with guilt, regret, and blame.

Tom was an inspiration for some of Austen’s writing (Mr. Darcy in Pride and Prejudice). Jane destroyed most of the evidence of their relationship. Twenty years later Jane encounters Thomas Lefroy at a social function. He is with his eldest daughter also named Jane, who turns out to be a big fan of Jane’s writing.



At 22 minutes and 45 seconds into the movie, Jane and Tom both meet unexpectedly in the woods. Tom was sent by his uncle (that lives in the country) into the woods to learn a few things about the beauty of the country. Tom was struggling to make his way through while Jane was taking a pleasant walk and was unhappy when she saw the arrogant man who had insulted her writing. In this shot we see Hathaway’s character on the complete opposite side of the screen compared to McAvoy. We get something between a full or medium shot of Jane and a long distance shot of Tom. He is emerging from the thicket to the trail and trying to get to Jane, whereas she is walking away, not wanting to be in his presence. The depth of field shows that the two are deep inside of the forest because each side of the shot is surrounded by green shrubbery and trees. Though you see the two on opposite ends on the screen, you are forced to look at the space between them. In this shot you see the open gap occupied by only the green and brown path. This empty space will fill up in the next few shots as Tom gets closer to Jane. It shows the aversion between the two, but also the developing chemistry (each step they take to get closer is filling up that empty gap). In my opinion this is an eye level shot. When you watch this scene, at the time Jane is closer to you but soon Tom is right next to her and it becomes a full and then medium shot. It’s as if you are standing on the path, watching this happen.

This shot is in the perfect spot in the forest. There is a peaceful path that Jane is walking on in her casual but nice blue dress with a white collar. The dress is very plain but you can tell it’s something that might have been worn in the 1800s for an average person. Even her hair is up the way a woman might have worn it then. Tom is dressed in a very elegant black suit with a nice waste coat, white shirt, top hat, and cane. It’s ironic. We can tell that he is from the city and doesn’t fit into the country style.

How do you think the character’s positioning (where they are and how they’re standing) affects the mood and point of this shot? If you didn’t know what this movie is about, what would you conclude by just seeing this shot?

Old Boy: 92:05

I agree with Jessica. Old Boy is a great movie. For those of you who have not yet discovered the intesity and beauty of Korean films, hop to it.

Korean director Chan Wook Park’s Old Boy (2003) tells the story of a man, Dae Su Oh, who for fifteen years is imprisoned in a gloomy, lonely, motel-like room. During these fifteen years he has no idea who his kidnapper is or for that matter, why he is even kidnapped. But he trains daily in hopes that on the day that he is freed, he will be able tear his captors limb from limb. Through this long imprisonment, the desire for revenge begins to change Dae Su from the inside out; vengeance begins consumes his old playful, immature character. Fifteen years later, he is released, and is given an opportunity to play a game with his kidnapper (with a time limit, of course) -Objective: Figure out the reason behind the imprisonment and figure out who the captor is. Reward: A chance to kill the person who held him captive for fifteen years. And if he fails, his kidnapper gets to kill the woman who Dae Su loves. The film follows Dae Su on his quest for vengeance. His quest for revenge brings him to his forgotten memories in which lies the motive to why he was kidnapped.

Warning: Spoilers Ahead!



At 1 hour 32 minutes and 5 seconds, Dae Su thinks he has figured out why he was kidnapped, and has come to kill his kidnapper, Woo-Jin. The scene is very contradicting because Dae Su is the one who is going to kill Woo-Jin yet Dae Su is the one who is pushed back, and made smaller in this medium-close up shot. The close up of Woo-Jin shows that he still has power over Dae Su, and the smirk on his face gives the audience a slight indication that he has a few more tricks up his sleeve. This scene continues to become even more contradictory because throughout the whole film the audience has assumed Woo-Jin to be the antagonist and Dae Su to be the protagonist. But the costumes of the characters say otherwise. Woo-Jin is the one in the white, clean dress shirt, while Dae Su is the one in the black suit. Dae Su is no longer perceived as the victim, but the audience begins to understand Woo-Jin’s heart motive for kidnapping Dae Su. But his plans for Dae Su still remain vague.

The overall set design of Woo-Jin’s house is very murky and mysterious. It tells a lot about the tone of the film but also about Woo-Jin as well. Woo-Jin is a very wealthy man, who is haunted by the death of his sister, whom he loved. Woo-Jin’s penthouse is very simple and impersonal, except for the wall of photos of his sister. It shows how his sister was the only person he truly cared for in his life, and it also shows a reason for why vengeance was so important to him. This film uses the concept of an eye for an eye, but takes it to a whole other level.

