An interesting article sent to me by a friend about the nature of the shot vs. the snatch.
I pretty much agree with the article in its entirety on the subject.
For me one of the defining aspects of the shot, vs. the snatch, is that for shots to work effectively directors need to be conscious of not only their frame composition, but their mise en scene as well.
I think strong mise en scene (camera com\position, movement, lighting AND set dec) has given away to a strong focus on set dec and lighting effects. I remember watching some behind the scenes crap for VAN HELSING a couple years ago and watching Hugh Jackman stumble around a gigantic sound stage with half a dozen cameras following his every move. I was disappointed by that, because it showed that clearly the mise en scene was incidental to whatever the actor was doing.
Now VAN HELSING was a crap action movie and can’t really be expected to live by the mantra of the ‘shot’, but for me I thought it was an extraordinarily lazy move on the part of the director and it showed a lack of respect for the medium he was working in.
A modern director who I find is really effective at making shots look like snatches is Spielberg. But it’s all a lie. You might think he’s letting the set dec run the scene, but even his throwaway shots are all carefully composed and constructed (MINORITY REPORT, WAR OF THE WORLDS) The defining aspect what makes a snatch is not the length of time it’s on screen, but whether it serves to add something more to the story beyond just driving the narrative forward.
What I like about the shot is that, when used properly, you can capture really great performances with a single take. I love watching old comedies where two actors run a scene from beginning to end in one go. They’ve studied the HELL out of the dialogue, they know where all the comic beats are and they really take the time to refine their performances before it even gets to post.
Again, when I watch behind the scenes stuff these days it seems that most performers are lucky to spit out a single line before someone screws up and they have to do it all again. Only they never do. They never run a scene through from beginning to end. They’ve got so many cameras going that they take the scene one line at a time and as long as they’ve got each line on tape somewhere they can cut up the scene so that it makes narrative sense. This might be why I’ve gone off improv-comedies in recent years, because it’s mostly about assembling the funny from wildly unrelated material.
The shot gave us one of my most vivid movie memories ever, the slow realization that creeps over Jack Nicholson’s face at the end ONE FLEW OVER THE CUCKOO’S NEST as he begins to understand whats happening to his life inside an insane asylum.
Tarantino definitely knows the power of capturing a changing emotional resonance in a single setup. The first scene in Basterds was powerful becuase you got to watch the tension and emotion creep over the farmer’s face during his interrogation.
Showing posts with label film and television. Show all posts
Showing posts with label film and television. Show all posts
Friday, September 25, 2009
Saturday, September 27, 2008
Paul Newman 1925 - 2008
Ahhhhh son of a bitch. Paul Newman is dead. Of cancer no less.
One of the last remaining vestiges of Hollywood's Golden Era. He hailed from a time when the blockbuster had, thankfully, yet to be perfected, films were about educating and enlightening the audience and gritty character roles were more valuable then running around with a gun in your hand and your shirt torn off.
What always appealed to me about Newman is that despite his pretty boy looks he wasn't afraid to get his hands dirty to take on a role. He wasn't the world's greatest actor, but he was a very honest one. He was very much a working, blue collar type of performer.
I hope that in the weeks ahead that some of the specialty channels get their think on and feature some of his better films, (I've been wanting to watch Butch Cassisdy and the Sundance Kid again for awhile now).
So long Paul. You will be missed.
One of the last remaining vestiges of Hollywood's Golden Era. He hailed from a time when the blockbuster had, thankfully, yet to be perfected, films were about educating and enlightening the audience and gritty character roles were more valuable then running around with a gun in your hand and your shirt torn off.
What always appealed to me about Newman is that despite his pretty boy looks he wasn't afraid to get his hands dirty to take on a role. He wasn't the world's greatest actor, but he was a very honest one. He was very much a working, blue collar type of performer.
