Saturday, September 17, 2011
Tuesday, May 19, 2009
Get a Life
This is a Portuguese film released in 2000. It shows the lives of immigrants, in this case Portuguese immigrants, living in Paris. Like the 1994 film 'La Haine' (Hate) it showcases the difficult relationship between the police and poor citizens, at least that is what it seems like at the beginning. The issue of police brutality on the youth in Paris is only a segway for the film to discuss broader issues of social isolation and community indifference to crime.
In this film, Cidalia is the mother of a Portuguese immigrant youth who is gunned down in the streets of Paris. She struggles to uncover the truth about who killed her son, and through this exposes the indifference and the lack of solidarity that exists within her community. She first finds this out when she tries to get members of her apartment block to sign a petition to request an explanation of the homicide from the police. Her neighbors shut their doors on her face in scenes similar to what happens to Peg Boss in "Edward Scissor Hands" (1990). Moreover Cidalia gets even less sympathy from her own husband, which in turn drives her to desperation and insanity.
On the technical side, this film is very uninteresting because the filmmaker intentionally chooses to film his characters using intense closeups and only natural light. The closeups create an uneasy view of the characters. The lack of light in certain night shots also makes it difficult to follow the actions of the characters. Therefore this film although gripping with its story, it lacks the visual attractions that to make it an enjoyable spectacle. It is not entirely disappointing. It would be interesting to see a remake of this story done with better visuals.
In this film, Cidalia is the mother of a Portuguese immigrant youth who is gunned down in the streets of Paris. She struggles to uncover the truth about who killed her son, and through this exposes the indifference and the lack of solidarity that exists within her community. She first finds this out when she tries to get members of her apartment block to sign a petition to request an explanation of the homicide from the police. Her neighbors shut their doors on her face in scenes similar to what happens to Peg Boss in "Edward Scissor Hands" (1990). Moreover Cidalia gets even less sympathy from her own husband, which in turn drives her to desperation and insanity.
On the technical side, this film is very uninteresting because the filmmaker intentionally chooses to film his characters using intense closeups and only natural light. The closeups create an uneasy view of the characters. The lack of light in certain night shots also makes it difficult to follow the actions of the characters. Therefore this film although gripping with its story, it lacks the visual attractions that to make it an enjoyable spectacle. It is not entirely disappointing. It would be interesting to see a remake of this story done with better visuals.
Monday, May 18, 2009
European Film Festival 2009
I've been back home for a couple of months now. One of the things that I missed the most during my four years in the OC were the film festivals that are brought to Joburg by different cultural institutions. So far I've seen the Japanese, French Festivals and I am now watching the week long European Union Film Festival. I will try to write a bit about what I've seen and about to see, but if you want to see a full list of the films being show then go to www.eu2009.cz
The first film I would like to talk about is 'Citizen Havel', a 2008 Czechoslovakian documentary film. In this film the camera documents the life of the first president of the Czech Republic from the first day of his presidency in 1992 to about 2002. It is like Oliver Stone's Commandante (2002) in that the filmmaker Pavel Koutecky was given almost unlimited access to document candid moments of a head of state. The are several major differences in the films one of which is the lengths of recording permitted. While Oliver Stone followed Fidel Castro for 3 days without restriction, Koutecky's recordings span over ten years and they only follow Havel's life at various junctions.
Many of the similarities can be seen in the protagonists of the documentaries. Like Fidel Castro, Havel was the leader of a national political revolution. The Velvet Revolution was a movement led by students and scholars that overthrew the Communist government in 1989, leading to the transformation of Cold War political lines in Europe. Havel who is a former playwright appears to be an inspirational leader who symbolises the ideals of the revolution.
There are two parts to the film, they are the first and second terms of his presidency. Each part begins with Havel anxiously awaiting parliament to elect him as the head of state. We then follow him through the meetings with his political advisers, international bilateral and multilateral conferences, family funerals and wedding and wardrobe changes. Throughout this camera remains very close to Havel and uses various Czech TV news reports to supplement our views.
What is very interesting about this documentary film is that viewers can see a change in the film techniques and equipment throughout the 10 years of the storyline. The early shots of Havel seemed have a very poor picture quality and there is a sense that the film crew is not inconspicuous to the characters of the film. Later on the picture quality is clearer and closer to the digital pictures of today's films and the camera seems to move quicker and with ease.
This is a Czech language film about a particularly Czech subject. It seems as though the viewer is expected to know a lot of details about Czech politics or at least about the various events of Havel's life, because there is very little direct explanation of the events on tape unless they are revealed by the TV news clips that intersect the story. I personally knew nothing about Havel before I entered the cinema to watch the film. I walked out with a fair bit of insider's knowledge but also with a feeling that I would have to do more research to understand some of the events in the film.
Overall I think that this film is a major success in its coverage of two terms of a head of state. I can only imagine the hundred if not thousand of hours of footage that the filmmaker had to go through in order to produce a consistent two hour story. Bravo!
The first film I would like to talk about is 'Citizen Havel', a 2008 Czechoslovakian documentary film. In this film the camera documents the life of the first president of the Czech Republic from the first day of his presidency in 1992 to about 2002. It is like Oliver Stone's Commandante (2002) in that the filmmaker Pavel Koutecky was given almost unlimited access to document candid moments of a head of state. The are several major differences in the films one of which is the lengths of recording permitted. While Oliver Stone followed Fidel Castro for 3 days without restriction, Koutecky's recordings span over ten years and they only follow Havel's life at various junctions.
Many of the similarities can be seen in the protagonists of the documentaries. Like Fidel Castro, Havel was the leader of a national political revolution. The Velvet Revolution was a movement led by students and scholars that overthrew the Communist government in 1989, leading to the transformation of Cold War political lines in Europe. Havel who is a former playwright appears to be an inspirational leader who symbolises the ideals of the revolution.
There are two parts to the film, they are the first and second terms of his presidency. Each part begins with Havel anxiously awaiting parliament to elect him as the head of state. We then follow him through the meetings with his political advisers, international bilateral and multilateral conferences, family funerals and wedding and wardrobe changes. Throughout this camera remains very close to Havel and uses various Czech TV news reports to supplement our views.
What is very interesting about this documentary film is that viewers can see a change in the film techniques and equipment throughout the 10 years of the storyline. The early shots of Havel seemed have a very poor picture quality and there is a sense that the film crew is not inconspicuous to the characters of the film. Later on the picture quality is clearer and closer to the digital pictures of today's films and the camera seems to move quicker and with ease.
This is a Czech language film about a particularly Czech subject. It seems as though the viewer is expected to know a lot of details about Czech politics or at least about the various events of Havel's life, because there is very little direct explanation of the events on tape unless they are revealed by the TV news clips that intersect the story. I personally knew nothing about Havel before I entered the cinema to watch the film. I walked out with a fair bit of insider's knowledge but also with a feeling that I would have to do more research to understand some of the events in the film.
Overall I think that this film is a major success in its coverage of two terms of a head of state. I can only imagine the hundred if not thousand of hours of footage that the filmmaker had to go through in order to produce a consistent two hour story. Bravo!
Sunday, December 7, 2008
Trash: In the Eye of the Beholder
The conversations Godard, Ozu, Fellini, Trauffut, Kurosawa, and Welles had amongst each other has spread and made its presence in the cinematographers that followed. The very sexy movie “The Thomas Crown Affair” displays all these masters’ influence. Camera angles are more daring and isolating, and edits are made in such a way that it adds to or creates the story. The camera has become an eye or entity in itself and it guides us sometimes bluntly, sometimes subtly through the director’s strokes of either pens or brushes. In “The Thomas Crown Affair” the first notorious Trauffut’ish camera angle was when the camera followed the red smoky “thingy” on ground level, as the red smoke fell into the camera’s (or audiences) face. Next was Ozu’s and Godard’s isolation of facial features, even with a “could be” reference to Godard’s “Breathless”, when Faye Dunaway rubs her lips in the chess playing scene. Also in the chess scene, the high angle shot of them playing, resembled Kurosawa, while the décor and esthetic balance greatly called Ozu. She was wearing white, he was wearing black. She was playing with the blacks, and he with the whites. There were two soft lamp shades behind them, adding to the “yin-yan” balancing effect they already had with the colors. Then the fireplace in the background between them, directly behind the couch where there hands met in a coy game, symbolizing the fiery middle ground. These esthetic details greatly resemble Ozu’s graceful framing and balancing of shots.
Now on the other hand, we have Pauline Kael telling us that all this recycled material is nothing more than that…recycled. And the worst part is, that it is a downward spiral, for as the generations get younger, they are unable to realize the avant-guard art already made generations before them, and therefore, are left to marvel at recycled “trash.” Were there many aspects of prior avant-guard themes in “The Thomas Crown Affair”? Yes. Does that make it trash? I don’t know. She does mention that they resemble breaths of fresh air, light and “cheap imitations of art” that serve to distract us from our daily routines or problems. Kael argues that in this movie’s case, it is not its crassness that makes it trash, but its attempt to be artsy by using recycled material from the greats. In any case, it is true that “The Thomas Crown Affair” does not necessarily bring forth jaw-dropping techniques, but if Kael was to witness today’s cult of stoner movies, I wonder if she would change her mind in regards to “The Thomas Crown Affair.”
Nevertheless, she does have a point in that as generations get younger, and we get more and more convoluted by mainstream trashy TV, with its reality shows like “Tila Tequila,” we never even bother to learn the legacies the greats left before us…in order to even have a point of comparison. Yet, at the same time, I do have to disagree with myself. There is a type of “art” in some of the new genres, like stoner movies. Yes, they are crass, pointless, often sexist, and so forth. Yes, they are also reflective of a particular type of North American humor, which is often criticized by Europeans. Although it might be exclusive to the American culture (where international critics might not easily find the humor in the jokes) and to a particular type of humor, we have to remember that the art is not in its type of humor nor type of movie, but lies in watching it not sober. Cheech and Chong may very well be the fathers of this genre that flowered heavily in our present day. However, experiments might be necessary in order to truly determine whether they are trash or not. The viewer should first watch the stoner movie sober, and then…not sober. It truly does make a difference, and I earnestly marvel at how they are able to create humor comprehensible only under a specific state of mind.
Now, is this trash because of its crudeness and incomprehensibility to the non-stoned audience? Or can it be seen as a new form of art, which although incomparable to the greats (of course), could be at least recognized for its novelty? It is true that many surrealist, or simply intellectually complex movies could produce this effect when your sober, and perhaps even more so when your not. But movies which are designed to be understood and laughed at solely under a determined state, is novelty and a new type of art form within itself. It may not be appeasing to some, the same way modern art is incomprehensible to some individuals accustomed to classical art. But as Kael argues, we watch these type of movies because we enjoy them, not because they support culture (348); because they makes us feel free from responsibility and prejudices (349); because they are closer to our culture, especially when compared to European esthetics (350) (not to mention, I’m sure Europeans feel the same way); and especially because without the “playfulness” aspect, it would seem as torture (352). I believe it is all these aspects that stoner movies have encompassed, worked with and consequently originated a new form of visuals reflective of our time. They are popular art, as Kael says, but art nonetheless and it is not necessarily a downward spiral. Times change, politics change, and although I am a bit apathetic myself towards the degree of “enlightment” of our youth, there is still a glimpse of hope.
Cheech and Chong, possibly due to their times, had many social and political messages through satire. Today, there are a few stoner movies that through satire address political and social issues as well. Not enough, yet, but some. “Harold and Kumar go to Guantanamo” are an example of this. When I saw the movie, I completely understood the satirical socio-political references they were addressing. However, after watching it understood there was a layer of comedy that was incomprehensible because I was not in the mindset of the intended audience. Nevertheless, although Kael’s argument is very thorough and complex, and there are aspects I agree with her about, “trash,” just as beauty, ultimately lies in the eye of the beholder.
Now on the other hand, we have Pauline Kael telling us that all this recycled material is nothing more than that…recycled. And the worst part is, that it is a downward spiral, for as the generations get younger, they are unable to realize the avant-guard art already made generations before them, and therefore, are left to marvel at recycled “trash.” Were there many aspects of prior avant-guard themes in “The Thomas Crown Affair”? Yes. Does that make it trash? I don’t know. She does mention that they resemble breaths of fresh air, light and “cheap imitations of art” that serve to distract us from our daily routines or problems. Kael argues that in this movie’s case, it is not its crassness that makes it trash, but its attempt to be artsy by using recycled material from the greats. In any case, it is true that “The Thomas Crown Affair” does not necessarily bring forth jaw-dropping techniques, but if Kael was to witness today’s cult of stoner movies, I wonder if she would change her mind in regards to “The Thomas Crown Affair.”
Nevertheless, she does have a point in that as generations get younger, and we get more and more convoluted by mainstream trashy TV, with its reality shows like “Tila Tequila,” we never even bother to learn the legacies the greats left before us…in order to even have a point of comparison. Yet, at the same time, I do have to disagree with myself. There is a type of “art” in some of the new genres, like stoner movies. Yes, they are crass, pointless, often sexist, and so forth. Yes, they are also reflective of a particular type of North American humor, which is often criticized by Europeans. Although it might be exclusive to the American culture (where international critics might not easily find the humor in the jokes) and to a particular type of humor, we have to remember that the art is not in its type of humor nor type of movie, but lies in watching it not sober. Cheech and Chong may very well be the fathers of this genre that flowered heavily in our present day. However, experiments might be necessary in order to truly determine whether they are trash or not. The viewer should first watch the stoner movie sober, and then…not sober. It truly does make a difference, and I earnestly marvel at how they are able to create humor comprehensible only under a specific state of mind.
Now, is this trash because of its crudeness and incomprehensibility to the non-stoned audience? Or can it be seen as a new form of art, which although incomparable to the greats (of course), could be at least recognized for its novelty? It is true that many surrealist, or simply intellectually complex movies could produce this effect when your sober, and perhaps even more so when your not. But movies which are designed to be understood and laughed at solely under a determined state, is novelty and a new type of art form within itself. It may not be appeasing to some, the same way modern art is incomprehensible to some individuals accustomed to classical art. But as Kael argues, we watch these type of movies because we enjoy them, not because they support culture (348); because they makes us feel free from responsibility and prejudices (349); because they are closer to our culture, especially when compared to European esthetics (350) (not to mention, I’m sure Europeans feel the same way); and especially because without the “playfulness” aspect, it would seem as torture (352). I believe it is all these aspects that stoner movies have encompassed, worked with and consequently originated a new form of visuals reflective of our time. They are popular art, as Kael says, but art nonetheless and it is not necessarily a downward spiral. Times change, politics change, and although I am a bit apathetic myself towards the degree of “enlightment” of our youth, there is still a glimpse of hope.
Cheech and Chong, possibly due to their times, had many social and political messages through satire. Today, there are a few stoner movies that through satire address political and social issues as well. Not enough, yet, but some. “Harold and Kumar go to Guantanamo” are an example of this. When I saw the movie, I completely understood the satirical socio-political references they were addressing. However, after watching it understood there was a layer of comedy that was incomprehensible because I was not in the mindset of the intended audience. Nevertheless, although Kael’s argument is very thorough and complex, and there are aspects I agree with her about, “trash,” just as beauty, ultimately lies in the eye of the beholder.
The genious wave
After a week of watching films by Francois Truffaut and Jean Luc Goddard I find myself totally elevated – feeling like I have seen the magic in their minds. The greatness of it is that their films are not spectacular but simple; they show the beauty and tragedy in the simple things in life. I watched ‘The 400 Blows’ (1959), ‘Breathless’ (1960), ‘Shoot The Piano Player’ (1960), ‘Jules and Jim’ (1962), ‘Band of Outsiders’ (1964), and ‘Masculin Feminin’ (1966). All these films with the exception of Jules and Jim, are truly unconventional films. Truffaut and Godard seem to be sure that life is interesting enough and that it can be show as entertainment on screen without any fantastic disguises. These two directors competed against each other and although they ended up producing different works, there are some things that are common within their films that I like.
I like the uncomplicated, non-extravagant but beautiful women cast in their films. They are unlike Hitchcock’s women in films who often wear designer gowns and make-up, and have high class jobs. They cheating mothers, bar maids, house maids and struggling students. My favorite scene of a female character in these films is that of Jean Seberg’s character ‘Patricia’ is shown selling the Herald Tribune in the street. She wears a simple t-shirt and black pants, and has a simple bob haircut. Her look throughout the film is seldom glamorous but her beauty and femininity shine through. I would say that the women in their films are often chic.