Dae Su and Woo-Jin act with strong conviction for their characters that are driven by their need for revenge. To me, Dae Su seems a lot more foolish because he is driven by his need for revenge through rage and violence, while Woo-Jin is calm, collected and cool, and rarely shows any serious emotional side, but it’s clear that Woo-Jin hides all his emotions and feelings of loss. Old Boy is a very different from most revenge themed films because not only does it show the minds of both the victim and the avenger, but also in the end, they both turn out to be victims.

Mr Cowlin: What do the rest of you have to say about Jessica's analysis? Agree? Disagree?  And Jessica, I'm not so sure I agree about your use of the word "murky"... Care to elaborate?

Escape from New York: 29:18

Okay, here's one from Zach. I've got to be honest, it's a pretty good one. Zach shares with us some pretty good analysis in it. But that's not the reason I included it. I probably would have included this entry even if was written by a monkey with a broken typewriter because...I...love...this...movie.

(Yes, there was a sequel - Escape from L.A. Good but not great.)

Side note: This movie takes place in 1997, and back when I saw it 1997 was still the future. That's how old I am.



John Carpenter’s cult classic Escape from New York (1981) is set in the future dystopia that is 1997 and America and the Soviets are still entrenched in battle. The president of the United States (Donald Pleasance) is traveling aboard Air Force one to a meeting between the US, Russia and China to hopefully end the conflict. Before he can reach his destination, Air Force one must travel over Manhattan, which has been turned into a prison-island surrounded by military on all sides. As this occurs, the plane is hijacked and is directed into the prison and all radio connection between the plane and the nearby military base is lost. Eventually the army goes in looking for the president to discover an escape pod and to be told that the president is being held captive by the Duke (Isaac Hayes) and his cronies. It is at this point that military leader Bob Hauk (Lee Van Cleef) sends in the onetime war hero and now captured criminal Snake Plissken (Kurt Russell) to save the president along with a briefcase containing secret nuclear formulas. If he succeeds, Snake will be given a full pardon and his life will be spared. So it is now that Snake ventures into this hellhole and must complete his mission before it is too late.

This scene at 29 minutes and 18 seconds in the film, Snake Plissken has flown a small plane onto the top of the World Trade Center to infiltrate the city and is now walking down a hallway of the WTC on his way onto the city streets. Cinematography wise this moment uses a full body and eye level shot to show the audience that Snake may be part of something bigger than just himself. It is also somewhat eyelevel to insinuate the true height and length of the buildings hallways. This shot is in a short depth of field to allow the audience to focus on the closest area to make the audience believe the hallway is longer than it may be, possibly to reference the bridge scene towards the end of the film as well as to possibly symbolize the difficult struggle that this mission will entail.

Mise-en-scene wise, this shot has the workings of brilliance. First of all, the way Kurt Russell plays Snake is perfect. The way Kurt is walking with such a cocky attitude makes his character even better. Rather than trying to sneak by and be stealthy, Snake just walks down the hall almost daring anyone or thing to just try to jump him.

Along with acting comes the set design. Along with the long hallways theory presented earlier, it can be seen by the doorway of the closest room that there are rain clouds. This is just an even less subtle reminder that this job is no sunny walk in the park.

Even further down we see an orange crucifix. This has really no religious connotations, but rather is a symbol for Snake’s redemption (and later on that of Brain’s). By being a war hero, Snake had honor. He then became a criminal and has lost the respect he had earned. This “suicide-mission” is the way Snake can return to his former standing in the eye of the government, the eyes of other humans and in his own mind.

The prop design of this shot mainly consists of strewn about papers on the floor along with the occasional chair or other item of debris. This allows the scene to be all the more believable as one would expect a rundown building where basically “hobo-prisoners” are the only occupants to be the epitome of a dilapidated home. Each paper is placed with a purpose, to seem as if abandoned in a hurry by the decent civilians who lived there ten years before.

The lighting is also a key aspect of making this scene perfect. Even though it is an office building, the fluorescent lights are not on. The only lighting comes from places that are either off camera, giving the air of eeriness and a lonesome quality to the setting and to Snake. Having no true light source shown also allows the audience to further believe the story by having the notion that since Manhattan is a prison, it could be dangerous to leave electricity on for these violent human beings.

In conclusion, I have several questions to ask:
  1. From this scene do you feel if Snake was completely or partly successful in his mission?
  2. Does anything of the scene (mise-en-scene wise) make you believe the scene, if so which part? If not, why is it not believable?
  3. Why you cry?

Seven: 120:44

Here's one from Brandon.

