"Shot in the back of the head."
Showing posts with label Film. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Film. Show all posts
April 15, 2009
February 23, 2009
Chiming in on Best Actor. Also, Aging.
First, my apologies for the hiatus. Between the last post and this one, I've scrambled to put together a paper for presentation at The Louisville Conference [truncated version of the cumbersomely long conference title], and I've had little time and energy left over for the blog. The paper - "Autopoietic Meta-Et-Cetera" or "Too Much Information is Never Enough: How to Create and Erase Yourself Using Common Household Tools" - went over very well, thank you.
Second, I wasn't going to throw in my two cents on the Mickey Rourke debate, but I've been thinking about using the film as the focus of a future conference presentation, and so I thought I'd throw this out there and see what comes back.
What I found interesting was that the Best Actor category also pitted against each other two films that portrayed anxieties regarding aging: The Curious Case of Benjamin Button and The Wrestler. Where the former, a film based on a short story by F. Scott Fitzgerald, presented a hopeful protagonist aging in reverse; the latter, written by The Onion's Robert D. Siegel, gave us a pathetic protagonist facing age, death, nostalgia, and loss. And where Benjamin Button offered a fantastical portrayal whose cinematic effects were matched in superficial beauty only by the good looks of lead man Brad Pitt, The Wrestler offered the stark realism of a washed-up wrestler whose life dovetails both wonderfully and tragically with lead actor Mickey Rourke’s. Ask a movie buff who should have won lead actor, and chances are they will concede that Sean Penn was very good in Milk and that the film deserves all the attention it can get for its sympathetic portrayal of the film's namesake, Harvey Milk; but between Pitt (who, in my opinion, is really a superb supporting actor trapped in a lead actor’s body) and Rourke, I think most of us will agree that Rourke’s “comeback” deserved the Oscar.
Rourke’s acting was certainly deserving of the award, and I think there are many who suspect that he deserves it as much for the way he allegorically acts out the narrative arc of his life prior to The Wrestler as he does for his acting; but I think this reaction also speaks to the poignancy of the film/Rourke’s life as a cautionary tale. In short, the moral of both: Don’t fuck up, and if you start fucking up, stop. We find Randy "The Ram" Robinson and Rourke both looking back over a life of fucking up and the ensuing loss that goes along with it. Robinson’s rampant path of self-destruction takes only the briefest pause in the face of a life-threatening heart attack, shortly after which, having failed to patch things up with his daughter (wonderfully played by Evan Rachel Wood), he recklessly abandons himself to complete self-annihilation.
So what is it about his recklessness and self-destruction that resonates so well with aging and failure (not that aging and failure are intrinsically linked)? Is the real moral of the film that, if you're a man, and you're alone (i.e. sans family), you're pretty much screwed? I'd like to think director Aronofsky is a little deeper than that. And I think he's deeper than to just be overtly setting Robinson up as the "sacrificial ram" and making our protagonist into someone who suffers so we don't have to. But, still, what IS going on here?
Second, I wasn't going to throw in my two cents on the Mickey Rourke debate, but I've been thinking about using the film as the focus of a future conference presentation, and so I thought I'd throw this out there and see what comes back.
What I found interesting was that the Best Actor category also pitted against each other two films that portrayed anxieties regarding aging: The Curious Case of Benjamin Button and The Wrestler. Where the former, a film based on a short story by F. Scott Fitzgerald, presented a hopeful protagonist aging in reverse; the latter, written by The Onion's Robert D. Siegel, gave us a pathetic protagonist facing age, death, nostalgia, and loss. And where Benjamin Button offered a fantastical portrayal whose cinematic effects were matched in superficial beauty only by the good looks of lead man Brad Pitt, The Wrestler offered the stark realism of a washed-up wrestler whose life dovetails both wonderfully and tragically with lead actor Mickey Rourke’s. Ask a movie buff who should have won lead actor, and chances are they will concede that Sean Penn was very good in Milk and that the film deserves all the attention it can get for its sympathetic portrayal of the film's namesake, Harvey Milk; but between Pitt (who, in my opinion, is really a superb supporting actor trapped in a lead actor’s body) and Rourke, I think most of us will agree that Rourke’s “comeback” deserved the Oscar.
Rourke’s acting was certainly deserving of the award, and I think there are many who suspect that he deserves it as much for the way he allegorically acts out the narrative arc of his life prior to The Wrestler as he does for his acting; but I think this reaction also speaks to the poignancy of the film/Rourke’s life as a cautionary tale. In short, the moral of both: Don’t fuck up, and if you start fucking up, stop. We find Randy "The Ram" Robinson and Rourke both looking back over a life of fucking up and the ensuing loss that goes along with it. Robinson’s rampant path of self-destruction takes only the briefest pause in the face of a life-threatening heart attack, shortly after which, having failed to patch things up with his daughter (wonderfully played by Evan Rachel Wood), he recklessly abandons himself to complete self-annihilation.