There are several other scenes in these films that show off the thrills of life without much extravagant actions. In The 400 Blows, Truffaut films a large group of toddlers who are watching a puppet show of Little Red Riding Hood. In this he shows a shot of the faces of the children as they express excitement and fright when the wolf attacks. The children in this scene were supposedly not acting, but they were filmed while they were sitting through a real puppet show. As a result their expressions are most remarkable and believable. Another scene is that of Antoine running away from the juvenile facility. The action of Antoine running and then looking at the ocean is about 4 minutes of long and almost continuous filming. This is why I think that Truffaut and Godard see the experiences of life as entertainment enough to be displayed in the cinema
I like the uncomplicated, non-extravagant but beautiful women cast in their films. They are unlike Hitchcock’s women in films who often wear designer gowns and make-up, and have high class jobs. They cheating mothers, bar maids, house maids and struggling students. My favorite scene of a female character in these films is that of Jean Seberg’s character ‘Patricia’ is shown selling the Herald Tribune in the street. She wears a simple t-shirt and black pants, and has a simple bob haircut. Her look throughout the film is seldom glamorous but her beauty and femininity shine through. I would say that the women in their films are often chic.
There are several other scenes in these films that show off the thrills of life without much extravagant actions. In The 400 Blows, Truffaut films a large group of toddlers who are watching a puppet show of Little Red Riding Hood. In this he shows a shot of the faces of the children as they express excitement and fright when the wolf attacks. The children in this scene were supposedly not acting, but they were filmed while they were sitting through a real puppet show. As a result their expressions are most remarkable and believable. Another scene is that of Antoine running away from the juvenile facility. The action of Antoine running and then looking at the ocean is about 4 minutes of long and almost continuous filming. This is why I think that Truffaut and Godard see the experiences of life as entertainment enough to be displayed in the cinema
Why Monroe
‘Some Like it Hot’(1959), I do not like Marilyn Monroe. I just do not get why she honored so much. How did she become a cultural icon of the 60s? Well, the answers to that are usually that she demonstrated good talent, blond beauty and sexiness. She was the desire of many men including Frank Sinatra and the Kennedy’s. Disregarding her supposed fling with JFK, I would say that her modern equivalents would be Pamela Anderson and Anna Nicole Smith – the blonde and buxom models who became actresses with no talent. Having these kinds of actresses helps the popularity of the film at the box office. I think that is a good thing however this takes away from the opportunity to produce a very well made film. This film is a risky cinema experiment and a subtle challenge of social views of sexuality and gender in an America of the 1950’s which perhaps did not tolerate alternative views. Fortunately this film benefited from the outstanding performances by Tony Curtis and Jack Lemon who play the role of men who act like women with great enjoyment.
Seeing Marilyn Monroe in this film reminded me of watching Anna Nicole Smith’s ‘Skyscraper’ (1996) or Pamela Anderson’s ‘Barb Wire’ (1996). These films had all the sex but no talent and it may not be a coincidence considering that these actresses wanted to model their images to that of the late Monroe. Monroe’s acting is unbelievable. I thought that actors and actresses of cinema were supposed to make us believe in the characters that we see on screen. Maybe the problem was compounded by the personality of the character, Sugar Kane Kowalczyk, who is a helpless bimbo who is chasing after love and fortune. Sugar Kane is too gullible to be true. Moreover she cannot sing.
The character of Sugar Kane is hard to believe after seeing the characteristics of ‘Ilsa’ of Casablanca and ‘The wife’ in Marnau’s ‘Sunrise’. Ingrid Bergman and Janet Gaynor also played beautiful blondes but their acting was believable. Why not cast actresses who are as good looking and have as much talent as them? Perhaps the director, Billy Wilder, was hoping that Marilyn’s popularity would make the film a hit. That it did, but I think that it took back acting back a bit. Moreover Marilyn Monroe was required to sing and she certainly does not deliver here too. She certainly cannot be classified above Bergman and Gaynor, but sadly she is.
The success of this film and the popularity sexy but untalented Monroe is a lesson about the power of sex symbols in film. The audience perhaps does not always look for great spectacular performances. People sometimes go to the cinema to see pop icons and this trend continues to this day. Madonna, Pamela Anderson, Anna Nicole Smith and Beyonce became pop idols before they were transformed into actresses for studio promotion. It seems as though many new stars want to be like Marilyn Monroe and the studios feel a need to fill in the void that is left by Monroe’s absence.
All this leaves me feeling like I am missing something. Marilyn Monroe just does not appeal to my expectations of what an actress should achieve. I may be that I do not like dumb blondes and she was cast as one. Unfortunately this unpleasantness leaves me unable to appreciate ‘Some Like It Hot’ – I just don’t like it.
Seeing Marilyn Monroe in this film reminded me of watching Anna Nicole Smith’s ‘Skyscraper’ (1996) or Pamela Anderson’s ‘Barb Wire’ (1996). These films had all the sex but no talent and it may not be a coincidence considering that these actresses wanted to model their images to that of the late Monroe. Monroe’s acting is unbelievable. I thought that actors and actresses of cinema were supposed to make us believe in the characters that we see on screen. Maybe the problem was compounded by the personality of the character, Sugar Kane Kowalczyk, who is a helpless bimbo who is chasing after love and fortune. Sugar Kane is too gullible to be true. Moreover she cannot sing.
The character of Sugar Kane is hard to believe after seeing the characteristics of ‘Ilsa’ of Casablanca and ‘The wife’ in Marnau’s ‘Sunrise’. Ingrid Bergman and Janet Gaynor also played beautiful blondes but their acting was believable. Why not cast actresses who are as good looking and have as much talent as them? Perhaps the director, Billy Wilder, was hoping that Marilyn’s popularity would make the film a hit. That it did, but I think that it took back acting back a bit. Moreover Marilyn Monroe was required to sing and she certainly does not deliver here too. She certainly cannot be classified above Bergman and Gaynor, but sadly she is.
The success of this film and the popularity sexy but untalented Monroe is a lesson about the power of sex symbols in film. The audience perhaps does not always look for great spectacular performances. People sometimes go to the cinema to see pop icons and this trend continues to this day. Madonna, Pamela Anderson, Anna Nicole Smith and Beyonce became pop idols before they were transformed into actresses for studio promotion. It seems as though many new stars want to be like Marilyn Monroe and the studios feel a need to fill in the void that is left by Monroe’s absence.
All this leaves me feeling like I am missing something. Marilyn Monroe just does not appeal to my expectations of what an actress should achieve. I may be that I do not like dumb blondes and she was cast as one. Unfortunately this unpleasantness leaves me unable to appreciate ‘Some Like It Hot’ – I just don’t like it.
Tuesday, November 25, 2008
The 36th Chamber of Shaolin is pretty sweet
The 36th Chamber of Shaolin (“Shao Lin san shi liu fang,” 1978) is a great archetypal film of the Hong Kong kung fu film genre. The story is simplistic, having a clear division between the good and the sinister, without losing a plot. The characters are easy to relate to and the lack of complication provides an elemental aspect to the film. Rather than concentrating on fight sequences, the 36th Chamber follows the training the main character undergoes to become a deadly Shaolin monk in the span of about one hour. A half-hour of introductory story-telling sets up the story as the story of rebels against murderous overlords. The main character sets out to find Shaolin monks to teach him kung fu to avenge his father's death.
The dialogue is direct and so blatantly designed to prod the story along that it is unbelievable, but I found myself unconcerned with the exposition so much as excited for the next bit of action, as any good kung fu movie will have you feeling. Alas, the 36th Chamber is not your average kung fu film filled with constant battles between a hero and opponents with cool skills; it is a film about teaching the folly of haste through the journey of self-improvement. It instills in its audience a distinct feeling that discipline is more important than any skill, that fighting is only cursory to the philosophy of martial arts. In this sense, the 36th Chamber breaks the rules of shallow kung fu films by explaining something more transcendent than immediate. I will contest that in order to truly show this notion that it touched on, the 36th Chamber would have had to explain the “highest form” of Shaolin kung fu from early in the film. Here you will find it is severely lacking, in effect becoming a little preachy, yet still enjoyable.
The Shaolin training consists of a believable progression from simple to more difficult techniques, yet the convenience with which they become a part of the plot is a little laughable. It is convenient that nothing in the outside world changes for the five years the main character is training with the monks. It is convenient that his lessons directly apply to the outside world. And it is incredibly convenient that only the villains know comparable kung fu. This convenience that characterizes the latter half of the film is a bit absurd. But along the lines of absurdity, the icing on the cake is the head-bashing training at [1:08:00] that consists of headbutting hanging sandbags repeatedly; this scene, complete with disoriented monks, is my favorite of the hour-long training drills portion of the film.
The passage of time throughout the film is ambiguous. The main character is able to pass the first few chambers in a matter of days to minutes, and once he gains access to the boxing/footwork chambers (the even more ambiguous lessons that teach him actual kung fu) a montage burst of images apparently represents five years of training. The passage of time slows to a halt when he can no longer progress through the school because he has been promoted too fast (how ironic) and must battle a senior monk for the right to continue. The film becomes didactic again, but in a likable way; the main character goes on to invent the tri-sectional staff to defeat his opponent who in the course of the fight he loses comes to accept and even adulate the main character. The course of the movie returns to the original retribution storyline in the last twenty minutes, and I found it felt a little tacked on. This is not to say, however, that the story is lost on the audience. Although a little disappointing in its brevity, the bossfight, the final battle between the general and now fully-capable monk, ties up the loose ends for this portion of the plot. And closure for the entire movie is provided by the happy ending wherein the monk starts his new school, prominently named with 36 rather than 35 chambers, completing the story and bringing the movie full circle, the disciple becoming the teacher. There is no shortage of fight sequences and the unique story offered by The 36th Chamber makes it a particularly amusing film, unique in its scope within the genre.
The dialogue is direct and so blatantly designed to prod the story along that it is unbelievable, but I found myself unconcerned with the exposition so much as excited for the next bit of action, as any good kung fu movie will have you feeling. Alas, the 36th Chamber is not your average kung fu film filled with constant battles between a hero and opponents with cool skills; it is a film about teaching the folly of haste through the journey of self-improvement. It instills in its audience a distinct feeling that discipline is more important than any skill, that fighting is only cursory to the philosophy of martial arts. In this sense, the 36th Chamber breaks the rules of shallow kung fu films by explaining something more transcendent than immediate. I will contest that in order to truly show this notion that it touched on, the 36th Chamber would have had to explain the “highest form” of Shaolin kung fu from early in the film. Here you will find it is severely lacking, in effect becoming a little preachy, yet still enjoyable.
The Shaolin training consists of a believable progression from simple to more difficult techniques, yet the convenience with which they become a part of the plot is a little laughable. It is convenient that nothing in the outside world changes for the five years the main character is training with the monks. It is convenient that his lessons directly apply to the outside world. And it is incredibly convenient that only the villains know comparable kung fu. This convenience that characterizes the latter half of the film is a bit absurd. But along the lines of absurdity, the icing on the cake is the head-bashing training at [1:08:00] that consists of headbutting hanging sandbags repeatedly; this scene, complete with disoriented monks, is my favorite of the hour-long training drills portion of the film.
The passage of time throughout the film is ambiguous. The main character is able to pass the first few chambers in a matter of days to minutes, and once he gains access to the boxing/footwork chambers (the even more ambiguous lessons that teach him actual kung fu) a montage burst of images apparently represents five years of training. The passage of time slows to a halt when he can no longer progress through the school because he has been promoted too fast (how ironic) and must battle a senior monk for the right to continue. The film becomes didactic again, but in a likable way; the main character goes on to invent the tri-sectional staff to defeat his opponent who in the course of the fight he loses comes to accept and even adulate the main character. The course of the movie returns to the original retribution storyline in the last twenty minutes, and I found it felt a little tacked on. This is not to say, however, that the story is lost on the audience. Although a little disappointing in its brevity, the bossfight, the final battle between the general and now fully-capable monk, ties up the loose ends for this portion of the plot. And closure for the entire movie is provided by the happy ending wherein the monk starts his new school, prominently named with 36 rather than 35 chambers, completing the story and bringing the movie full circle, the disciple becoming the teacher. There is no shortage of fight sequences and the unique story offered by The 36th Chamber makes it a particularly amusing film, unique in its scope within the genre.
Monday, November 24, 2008
In the Mood for Love; the nature of romance
This past summer I saw the Woody Allen movie, Vicky Christina Barcelona in which one of the characters said that “only unfulfilled love can be romantic.” It’s such a twisted concept, but I found myself really relating to that idea. When I think of the movies and books that I love the most, they tend to be the stories of lovers who for some reason or another cannot be together. Casa Blanca is an excellent example of this. When I think of the pain Ilsa and Rick must deal with in being separated by the one they love, my heart breaks, I cry a bit, but I also think “wow how incredibly romantic.” I’m a masochist. I search for tragic romances that will torture me and make me agonize over whether the two characters I have grown to love will ever find happiness together. I’m a complete sucker for those stories. For that reason I loved and was also tormented by Wong Kar-Wai’s “In the Mood for Love.”
Throughout the film, Wong Kar-Wai makes it clear that he is focusing on the refrained and unfulfilled romance between Mrs. Chan and Mr. Chow. He glosses over the other romance between Mr. Chan and Mrs. Chow completely in that he does not allow the audience to relate to these characters at all. The audience can never see neither Mr. Chan nor Mrs. Chow’s face. During the dinner party in the beginning of the movie, only Mr. Chan and Mrs. Chow’s back is shown (00:05:07). Later on, when Mrs. Chan goes to speak to Mrs. Chow, we only hear Mrs. Chow’s voice but we never see her face (00:12:43). Even when Mrs. Chow interacts with Mr. Chan in this same scene, Wong Kar-Wai chooses to keep the cheating lovers completely hidden. The audience instead sees Mrs. Chan at the doorway speaking to a hidden figure. The door shuts as we hear the faceless Mrs. Chow say “it was your wife.” I really respected Wong Kar-Wai’s choice not to illustrate Mrs. Chow and Mr. Chan clearly. Oftentimes films illustrate love affairs because they appear glamorous and decadent like the nature of film itself, yet Wong Kar-Wai’s choice to illustrate the refrained and unfulfilled love affair reveals his skill as a director. His love affair is tragic yet beautiful and wonderful. His choice seems to suggest that the romance worth portraying was the story of the two lovers that never had the opportunity to express their emotions, rather than the self-indulgent couple that followed their desires.
One of my favorite aspects of “In the Mood for Love” was Wong Kar-Wai’s use of doorways. He often would leave the camera outside of one room focusing on a doorway as the character entered into the unseen room. This gave the audience a feeling of the separation and loneliness of the characters as well as the hidden lives of the characters we were selectively observing. In one scene, Mrs. Chan enters a room while speaking to her husband and the camera sits outside and overhears their conversation while remaining focused on the doorway (00:06:17). This technique is used in a later scene when Mrs. Chan asks about Mrs. Koo about Mr. Chow (00:13:20). Again the camera focuses on the doorway and overhears the conversation in the unseen room. Wong Kar-Wai constantly uses walls and doorways which (I thought) reflected the barriers between Mr. Chow and Mrs. Chan. Towards the end of the film, Wong Kar-Wai includes a scene where he illustrates Mr. Chow alone in his apartment and Mrs. Chan alone in hers (01:15:00). They are so close and in the same emotional state yet the walls of their apartment keep them from each other.
Throughout the entire movie, the two lovers are never allowed to fully connect. They are either separated by time, space, or their moral restraint. The times when they are most honest with each other is when they are “rehearsing” how they will confront their spouses or imagining how the affair between their lovers began. This is demonstrated towards the end of the film when Mr. Chow tells Mrs. Chan that he is leaving for Singapore, as she cries on his shoulder he comforts her by saying “This is only a rehearsal”(01:12:00). The characters just barely miss each other even though they so close to connecting. Wong Kar-Wai continually tortures the audience by illustrating the missed phone calls, the words they wish they could say to one another, and their unknown physical proximity (ex: when Mr. Chow goes to visit his old apartment and doesn’t realize that Mrs. Chan is living just next door). They are never allowed to enjoy their love for one another. Instead, all the feelings Mrs. Chan and Mr. Chow feel toward one another is culminated when Mr. Chow whispers secrets into a hole of Angkor Wat, in Cambodia. In the end, all their love only amounts to a secret told to no one and everything that could have been remains in the past.