I hope that in the weeks ahead that some of the specialty channels get their think on and feature some of his better films, (I've been wanting to watch Butch Cassisdy and the Sundance Kid again for awhile now).
So long Paul. You will be missed.
Thursday, September 25, 2008
Chris does TIFF: Miracle at St. Anna edition
Miracle at St. Anna
Saturday, Saturday, September 13th, 8:30pm
Ryerson Theatre
A week late, and hardly insightful and indepth. But the following review encapsulates about all I have to say regarding this film.
Spike Lee’s greatest strength as a director is his uncompromising vision. Artistically I’ve always found him to be fairly hit or miss, but sometimes, through sheer strength of will alone, he’s able to elevate the quality of his films to a level they would otherwise not be able to achieve. Sadly, that vision is lacking in his latest outing, Miracle at St. Anna.
The film follows the lives of four black soldiers, of the 92nd infantry division, colloquially known as the Buffalo soldiers, after they get trapped in a small Italian village during the second World War. The film is based on a book by James McBride and for some strange reason Spike allows multiple subplots, backstorys and flashbacks to clutter up the main narrative of the film. Instead of dealing with the situation at hand, (how the fuck do we get out of Dodge), we find ourselves sitting through convoluted love triangles, the discovery of a long lost cultural treasure, the subterfuge and deception of the Italian Resistance and a handful of other plotlines that work against the film’s natural rhythm. Perhaps that’s why the film feels so bloated at just over three hours long.
Seeing as how the film’s screenwriter, McBride, also wrote the book it shouldn’t come as a surprise that all these unnecessary subplots were carried over when he adapted his own source material. I’m guessing, as a writer, he was loath to edit his babies. If McBride didn’t have the strength to cut down the length of his screenplay then Spike should have made the tough calls when he was in the editing room and chucked some of the dead weight overboard, turning this lumbering frigate of a film into a streamlined powerboat.
It’s not a bad film, or even a dull film. It’s a long, rambling, unnecessarily meandering film that you can’t help but want to be over just so you can step out to the washroom and relieve the pressure on your kidneys.
This film is destined to fall into Spike’s ‘nearly ran’ file folder, denied the honour of standing alongside his greater masterpieces. It’s a clear example of being slavishly held to the whims of the original source material and not making the proper allowances to the conventions of its newly adopted medium.
Saturday, Saturday, September 13th, 8:30pm
Ryerson Theatre
A week late, and hardly insightful and indepth. But the following review encapsulates about all I have to say regarding this film.
Spike Lee’s greatest strength as a director is his uncompromising vision. Artistically I’ve always found him to be fairly hit or miss, but sometimes, through sheer strength of will alone, he’s able to elevate the quality of his films to a level they would otherwise not be able to achieve. Sadly, that vision is lacking in his latest outing, Miracle at St. Anna.
The film follows the lives of four black soldiers, of the 92nd infantry division, colloquially known as the Buffalo soldiers, after they get trapped in a small Italian village during the second World War. The film is based on a book by James McBride and for some strange reason Spike allows multiple subplots, backstorys and flashbacks to clutter up the main narrative of the film. Instead of dealing with the situation at hand, (how the fuck do we get out of Dodge), we find ourselves sitting through convoluted love triangles, the discovery of a long lost cultural treasure, the subterfuge and deception of the Italian Resistance and a handful of other plotlines that work against the film’s natural rhythm. Perhaps that’s why the film feels so bloated at just over three hours long.
Seeing as how the film’s screenwriter, McBride, also wrote the book it shouldn’t come as a surprise that all these unnecessary subplots were carried over when he adapted his own source material. I’m guessing, as a writer, he was loath to edit his babies. If McBride didn’t have the strength to cut down the length of his screenplay then Spike should have made the tough calls when he was in the editing room and chucked some of the dead weight overboard, turning this lumbering frigate of a film into a streamlined powerboat.