So what is it about his recklessness and self-destruction that resonates so well with aging and failure (not that aging and failure are intrinsically linked)? Is the real moral of the film that, if you're a man, and you're alone (i.e. sans family), you're pretty much screwed? I'd like to think director Aronofsky is a little deeper than that. And I think he's deeper than to just be overtly setting Robinson up as the "sacrificial ram" and making our protagonist into someone who suffers so we don't have to. But, still, what IS going on here?
January 7, 2009
Stanley Fish's 10 Best American Movies
Stanley Fish - most famous in my world for the concept of "interpretive communities," or the idea that readers interpret a text subjectively but in the context of the specific linguistic system to which readers belong - recently posted his list for "The 10 Best American Movies" on his New York Times blog.
His introduction and rationale:
His List:
Has Fish only seen two films since 1953? And did he decide he should put them on the list for good measure?
Now I know that, while Fish's list is largely subjective, most film critics would probably agree that most of these are important, if not good, films. Moreover, I can accept that Fish himself is part of an interpretive community that brings a socially constructed value system to his "readings" of these films.
But, seriously...two Westerns? Not a single film from the last 18 years? And Groundhog Day? Really?
Don't get me wrong: I loves me some Shane. And Red River is a classy-classic John Wayne Western - if I'm channel surfing and hit this one on AMC, chances are I'll watch it (and for the upteenth time). The Best Years of Our Life - a bit depressing, but a good melodrama (and I can understand that, for a film made in 1946, it pushed the envelope on things like war, love, and...dismemberment). Scorsese, Hitchcock, and...okay...even Wilder deserve spots on a "10 Greatest Filmmakers of All Time" list. Sure...
And I totally dig Fish. I find his take on socially constructed interpretation compelling. He's a good writer - his blurbs about each film are great. I've even seen him talk and enjoyed it. But that's all beside the point. The point is:
Groundhog Day? One of the Best American Movies ever? Really?
His introduction and rationale:
It’s Top Ten time again, and like everyone else I have a list, in my case a list of the 10 best American movies ever. Here it is, with brief descriptions and no justifications. Only the first two films are in order. The others are all tied for third.
His List:
1. The Best Years of Our Lives (1946)
2. Sunset Blvd. (1950)
3. Double Indemnity (1944)
4. Shane (1953)
5. Red River (1948)
6. Raging Bull (1980)
7. Vertigo (1958)
8. Groundhog Day (1993)
9. Meet Me in St. Louis (1944)
10. A Tree Grows in Brooklyn (1945)
Has Fish only seen two films since 1953? And did he decide he should put them on the list for good measure?
Now I know that, while Fish's list is largely subjective, most film critics would probably agree that most of these are important, if not good, films. Moreover, I can accept that Fish himself is part of an interpretive community that brings a socially constructed value system to his "readings" of these films.
But, seriously...two Westerns? Not a single film from the last 18 years? And Groundhog Day? Really?
Don't get me wrong: I loves me some Shane. And Red River is a classy-classic John Wayne Western - if I'm channel surfing and hit this one on AMC, chances are I'll watch it (and for the upteenth time). The Best Years of Our Life - a bit depressing, but a good melodrama (and I can understand that, for a film made in 1946, it pushed the envelope on things like war, love, and...dismemberment). Scorsese, Hitchcock, and...okay...even Wilder deserve spots on a "10 Greatest Filmmakers of All Time" list. Sure...
And I totally dig Fish. I find his take on socially constructed interpretation compelling. He's a good writer - his blurbs about each film are great. I've even seen him talk and enjoyed it. But that's all beside the point. The point is:
Groundhog Day? One of the Best American Movies ever? Really?
January 6, 2009
Web 2.0 and the Expansion of the Filmic Event
In my talk at the recent MLA conference, I made the following case:
I used The YouTube Screening Room - a venue gushed about in December - as my paradigmatic example of this - but there are so many more examples of both digital venues and real-world technologies (like AppleTV and the TiVo).
What surprised me so much in the audience's reaction was the vast difference between those who felt like I was pointing out the obvious and those who couldn't accept that the cinematic experience can really happen to someone watching it on a computer screen (or iPhone or other such device) as opposed to the old movie house, big screen.
It seems to me that "Web 2.0" - particularly Web 2.0 as social space - has become a dividing line between those who can accept that social activity can happen without a physical bodily referent (these are the folks who have no problem with considering their facebook friends to be closer than their classmates, co-workers, etc.) and those who can't. Unfortunately, this line too easily looks like one determined by age - typically, the folks who haven't grown up with with the internet fall on one side; and those in the "Wired Generation" fall on the other.