Throughout the film, Wong Kar-Wai makes it clear that he is focusing on the refrained and unfulfilled romance between Mrs. Chan and Mr. Chow. He glosses over the other romance between Mr. Chan and Mrs. Chow completely in that he does not allow the audience to relate to these characters at all. The audience can never see neither Mr. Chan nor Mrs. Chow’s face. During the dinner party in the beginning of the movie, only Mr. Chan and Mrs. Chow’s back is shown (00:05:07). Later on, when Mrs. Chan goes to speak to Mrs. Chow, we only hear Mrs. Chow’s voice but we never see her face (00:12:43). Even when Mrs. Chow interacts with Mr. Chan in this same scene, Wong Kar-Wai chooses to keep the cheating lovers completely hidden. The audience instead sees Mrs. Chan at the doorway speaking to a hidden figure. The door shuts as we hear the faceless Mrs. Chow say “it was your wife.” I really respected Wong Kar-Wai’s choice not to illustrate Mrs. Chow and Mr. Chan clearly. Oftentimes films illustrate love affairs because they appear glamorous and decadent like the nature of film itself, yet Wong Kar-Wai’s choice to illustrate the refrained and unfulfilled love affair reveals his skill as a director. His love affair is tragic yet beautiful and wonderful. His choice seems to suggest that the romance worth portraying was the story of the two lovers that never had the opportunity to express their emotions, rather than the self-indulgent couple that followed their desires.
One of my favorite aspects of “In the Mood for Love” was Wong Kar-Wai’s use of doorways. He often would leave the camera outside of one room focusing on a doorway as the character entered into the unseen room. This gave the audience a feeling of the separation and loneliness of the characters as well as the hidden lives of the characters we were selectively observing. In one scene, Mrs. Chan enters a room while speaking to her husband and the camera sits outside and overhears their conversation while remaining focused on the doorway (00:06:17). This technique is used in a later scene when Mrs. Chan asks about Mrs. Koo about Mr. Chow (00:13:20). Again the camera focuses on the doorway and overhears the conversation in the unseen room. Wong Kar-Wai constantly uses walls and doorways which (I thought) reflected the barriers between Mr. Chow and Mrs. Chan. Towards the end of the film, Wong Kar-Wai includes a scene where he illustrates Mr. Chow alone in his apartment and Mrs. Chan alone in hers (01:15:00). They are so close and in the same emotional state yet the walls of their apartment keep them from each other.
Throughout the entire movie, the two lovers are never allowed to fully connect. They are either separated by time, space, or their moral restraint. The times when they are most honest with each other is when they are “rehearsing” how they will confront their spouses or imagining how the affair between their lovers began. This is demonstrated towards the end of the film when Mr. Chow tells Mrs. Chan that he is leaving for Singapore, as she cries on his shoulder he comforts her by saying “This is only a rehearsal”(01:12:00). The characters just barely miss each other even though they so close to connecting. Wong Kar-Wai continually tortures the audience by illustrating the missed phone calls, the words they wish they could say to one another, and their unknown physical proximity (ex: when Mr. Chow goes to visit his old apartment and doesn’t realize that Mrs. Chan is living just next door). They are never allowed to enjoy their love for one another. Instead, all the feelings Mrs. Chan and Mr. Chow feel toward one another is culminated when Mr. Chow whispers secrets into a hole of Angkor Wat, in Cambodia. In the end, all their love only amounts to a secret told to no one and everything that could have been remains in the past.
In the Mood for Love (2000)
I’m in the mood for love, but after watching what I thought would satisfy me, I was initially left feeling empty and kind of pissed. Sure, Michelle and I were warned that this film is about a tragic love, but when I think of a tragic love story, I always expect a promise of love everlasting. I love stories about forbidden romances, the passion of two star-crossed lovers who still promise to love each other forever in their hearts and spirits despite ultimately being separated by culture (Disney’s Pocahontas (1995)), age (Crush (2001)), death (the J-Dorama Ichi Rittoru no Namida (2005)), etc. Especially heartbreaking is when the two lovers don’t allow their love to bloom for whatever reason, like Li Mu Bai and Yu Shu Lien in Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon (2000) [*sigh*], but even that film has a promise of love for the younger couple [spoiler!] when Jen Yu jumps off the mountain side.
All that to say, no such promise in In the Mood for Love. In fact, we get just this caption (remnants of Godard, I’m sure): “That era has passed. Nothing that belonged to it exists any more.” I did not receive this ending well and was just about to give up on the film. “Why won’t they continue to acknowledge their love?” I demanded.
As Mrs. Chan says, “You notice things if you pay attention” (00:23:40), and if you pay attention, the film does everything to build up their love. The pacing of the scenes and the techniques employed in the shots are perfect in that the audience doesn’t really notice the differences or changes as they are watching. There were several slow motion sequences that were shot in a sensual fashion, complete with floating cigarette smoke and Spanish-language music in the background to heighten the romantic tone. Then there were chaotic scenes, in which the shots quickly changed, like Mrs. Chan running this way and then Mrs. Chan running that way, hesitating, going back, then deciding to keep going until she finally gets through the M.C. Escher maze and arrives at Mr. Chow’s new apartment. There was one scene in which Mrs. Chan is crying, and we alternately see multiples of her and multiples of Mr. Chan through several mirrors. All of these things effectively portray the emotions involved in each scene, but they do so in a way that the technique is not completely noticeable.
The aforementioned techniques along with other “tricks” also blur reality, confusing the audience as to what actually happens. In (00:31:50), Mr. Chow makes a move on Mrs. Chan and suggests that one of their spouses had to make the first move; then the scene is redone with Mrs. Chan making the move on Mr. Chow, explaining that it doesn’t matter who made the first move. Which scene happened, and does it matter? Mrs. Chan confronts her husband about his affair, but we discover that she is only rehearsing with Mr. Chow. Later Mr. Chow tells her that he is leaving for Singapore (1:11:50), and immediately after he walks away, there is a shot of Mrs. Chan crying on his shoulders, and we realize that they are only rehearsing again. These scenes, enhanced by the shadows and colors of the movie, make us think that we’re being tricked, but really, we know as much as the characters themselves. The last caption of the movie reads, “He remembers those vanished years. As though looking through a dusty window pane, the past is something he could see, but not touch. And everything he sees is blurred and indistinct.”
It doesn’t really matter if they ever had their rendezvous or not; they are now living in separate worlds. I’ve realized that that’s life. Their love was forbidden because they were married to other people, and they determined not to “be like them.” They were morally better than their spouses because they accepted fidelity, even in the midst of their spouses’ affair, but I was mad that they didn’t continue to hold on to their love. Now, however, I understand that you can’t do that in life; those two had to move on because the time and place for that love was gone. What I find poignant is that the film implies that one shouldn’t hold onto feelings and memories that won’t amount to anything; one cannot go back, thus one must go forward without looking back. Now I see how much more tragic this is than if they had continued loving each other in one of my typical tragic love stories.
All that to say, no such promise in In the Mood for Love. In fact, we get just this caption (remnants of Godard, I’m sure): “That era has passed. Nothing that belonged to it exists any more.” I did not receive this ending well and was just about to give up on the film. “Why won’t they continue to acknowledge their love?” I demanded.
As Mrs. Chan says, “You notice things if you pay attention” (00:23:40), and if you pay attention, the film does everything to build up their love. The pacing of the scenes and the techniques employed in the shots are perfect in that the audience doesn’t really notice the differences or changes as they are watching. There were several slow motion sequences that were shot in a sensual fashion, complete with floating cigarette smoke and Spanish-language music in the background to heighten the romantic tone. Then there were chaotic scenes, in which the shots quickly changed, like Mrs. Chan running this way and then Mrs. Chan running that way, hesitating, going back, then deciding to keep going until she finally gets through the M.C. Escher maze and arrives at Mr. Chow’s new apartment. There was one scene in which Mrs. Chan is crying, and we alternately see multiples of her and multiples of Mr. Chan through several mirrors. All of these things effectively portray the emotions involved in each scene, but they do so in a way that the technique is not completely noticeable.
The aforementioned techniques along with other “tricks” also blur reality, confusing the audience as to what actually happens. In (00:31:50), Mr. Chow makes a move on Mrs. Chan and suggests that one of their spouses had to make the first move; then the scene is redone with Mrs. Chan making the move on Mr. Chow, explaining that it doesn’t matter who made the first move. Which scene happened, and does it matter? Mrs. Chan confronts her husband about his affair, but we discover that she is only rehearsing with Mr. Chow. Later Mr. Chow tells her that he is leaving for Singapore (1:11:50), and immediately after he walks away, there is a shot of Mrs. Chan crying on his shoulders, and we realize that they are only rehearsing again. These scenes, enhanced by the shadows and colors of the movie, make us think that we’re being tricked, but really, we know as much as the characters themselves. The last caption of the movie reads, “He remembers those vanished years. As though looking through a dusty window pane, the past is something he could see, but not touch. And everything he sees is blurred and indistinct.”
It doesn’t really matter if they ever had their rendezvous or not; they are now living in separate worlds. I’ve realized that that’s life. Their love was forbidden because they were married to other people, and they determined not to “be like them.” They were morally better than their spouses because they accepted fidelity, even in the midst of their spouses’ affair, but I was mad that they didn’t continue to hold on to their love. Now, however, I understand that you can’t do that in life; those two had to move on because the time and place for that love was gone. What I find poignant is that the film implies that one shouldn’t hold onto feelings and memories that won’t amount to anything; one cannot go back, thus one must go forward without looking back. Now I see how much more tragic this is than if they had continued loving each other in one of my typical tragic love stories.
Capturing Emotion Without a Close Up
The film The Story of Qiuju tells a very intriguing and powerful story of a woman who stops at nothing to seek justice and respect. There is one thing that can be said about the feeling of this film, and that is, natural. This film feels very real and natural as if the viewer is part of the Chinese culture, a citizen witnessing the woman’s story.
The film opens with a shot of a busy Chinese boulevard. This automatically sets up the style of the film for the audience. With this opening shot the director puts strong emphasis on the surrounding environment and less emphasis on the character. I believe that the director was trying to make a statement about the collectivity of Chinese society, and that although people are separated by air and earth they rely on each other to strive and survive. This is scene further with the director placing the character in between the foreground and the background, in the middle of the shot.
Not only is this film shot with techniques that emphasize a collective society or a person existing within many people, but it also emphasizes nature itself. This is seen often in Chinese architecture, the unity between the building and nature. This is also evident in the film, the director does an amazing job uniting the characters with nature, allotting of great deal of the frame to the surrounding environment. This is shown through frames where the character makes up about 10% of the screen and the surrounding space is filled with vast landscape. The director places many natural objects in his scenes like animals, and plants (chili and corn). The emphasis on nature is conveyed particularly well with the majority the film being outdoors. This is in grave contrast the western film where directors rely on studios, special effects and large elaborate sets which are all man made. In this film it seems that nothing is intentionally made or forced everything flows naturally like water. This film is very Confucian.
The director shows how overrated the close up is and instead this film concentrates more on the entire body of the character who stands far from the camera throughout the film. This contrasts deeply from western film where the directors and cinematographers love to shoot close ups particularly of the face and upper body. Even though close ups are very effective in uncovering the emotions of the character this film’s technique of shooting far from the character still manage to attach and convey that same emotion even though the camera is constantly situated far away from the character. This is the first time I have ever seen a character whose physical place in a frame is so minute, yet whose presence is so grand, captivating and felt so effectively.
The camera also does an incredible job of conveying the biting cold which this film was set in. The director not only used the snow on the landscape to show the extreme winter in China but many other techniques as well. This harsh winter is scene through layered clothing which each character has on their bodies and the steam which billows out of each bowl of noodles. The viewer could truly feel the temperature of the extreme Chinese winter through the subtle techniques used.
Along with the cinematography of this film, the story is beautiful and incredible. It has some great things to say about the power of the woman and her unwavering heart and pursuit for justice. Despite the women being pregnant and constantly traveling during the winter her stance holds firm and her journey yields to nothing. This film makes a bold statement about the power of women particularly in a country where the government has a right to kill female babies if a family has more than one. This woman reminds me a lot of my own mother who raised my three sisters and I on her own; who put her family before herself in every enduring situation. This film conveys very effectively how women are over looked, not only in China, but in every country and society in the world. The phrase that women are the most powerful resource on the planet is proven without fail through the lens of this film. The Story of Qiuju brings hope to those who those who are hopeless.
The film opens with a shot of a busy Chinese boulevard. This automatically sets up the style of the film for the audience. With this opening shot the director puts strong emphasis on the surrounding environment and less emphasis on the character. I believe that the director was trying to make a statement about the collectivity of Chinese society, and that although people are separated by air and earth they rely on each other to strive and survive. This is scene further with the director placing the character in between the foreground and the background, in the middle of the shot.
Not only is this film shot with techniques that emphasize a collective society or a person existing within many people, but it also emphasizes nature itself. This is seen often in Chinese architecture, the unity between the building and nature. This is also evident in the film, the director does an amazing job uniting the characters with nature, allotting of great deal of the frame to the surrounding environment. This is shown through frames where the character makes up about 10% of the screen and the surrounding space is filled with vast landscape. The director places many natural objects in his scenes like animals, and plants (chili and corn). The emphasis on nature is conveyed particularly well with the majority the film being outdoors. This is in grave contrast the western film where directors rely on studios, special effects and large elaborate sets which are all man made. In this film it seems that nothing is intentionally made or forced everything flows naturally like water. This film is very Confucian.
The director shows how overrated the close up is and instead this film concentrates more on the entire body of the character who stands far from the camera throughout the film. This contrasts deeply from western film where the directors and cinematographers love to shoot close ups particularly of the face and upper body. Even though close ups are very effective in uncovering the emotions of the character this film’s technique of shooting far from the character still manage to attach and convey that same emotion even though the camera is constantly situated far away from the character. This is the first time I have ever seen a character whose physical place in a frame is so minute, yet whose presence is so grand, captivating and felt so effectively.
The camera also does an incredible job of conveying the biting cold which this film was set in. The director not only used the snow on the landscape to show the extreme winter in China but many other techniques as well. This harsh winter is scene through layered clothing which each character has on their bodies and the steam which billows out of each bowl of noodles. The viewer could truly feel the temperature of the extreme Chinese winter through the subtle techniques used.
Along with the cinematography of this film, the story is beautiful and incredible. It has some great things to say about the power of the woman and her unwavering heart and pursuit for justice. Despite the women being pregnant and constantly traveling during the winter her stance holds firm and her journey yields to nothing. This film makes a bold statement about the power of women particularly in a country where the government has a right to kill female babies if a family has more than one. This woman reminds me a lot of my own mother who raised my three sisters and I on her own; who put her family before herself in every enduring situation. This film conveys very effectively how women are over looked, not only in China, but in every country and society in the world. The phrase that women are the most powerful resource on the planet is proven without fail through the lens of this film. The Story of Qiuju brings hope to those who those who are hopeless.
influenced by...
Some people have said it already and perhaps it is worth saying again that Perhaps Love is very much like Moulin Rouge! (2001). Knowing that I think that Moulin Rouge! represents the highest standards in cinematic art it is follows that I think that any other film that resembles Moulin Rouge should be Spectacular! Spectacular! I do not Perhaps Love is spectacular but it is satisfying. All that I have said thus far reveals my obvious bias. Both films are about love triangles, the production of grand performance artworks (theatre in Moulin Rouge!, Cinema in Perhaps Love), art mimicking life, stardom and more. Perhaps Love also uses music and dance to move the story forward, although the singing and dancing is only done when the actors are performing in the movie they are producing in the story. So knowing the major similarities in plot and device of the two films, it is difficult for a viewer who’s seen Moulin Rouge! to watch Perhaps Love without any bias
Perhaps one of the things I have learned from taking this class is that films are often influenced by or compared to previous works. Perhaps Love is definitely tinged by the preeminence of Moulin Rouge!, but it is true that Moulin Rouge! is also influenced many artistic forerunners. Moulin Rouge’s plot is based on Giuseppe Verdi’s opera, La Traviata (1853), which is about a young man who falls in love with a courtesan who is loved by a baron, but none of them know that death will take their courtesan away. Then there is the obvious influence of Bollywood’s choreography and use of color. The there’s the 80’s songs that influence Moulin Rouge!, at times the film resembles the director, Baz Lurhman’s, previous film, Romeo and Juliet (1996). So, perhaps Moulin Rouge! is not as original and the viewer’s criticism of the film may get sharper based on prior exposure to the copied or adapted artistic elements within Moulin Rouge! This is unfortunately what happens when viewers watch Perhaps Love. This film has to live under the shadow of Moulin Rouge! because of Moulin Rouge’s epic success and popularity. So, I would like to for once try to review Perhaps Love with the perspective of somebody who did not see or hear about Moulin Rouge.