It’s not a bad film, or even a dull film. It’s a long, rambling, unnecessarily meandering film that you can’t help but want to be over just so you can step out to the washroom and relieve the pressure on your kidneys.
This film is destined to fall into Spike’s ‘nearly ran’ file folder, denied the honour of standing alongside his greater masterpieces. It’s a clear example of being slavishly held to the whims of the original source material and not making the proper allowances to the conventions of its newly adopted medium.
Thursday, September 18, 2008
Chris does TIFF: RocknRolla edition
RocknRolla
Saturday, September 13, 2:30pm
Ryerson Theatre
Guy Ritchie is back doing gangster films and, sadly, that’s not a good thing. You couldn’t have a more wildly misleading opening to a movie review then that last sentence.
Ritchie’s last film, Revolver, was sadly denied a movie screen experience for North American audiences and we are all the poorer for it. An inspiring analysis of the human mind the film only recently showed up in bargain bins where it quietly went unnoticed except by the most dedicated film buffs. So perhaps that’s why Ritchie has chosen to retreat to more familiar subject matter, as an attempt to regain the buzz and counter-culture sensibilities of his earlier efforts.
Enter RocknRolla.
The film stars a veritable hodge podge of quirky personalities, played by everyone from A-list types on their way up the celebrity ladder (Gerard Butler), to venerable character actors (Tom Wilkinson) and attractive femme fatales (Thandie Newton). Trying to summarize the plot of this labyrinthine story in a few short sentences is a masochistic job meant for those with bigger brains then I posses. To call it a gangster film about the changing nature of organized crime is like saying War and Peace is a book about some ‘stuff that went down in Russia.’
RocknRolla deals with the fallout of London’s skyrocketing property values. Europe’s nouveau riche has descended on the city and the only way they can get permission to erect their new building is by linking arm’s with the local wheeler dealer types, led by big fish Wilkinson, to help grease the wheels of an intransigent bureaucracy. Butler leads a group of little fish, affectionately named the Wild Bunch, that get caught up in Wilkinson’s shady deals and unknowingly complicate matters by pinching some money that doesn’t belong to them. In the end, almost everyone involved is trying to track down an oft referenced, but never seen, ‘lucky’ painting, in a homage cribbed directly from Quentin Tarantino’s Pulp Fiction playbook.
RocknRolla lacks the punch of Ritchie’s previous gangster films, the modern classic Lock, Stock and Two Smoking Barrells and Snatch, not because RR is a bad film or even a weaker film. Rather, it’s been eight years since a Ritchie gangster film last graced the big screen and since that time a genre of filmmaking he’d help reinvigorate has become so popular that his work seems less original and groundbreaking as a result. Nothing succeeds like success.
Ritchie continues to push the genre as far as he can, with his top drawer writing, editing and direction. And even though you’ll leave the theatre impressed with the results, you can’t help but think that you’ve seen it all before.
Apparently he’s written a sequel to this film, The Real RocknRolla or some such nonsense, which he alludes to in the end credits with a James Bondian-like flourish. I think the biggest vote of confidence that I can offer RocknRolla, is that I’d be very interested in checking out what comes after.
Saturday, September 13, 2:30pm
Ryerson Theatre
Guy Ritchie is back doing gangster films and, sadly, that’s not a good thing. You couldn’t have a more wildly misleading opening to a movie review then that last sentence.
Ritchie’s last film, Revolver, was sadly denied a movie screen experience for North American audiences and we are all the poorer for it. An inspiring analysis of the human mind the film only recently showed up in bargain bins where it quietly went unnoticed except by the most dedicated film buffs. So perhaps that’s why Ritchie has chosen to retreat to more familiar subject matter, as an attempt to regain the buzz and counter-culture sensibilities of his earlier efforts.
Enter RocknRolla.