Age aside, perhaps the key to my perspective - one that I'm still figuring out - is that I suggest that the cinematic experience will become (or already is) a hybrid one (and hybrid in a unique way for each individual): consider alternate reality games (ARG) that have surrounded films and television (from the marketing campaign called "The Beast" for the Kubrick cum Spielberg film A.I. to the more recent "Lost Experience"), the popularity of video games based on films (like ones that let you explore the Star Wars galaxy or roam Tolkein's MiddleEarth), or even just the popularity of rating film clips on YouTube... For those of us who want the filmic experience to go beyond the cinema screen, there is ample opportunity.
On the other side of this coin, so to speak, we might expect a cultural reaction comparable to the one regarding the digital distribution of music. Vinyl sales have been skyrocketing in the last few years, suggesting that the digitization of music has left us hungering for a physical artifact. What, then, might a similar reaction to digital film distribution be?
I believe that both the virtual community’s relationship to film and the advancing development of entertainment technology, in and out of the virtual world, suggest that the filmic experience is telescopically, if not exponentially, expanding to an inevitable point: an organic and integrated experience that straddles and blurs the boundaries between the real world and the virtual, between forms and genres of visual entertainment, and between the spatio-temporally isolated experience of the cinema and television and the ongoing experience of everyday life.and that this "inevitable point" means that:
From here on out, and for those who have the technology and access, the filmic experience will become something less identifiable as traditional film and more recognizable as a hybrid between traditional film and something like a television show (if, in no other way, only by virtue of length and accompanied advertisements). The viewer will be able to choose what she wants to watch and when and where she wants to watch it. Moreover, the experience itself may well be accompanied by a social, “Web 2.0” component wherein the viewer may evaluate a film, asynchronously communicate with the filmmaker, synchronously interact with a virtual community of fellow viewers, or take part in an ARG or fantasy community collaboratively constructed around a particular film or around a series of films.
I used The YouTube Screening Room - a venue gushed about in December - as my paradigmatic example of this - but there are so many more examples of both digital venues and real-world technologies (like AppleTV and the TiVo).
What surprised me so much in the audience's reaction was the vast difference between those who felt like I was pointing out the obvious and those who couldn't accept that the cinematic experience can really happen to someone watching it on a computer screen (or iPhone or other such device) as opposed to the old movie house, big screen.
It seems to me that "Web 2.0" - particularly Web 2.0 as social space - has become a dividing line between those who can accept that social activity can happen without a physical bodily referent (these are the folks who have no problem with considering their facebook friends to be closer than their classmates, co-workers, etc.) and those who can't. Unfortunately, this line too easily looks like one determined by age - typically, the folks who haven't grown up with with the internet fall on one side; and those in the "Wired Generation" fall on the other.
Age aside, perhaps the key to my perspective - one that I'm still figuring out - is that I suggest that the cinematic experience will become (or already is) a hybrid one (and hybrid in a unique way for each individual): consider alternate reality games (ARG) that have surrounded films and television (from the marketing campaign called "The Beast" for the Kubrick cum Spielberg film A.I. to the more recent "Lost Experience"), the popularity of video games based on films (like ones that let you explore the Star Wars galaxy or roam Tolkein's MiddleEarth), or even just the popularity of rating film clips on YouTube... For those of us who want the filmic experience to go beyond the cinema screen, there is ample opportunity.
On the other side of this coin, so to speak, we might expect a cultural reaction comparable to the one regarding the digital distribution of music. Vinyl sales have been skyrocketing in the last few years, suggesting that the digitization of music has left us hungering for a physical artifact. What, then, might a similar reaction to digital film distribution be?
December 3, 2008
The YouTube Screening Room
I've been working on a paper entitled "Web 2.0 and the Expansion of the Filmic Event" for presentation at the MLA Conference in San Francisco later this month, and my "research" has involved watching short, independent films in the recently created YouTube Screening Room. I'm falling in love with this venue, which makes it hard to maintain enough cynical distance to write critically about it.
The YouTube folks describe the Screening Room as "a platform for top films from around the world to find the audiences they deserve." To quote the description in full:
The Screening Room arguably pushes the world of entertainment even closer to the inevitable: A multi-world, hybrid media that will allow us to chose what we want to watch and when we want to watch it. YouTube has recently signed deals with Lionsgate, Showtime, and CBS (yes, you can watch vintage episodes of Beverly Hills 90210 in full, any time you want), and its largest competitor, Hulu, currently partners with even more traditional television networks and film companies. YouTube and Hulu aside, you can use the old idiot box to get shows "on Demand," you can download your favs on iTunes (and other digital venues), you can record programs if you have cable connectivity and the right software, and, of course, there's the modern version of the VCR - the DVR. The point is that technological advances are pushing traditional venues of entertainment toward greater integration and increased availability for the viewer.