Perhaps Love is the first musical film produced in mainland china since the release of Red Sorghum in 1987. The film shows an evolution in Hong Kong cinema and it is definitely made with the intention of exclaiming a new artistic arrival in cinema. It is so original because it mixes in popular elements of film from major parts of the global film industry. The overemphasis on overt sentimentality perhaps comes from the popularity of such themes in current Korean cinema. The use of color, song and dance comes is from Bollywood cinema. The director brought in a Farah Khan, a Bollywood director and choreographer of films such as Kabhi Kushi Kabhi Gham. The circus in the plot of the film is a western style circus, and maybe a reference to Guido’s circus in Fellini’s 8 ½. The actors in this film are the big time stars in Asian cinema. I watched the film with a friend who was excited because Takeshi Kaneshiro who has a Japanese name was in a Chinese film, showing a mix of cultures. Although she did not know that Takeshi Kaneshiro actually grew up in Taiwan and that his acting career was made in China through working for directors such as Wong Kar Wai. But then there is a deliberate highlighting of Asian cinema stardom by the addition of Korean actor, Ji Jin Hee, in the story.
The film’s musical setting is a rare artistic move in Chinese cinema and the mix of stars and writing that appeals to popular Asian culture provides satisfying entertainment. It is worth noting that no other movie like this had been made in Asian cinema since the times of China’s Cultural Revolution. Yes, Red Sorghum was a musical too, but it was produced during the developmental or experimental years of Chinese cinema. Perhaps Love shows the overall growth, artistic and technical maturity and high level of prominence that Asian cinema possesses within global cinema.
Perhaps one of the things I have learned from taking this class is that films are often influenced by or compared to previous works. Perhaps Love is definitely tinged by the preeminence of Moulin Rouge!, but it is true that Moulin Rouge! is also influenced many artistic forerunners. Moulin Rouge’s plot is based on Giuseppe Verdi’s opera, La Traviata (1853), which is about a young man who falls in love with a courtesan who is loved by a baron, but none of them know that death will take their courtesan away. Then there is the obvious influence of Bollywood’s choreography and use of color. The there’s the 80’s songs that influence Moulin Rouge!, at times the film resembles the director, Baz Lurhman’s, previous film, Romeo and Juliet (1996). So, perhaps Moulin Rouge! is not as original and the viewer’s criticism of the film may get sharper based on prior exposure to the copied or adapted artistic elements within Moulin Rouge! This is unfortunately what happens when viewers watch Perhaps Love. This film has to live under the shadow of Moulin Rouge! because of Moulin Rouge’s epic success and popularity. So, I would like to for once try to review Perhaps Love with the perspective of somebody who did not see or hear about Moulin Rouge.
Perhaps Love is the first musical film produced in mainland china since the release of Red Sorghum in 1987. The film shows an evolution in Hong Kong cinema and it is definitely made with the intention of exclaiming a new artistic arrival in cinema. It is so original because it mixes in popular elements of film from major parts of the global film industry. The overemphasis on overt sentimentality perhaps comes from the popularity of such themes in current Korean cinema. The use of color, song and dance comes is from Bollywood cinema. The director brought in a Farah Khan, a Bollywood director and choreographer of films such as Kabhi Kushi Kabhi Gham. The circus in the plot of the film is a western style circus, and maybe a reference to Guido’s circus in Fellini’s 8 ½. The actors in this film are the big time stars in Asian cinema. I watched the film with a friend who was excited because Takeshi Kaneshiro who has a Japanese name was in a Chinese film, showing a mix of cultures. Although she did not know that Takeshi Kaneshiro actually grew up in Taiwan and that his acting career was made in China through working for directors such as Wong Kar Wai. But then there is a deliberate highlighting of Asian cinema stardom by the addition of Korean actor, Ji Jin Hee, in the story.
The film’s musical setting is a rare artistic move in Chinese cinema and the mix of stars and writing that appeals to popular Asian culture provides satisfying entertainment. It is worth noting that no other movie like this had been made in Asian cinema since the times of China’s Cultural Revolution. Yes, Red Sorghum was a musical too, but it was produced during the developmental or experimental years of Chinese cinema. Perhaps Love shows the overall growth, artistic and technical maturity and high level of prominence that Asian cinema possesses within global cinema.
There is a whole lot more that can be said about this film. It may be unfortunate that it is continually viewed under the shadow of Moulin Rouge! Here's a great music video from the film
Perhaps.... love?
This film is often compared to Moulin Rouge!, and while I do agree that they have many similarities, I also believe that Perhaps Love is unique in a various ways. They don’t break out in random song and dance like in most musicals, but the music is actually in the context of the film that they are making within the film. My initial impression of this film was that it was visually stunning. The colors were the first thing to catch my eye. They were so vibrant and saturated and seemed to reflect the mood that director Peter Chan wanted to convey. There was a scene, for example, in 53:50 were I was surprised at how red the background was. To contrast this, it was constantly alternating to a shot that was predominantly blue and contained men dancing in the rain. The most interesting thing about this was that after switching between those two shots a couple of times, the character in the red scene walked over to the blue scene. When these two intermingled, the only logical thing happened- the lighting was brought together and it was still blue but with an obvious red cast on it. I thought that technique was really artistic and powerful. In 1:05:40 there was a shot that we had already seen with Sun Na, but this time it was Jian Dong who was lying on the ice. I thought the contrast of his red clothing with the white ice was pretty intense. There was a very similar effect in 1:32:38 when the bright red "blood" slowly spread all over the snow. This effectively conveyed the visual of death tainting the purity of something so fresh and new. And there was also a scene where a white movie screen was shown in the background the characters had finished watching their film (1:25:23). I don't think I have ever seen such a vibrant, blinding white before!
I also enjoyed how light and dark were used in different scenes to make the mood more mysterious, ominous, or private. There were times when shadows would be blocking most of what we can see, leaving much to the imagination. Another scene was the one with Sun where half of her face was covered (53:50) which made me feel as though she had much to hide or that part of her (maybe her past?) was missing. The camera angles were also phenomenal. One especially stood out in my opinion was when Sun was laying on the ice, and the camera was pointed straight down at her from the sky- and in the process catching an interesting view of the falling snow (51:01). That same angle was then repeated with Jian Dong (1:05:40), which gave me the feeling of déjà vu for a split second. It gave me the sense that I too was in a dream or in a flashback, watching things happen over and over again in the same way, with only slight variance each time. Another example of the amazing cinematography was when they were filming the final scene and they were doing stunts high up in the air (1:31:05). What angles! And there were also a couple of underwater shots that showed the characters kissing or crying (seeing a tear drop through water was really strange yet fascinating).
Besides the visually captivating effects and unique filming, the music and dancing were also very entertaining. To me, the circus scenes seemed to capture the energy of the East (Bollywood) and the glitz and glamour of the West (Hollywood). It was very creative, experimental, and made think about how life in film and in reality are nothing but one willd circus (how very Felliniesque!). While the style of these musical sequences reminded me of Moulin Rouge!, the beautiful music seemed to have that chilling Phantom of the Opera essence (by Andrew Lloyd Weber). As I mentioned before though, Perhaps Love is not an exact retelling of musicals such as these. The story is captivating and tells of a twisted love triangle (and the pain and suffering that comes with it) between people involved in the making of a film. These films about people creating a film causes one to see the art form in a different light. The plot, for example, could certainly be considered a statement about fantasy and reality and how they intermingle in cinema. It seemed to be a greatly toned down version of Fellini’s films. Although you could tell when reality and the acting/dreaming/flashback sequences switch from one to another, they flow so well. In Perhaps Love, the main story is reflected in the film that the characters are creating. In the same way, our own reality can be greatly affected by the “reality” that we see on screen. Furthermore, what we see on screen can affect our reality and the way we perceive the world around us.
Perhaps Love began with a very interesting statement that went something like this: (it is not verbatim) “Our life is like a film, each of us is the protagonist. Some might assume they’re playing a leading role in someone else’s film, but in fact they are playing supporting roles… or worse- their scores could have been edited out and they just don’t know it (about 0:02-0:03). ” This reminded me of sociologist Irvine Goffman who frequently used the analogy of the theater to describe life and the interactions amongst different people. In his work entitled, “The Presentation of Self in Everyday Life (1959),” he explained how people are “performing” on a daily basis for those around them and how we play roles in other’s films or plays. In Perhaps Love, the roles intermixed in an explosive way and the story of each person had an unexpected ending due to the interactions between the characters.
"All the world's a stage, And all the men and women merely players; They have their exits and their entrances, And one man in his time plays many parts, His acts being seven ages."
William Shakespere (As You Like it; Act 2, scene 7).
I also enjoyed how light and dark were used in different scenes to make the mood more mysterious, ominous, or private. There were times when shadows would be blocking most of what we can see, leaving much to the imagination. Another scene was the one with Sun where half of her face was covered (53:50) which made me feel as though she had much to hide or that part of her (maybe her past?) was missing. The camera angles were also phenomenal. One especially stood out in my opinion was when Sun was laying on the ice, and the camera was pointed straight down at her from the sky- and in the process catching an interesting view of the falling snow (51:01). That same angle was then repeated with Jian Dong (1:05:40), which gave me the feeling of déjà vu for a split second. It gave me the sense that I too was in a dream or in a flashback, watching things happen over and over again in the same way, with only slight variance each time. Another example of the amazing cinematography was when they were filming the final scene and they were doing stunts high up in the air (1:31:05). What angles! And there were also a couple of underwater shots that showed the characters kissing or crying (seeing a tear drop through water was really strange yet fascinating).
Besides the visually captivating effects and unique filming, the music and dancing were also very entertaining. To me, the circus scenes seemed to capture the energy of the East (Bollywood) and the glitz and glamour of the West (Hollywood). It was very creative, experimental, and made think about how life in film and in reality are nothing but one willd circus (how very Felliniesque!). While the style of these musical sequences reminded me of Moulin Rouge!, the beautiful music seemed to have that chilling Phantom of the Opera essence (by Andrew Lloyd Weber). As I mentioned before though, Perhaps Love is not an exact retelling of musicals such as these. The story is captivating and tells of a twisted love triangle (and the pain and suffering that comes with it) between people involved in the making of a film. These films about people creating a film causes one to see the art form in a different light. The plot, for example, could certainly be considered a statement about fantasy and reality and how they intermingle in cinema. It seemed to be a greatly toned down version of Fellini’s films. Although you could tell when reality and the acting/dreaming/flashback sequences switch from one to another, they flow so well. In Perhaps Love, the main story is reflected in the film that the characters are creating. In the same way, our own reality can be greatly affected by the “reality” that we see on screen. Furthermore, what we see on screen can affect our reality and the way we perceive the world around us.
Perhaps Love began with a very interesting statement that went something like this: (it is not verbatim) “Our life is like a film, each of us is the protagonist. Some might assume they’re playing a leading role in someone else’s film, but in fact they are playing supporting roles… or worse- their scores could have been edited out and they just don’t know it (about 0:02-0:03). ” This reminded me of sociologist Irvine Goffman who frequently used the analogy of the theater to describe life and the interactions amongst different people. In his work entitled, “The Presentation of Self in Everyday Life (1959),” he explained how people are “performing” on a daily basis for those around them and how we play roles in other’s films or plays. In Perhaps Love, the roles intermixed in an explosive way and the story of each person had an unexpected ending due to the interactions between the characters.
"All the world's a stage, And all the men and women merely players; They have their exits and their entrances, And one man in his time plays many parts, His acts being seven ages."
William Shakespere (As You Like it; Act 2, scene 7).
The Story of Qiu Ju 让我想鱼香茄子！
Gritty images of busy pedestrians in early 90s China accompanied by the raw sound of a pipa introduce Zhang Yimou’s 1992 The Story of Qiu Ju. As one of the most popular Chinese directors, Zhao Yimou is known for his deliberate modulation of color and artistic imagery, as seen in Red Sorghum (1987), Hero (2002), or House of the Flying Daggers (2004). In The Story of Qiu Ju, Zhao chose a distinctly different mode of filming. The seemingly unrefined imagery facilitates an atmosphere strongly resembling a documentary. As in Red Sorghum, Zhao depicts the struggle of peasants from the countryside. The movie’s central issue is the quest for justice in the presence of corruption. Fortunately, the Communist Party perceived their policies reflected in Zhao’s movie, thus allowing the release of previously banned movies and promoting him as a hero of modern China.
The Story of Qiu Ju narrates the journey of a peasant woman whose husband has been beaten up by the village chief. Despite her condition as a pregnant woman, Qiu Ju takes on the strenuous challenges of seeking justice. Unsatisfied with any result but the chief’s recognition of his wrongdoing and a sincere apology, Qiu Ju appeals to the authorities, one level after the other. The movie’s release coincided with an anti-corruption campaign by the Communist Party, explaining their support for Zhao’s project.
As mentioned above, the film’s appearance seems quite unpolished. Long, gritty shots and unfiltered string sounds contribute to the movie’s raw character. In numerous scenes, the circus of peripheral noises competes with the protagonists’ conversations, further facilitating the documentary-like appearance. It seems as if Zhao shot the city scenes amongst thousands of involuntary extras, taking authentic snapshots of urban life in modern China. The raw cinematic style underlines the movies authentic depiction of peasant workers’ challenges in the onset of China’s exponential growth and urbanization.
In this time of tremendous change, Zhao’s film stresses the drastic contrast between urban and rural society. Coming from the simple village life, Qiu Ju and her sister-in-law appear to be utterly foreign figures in the provincial capital. In the comedic attempt to blend in with the city folk, they purchase a few “modern” clothes after being conned by a rickshaw driver. Placing the two peasants in the alien environment of the city, Zhao stresses a fundamental contrast that is both comedic and tragic.
Similar to Red Sorghum, the emphasis on the Chinese people’s resilience even in the face of hardship and turmoil appears to be a major theme of the movie. Despite the deficient local bureaucracy and here condition as a pregnant woman, Qiu Ju perseveres in seeking justice for the crime her family has suffered. Despite the repeated rejection of her pleas, she does not give in. Ever since the Yuan Dynasty’s Mongolian rule over the Chinese people, the notion of perseverance in times of hardship appears to have been a vital element in the China’s self-perception. The virtue was strongly emphasized during the Communist Revolution as well as China’s economical downfall following the Great Leap forward. No surprise this movie was embraced so dearly by the Communist Party.
In the 2000s, Zhao devoted himself to a new genre, as he directed several rather epic xuxia dramas, including Hero, which was a tremendous international success, House of the Flying Daggers, and Curse of the Golden Flower (2006). The grandeur of these imposing blockbusters makes it hard to believe that Zhao once directed in such an utterly realistic manner as in The Story of Qiu Ju. Yet, despite these differences in appearance and themes, judging the movies I have seen, Zhao’s appeal seems to be consistent, as he tends to call upon the China to recognize, cherish, and live after the virtues distinct to her people.
On a side note, if you enjoy Chinese wuxia movies, you certainly should watch Red Cliff (2008), John Woo’s epic on the Romance of the Three Kingdoms. I watched it this weekend and was pleased to see that Asian cinema finally has sufficient funds to evoke the ridiculously epic character of Romance of the Three Kingdoms to life. What a delight to watch 2.5 hours of polished battlefield slaughter, shrewd strategizing, and Chinese heroism! Oh well, maybe that’s just be missing China.
The Story of Qiu Ju narrates the journey of a peasant woman whose husband has been beaten up by the village chief. Despite her condition as a pregnant woman, Qiu Ju takes on the strenuous challenges of seeking justice. Unsatisfied with any result but the chief’s recognition of his wrongdoing and a sincere apology, Qiu Ju appeals to the authorities, one level after the other. The movie’s release coincided with an anti-corruption campaign by the Communist Party, explaining their support for Zhao’s project.
As mentioned above, the film’s appearance seems quite unpolished. Long, gritty shots and unfiltered string sounds contribute to the movie’s raw character. In numerous scenes, the circus of peripheral noises competes with the protagonists’ conversations, further facilitating the documentary-like appearance. It seems as if Zhao shot the city scenes amongst thousands of involuntary extras, taking authentic snapshots of urban life in modern China. The raw cinematic style underlines the movies authentic depiction of peasant workers’ challenges in the onset of China’s exponential growth and urbanization.