The film stars a veritable hodge podge of quirky personalities, played by everyone from A-list types on their way up the celebrity ladder (Gerard Butler), to venerable character actors (Tom Wilkinson) and attractive femme fatales (Thandie Newton). Trying to summarize the plot of this labyrinthine story in a few short sentences is a masochistic job meant for those with bigger brains then I posses. To call it a gangster film about the changing nature of organized crime is like saying War and Peace is a book about some ‘stuff that went down in Russia.’
RocknRolla deals with the fallout of London’s skyrocketing property values. Europe’s nouveau riche has descended on the city and the only way they can get permission to erect their new building is by linking arm’s with the local wheeler dealer types, led by big fish Wilkinson, to help grease the wheels of an intransigent bureaucracy. Butler leads a group of little fish, affectionately named the Wild Bunch, that get caught up in Wilkinson’s shady deals and unknowingly complicate matters by pinching some money that doesn’t belong to them. In the end, almost everyone involved is trying to track down an oft referenced, but never seen, ‘lucky’ painting, in a homage cribbed directly from Quentin Tarantino’s Pulp Fiction playbook.
RocknRolla lacks the punch of Ritchie’s previous gangster films, the modern classic Lock, Stock and Two Smoking Barrells and Snatch, not because RR is a bad film or even a weaker film. Rather, it’s been eight years since a Ritchie gangster film last graced the big screen and since that time a genre of filmmaking he’d help reinvigorate has become so popular that his work seems less original and groundbreaking as a result. Nothing succeeds like success.
Ritchie continues to push the genre as far as he can, with his top drawer writing, editing and direction. And even though you’ll leave the theatre impressed with the results, you can’t help but think that you’ve seen it all before.
Apparently he’s written a sequel to this film, The Real RocknRolla or some such nonsense, which he alludes to in the end credits with a James Bondian-like flourish. I think the biggest vote of confidence that I can offer RocknRolla, is that I’d be very interested in checking out what comes after.
Friday, September 12, 2008
Chris does Tiff: Me and Orson Welles edition
Me and Orson Welles
September 11, 9pm
Ryerson Theatre
Orson Welles is one of those rare film personalities that fascinates me outside of his body of work.
An accomplished thespian and radio artist before he ever turned to more celluloid based endeavours, his genius and larger than life personality were eclipsed only by his hubris and arrogance. His film career was cut tragically short because he refused to play the studio game, but not before he forever changed the way that movies were made in Hollywood. As a result actions, he spent the rest of his life hopping around the globe trying to secure financing on a variety of projects, never again truly getting the opportunity to truly exercise his creative abilities.
However, in the Richard Linklater production, Me and Orson Welles, the focus of the film is on Richard Samuels (Zac Efron), an aspiring actor who lucks into a supporting role in Welles’ modern dress stage version of Julius Caesar. The film covers approximately the two weeks before the opening of the play. Samuels is chafing at the bit as approaches the end of his high school education and so he goes out into the world to see what it has to offer him. Almost by accident he becomes a member of the famed Mercury Theatre where he experiences first hand the passion, creativity and near chaos that was any project Orson Welles’ put his mind too.
Welles, played to absolute perfection by little known actor Christian McKay, is almost reduced to being part of the background scenery, albeit a part of the scenery that’s not afraid to insert itself forcibly into the action of the film. His almost tangible personality reinforces the character and feel of the late 1930’s, where radio was the mainstream commercial juggernaut of the day, film little more than a snot-nosed upstart and where theatre was where all the really prestigious actors worked.
McKay’s Welles moves like a storm throughout this film, scattering actors, and their ambitions, left and right. People don’t act with Welles, they react to him. He is as far above his stage counterparts of the day as he would be above his film peers less than four years later. It’s unfortunate that in the film that bears his name in the marquee, it is not this man that we are supposed to be watching
Zac Efron, Clare Danes and Ben Chaplin all do credibly jobs with the time they are given on screen. But make no mistake, you’re hear to watch Christian McKay. The man manages to bring Welles’s epic personality to the screen, but dial it back just enough that he doesn’t overshadow his fellow performers. This film is nothing more than a brief slice of Welles’ frenzied career, but it is a filling meal nonetheless.