David Fincher’s 1995 classic Seven tells of two detectives, Morgan Freeman and Brad Pitt, who are after a serial killer who bases his killings by man’s seven deadly sins.

At the near end of the movie, Detective David Mills (Brad Pitt) and Detective William Somerset (Morgan Freeman) are re-entering the police station trying to figure out where to look next for the killer John Doe. All of a sudden behind them comes John Doe the killer (portrayed by Kevin Spacey) into the police station, turning himself in. He later talks to the authorities and his lawyer that he can take Detective Mills and Somerset to two more bodies and will plead guilty in court or if they don’t take cooperate with him he will plead insanity. The detectives agree to the request so that they can end this long and defiant case of murders.

The three, Doe, Mills and Somerset travel out to the desert too find the two bodies with an S.W.A.T helicopter above them tracking all their movements. In the car, Doe explains his reasons for his killings and claims they were wicked people and wanted to show the world its own corruption. They get to the desert and wait for Doe to show them the whereabouts of the other two bodies. But a delivery van pulls up claiming the driver was paid $500 if he was to deliver a package out to the desert. Somerset goes over to open the package to see what’s inside. He opens the box to discover the decapitated head of Mills’ wife. He yells over to Mills to ignore whatever Doe tells him as he rushes over to stop Mills from shooting Doe. Doe starts telling Mills how he admires his life and wanted to be part of it. He confesses that killed his wife in the process also telling Mills that he had an unborn child of which he didn’t know. Due to all the rage built within Mills which he tries to hold back but soon gives in, he shoots Doe, unleashing every bullet in his gun upon him. Somerset stands their helpless knowing that Mills gave in to Doe’s plan and that Mills and himself lost and Doe won. Mills becomes the sin of wrath by killing Doe. Somerset finds out before Mill’s shoot him that this was Doe’s plan all along of being killed by Mills as a part of his seven deadly sins act.



At time 120 minutes and 14 seconds, there is the shot of detective Mills unleashing the bullets upon Doe’s body with Somerset standing with his body looking the other way showing defeat. The sky is a shade of dark green, this very eerie to me, because it shows the evil that has consumed the sky. The camera is at a low angle showing the power of Detective Mills and Somerset over Doe’s power. They’re supposed to be the justice in the movie; usually it’s the police vs. criminals, good vs. evil. Mills thinks by killing Doe he has over powered him and has won. Actually though, in a way Mills is the weakest one of the whole shot. The only thing the electrical tower can be represented as Doe himself and how powerful he actually is compared to the detectives. The electrical tower has two handles on each side of it. One side has wires crossing through Mills but on the other side no wires are seen or going through Somerset. This represents Mills still a puppet being part of the act, controlled by Doe and not being able to do the right thing or be free. He has given in and been consumed by Doe’s wrath. Doe was the puppet master, the whole show was under his control to show the world its own reflection it the mirror. Mill was always the weak minded one and played into Doe’s hands. But Somerset broke through the strings and relied on his own senses to not be controlled by Doe. He was the second strongest one of the shot. He tried to help Mills to make the right choice but Mills was too blinded by vengeance to do that. By Somerset being turned away it shows his disappointment within Mills and how he admits their defeat.

What else can the three figures (including the electrical tower) represent?

Mr. Cowlin here. Are there any points Brandon makes that you find particularly engaging? How about anything you disagree with?

Freaky Friday: 24:43

Here's Sylwia's analysis of a frame from Freaky Friday.



Director Mark Water’s Freaky Friday (2003) displays the relationship between an overworked mother and her rebellious daughter. Dr. Tess Coleman is a widow that is about to remarry. Her young daughter, Anna, is a teenager with musical aspirations. There are many reasons why the two of them do not get along, the main reason being the different paths that they took in order to cope with the death of the father in the family. There is a wide gap between the mother and daughter and the two simply cannot find a way to stop their personal hectic stress and learn how to understand each other. These problems soon change at a night in a Chinese restaurant when the two reach a raging argument and a woman hands them two fortune cookies; however, these aren’t ordinary fortune cookies. Anna and Tess fall into a mystical switch and wake up only to find themselves in the wrong bodies. They are literally forced to learn how to live in each other’s shoes and soon develop a new respect for their views on life.

Before this mystical switch happens, the scene at 24 minutes and 43 seconds reveals the principle conflict in the film. The director uses an over-the-shoulder shot to pull all the attention on the heated argument between the mother and her daughter. This focus on the two characters displays the most crucial conflict in the film which is the way that Dr. Tess and Anna do not understand each other and do not share a healthy parent -child bond.