In this time of tremendous change, Zhao’s film stresses the drastic contrast between urban and rural society. Coming from the simple village life, Qiu Ju and her sister-in-law appear to be utterly foreign figures in the provincial capital. In the comedic attempt to blend in with the city folk, they purchase a few “modern” clothes after being conned by a rickshaw driver. Placing the two peasants in the alien environment of the city, Zhao stresses a fundamental contrast that is both comedic and tragic.
Similar to Red Sorghum, the emphasis on the Chinese people’s resilience even in the face of hardship and turmoil appears to be a major theme of the movie. Despite the deficient local bureaucracy and here condition as a pregnant woman, Qiu Ju perseveres in seeking justice for the crime her family has suffered. Despite the repeated rejection of her pleas, she does not give in. Ever since the Yuan Dynasty’s Mongolian rule over the Chinese people, the notion of perseverance in times of hardship appears to have been a vital element in the China’s self-perception. The virtue was strongly emphasized during the Communist Revolution as well as China’s economical downfall following the Great Leap forward. No surprise this movie was embraced so dearly by the Communist Party.
In the 2000s, Zhao devoted himself to a new genre, as he directed several rather epic xuxia dramas, including Hero, which was a tremendous international success, House of the Flying Daggers, and Curse of the Golden Flower (2006). The grandeur of these imposing blockbusters makes it hard to believe that Zhao once directed in such an utterly realistic manner as in The Story of Qiu Ju. Yet, despite these differences in appearance and themes, judging the movies I have seen, Zhao’s appeal seems to be consistent, as he tends to call upon the China to recognize, cherish, and live after the virtues distinct to her people.
On a side note, if you enjoy Chinese wuxia movies, you certainly should watch Red Cliff (2008), John Woo’s epic on the Romance of the Three Kingdoms. I watched it this weekend and was pleased to see that Asian cinema finally has sufficient funds to evoke the ridiculously epic character of Romance of the Three Kingdoms to life. What a delight to watch 2.5 hours of polished battlefield slaughter, shrewd strategizing, and Chinese heroism! Oh well, maybe that’s just be missing China.
Dearest Red Ghosts
Even after an hour’s passing, the near-wailing song of Chinese opera rings in my ears; I am left in a forlorn state, my mood dampened as subtly but piercingly as a layer of frost upon a thin paper lantern. In this way, Zhang Yimou discharges his characters to haunt the minds of his viewers; though they go as swiftly as they came, their vivid presence when they still stood, spoke and sang leaves a lingering essence that tingles our senses. In Raise the Red Lantern (1991) the chasm of traditionalist Chinese loyalty and the pain that comes from such servitude is placed in a 1920’s rich household, where four jealous mistresses fight for their master’s attention and for their own survival, though realizing in the process that they must abandon their dignity in doing so.
The barrier between this film and the political situation of mid-20th century China is paper-thin. Had Yimou named the master of the house, “Master Mao” the Chinese ministry of censorship most likely wouldn’t have let him live to create The Story of Qui Ju (1992). Though the subservient mistresses and maids may answer to the master’s every beckoned call, it is clear that the house is only sustained by an artificial presentation of respect. On the master’s leave, the maids exchange rumors of in-house affairs, the wives bicker amongst one another, and the mistresses know that each bear nothing but contempt for the predicament their master has placed them in with his traditions, regulations and commands. In response to his wives’ dissatisfactions, the master simply replies, “You are sisters – you must maintain a harmonious relationship with them.” In this manner, Yimou illustrates the fallacy of socialism and the inner discordance of the Communist political structure under Mao’s rule.
In regard to Yimou’s filming techniques, he is absolutely dumbfounding in his skill to augment human expressiveness. Yimou is kind to emotions and possesses the impeccable ability to draw them out in a variety of ways. For one, he allows his characters’ hearts to freely flow, and with such dexterity he captures them on film. Songlian’s head-shot and the tears that soundlessly fall is a powerful and promising opening to a gripping film. Li Gong’s gaze is always direct, unwavering and telling and every close-shot of her face is rich with inexplicable thought and feeling, that it is no wonder Yimou cast her so repeatedly in his films.
Sometimes the body language and physical disposition speaks enough without so much emphasis on the face: Meishan’s riveting dance accompanied by her flawless singing and smile is her perfectly constructed disguise that conceals her inner torment. In all her grace, her white sleeves flowing in fluid circular motions, her performance only displays a beauty that is skin deep. Again, this is reflective of the motherland that fought so hard to present a compelling facade, but failed to hide the discord within.
Another theatrical aspect that Yimou is infamous for is his phenomenal work with color. Often, Yimou doesn’t require people at all and simply allows the colors to speak for themselves: the red lanterns hanging outside of Songlian’s house on her wedding night that seem almost vulgar in their vividness; the contrast of the flames and Yan’er’s icy expression. Whether or not it was possible, Yimou surpasses Red Sorghum (1987) with Raise the Red Lantern when it comes to amplifying the color red. Though the color itself is alluring, striking and vivacious, that combined with the four mistress’ yearning for the red lanterns to be hung by their doors makes one almost addicted to the color. This becomes more apparent once we realize how much we crave for the red glow while we sit in Songlian’s black veiled room.
However, what may be the most noteworthy aspect of Yimou is his absolute fascination with women. He adorns them in beautiful silk, illuminates their faces with soft secondary lighting, takes them in long-shots allowing the wind to billow their dresses and close-ups for their tears to shimmer in silence. His women bear such a wealth of emotions that project daringly from their porcelain skin. In every film, the women are portrayed as strong, independent individuals who stand boldly for their ground. Whether she is a leader captured in the body of a fourteen-year-old teacher (Not One Less, 1999), a revolutionary who plots against the Japanese military (Red Sorghum, 1987), or a mistress competing with other mistresses for a night with their master, she is ever resilient to obstacles and firmly rooted to her ambitions. Perhaps it is Yimou’s way of complimenting his mother country by exhibiting both the artistic beauty of her nature and the strength of her will and power.
The barrier between this film and the political situation of mid-20th century China is paper-thin. Had Yimou named the master of the house, “Master Mao” the Chinese ministry of censorship most likely wouldn’t have let him live to create The Story of Qui Ju (1992). Though the subservient mistresses and maids may answer to the master’s every beckoned call, it is clear that the house is only sustained by an artificial presentation of respect. On the master’s leave, the maids exchange rumors of in-house affairs, the wives bicker amongst one another, and the mistresses know that each bear nothing but contempt for the predicament their master has placed them in with his traditions, regulations and commands. In response to his wives’ dissatisfactions, the master simply replies, “You are sisters – you must maintain a harmonious relationship with them.” In this manner, Yimou illustrates the fallacy of socialism and the inner discordance of the Communist political structure under Mao’s rule.
In regard to Yimou’s filming techniques, he is absolutely dumbfounding in his skill to augment human expressiveness. Yimou is kind to emotions and possesses the impeccable ability to draw them out in a variety of ways. For one, he allows his characters’ hearts to freely flow, and with such dexterity he captures them on film. Songlian’s head-shot and the tears that soundlessly fall is a powerful and promising opening to a gripping film. Li Gong’s gaze is always direct, unwavering and telling and every close-shot of her face is rich with inexplicable thought and feeling, that it is no wonder Yimou cast her so repeatedly in his films.
Sometimes the body language and physical disposition speaks enough without so much emphasis on the face: Meishan’s riveting dance accompanied by her flawless singing and smile is her perfectly constructed disguise that conceals her inner torment. In all her grace, her white sleeves flowing in fluid circular motions, her performance only displays a beauty that is skin deep. Again, this is reflective of the motherland that fought so hard to present a compelling facade, but failed to hide the discord within.
Another theatrical aspect that Yimou is infamous for is his phenomenal work with color. Often, Yimou doesn’t require people at all and simply allows the colors to speak for themselves: the red lanterns hanging outside of Songlian’s house on her wedding night that seem almost vulgar in their vividness; the contrast of the flames and Yan’er’s icy expression. Whether or not it was possible, Yimou surpasses Red Sorghum (1987) with Raise the Red Lantern when it comes to amplifying the color red. Though the color itself is alluring, striking and vivacious, that combined with the four mistress’ yearning for the red lanterns to be hung by their doors makes one almost addicted to the color. This becomes more apparent once we realize how much we crave for the red glow while we sit in Songlian’s black veiled room.
However, what may be the most noteworthy aspect of Yimou is his absolute fascination with women. He adorns them in beautiful silk, illuminates their faces with soft secondary lighting, takes them in long-shots allowing the wind to billow their dresses and close-ups for their tears to shimmer in silence. His women bear such a wealth of emotions that project daringly from their porcelain skin. In every film, the women are portrayed as strong, independent individuals who stand boldly for their ground. Whether she is a leader captured in the body of a fourteen-year-old teacher (Not One Less, 1999), a revolutionary who plots against the Japanese military (Red Sorghum, 1987), or a mistress competing with other mistresses for a night with their master, she is ever resilient to obstacles and firmly rooted to her ambitions. Perhaps it is Yimou’s way of complimenting his mother country by exhibiting both the artistic beauty of her nature and the strength of her will and power.
National Unity and The 36th Chamber
The 36th Chamber of Shaolin (1978) continues to be one of the most respected martial arts films of all time. Like a typical wuxia film The 36th Chamber follows a naïve and idealistic youth as he transforms into a skilled martial arts master. In this film Liu changes from a mere student into San Te, a humble and prodigious monk who wants to teach the common people to defend themselves.
The first twenty minutes of the film are loaded with Chinese philosophical principles that emphasize the importance of national unity. Liu’s teacher tells his students that they must be willing to make sacrifices for the sake of their country. They must make sacrifices for a righteous cause. One man fighting alone is not enough. Only through unity will Chinese men find their strength. This is also reinforced when San Te is on the verge of completing his initial training by strengthening his head. The abbot tells him that having uniformity of mind brings about the focus of one’s power. The director is telling Chinese people that they must be of one heart, one mind if they want their nation to flourish and become truly powerful. The film’s portrayal of the worker in the rice-mill seems to indicate that gong fu is not simply martial arts. The miller found strength in his feet by grinding rice. The blacksmith found strength through his work as well. Gong fu is a point of view and a principle of hard work that can be applied to every area of one’s life.
One significant aspect of Chinese film that greatly differs from techniques applied in western film is the favoring of long shots over close-up shots. Long shots are a key element especially in the wuxia genre because they allow the audience to see the performers’ entire bodies and enjoy the spectacle that their proficiency in the martial arts provides.
Generally when American directors set out to shoot a film with a heavy emphasis on martial arts choreography they make two critical errors. The first mistake is to include too many close-ups. In theory close-up shots in action scenes are supposed to provide the audience with opportunities to see the facial expressions of the characters as they take hits. In reality close-ups obscure the action and really just make it difficult for the audience to tell what is going on. The second mistake, and in my opinion the more severe of the two is to include action sequences with way too many cuts. In theory frequent cuts in action sequences emphasize the unpredictability of the situation and the disorientation the characters experience while they are fighting. But more often than not frequent cuts are so disorienting that they become distracting and they actually detract from the action.
I believe that the western tendency to include many close-ups can be attributed to the belief that we as individuals are more important than everyone else around us. Both Chinese and American films emphasize the importance of heroes, but the reason for their importance is different. In American films the hero is important because he is the focus of everyone’s attention, and he is the focus of our attention because he is important. Heroes in American films exist for their emotions and their beliefs. In Chinese philosophy one man as an individual is not important. Chinese people see themselves as part of a whole. Long shots reflect this philosophy fairly because they emphasize how the hero’s presence and actions affect the people and the environment around him/her. Heroes in Chinese films exist to embody their cultural principles and to carry out their elegant and righteous actions. But one interesting detail is that the San Te defies the Shaolin tradition, but he is still the hero. How does that work?
This film is very philosophical at the beginning, but it gradually shifts to focus on the action. The fight sequences are filmed especially well considering the film’s release date, but there are several awkward cuts. For instance, the final moments in San Ta’s fight with General Tien begins with a low-angle freeze-frame of his head making contact with Tien’s stomach before it cuts to a long shot and freeze-frame of San Ta using his head to lift Tien into the air by his groin. The shot spontaneously cuts to a scene of San Ta’s students as they begin their training. The freeze-frame shots may have been added for comic effect, but I feel that their inclusion unnecessarily disrupts the flow of the film and skips over a much-needed conclusion to this anti-climatic fight.
The 36th Chamber does have a few minor flaws from a technical standpoint, but it remains one of the better films in a genre that continues to remind Chinese people of their strength and their potential to become great heroes for the sake of their nation.
The first twenty minutes of the film are loaded with Chinese philosophical principles that emphasize the importance of national unity. Liu’s teacher tells his students that they must be willing to make sacrifices for the sake of their country. They must make sacrifices for a righteous cause. One man fighting alone is not enough. Only through unity will Chinese men find their strength. This is also reinforced when San Te is on the verge of completing his initial training by strengthening his head. The abbot tells him that having uniformity of mind brings about the focus of one’s power. The director is telling Chinese people that they must be of one heart, one mind if they want their nation to flourish and become truly powerful. The film’s portrayal of the worker in the rice-mill seems to indicate that gong fu is not simply martial arts. The miller found strength in his feet by grinding rice. The blacksmith found strength through his work as well. Gong fu is a point of view and a principle of hard work that can be applied to every area of one’s life.
One significant aspect of Chinese film that greatly differs from techniques applied in western film is the favoring of long shots over close-up shots. Long shots are a key element especially in the wuxia genre because they allow the audience to see the performers’ entire bodies and enjoy the spectacle that their proficiency in the martial arts provides.
Generally when American directors set out to shoot a film with a heavy emphasis on martial arts choreography they make two critical errors. The first mistake is to include too many close-ups. In theory close-up shots in action scenes are supposed to provide the audience with opportunities to see the facial expressions of the characters as they take hits. In reality close-ups obscure the action and really just make it difficult for the audience to tell what is going on. The second mistake, and in my opinion the more severe of the two is to include action sequences with way too many cuts. In theory frequent cuts in action sequences emphasize the unpredictability of the situation and the disorientation the characters experience while they are fighting. But more often than not frequent cuts are so disorienting that they become distracting and they actually detract from the action.
I believe that the western tendency to include many close-ups can be attributed to the belief that we as individuals are more important than everyone else around us. Both Chinese and American films emphasize the importance of heroes, but the reason for their importance is different. In American films the hero is important because he is the focus of everyone’s attention, and he is the focus of our attention because he is important. Heroes in American films exist for their emotions and their beliefs. In Chinese philosophy one man as an individual is not important. Chinese people see themselves as part of a whole. Long shots reflect this philosophy fairly because they emphasize how the hero’s presence and actions affect the people and the environment around him/her. Heroes in Chinese films exist to embody their cultural principles and to carry out their elegant and righteous actions. But one interesting detail is that the San Te defies the Shaolin tradition, but he is still the hero. How does that work?
This film is very philosophical at the beginning, but it gradually shifts to focus on the action. The fight sequences are filmed especially well considering the film’s release date, but there are several awkward cuts. For instance, the final moments in San Ta’s fight with General Tien begins with a low-angle freeze-frame of his head making contact with Tien’s stomach before it cuts to a long shot and freeze-frame of San Ta using his head to lift Tien into the air by his groin. The shot spontaneously cuts to a scene of San Ta’s students as they begin their training. The freeze-frame shots may have been added for comic effect, but I feel that their inclusion unnecessarily disrupts the flow of the film and skips over a much-needed conclusion to this anti-climatic fight.
The 36th Chamber does have a few minor flaws from a technical standpoint, but it remains one of the better films in a genre that continues to remind Chinese people of their strength and their potential to become great heroes for the sake of their nation.
Sunday, November 23, 2008
36th Chamber.
When i heard about this movie, the title made me think that the 36th chamber of the shaolin would be this secret chamber where the protagonist would go and attain super cool Shaolin ninja Status. And then, i started watching the film. It was like having a 4 day old tuna being smacked across my face.
The story-line basically goes something like this. a race (Tartar's) have invaded Canton and are being complete a-holes. they are merciless, ruthless and absolutely hell-bent on occupation by force. Clearly, they are not Buddhists (read on for an explanation of the 'buddhist' part). So the people of Canton are being oppressed and one dude gets really pissed about it because his whole family is killed by the invaders. He hears that the Shaolin Temple is the best place to learn Kung-Fu and he then decides to go there and master Kung-Fu.