Enough gushing. Below, check out The Danish Poet - one of the first films to air at The Screening Room. Reminiscent of the reconstruction of the protagonist's random and chaotic genetic history in Jeffrey Eugenides's MiddleSex, The Danish Poet offers a lovely, animated take on the seemingly chaotic paths that lead to people to love.
The YouTube folks describe the Screening Room as "a platform for top films from around the world to find the audiences they deserve." To quote the description in full:
Every other Friday, you’ll find four new films featured in the YouTube Screening Room.
These films always appear with the permission and involvement of the filmmakers, so be sure to rate, share and leave comments. This is your chance to not only watch great films from all corners of the globe, but also to converse with the filmmakers behind them.
While the majority of these films have played at international film festivals, occasionally you’ll find films that have never before screened for wide audiences.
All films playing in the YouTube Screening Room are displayed within our High Quality player to give you the best viewing experience possible.
Be a part of a new generation of filmmaking and distribution and help us connect films and audiences in the world’s largest theater!
The Screening Room arguably pushes the world of entertainment even closer to the inevitable: A multi-world, hybrid media that will allow us to chose what we want to watch and when we want to watch it. YouTube has recently signed deals with Lionsgate, Showtime, and CBS (yes, you can watch vintage episodes of Beverly Hills 90210 in full, any time you want), and its largest competitor, Hulu, currently partners with even more traditional television networks and film companies. YouTube and Hulu aside, you can use the old idiot box to get shows "on Demand," you can download your favs on iTunes (and other digital venues), you can record programs if you have cable connectivity and the right software, and, of course, there's the modern version of the VCR - the DVR. The point is that technological advances are pushing traditional venues of entertainment toward greater integration and increased availability for the viewer.
Enough gushing. Below, check out The Danish Poet - one of the first films to air at The Screening Room. Reminiscent of the reconstruction of the protagonist's random and chaotic genetic history in Jeffrey Eugenides's MiddleSex, The Danish Poet offers a lovely, animated take on the seemingly chaotic paths that lead to people to love.
December 2, 2008
Digital meets Analog meets Radiohead
A friend of mine recently shared this incredible video (embedded below) by James Houston.
In Houston's words:
Houston does much more than just "take the piss a bit" here. He aesthetically expresses one of the contemporary intersections of the digital and the analog. And, while the topic has already been extensively covered, it's worth mentioning that, for example, the resurgence of the popularity of vinyl - analog media - in an age where most music is purchased or otherwise acquired digitally suggests that the line separating the digital and the analog is easily traversed if not increasingly blurred (there's a reason most LPs come with a digital download of the album, and I don't think that it's just to compensate for the difficulty in ripping vinyl into iTunes).
If art expresses the cultural undercurrents of an age, then Houston is clearly onto something...
See for yourself:
Big Ideas (don't get any) from James Houston on Vimeo.
In Houston's words:
I've just graduated from the Glasgow School of Art's graphic design course. This was my final project.
Radiohead held an online contest to remix "Nude" from their album - "In Rainbows" This was quite a difficult task for everybody that entered, as Nude is in 6/8 timing, and 63bpm. Most music that's played in clubs is around 120bpm and usually 4/4 timing. It's pretty difficult to seamlessly mix a waltz beat into a DJ set.
This resulted in lots of generic entries consisting of a typical 4/4 beat, but with arbitrary clips from "Nude" thrown in so that they qualified for the contest.
Thom Yorke joked at the ridiculousness of it in an interview for NPR radio, hinting that they set the competition to find out how people would approach such a challenging task.
I decided to take the piss a bit, as the contest seemed to be in that spirit.
Based on the lyric (and alternate title) "Big Ideas: Don't get any" I grouped together a collection of old redundant hardware, and placed them in a situation where they're trying their best to do something that they're not exactly designed to do, and not quite getting there.
It doesn't sound great, as it's not supposed to.
I missed the contest deadline, so I'm offering it here for you to enjoy.
Sinclair ZX Spectrum - Guitars (rhythm & lead)
Epson LX-81 Dot Matrix Printer - Drums
HP Scanjet 3c - Bass Guitar
Hard Drive array - Act as a collection of bad speakers - Vocals & FX
Houston does much more than just "take the piss a bit" here. He aesthetically expresses one of the contemporary intersections of the digital and the analog. And, while the topic has already been extensively covered, it's worth mentioning that, for example, the resurgence of the popularity of vinyl - analog media - in an age where most music is purchased or otherwise acquired digitally suggests that the line separating the digital and the analog is easily traversed if not increasingly blurred (there's a reason most LPs come with a digital download of the album, and I don't think that it's just to compensate for the difficulty in ripping vinyl into iTunes).
If art expresses the cultural undercurrents of an age, then Houston is clearly onto something...
See for yourself:
Big Ideas (don't get any) from James Houston on Vimeo.
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