There is another character in the background of the scene, but he stands far away from the conversation. It is clear that he is not part of the conversation and therefore he cannot interfere or solve the conflict. This is evident because of the staging in the scene. Dr. Tess sits in the left corner and the shot of her is a medium shot. She becomes the largest figure in the scene, essentially facing the two smaller characters and she becomes the character with the most power. In fact, it is at this point in the scene that she is taking away Anna’s door to her room because Anna managed to land herself into detention twice in one day. Her final remark to Anna is, “Privacy is a privilege.” The second largest character is Anna and the shot of her is a medium shot. She also has slight power in the conversation because she challenges the way that her mom is approaching her. The character with the least power is the step-father and the shot of him is a long shot. He stands life-size and almost appears to be hiding behind the counter, meekly and awkwardly, too afraid of challenging Dr. Tess’s or Anna’s power.

The set design and costume/make-up illustrates the conflict because it shows what differences cause the two characters to fight and why the character standing in the back is the least assertive. Dr. Tess sits at a table that is neatly organized. There are no flaws, everything seems perfect and clean; however, her daughter in front of her appears to be the one thing that she cannot fix or clean-up. Anna’s clothing is rebellious, grungy and dark. Her hair is messy and she is wearing studs that chaotic punks wear. She defies Dr. Tess’s “perfect world” just by the way that she dresses. The step-father that stands in the background is behind a large counter that separates him from Dr. Tess and Anna. This kitchen counter becomes the barrier between him and his future family. Anna cannot accept him because she still misses her real father and she builds a wall around her that does not let her step-father reach her. The kitchen counter also separates the step-father and Dr. Tess. Dr. Tess does not want him to help her with the problems she shares with her daughter, and that becomes her way of pushing him away and building a wall in front of him. It becomes harder for him to fit into the chaotic family.

How do you think the scene would work without the kitchen counter?

Mr. Cowlin here again. I'd like to add to Sylwia's quesion. How about the chair and the kitchen table? Also, what about the staging, with the mother sitting down and the dad standing up?

Wednesday, November 18, 2009

The Deer Hunter: 58:48

Director Michael Cimino’s The Deer Hunter (1978) tells the story of three good friends - Michael, Nick, and Steven – about to head off to the war in Vietnam. The eve before they are to ship out, Steven, perhaps in an effort to solidify his position as a member of the community in his steel mill Pennsylvanian hometown, marries his pregnant girlfriend. “If I have a wife and kid to come home to,” he may be thinking, “then maybe I’ll actually be coming home.” The next morning, while Steven is off on a short, one-night honeymoon, Michael and Nick go hunting along with their friends John, Axle and Stan. Together, these five men will spend one more day hunting deer and, in their own way, saying goodbye to each other.


At 58 minutes and 48 seconds, the men pull off the road partway up the mountain and have a quick meal of bread, mustard, bologna, beer, and Twinkies. There, while Michael, the natural leader, prepares his rifle, and while the other men lounge and rest and snack, Stan wanders over to the other side of the road wondering how “they changed” the road.

This shot illustrates not only the individual nature of each character involved, but uses Nature as a looming backdrop, foreshadowing the hardship and tragedy that lay just ahead for the soon-to-be soldiers.

Axle and John stand behind the car, eating. They’re not ready to hunt, they’re not ready to help, and they are most certainly not ready to go to war with their buddies. Nick lays on the hood of the car, not sleeping, but waiting. He refuses to eat in an effort to “keep the fear up,” as he puts it. He is in a constant state of readiness, always contemplating, always thinking. Michael, however, is the only one already in his hunting gear and preparing his rifle, demonstrating that he is indeed that man of action that will, before movie’s end, save his friends to whatever degree he is able. Then he looks back at Stan, disgusted by Stan's insolence and stupidity.

Stan, foolishly decked out in a tuxedo and fur hat, separated from the others, complains that “they changed the road,” whatever that means. He becomes the epitome of the know-it-all complainer, that guy who knows what’s wrong, isn’t afraid to let everyone know, and yet is unable to do anything about it or take responsibility for his own mistakes.

And then there are the mountains looming behind. Foreboding. Indomitable. Ruthless. Harsh. Unforgiving. The wide angle shot allows those mountains to take up the entire sky, the entire background. There is, quite simply, no escaping them, nor can Michael and Nick hope to escape their future.

When I first looked at the shot, my natural inclination was that Stan is the subject of the frame, but now I wonder. The men at the car on the left seem equally balanced with Stan off by himself on the right. Add those mountains into the mix, and the subject of the shot almost becomes Micael's relationship with the three– what he has, what he is leaving behind, and what he will soon encounter.

I'm not sure, though. Am I over thinking this last part? What do you think?