***A note on my festival experience thus far. TIFF 07 was notable for the sheer amount of death and nudity that I ingested. I saw some great movies but the subject matter was overwhelmingly bleak and depressing and by the end of the fest I was craving some lighter fare. This year, the theme of my TIFF experience seems to be intense character driven pieces. Gone are the blood and guts, and questionable graphic nudity scenes of last year, and I would argue that my festival experience has
September 11, 9pm
Ryerson Theatre
Orson Welles is one of those rare film personalities that fascinates me outside of his body of work.
An accomplished thespian and radio artist before he ever turned to more celluloid based endeavours, his genius and larger than life personality were eclipsed only by his hubris and arrogance. His film career was cut tragically short because he refused to play the studio game, but not before he forever changed the way that movies were made in Hollywood. As a result actions, he spent the rest of his life hopping around the globe trying to secure financing on a variety of projects, never again truly getting the opportunity to truly exercise his creative abilities.
However, in the Richard Linklater production, Me and Orson Welles, the focus of the film is on Richard Samuels (Zac Efron), an aspiring actor who lucks into a supporting role in Welles’ modern dress stage version of Julius Caesar. The film covers approximately the two weeks before the opening of the play. Samuels is chafing at the bit as approaches the end of his high school education and so he goes out into the world to see what it has to offer him. Almost by accident he becomes a member of the famed Mercury Theatre where he experiences first hand the passion, creativity and near chaos that was any project Orson Welles’ put his mind too.
Welles, played to absolute perfection by little known actor Christian McKay, is almost reduced to being part of the background scenery, albeit a part of the scenery that’s not afraid to insert itself forcibly into the action of the film. His almost tangible personality reinforces the character and feel of the late 1930’s, where radio was the mainstream commercial juggernaut of the day, film little more than a snot-nosed upstart and where theatre was where all the really prestigious actors worked.
McKay’s Welles moves like a storm throughout this film, scattering actors, and their ambitions, left and right. People don’t act with Welles, they react to him. He is as far above his stage counterparts of the day as he would be above his film peers less than four years later. It’s unfortunate that in the film that bears his name in the marquee, it is not this man that we are supposed to be watching
Zac Efron, Clare Danes and Ben Chaplin all do credibly jobs with the time they are given on screen. But make no mistake, you’re hear to watch Christian McKay. The man manages to bring Welles’s epic personality to the screen, but dial it back just enough that he doesn’t overshadow his fellow performers. This film is nothing more than a brief slice of Welles’ frenzied career, but it is a filling meal nonetheless.
***A note on my festival experience thus far. TIFF 07 was notable for the sheer amount of death and nudity that I ingested. I saw some great movies but the subject matter was overwhelmingly bleak and depressing and by the end of the fest I was craving some lighter fare. This year, the theme of my TIFF experience seems to be intense character driven pieces. Gone are the blood and guts, and questionable graphic nudity scenes of last year, and I would argue that my festival experience has
Tuesday, September 9, 2008
TIFF not for the regular guy anymore
So I’ve seen (and participated) in some chatter about how the basic nature of TIFF has changed recently. Last weekend, a Toronto newspaper columnist even called it elitist and went on to list a bunch of reasons why the fest wasn’t about the regular people any longer.
I have to say on the whole I find his basic premise spot on. The fest has changed. About five or six years ago when I first started attending it seriously I could buy a ten back of tickets for about a hundred bucks (tax included) and have a reasonable chance at getting in to see just about any film on the schedule. This included some years where I spent some serious time in the Rush Line in the hopes of catching a hot film. Now days I pay north of 160 for that same ten pack and may get none of my first picks if I happen to get a bad box in the random draw.