So he makes a dramatic escape from Canton (almost killing himself) and makes it to the Shaolin Temple. The 'head priest' admits him into the Shaolin Circle and San-To (the grudge holding, kung-fu learning non-shaolin, bad-a** shaolin Monk) begins his life. The one dis-orienting aspect of this film is the bad time-line stitching. apparently a year has gone by since San-To has been under Shaolin care and we don't even know it. San-To masters the 35 stages of Kung-fu within a couple of years without him, or anyone else in the Shaolin Temple aging by even a single day.
The kung-fu sequences were choreographed splendidly, however, for some reason, as i watched the film, i kept getting the feeling that something wasn't right. now that im writing this entry, i realized what that something was. though the fight scenes were choreographed really well, all of them were slow. when we watch modern martial arts movies, the action is FAST PACED. fists are flying all over the place at blinding pace. however, in this movie, the action seemed to be slow. This could be a result of either us having gotten used to actors flying around at blinding speeds OR it could just have been slow action just to make sure no one got hurt and that the moves were carried out as they were supposed to be. The blood ridiculously resembled paint.
There was a VERY important message in this film. Hate and Anger is GOOD! As the head priest of the Shaolin Temple said, San-To mastered all kungu-fu within a few years' time, conveying that he pretty much achieved the impossible. throughout the film, we see him just BLAZE through all the 'chambers'. the question is, how could he have mastered all of the chambers in such short time and with such brilliance? Hate, Revenge and Anger were his motivation. he was angry and wanted revenge on the Tartars and that is why he was learning kung-fu. HE channelized his aggression into motivating himself to learn the martial arts and he did a splendid job. His motivation made him defiant, but yet, respectful.
Proud of San-to's achievements, the head priest offers to appoint him the over-seer of any of the chambers, with the exception of the 35h house, the house of Buddhist wisdom and super-powers! the short glimpse we get of the 35th chamber was when San-to opts to start from the toughest level and is sent to this place. He is rejected by the over-seer of the 35th chamber, because San-To's Buddhism is NOT strong. thus, the over-seer just makes a motion with his hands and San-To, who is standing possibly 30-40 feet away, goes flying across the walk-path.
Taking the Head-Priest's offer, San To opts to create his own chamber, the 36th Chamber, which will be a chamber where the lay man would be taught Shaolin Kungu-fu.
In the end, we see San-To go from a man driven by self fulfillment to a monk who wants to spread knowledge amongst the common man. he believes that the common man should be taught the martial arts so that he can defend himself from the tyrants who try to take over their lands and their lives.
I felt that the head-butt to the crotch was an AWESOME way to take out the villian! LOL!
The story-line basically goes something like this. a race (Tartar's) have invaded Canton and are being complete a-holes. they are merciless, ruthless and absolutely hell-bent on occupation by force. Clearly, they are not Buddhists (read on for an explanation of the 'buddhist' part). So the people of Canton are being oppressed and one dude gets really pissed about it because his whole family is killed by the invaders. He hears that the Shaolin Temple is the best place to learn Kung-Fu and he then decides to go there and master Kung-Fu.
So he makes a dramatic escape from Canton (almost killing himself) and makes it to the Shaolin Temple. The 'head priest' admits him into the Shaolin Circle and San-To (the grudge holding, kung-fu learning non-shaolin, bad-a** shaolin Monk) begins his life. The one dis-orienting aspect of this film is the bad time-line stitching. apparently a year has gone by since San-To has been under Shaolin care and we don't even know it. San-To masters the 35 stages of Kung-fu within a couple of years without him, or anyone else in the Shaolin Temple aging by even a single day.
The kung-fu sequences were choreographed splendidly, however, for some reason, as i watched the film, i kept getting the feeling that something wasn't right. now that im writing this entry, i realized what that something was. though the fight scenes were choreographed really well, all of them were slow. when we watch modern martial arts movies, the action is FAST PACED. fists are flying all over the place at blinding pace. however, in this movie, the action seemed to be slow. This could be a result of either us having gotten used to actors flying around at blinding speeds OR it could just have been slow action just to make sure no one got hurt and that the moves were carried out as they were supposed to be. The blood ridiculously resembled paint.
There was a VERY important message in this film. Hate and Anger is GOOD! As the head priest of the Shaolin Temple said, San-To mastered all kungu-fu within a few years' time, conveying that he pretty much achieved the impossible. throughout the film, we see him just BLAZE through all the 'chambers'. the question is, how could he have mastered all of the chambers in such short time and with such brilliance? Hate, Revenge and Anger were his motivation. he was angry and wanted revenge on the Tartars and that is why he was learning kung-fu. HE channelized his aggression into motivating himself to learn the martial arts and he did a splendid job. His motivation made him defiant, but yet, respectful.
Proud of San-to's achievements, the head priest offers to appoint him the over-seer of any of the chambers, with the exception of the 35h house, the house of Buddhist wisdom and super-powers! the short glimpse we get of the 35th chamber was when San-to opts to start from the toughest level and is sent to this place. He is rejected by the over-seer of the 35th chamber, because San-To's Buddhism is NOT strong. thus, the over-seer just makes a motion with his hands and San-To, who is standing possibly 30-40 feet away, goes flying across the walk-path.
Taking the Head-Priest's offer, San To opts to create his own chamber, the 36th Chamber, which will be a chamber where the lay man would be taught Shaolin Kungu-fu.
In the end, we see San-To go from a man driven by self fulfillment to a monk who wants to spread knowledge amongst the common man. he believes that the common man should be taught the martial arts so that he can defend himself from the tyrants who try to take over their lands and their lives.
I felt that the head-butt to the crotch was an AWESOME way to take out the villian! LOL!
could have been worse
So I watched Chunhyang a few minutes ago. I don't want to talk about it. But I will since I didn't borrow any other films. I did watch The Host on Friday, but since I fell asleep even more during that one I may as well stick with Chunhyang.
This is one of those movies where I watched the time bar more than I did the actual movie. The first few minutes of the film feature a man singing on stage while his buddy does his own thing with a drum. There were no subtitles for this chunk of time so I thought that either the DVD was broken or he wasn't speaking in any known language. After about 6 or 7 songs about how the main character was crossing a bridge to go sightseeing, saw a girl from 200 feet away, and married her on the spot so he could touch her, I fell asleep. When I woke up, the girl was having her shins bashed in with sticks so I rewound and was pleased to see that the movie contained much more sex and violence than I thought. Not enough to keep me from looking at the timer every 10 minutes, or from picking up a grad school book and thumbing through personal essay samples, or even from thinking that the male lead was a total douchebag who didn't really deserve any of the joy he received. His only saving grace, it seems, is that he's really good at writing poetry, which was probably an effective way of choosing public servants since it kept them from trying to improve farming methods and kept them where they could be watched closely.
The entire story is played out like a very cut and dry fairy tale. The villain is exceptionally evil, the maiden is exceptionally powerless to do anything but cry and scream for help, and the hero is just a bag of dicks who would be better off just making a room full of mirrors. The fact that the "hero" doesn't seem to suffer at all, unless you consider studying equal to torture and execution, probably means that the main female character, who the movie is named after, is probably the real hero of the story. She isn't any less helpless than any other damsel in distress, but she is pretty good at taking a beating so that counts for something.
What makes the entire film somewhat bizarre and watchable is the fact that the entire thing is narrated by the operaman from the beginning of the film. About halfway though, everything gets turned upside down by showing his 21st century audience react to Chunhyang's mafia treatment. From then on, the audience will clap, dance, and attempt to make the viewer feel like an outcast for not having his or her eyeballs glued to the screen. Sometimes the characters themselves will be completely drowned out by the narrator, which is actually pretty effective since an otherwise ham filled scene will only be partially overdone.
One point of the film that I had problems with was the fact that the entire "courting" story between Lee and Chunhyang seemed more like an extended and very polite rape. I'm sure I'm ignoring things like cultural differences and the fact that it's an 18th century story, but it seemed that within the course of 12 hours, Lee saw a girl on a swing - probably up her skirt too - decided he wanted to touch her, learned she was a fancy hooker's daughter, wanted to touch her more, and when jumping on her didn't work, used his class privilege to force a marriage. The film just barely avoids the whole rape question by making him declare his love by writing it on her skirt, thus kicking off the fairy tale portion of the story, but I'm sure most girl fantasies don't start off with some lonely, overworked econ student looking for a distraction.
The only other Korean films I've seen are Old Boy, Spring...Spring, Aachi and Ssipak, and The Host, but they all seem to have the same basic points. When there's violence it's over the top and gruesome and when there's sex it's always drawn out for as long as possible. They also refuse to commit themselves to any single genre, but always like to throw in a little slapstick and drama into the mix no matter what the main premise is. It usually starts out as a big ultra-realistic extravaganza that peters out in the middle and comes back up at the end. I probably shouldn't just make blanket statements like that, but I haven't been proven wrong yet.
I don't want to talk about it
Sometimes we don’t want to talk about certain movies. This is especially true when we try to rationalize every single aspect of a movie. We try to understand angles, color, time of takes and frame rate of a pellicle, which is not a bad thing to do, but sometimes you just want to enjoy the movie as pure entertainment. No attention to philosophy, human character or any other intellectualization of the presentation; all you want to see are some heads flying.
And that is particular to my favorite movie of all times of the year, Big trouble in little China, which brings me a lot of joy, if I don’t think about it. If I theorize about the movie, it is just a big pile of Hollywood 80’s excrement. But this is just a case. Sometimes even around those intellectual movies, which we usually have so much to say about, you don’t want to do more than enjoy. That is how I felt watching Big Lebowski for the second time in my entire life.
The first time I watched it, I slept. Not because it was boring, I was just tired. I remember watching the beginning and having a great sympathy for the Dude and his herculean effort not to do much effort for anything in the world. And that was basically it. For the few minutes that I watched the Dude inside of Ralph’s drinking milk straight from the box to test it made me smile in my dreams on the subsequent hour of not watching it. And that made me thing about all those movies that we watched in our semester I realized that I am a characters person. I need to watch a character that is unique for me so I can truly enjoy a movie. But when that happens, I don’t want to talk about the movie.
The second time I venture watching the big Lebowski was for this exactly class. It was on a tough week that all movies present by master Pavel were great, and I barely had time to watch them all, but make doomed promises to watch them all as soon as possible. So I gave another try, just to the Dude to make my dreams sweeter. And, look how oddly providential; the Dude had the same dream that I had the first time I watched the Big Lebowski! And that entire dream made total sense for the movie as its story was somewhat real and somewhat surreal.
The dream scene goes over the Dude’s wildest desires of bowling, drinking and Viking virility. But really; I don’t want to talk about it. It was a scene for my heart, especially after the beautiful coincidence of my dream and the Dude’s own. There are some aspects of a movie that a critic could never tackle precisely and those ideas are meant to be share on a bar table. And the Big Lebowski is a truly alcoholic movie on the worst/best sense of it. It seems that you are in a constant hang over watching it, but all you want to do is to keep drinking. The white Russian, please.
The Dude remains at people’s heart exactly because of this non-verbal sense of the movie. He is a sweet guy that nothing beyond that matter to him. I love the Dude because of that. He seems to be one of those self-centered bastards but all that he wants is to earn as little as possible to pay as less tax as it is necessary for happiness and to have his rug back.
But again I don’t want to talk about it. But it is funny to think how character centered I am and a movie just with a good character would be fairly good for me. That’s why God should praise Kurt Russell and all those “brucutus” that live in my memories.
And that is particular to my favorite movie of all times of the year, Big trouble in little China, which brings me a lot of joy, if I don’t think about it. If I theorize about the movie, it is just a big pile of Hollywood 80’s excrement. But this is just a case. Sometimes even around those intellectual movies, which we usually have so much to say about, you don’t want to do more than enjoy. That is how I felt watching Big Lebowski for the second time in my entire life.
The first time I watched it, I slept. Not because it was boring, I was just tired. I remember watching the beginning and having a great sympathy for the Dude and his herculean effort not to do much effort for anything in the world. And that was basically it. For the few minutes that I watched the Dude inside of Ralph’s drinking milk straight from the box to test it made me smile in my dreams on the subsequent hour of not watching it. And that made me thing about all those movies that we watched in our semester I realized that I am a characters person. I need to watch a character that is unique for me so I can truly enjoy a movie. But when that happens, I don’t want to talk about the movie.
The second time I venture watching the big Lebowski was for this exactly class. It was on a tough week that all movies present by master Pavel were great, and I barely had time to watch them all, but make doomed promises to watch them all as soon as possible. So I gave another try, just to the Dude to make my dreams sweeter. And, look how oddly providential; the Dude had the same dream that I had the first time I watched the Big Lebowski! And that entire dream made total sense for the movie as its story was somewhat real and somewhat surreal.
The dream scene goes over the Dude’s wildest desires of bowling, drinking and Viking virility. But really; I don’t want to talk about it. It was a scene for my heart, especially after the beautiful coincidence of my dream and the Dude’s own. There are some aspects of a movie that a critic could never tackle precisely and those ideas are meant to be share on a bar table. And the Big Lebowski is a truly alcoholic movie on the worst/best sense of it. It seems that you are in a constant hang over watching it, but all you want to do is to keep drinking. The white Russian, please.
The Dude remains at people’s heart exactly because of this non-verbal sense of the movie. He is a sweet guy that nothing beyond that matter to him. I love the Dude because of that. He seems to be one of those self-centered bastards but all that he wants is to earn as little as possible to pay as less tax as it is necessary for happiness and to have his rug back.
But again I don’t want to talk about it. But it is funny to think how character centered I am and a movie just with a good character would be fairly good for me. That’s why God should praise Kurt Russell and all those “brucutus” that live in my memories.
Thursday, November 20, 2008
Yi Yi, my new favorite movie
Yi Yi is a film about the humanistic beauty of life and the power of film in capturing it. In this film, Edward Yang presents a portion (said to be a year) of a Taiwanese family living in Taipei. We mostly follow the lives of NJ (the father), Ting-Ting (daughter), and Yang-Yang (son). There is no plot. It is only these three characters living life, experiencing both happy and bad things, and their interconnectedness.
Edward Yang obviously understood the power and technique of film. It is quite evident that he deliberately utilized his camera and film in specific, symbolic ways. The following conversation from Yang-Yang and his father, NJ, illustrates a major theme:
YY: “Daddy, I can’t see what you see, and you can’t see what I see. How can I see what you see?”
NJ: “That’s why we need a camera. Would you like to play with one?”
YY: “Daddy, can we only know half of the truth?”
NJ: “I never thought about that. What do you mean?”
YY: “I can only see what’s in front, not what’s behind. So I can only know half of the truth, right?”
(102:00) (NJ’s words are not verbatim)
This conversation symbolizes how camera and film can capture what we can’t see through our own lives and presents the power of film in that it can capture life in ways individual life cannot. One specific technique Yang uses is showing reflections from objects, such as mirrors, windows, office doors, and car windshields. I interpreted this as a representation of the conversation provided above. Reflections show what is behind what we see in front of us; they show us the other half of the truth. Another technique Yang uses is capturing dialogues and people from a far distance and from high above (as well as close ups). This shows us more than just the characters; it shows more truth and the environment they live and see everyday. Undoubtedly, film is a way for Yang to show us what we can’t see. The camera can show each other around the world what we know and what we see. Yang takes advantage of the humanistic quality of film.
Life is so diverse. It is sometimes happy and sometimes sad. Everyone lives a different life. Yet, all aspects of life altogether make life beautiful; it is what makes life so gentle. Yi Yi lets us experience the lives of a Taiwanese family through the good times and bad times. Yang illustrates this in the conversation between Ting-Ting and Fatty during their “first date”:
F: “Did you like the movie?”
TT: “A bit too serious.”
F: “Life is a mixture of sad and happy things. Movies are so lifelike, that’s why we love them.”
TT: “Then, who needs movies? Just stay at home and live life!”
F: “My uncle says… that we live three times as long since man invented movies”
TT: “How can that be?”
F: “It means movies give us twice what we get from daily life.”
(150:50)
Through this dialogue, we understand at least one purpose of Yang’s in Yi Yi, that through movies (such as this one) we get to experience things we can’t in real life, experience other people’s lives, and celebrate the beauty of life. In the movie, to name a few, we get to experience a wedding, a funeral, jealousy, the business life, fighting couples, getting picked on by girls, getting in trouble in elementary school, murder, heartbreak, birth, death, failed relationships, facilitating failed relationships, and beginning a new relationship. We watch while finding similarities and differences in our lives, yet find interest in the movie because we in fact don’t know their lives and it is something new for us; a way to live and experience something different. And as the Japanese business man, Ota, says to NJ, “Why do we fear change? Everyday is a new day; we never live the same day twice.” Every experience, every life, every situation, every day is new and different, and this is what Yang wants to share with us through this family and their lives. Yi Yi truly lets us live three times longer while watching the movie and interestingly, it is roughly 3 hours long and is about 3 people.