It’s all changed now. The big venues are more interested in keeping people away, setting up more and more of those crowd control barriers at the larger venues (Roy T and the Elgin). It used to be I could stand in the Rush Line at Roy T and watch the limos pull up and drop the glitterati off. Nowdays I’d have to run a gamut of police officers, photogs, crazed fans and crowd control barriers straight out of Children of Men. Inviting it isn’t.
Then there’s the preferential treatment afforded to ‘Donors’, the price jacking of anything at the Elgin, the ever encroaching presence of big name sponsors, an unhealthy obsession by the media to cover the eating habits of whatever celeb happens to be in town and a general overall feeling that this festival isn’t about having fun anymore.
It’s about setting up a pecking order for those with enough money and influence to jump the line and get in to all the hot parties. Its about business and doing deals and getting sponsors ships and the prestigious of a permanent office on Queen Street (the sponsorally named Bell Lightbox)
I guess the only question have is ‘What took it so long?’
I have to say on the whole I find his basic premise spot on. The fest has changed. About five or six years ago when I first started attending it seriously I could buy a ten back of tickets for about a hundred bucks (tax included) and have a reasonable chance at getting in to see just about any film on the schedule. This included some years where I spent some serious time in the Rush Line in the hopes of catching a hot film. Now days I pay north of 160 for that same ten pack and may get none of my first picks if I happen to get a bad box in the random draw.
It’s all changed now. The big venues are more interested in keeping people away, setting up more and more of those crowd control barriers at the larger venues (Roy T and the Elgin). It used to be I could stand in the Rush Line at Roy T and watch the limos pull up and drop the glitterati off. Nowdays I’d have to run a gamut of police officers, photogs, crazed fans and crowd control barriers straight out of Children of Men. Inviting it isn’t.
Then there’s the preferential treatment afforded to ‘Donors’, the price jacking of anything at the Elgin, the ever encroaching presence of big name sponsors, an unhealthy obsession by the media to cover the eating habits of whatever celeb happens to be in town and a general overall feeling that this festival isn’t about having fun anymore.
It’s about setting up a pecking order for those with enough money and influence to jump the line and get in to all the hot parties. Its about business and doing deals and getting sponsors ships and the prestigious of a permanent office on Queen Street (the sponsorally named Bell Lightbox)
I guess the only question have is ‘What took it so long?’
Sunday, September 7, 2008
Chris does TIFF: Is There Anybody There? edition
Is There Anybody There?
September 7th, 3pm
Ryerson Theatre
10 year old Edward, Bill Milner from Son of Rambow, lives with his parents in a family run nursing home. Life hasn't been very easy for him as of late. His old bedroom is now the property of aging geriatrics, his classmates don't think very much of him and his parents' relationship is slowly breaking apart under the financial and emotional toil of caring after the elderly. To escape the death that surrounds him everyday Edward becomes obsessed with the afterlife and contacting those from beyond the grave in order to figure out what dying is really like.
Into his life lurches Clarence, (Michael Caine from lots of interesting movies you should probably watch), an aged former magician who is tragically unable to put the death of his wife behind him. When Edward saves Clarence during a failed suicide the young boy attempts to befriend the octogenarian in the hopes of finding out what its really like when people die.
What follows next is a fairly predictable, but no less touching and heartwarming, story of two outcasts who seem to have no one in life but each other. Caine, a wonderfully gifted character actor, is remarkably restrained in his performance in this film, but his pain and guilt at the loss of his wife manages to burst through his reserved exterior nonetheless. Even late in his career this talented actor shows that he can do more with a few subtle eyes gestures than some performers can achieve over their entire life. This is award winning stuff we're watching here.
Sadly, the friendship of Clarence and Edward cannot last. Clarence begins to suffer from the onset of senility and drifts further and further away from Edward as his mind starts to fail him.