In the ending sequence at the grandmother’s funeral, Yang-Yang tells his late grandma that he wants to tell the police about everything they don’t know and eventually find out where she has gone (after death) to tell everyone else. This presents the humanistic qualities of the movie and its optimistic message. There are so many things we don’t know about, individually and collectively as humans. Individually, we can share to everyone each other’s lives, ideas, knowledge, etc. Collectively, we still have things we still don’t understand or know about, such as death and the after-life. These represent the ambitions of humankind, bringing us together at the same time. And as Yang explains, “That’s why we move forward.”
Edward Yang obviously understood the power and technique of film. It is quite evident that he deliberately utilized his camera and film in specific, symbolic ways. The following conversation from Yang-Yang and his father, NJ, illustrates a major theme:
YY: “Daddy, I can’t see what you see, and you can’t see what I see. How can I see what you see?”
NJ: “That’s why we need a camera. Would you like to play with one?”
YY: “Daddy, can we only know half of the truth?”
NJ: “I never thought about that. What do you mean?”
YY: “I can only see what’s in front, not what’s behind. So I can only know half of the truth, right?”
(102:00) (NJ’s words are not verbatim)
This conversation symbolizes how camera and film can capture what we can’t see through our own lives and presents the power of film in that it can capture life in ways individual life cannot. One specific technique Yang uses is showing reflections from objects, such as mirrors, windows, office doors, and car windshields. I interpreted this as a representation of the conversation provided above. Reflections show what is behind what we see in front of us; they show us the other half of the truth. Another technique Yang uses is capturing dialogues and people from a far distance and from high above (as well as close ups). This shows us more than just the characters; it shows more truth and the environment they live and see everyday. Undoubtedly, film is a way for Yang to show us what we can’t see. The camera can show each other around the world what we know and what we see. Yang takes advantage of the humanistic quality of film.
Life is so diverse. It is sometimes happy and sometimes sad. Everyone lives a different life. Yet, all aspects of life altogether make life beautiful; it is what makes life so gentle. Yi Yi lets us experience the lives of a Taiwanese family through the good times and bad times. Yang illustrates this in the conversation between Ting-Ting and Fatty during their “first date”:
F: “Did you like the movie?”
TT: “A bit too serious.”
F: “Life is a mixture of sad and happy things. Movies are so lifelike, that’s why we love them.”
TT: “Then, who needs movies? Just stay at home and live life!”
F: “My uncle says… that we live three times as long since man invented movies”
TT: “How can that be?”
F: “It means movies give us twice what we get from daily life.”
(150:50)
Through this dialogue, we understand at least one purpose of Yang’s in Yi Yi, that through movies (such as this one) we get to experience things we can’t in real life, experience other people’s lives, and celebrate the beauty of life. In the movie, to name a few, we get to experience a wedding, a funeral, jealousy, the business life, fighting couples, getting picked on by girls, getting in trouble in elementary school, murder, heartbreak, birth, death, failed relationships, facilitating failed relationships, and beginning a new relationship. We watch while finding similarities and differences in our lives, yet find interest in the movie because we in fact don’t know their lives and it is something new for us; a way to live and experience something different. And as the Japanese business man, Ota, says to NJ, “Why do we fear change? Everyday is a new day; we never live the same day twice.” Every experience, every life, every situation, every day is new and different, and this is what Yang wants to share with us through this family and their lives. Yi Yi truly lets us live three times longer while watching the movie and interestingly, it is roughly 3 hours long and is about 3 people.
In the ending sequence at the grandmother’s funeral, Yang-Yang tells his late grandma that he wants to tell the police about everything they don’t know and eventually find out where she has gone (after death) to tell everyone else. This presents the humanistic qualities of the movie and its optimistic message. There are so many things we don’t know about, individually and collectively as humans. Individually, we can share to everyone each other’s lives, ideas, knowledge, etc. Collectively, we still have things we still don’t understand or know about, such as death and the after-life. These represent the ambitions of humankind, bringing us together at the same time. And as Yang explains, “That’s why we move forward.”
Monday, November 10, 2008
The Bizarre Environment of Repo Man
The bizarre yet comical series of events that Repo Man creates puts the viewer in a very surreal situation. The opening credits do a very effective job of telling the story of the film in about two minutes. These credits are put on a background of what seems like holographic road maps which scramble like puzzle pieces as they are introduced and then broken down. I thought this particular opening credit sequence to be intriguing and artistic, but also simple. It seemed that the transfer from road map to road map was like a powerpoint presentation. When images were being replaced and transforming into new ones the artistic technique used reminded me of the very simple computer program. Overall, I think that that particular opening went perfectly with the theme of the movie. And that is the constant but bizarre journey of a vehicle on what seems like a radioactive extraterrestrial map or environment.
As a native citizen of New Mexico I resent the notion that the only interesting and iconic thing to come out of the South West state is its association with the extraterrestrial. In the beginning of the movie and even throughout the movie this is how New Mexico is represented. The first scene you see a car with a New Mexico license plate; and this particular car has some sort of supernatural force that has the ability to disintegrate a living human into thin air. Now that I think of it, it is only proper that this car has a New Mexico license plate; any other state wouldn’t be as convincing.
This is an interesting movie to see Emilio Estevez act in. When I was growing up my introduction to Estevez’ acting was in the Might Ducks trilogy. In that movie he is such a encouraging and inspiring individual, a role model whom kids look up to. Switch to Repo Man Estevez is practically a juvenile delinquent; carrying a bad attitude, a criminal mind and sexually motivated psyche. This familiarity of Estevez as a figure whom children look up to makes for a very interesting and surprising cinematic experience.
Although Estevez brings a fresh look and convincing attitude to the film, it is the environment that makes Repo Man the film that it is. Nothing feels normal in this movie. Scenes are shot in irregular environments like ditches, parking lots and random convenient stores. All of the food products, whether popcorn or beer, were label generically; there was no diversity in brands, all types of food and drink were universal. It seemed that almost everybody owned a gun and furthermore carried a violent attitude and personality. Profanity was used very often and unorganized chaotic behavior was the norm. Throughout the movie there was a band of skins heads/anarchists that ran wild in the streets, motivated and energized by destructive behavior. This surreal environment was also conveyed though the constant use of marijuana. There were many dope smokers in the movie and these characters seemed particularly out of it, lost in empty thought. In a way you might say that the environment which Repo Man creates is a nightmare. There are not many happy parts.
I think that this environment is a reflective of the time period. This movie was made in the early 80’s which was a very grim time for many Americans. Ronald Regan was President and under his trickle down economic plan many people grew deeper and deeper into poverty. The 80’s also stood out greatly in this movie because of the many styles. The cars, clothes, hair, buildings, speech, music all pointed to this bizarre decade.
Musically the film was randomly eclectic. There were some scenes accompanied by up beat Mexican music with Tuba and guitars and other scenes with computerized beats looped reminding me of Terminator 2 or Scarface. Judging by the music the viewer never knew where the movie was going next and furthermore felt the ambiguity of feeling or emotion.
It’s only necessary that this movie revolves around the life of a repo man; the job description has constant presentation of bizarre situations. But perhaps the most bizarre of all situations came at the end of the movie where Estevez and another character are flying around Los Angeles in what looks like a radioactive vehicle. Confusing as it was it made a statement. That statement was brought when Estevez said, “This is intense” and the other character replied, “The life of a repo man is always intense.” By intense, I assume they meant strange with unyielding absurdity.
As a native citizen of New Mexico I resent the notion that the only interesting and iconic thing to come out of the South West state is its association with the extraterrestrial. In the beginning of the movie and even throughout the movie this is how New Mexico is represented. The first scene you see a car with a New Mexico license plate; and this particular car has some sort of supernatural force that has the ability to disintegrate a living human into thin air. Now that I think of it, it is only proper that this car has a New Mexico license plate; any other state wouldn’t be as convincing.
This is an interesting movie to see Emilio Estevez act in. When I was growing up my introduction to Estevez’ acting was in the Might Ducks trilogy. In that movie he is such a encouraging and inspiring individual, a role model whom kids look up to. Switch to Repo Man Estevez is practically a juvenile delinquent; carrying a bad attitude, a criminal mind and sexually motivated psyche. This familiarity of Estevez as a figure whom children look up to makes for a very interesting and surprising cinematic experience.
Although Estevez brings a fresh look and convincing attitude to the film, it is the environment that makes Repo Man the film that it is. Nothing feels normal in this movie. Scenes are shot in irregular environments like ditches, parking lots and random convenient stores. All of the food products, whether popcorn or beer, were label generically; there was no diversity in brands, all types of food and drink were universal. It seemed that almost everybody owned a gun and furthermore carried a violent attitude and personality. Profanity was used very often and unorganized chaotic behavior was the norm. Throughout the movie there was a band of skins heads/anarchists that ran wild in the streets, motivated and energized by destructive behavior. This surreal environment was also conveyed though the constant use of marijuana. There were many dope smokers in the movie and these characters seemed particularly out of it, lost in empty thought. In a way you might say that the environment which Repo Man creates is a nightmare. There are not many happy parts.
I think that this environment is a reflective of the time period. This movie was made in the early 80’s which was a very grim time for many Americans. Ronald Regan was President and under his trickle down economic plan many people grew deeper and deeper into poverty. The 80’s also stood out greatly in this movie because of the many styles. The cars, clothes, hair, buildings, speech, music all pointed to this bizarre decade.
Musically the film was randomly eclectic. There were some scenes accompanied by up beat Mexican music with Tuba and guitars and other scenes with computerized beats looped reminding me of Terminator 2 or Scarface. Judging by the music the viewer never knew where the movie was going next and furthermore felt the ambiguity of feeling or emotion.
It’s only necessary that this movie revolves around the life of a repo man; the job description has constant presentation of bizarre situations. But perhaps the most bizarre of all situations came at the end of the movie where Estevez and another character are flying around Los Angeles in what looks like a radioactive vehicle. Confusing as it was it made a statement. That statement was brought when Estevez said, “This is intense” and the other character replied, “The life of a repo man is always intense.” By intense, I assume they meant strange with unyielding absurdity.
Cinematic Time Travels
Throughout the past weeks, we experienced a tremendous evolution of American cinema from Hitchcock and Wilder’s 50s and 60s classics to Ridley Scott’s Blade Runner (1982) and Alex Cox’s Repo Man (1984) in the 80s. The diversion from the production code’s confinement, which was initiated by Hitchcock’s explicit depiction of violence, becomes even more apparent throughout the 70s and 80s, as directors are less hesitant to explore new means of movie-making. Compared to Chinatown (1974), Blade Runner, or Repo Man, even Hitchcock’s taboo-braking movies appear quite conservative.
Merging elements of film noir and postmodernism, Chinatown, Blade Runner, and Repo Man all portray their main protagonists as a characters of moral ambiguity in a society in decay. In Chinatown, Jack Nicholson portrays a wrecked-down private detective whose investigative work can be hired for a few hundred dollars. Yet, he appears to be the last standard of morality in a society dominated by corruption. Similarly, Blade Runner depicts Harrison Ford as a future bounty hunter for illegal replicants whose actions seem far from law-abiding. Otto, the main protagonist in the 80s cult comedy Repo Man, appears as a failed figure in a chaotic society as well. The diversion from classical good vs. evil constellations combined with the oftentimes vague and inconclusive plot lines appear to reflect societal changes occurring throughout the 1970s and 80s, with an increased social criticism as well as mistrust in authorities.
The unconventional story lines in this new kind of American cinema seem to reveal a deep sense of cynicism. Chinatown does not only portray Los Angeles as a Gomorrah of intrigue and corruption, it also offers an ending that is everything but consoling. Instead of suggesting the conflict’s resolution, the movie ends in a preview of repeated horror. Similarly, Scott intended to end Blade Runner rather pessimistic; however, the original ending was replaced by an optimistic conclusion after the test screenings. Repo Man reveals its cynicism through a comedic perspective. Just as the in Blade Runner and Chinatown, the movie portrays Los Angeles in a state of decay. In a culture of consumerism (the “food”/“drink”/“beer” labels are quite hilarious), UFO cultists, and automobile worship, Otto finds himself as part of a lost youth. The genre mix of comedy, action, science fiction, and horror reveals Repo Man’s diversion from preceding works of main stream cinema. The movie ends in a culmination of absurdities that appears to mock conventional productions in their clichés.
This detachment form conservative standards of American movie-making does not equal an absolute disconnection to previous films. In fact, numerous scenes in the three above-mentioned movies pay homage to early works of cinema, i.e. the city portrayal of Los Angeles in Blade Runner. The resemblance to Metropolis (1927) is undeniable. Moreover, both Blade Runner and Chinatown show characteristics of earlier film noir movies in their moral ambiguity and plot development.
Interestingly, both Blade Runner and Repo Man received rather mixed reviews when released and did not attain instant popularity. In case of Blade Runner, this false start might have been influenced by the fact that the movie was reedited against the director’s will (additional voiceovers, deletion of the dream scene, alternate optimistic ending) and released at the same time as two further science fiction blockbusters (E.T. the Extra-terrestrial, The Thing). Initially, Repo Man was promoted as an action movie, leading to disappointed audiences. However, throughout the years following years, the movie gained increased popularity as the cult 80s satire movie. I personally enjoyed the movie’s original dialogue lines in particular.
A few memorable lines from Repo Man:
Bud: A repo man spends his life getting into tense situations.
Miller: A lot o' people don't realize what's really going on. They view life as a bunch o' unconnected incidents 'n things. They don't realize that there's this, like, lattice o' coincidence that lies on top o' everything. Give you an example; show you what I mean: suppose you're thinking about a plate o' shrimp. Suddenly someone will say, like, plate, or shrimp, or plate o' shrimp out of the blue, no explanation. No point in looking for one, either. It's all part of a cosmic unconsciousness.
Otto: You eat a lot of acid, Miller, back in the hippie days?
Duke: The lights are growing dim Otto. I know a life of crime has led me to this sorry fate, and yet, I blame society. Society made me what I am.
Otto: That's bullshit. You're a white suburban punk just like me.
Duke: Yeah, but it still hurts.
Leila: What about our relationship?
Otto: What?
Leila: Our relationship!
Otto: Fuck that!
Leila: You Shit head! I'm glad I tortured you!
Merging elements of film noir and postmodernism, Chinatown, Blade Runner, and Repo Man all portray their main protagonists as a characters of moral ambiguity in a society in decay. In Chinatown, Jack Nicholson portrays a wrecked-down private detective whose investigative work can be hired for a few hundred dollars. Yet, he appears to be the last standard of morality in a society dominated by corruption. Similarly, Blade Runner depicts Harrison Ford as a future bounty hunter for illegal replicants whose actions seem far from law-abiding. Otto, the main protagonist in the 80s cult comedy Repo Man, appears as a failed figure in a chaotic society as well. The diversion from classical good vs. evil constellations combined with the oftentimes vague and inconclusive plot lines appear to reflect societal changes occurring throughout the 1970s and 80s, with an increased social criticism as well as mistrust in authorities.
The unconventional story lines in this new kind of American cinema seem to reveal a deep sense of cynicism. Chinatown does not only portray Los Angeles as a Gomorrah of intrigue and corruption, it also offers an ending that is everything but consoling. Instead of suggesting the conflict’s resolution, the movie ends in a preview of repeated horror. Similarly, Scott intended to end Blade Runner rather pessimistic; however, the original ending was replaced by an optimistic conclusion after the test screenings. Repo Man reveals its cynicism through a comedic perspective. Just as the in Blade Runner and Chinatown, the movie portrays Los Angeles in a state of decay. In a culture of consumerism (the “food”/“drink”/“beer” labels are quite hilarious), UFO cultists, and automobile worship, Otto finds himself as part of a lost youth. The genre mix of comedy, action, science fiction, and horror reveals Repo Man’s diversion from preceding works of main stream cinema. The movie ends in a culmination of absurdities that appears to mock conventional productions in their clichés.
This detachment form conservative standards of American movie-making does not equal an absolute disconnection to previous films. In fact, numerous scenes in the three above-mentioned movies pay homage to early works of cinema, i.e. the city portrayal of Los Angeles in Blade Runner. The resemblance to Metropolis (1927) is undeniable. Moreover, both Blade Runner and Chinatown show characteristics of earlier film noir movies in their moral ambiguity and plot development.
Interestingly, both Blade Runner and Repo Man received rather mixed reviews when released and did not attain instant popularity. In case of Blade Runner, this false start might have been influenced by the fact that the movie was reedited against the director’s will (additional voiceovers, deletion of the dream scene, alternate optimistic ending) and released at the same time as two further science fiction blockbusters (E.T. the Extra-terrestrial, The Thing). Initially, Repo Man was promoted as an action movie, leading to disappointed audiences. However, throughout the years following years, the movie gained increased popularity as the cult 80s satire movie. I personally enjoyed the movie’s original dialogue lines in particular.
A few memorable lines from Repo Man:
Bud: A repo man spends his life getting into tense situations.
Miller: A lot o' people don't realize what's really going on. They view life as a bunch o' unconnected incidents 'n things. They don't realize that there's this, like, lattice o' coincidence that lies on top o' everything. Give you an example; show you what I mean: suppose you're thinking about a plate o' shrimp. Suddenly someone will say, like, plate, or shrimp, or plate o' shrimp out of the blue, no explanation. No point in looking for one, either. It's all part of a cosmic unconsciousness.
Otto: You eat a lot of acid, Miller, back in the hippie days?
Duke: The lights are growing dim Otto. I know a life of crime has led me to this sorry fate, and yet, I blame society. Society made me what I am.
Otto: That's bullshit. You're a white suburban punk just like me.
Duke: Yeah, but it still hurts.
Leila: What about our relationship?
Otto: What?
Leila: Our relationship!
Otto: Fuck that!
Leila: You Shit head! I'm glad I tortured you!
Only a Hollywood Goodbye would do
"You’ve gotta love Hollywood!"
Robert Altman’s The Long Goodbye is so Hollywood that I was wearing black shades and beating off paparazzi at its conclusion. Altman’s creates a visual story that can’t be conceived anywhere else but the zanily satirical, psychedelic and unpredictable environment of 1970’s Los Angeles. The nude hippie neighbors, the impersonations made by the gatekeeper of the Malibu Colony, the ridiculous mafia henchmen, and Philip Marlowe, our sardonic main character, only make sense in the farce that is Hollywood in the 1970’s.
The Long Goodbye is unorthodox in so many ways. Yet, it’s the continuous movement of the camera and the unexpected twists that make this film a cult classic. After watching this film I couldn’t help but to think that everything revolves around the last thirty seconds of the film. I should have known that the title of this movie is its self is a red haring. The final moments of the film provide the most unexpected twist that I have ever seen in cinema. It is the final scene that ties the beginning of the film to its ending and that screams welcome to Hollywood, with such an unconventional ending.
When Marlowe returns to Mexico in search of Mrs. Wade and his supposed friend, Terry Lennox, one comes to understand the underlying message of The Long Goodbye. This message is simple and sweet; if you treat your friends wrong they will leave you or turn against you. This straightforward point is conveyed in the beginning and end scenes of this film. This message is first given to us via the use of Marlowe’s cat. After Marlowe has bought generic cat-food returned home and placed it in the can of the cat’s favorite cat-food he leaves Marlowe. This is significant as the cat leaves Marlowe because he is discontent with the nature of their relationship. The fact that Marlowe would try and manipulate him, the cat, in such a way is unforgivable and we never see the cat again despite Marlowe’s continuous search. The point was clearly made; you can’t screw your friends and get away with it. Moments latter Terry Lennox comes through the door beginning a drama where Marlowe is manipulated until the very end when he emphatically states you can’t screw me, as he shoots dead Terry Lennox.
This ending is not only abrupt but the manner in which Terry is killed is done so without a drawn out escalation of tension between the two characters, in fact this scene is anti-climatic. As soon as Lennox calls Marlowe a looser, Lennox is immediately shot and killed. The anti-climatic nature of Lennox’s death is quite hysterical as we have waited the entire film to find him alive only to have our hero to kill him in seconds. As the main character commits this act he is transformed form our typical heroic protagonist to a morally tainted anti-hero. In fact Marlowe is like the modern Rick from Casablanca—the perfect atypical hero.
Altman’s use of the camera is the second aspect that most intrigued me in this film. There is almost never a moment in which Altman has decided to stop moving the camera even when looking at only one subject. In every scene I can remember Altman is panning, zooming, and widening what is captured in every shot. This creates an atmosphere where images are constantly revealed to the viewer allowing us to feel as if the story is always, in a very active sense, unfolding to us. In everything we see we are excited to find out because we feel unsure if we are allowed to be witnessing it. This is the testament to Altman’s masterful use of the camera; he creates this feeling which creates another element that adds to the dynamics of the film.
Robert Altman’s The Long Goodbye is so Hollywood that I was wearing black shades and beating off paparazzi at its conclusion. Altman’s creates a visual story that can’t be conceived anywhere else but the zanily satirical, psychedelic and unpredictable environment of 1970’s Los Angeles. The nude hippie neighbors, the impersonations made by the gatekeeper of the Malibu Colony, the ridiculous mafia henchmen, and Philip Marlowe, our sardonic main character, only make sense in the farce that is Hollywood in the 1970’s.
The Long Goodbye is unorthodox in so many ways. Yet, it’s the continuous movement of the camera and the unexpected twists that make this film a cult classic. After watching this film I couldn’t help but to think that everything revolves around the last thirty seconds of the film. I should have known that the title of this movie is its self is a red haring. The final moments of the film provide the most unexpected twist that I have ever seen in cinema. It is the final scene that ties the beginning of the film to its ending and that screams welcome to Hollywood, with such an unconventional ending.
When Marlowe returns to Mexico in search of Mrs. Wade and his supposed friend, Terry Lennox, one comes to understand the underlying message of The Long Goodbye. This message is simple and sweet; if you treat your friends wrong they will leave you or turn against you. This straightforward point is conveyed in the beginning and end scenes of this film. This message is first given to us via the use of Marlowe’s cat. After Marlowe has bought generic cat-food returned home and placed it in the can of the cat’s favorite cat-food he leaves Marlowe. This is significant as the cat leaves Marlowe because he is discontent with the nature of their relationship. The fact that Marlowe would try and manipulate him, the cat, in such a way is unforgivable and we never see the cat again despite Marlowe’s continuous search. The point was clearly made; you can’t screw your friends and get away with it. Moments latter Terry Lennox comes through the door beginning a drama where Marlowe is manipulated until the very end when he emphatically states you can’t screw me, as he shoots dead Terry Lennox.
This ending is not only abrupt but the manner in which Terry is killed is done so without a drawn out escalation of tension between the two characters, in fact this scene is anti-climatic. As soon as Lennox calls Marlowe a looser, Lennox is immediately shot and killed. The anti-climatic nature of Lennox’s death is quite hysterical as we have waited the entire film to find him alive only to have our hero to kill him in seconds. As the main character commits this act he is transformed form our typical heroic protagonist to a morally tainted anti-hero. In fact Marlowe is like the modern Rick from Casablanca—the perfect atypical hero.
Altman’s use of the camera is the second aspect that most intrigued me in this film. There is almost never a moment in which Altman has decided to stop moving the camera even when looking at only one subject. In every scene I can remember Altman is panning, zooming, and widening what is captured in every shot. This creates an atmosphere where images are constantly revealed to the viewer allowing us to feel as if the story is always, in a very active sense, unfolding to us. In everything we see we are excited to find out because we feel unsure if we are allowed to be witnessing it. This is the testament to Altman’s masterful use of the camera; he creates this feeling which creates another element that adds to the dynamics of the film.
Only a Hollywood Goodbye would do
"You’ve gotta love Hollywood!"
Robert Altman’s The Long Goodbye is so Hollywood that I was wearing black shades and beating off paparazzi at its conclusion. Altman’s creates a visual story that can’t be conceived anywhere else but the zanily satirical, psychedelic and unpredictable environment of 1970’s Los Angeles. The nude hippie neighbors, the impersonations made by the gatekeeper of the Malibu Colony, the ridiculous mafia henchmen, and Philip Marlowe, our sardonic main character, only make sense in the farce that is Hollywood in the 1970’s.
The Long Goodbye is unorthodox in so many ways. Yet, it’s the continuous movement of the camera and the unexpected twists that make this film a cult classic. After watching this film I couldn’t help but to think that everything revolves around the last thirty seconds of the film. I should have known that the title of this movie is its self is a red haring. The final moments of the film provide the most unexpected twist that I have ever seen in cinema. It is the final scene that ties the beginning of the film to its ending and that screams welcome to Hollywood, with such an unconventional ending.
When Marlowe returns to Mexico in search of Mrs. Wade and his supposed friend, Terry Lennox, one comes to understand the underlying message of The Long Goodbye. This message is simple and sweet; if you treat your friends wrong they will leave you or turn against you. This straightforward point is conveyed in the beginning and end scenes of this film. This message is first given to us via the use of Marlowe’s cat. After Marlowe has bought generic cat-food returned home and placed it in the can of the cat’s favorite cat-food he leaves Marlowe. This is significant as the cat leaves Marlowe because he is discontent with the nature of their relationship. The fact that Marlowe would try and manipulate him, the cat, in such a way is unforgivable and we never see the cat again despite Marlowe’s continuous search. The point was clearly made; you can’t screw your friends and get away with it. Moments latter Terry Lennox comes through the door beginning a drama where Marlowe is manipulated until the very end when he emphatically states you can’t screw me, as he shoots dead Terry Lennox.
This ending is not only abrupt but the manner in which Terry is killed is done so without a drawn out escalation of tension between the two characters, in fact this scene is anti-climatic. As soon as Lennox calls Marlowe a looser, Lennox is immediately shot and killed. The anti-climatic nature of Lennox’s death is quite hysterical as we have waited the entire film to find him alive only to have our hero to kill him in seconds. As the main character commits this act he is transformed form our typical heroic protagonist to a morally tainted anti-hero. In fact Marlowe is like the modern Rick from Casablanca—the perfect atypical hero.
Altman’s use of the camera is the second aspect that most intrigued me in this film. There is almost never a moment in which Altman has decided to stop moving the camera even when looking at only one subject. In every scene I can remember Altman is panning, zooming, and widening what is captured in every shot. This creates an atmosphere where images are constantly revealed to the viewer allowing us to feel as if the story is always, in a very active sense, unfolding to us. In everything we see we are excited to find out because we feel unsure if we are allowed to be witnessing it. This is the testament to Altman’s masterful use of the camera; he creates this feeling which creates another element that adds to the dynamics of the film.
Robert Altman’s The Long Goodbye is so Hollywood that I was wearing black shades and beating off paparazzi at its conclusion. Altman’s creates a visual story that can’t be conceived anywhere else but the zanily satirical, psychedelic and unpredictable environment of 1970’s Los Angeles. The nude hippie neighbors, the impersonations made by the gatekeeper of the Malibu Colony, the ridiculous mafia henchmen, and Philip Marlowe, our sardonic main character, only make sense in the farce that is Hollywood in the 1970’s.
The Long Goodbye is unorthodox in so many ways. Yet, it’s the continuous movement of the camera and the unexpected twists that make this film a cult classic. After watching this film I couldn’t help but to think that everything revolves around the last thirty seconds of the film. I should have known that the title of this movie is its self is a red haring. The final moments of the film provide the most unexpected twist that I have ever seen in cinema. It is the final scene that ties the beginning of the film to its ending and that screams welcome to Hollywood, with such an unconventional ending.
When Marlowe returns to Mexico in search of Mrs. Wade and his supposed friend, Terry Lennox, one comes to understand the underlying message of The Long Goodbye. This message is simple and sweet; if you treat your friends wrong they will leave you or turn against you. This straightforward point is conveyed in the beginning and end scenes of this film. This message is first given to us via the use of Marlowe’s cat. After Marlowe has bought generic cat-food returned home and placed it in the can of the cat’s favorite cat-food he leaves Marlowe. This is significant as the cat leaves Marlowe because he is discontent with the nature of their relationship. The fact that Marlowe would try and manipulate him, the cat, in such a way is unforgivable and we never see the cat again despite Marlowe’s continuous search. The point was clearly made; you can’t screw your friends and get away with it. Moments latter Terry Lennox comes through the door beginning a drama where Marlowe is manipulated until the very end when he emphatically states you can’t screw me, as he shoots dead Terry Lennox.
This ending is not only abrupt but the manner in which Terry is killed is done so without a drawn out escalation of tension between the two characters, in fact this scene is anti-climatic. As soon as Lennox calls Marlowe a looser, Lennox is immediately shot and killed. The anti-climatic nature of Lennox’s death is quite hysterical as we have waited the entire film to find him alive only to have our hero to kill him in seconds. As the main character commits this act he is transformed form our typical heroic protagonist to a morally tainted anti-hero. In fact Marlowe is like the modern Rick from Casablanca—the perfect atypical hero.
Altman’s use of the camera is the second aspect that most intrigued me in this film. There is almost never a moment in which Altman has decided to stop moving the camera even when looking at only one subject. In every scene I can remember Altman is panning, zooming, and widening what is captured in every shot. This creates an atmosphere where images are constantly revealed to the viewer allowing us to feel as if the story is always, in a very active sense, unfolding to us. In everything we see we are excited to find out because we feel unsure if we are allowed to be witnessing it. This is the testament to Altman’s masterful use of the camera; he creates this feeling which creates another element that adds to the dynamics of the film.
Short Cuts
Just as the title suggests, “Short Cuts” is a beautiful collage of many lives displayed in brief segments that capture the depth and wealth of the personality that each individual possesses. The interaction between these 22 characters demonstrates how no two people are the same in the city of LA, and in the crossroads of their interconnecting lives lies the bizarreness of raw American life. As they bicker, lie and butcher one another, they weave a spectacular web that manifests their own dissatisfactions and shortcomings – this abode that they have woven (Los Angeles) only seems to collect their flaws, and ultimately, they are chased into their final efforts to decontaminate the whole mess by spraying insecticide throughout the city.
The film had its first statement within the very first few minutes, as the camera focused on a sign that pre-cautioned the entry of a quarantined zone. We hear the reporter stating the infestation of viral flies, and overhead the helicopters are already spraying toxic insecticide all over the front lawns and freeways of down town and residential areas. In short, it is too late – everyone is a bug, everyone is sick. The viewers see the first traces of the problems immediately: an irritated father punts the dog in the yard and yells over his wife and three kids; a neglected husband eyes dejectedly at his wife who is simultaneously having phone-sex with a customer and tending to her kids; our reporter is now in PJs, eyerolling as he and his excessively maternal wife sandwich their 8-year-old son in their bedroom. These families have serious issues and their problems only escalate with every passing minute in the film. Gradually the viewers find the intricate mess that they’ve walked into, where only “six degrees of separation” separate a psychotic female cellist from a gang of merciless, hicksville fishermen.
Altman’s style greatly contributed to the making of this film. Like Godard, Altman amplified the uniqueness of each role by providing as much freedom to the actors as possible. Simply by assembling 22 actors and letting them loose to characterize their roles with their own signatures, a very rich and real connection emerged from the intercourse of these characters. One could witness and feel the raw tension that surfaced between not just two characters, but two human beings, physically clashing with one another. And very much like Ozu, Altman lets the camera capture every part of their human nature and behavior.
The film had its first statement within the very first few minutes, as the camera focused on a sign that pre-cautioned the entry of a quarantined zone. We hear the reporter stating the infestation of viral flies, and overhead the helicopters are already spraying toxic insecticide all over the front lawns and freeways of down town and residential areas. In short, it is too late – everyone is a bug, everyone is sick. The viewers see the first traces of the problems immediately: an irritated father punts the dog in the yard and yells over his wife and three kids; a neglected husband eyes dejectedly at his wife who is simultaneously having phone-sex with a customer and tending to her kids; our reporter is now in PJs, eyerolling as he and his excessively maternal wife sandwich their 8-year-old son in their bedroom. These families have serious issues and their problems only escalate with every passing minute in the film. Gradually the viewers find the intricate mess that they’ve walked into, where only “six degrees of separation” separate a psychotic female cellist from a gang of merciless, hicksville fishermen.
Altman’s style greatly contributed to the making of this film. Like Godard, Altman amplified the uniqueness of each role by providing as much freedom to the actors as possible. Simply by assembling 22 actors and letting them loose to characterize their roles with their own signatures, a very rich and real connection emerged from the intercourse of these characters. One could witness and feel the raw tension that surfaced between not just two characters, but two human beings, physically clashing with one another. And very much like Ozu, Altman lets the camera capture every part of their human nature and behavior.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)