Director John Crowley is remarkably adept at manipulating emotions throughout this movie. He is able to find the warmth and humour in this tragic tale, without ever turning the film into a comical farce or falling prey to the over-the-top melodramatics that a less gifted director might lean on. By resisting the urge to hold the audience's hand and lead us directly to the film's message, Crowley allows the audience to discover it on their own by respecting their abilty to read between the lines.
The power of this film stems directly from the strength of its characters. Their struggle to come to terms with their lot in life is so simple and honest that the audience cannot help but to emphasize with their pain. And even though they may not all be able to find happiness for themselves, there always seems to be a helping hand to pick them up after they've fallen.
September 7th, 3pm
Ryerson Theatre
10 year old Edward, Bill Milner from Son of Rambow, lives with his parents in a family run nursing home. Life hasn't been very easy for him as of late. His old bedroom is now the property of aging geriatrics, his classmates don't think very much of him and his parents' relationship is slowly breaking apart under the financial and emotional toil of caring after the elderly. To escape the death that surrounds him everyday Edward becomes obsessed with the afterlife and contacting those from beyond the grave in order to figure out what dying is really like.
Into his life lurches Clarence, (Michael Caine from lots of interesting movies you should probably watch), an aged former magician who is tragically unable to put the death of his wife behind him. When Edward saves Clarence during a failed suicide the young boy attempts to befriend the octogenarian in the hopes of finding out what its really like when people die.
What follows next is a fairly predictable, but no less touching and heartwarming, story of two outcasts who seem to have no one in life but each other. Caine, a wonderfully gifted character actor, is remarkably restrained in his performance in this film, but his pain and guilt at the loss of his wife manages to burst through his reserved exterior nonetheless. Even late in his career this talented actor shows that he can do more with a few subtle eyes gestures than some performers can achieve over their entire life. This is award winning stuff we're watching here.
Sadly, the friendship of Clarence and Edward cannot last. Clarence begins to suffer from the onset of senility and drifts further and further away from Edward as his mind starts to fail him.
Director John Crowley is remarkably adept at manipulating emotions throughout this movie. He is able to find the warmth and humour in this tragic tale, without ever turning the film into a comical farce or falling prey to the over-the-top melodramatics that a less gifted director might lean on. By resisting the urge to hold the audience's hand and lead us directly to the film's message, Crowley allows the audience to discover it on their own by respecting their abilty to read between the lines.
The power of this film stems directly from the strength of its characters. Their struggle to come to terms with their lot in life is so simple and honest that the audience cannot help but to emphasize with their pain. And even though they may not all be able to find happiness for themselves, there always seems to be a helping hand to pick them up after they've fallen.
Saturday, September 6, 2008
Chris does TIFF: Sky Crawlers edtion
Sky Crawlers
9am
Ryerson Theatre
Sky Crawlers, directed by Mamoru Oshii (Ghost in the Shell), tells the story of a not-so-distant future where genetically modified children fight never-ending World War II type air battles at the bidding of faceless multinational corporations.
If you think that sounds exciting and full of adventure and drama, you’d be absolutely wrong. There is some dog fighting at the very beginning and a larger invasion a little later on, but this film is primarily an introspective character piece. The action scenes take back seat to the film’s character development.
The story deals with the arrival of a new ace fighter pilot, Cairn, as he attempts to fit in at his newly assigned airfield.
The plot is carefully structured, with precise measured beats. Information is released in dribs and drabs, for example much is intimated about the bases’ sordid history but never explicitly stated, even at the very end. Every time you think a key piece of information is going to be delivered the director chooses to dance around the subject matter rather than approach it directly. In the end, you’re reduced to piecing together a story entirely from an absence of information.
It’s like being given a jigsaw puzzle, but with no final picture to assemble from. You know the pieces are supposed to fit each other, you’re just not quite sure how.
The film attempts to delve into some interesting interlocking philosophical concepts about the nature of youth, war and the modern corporation. But ultimately this deep introspection means the film appeals to an audience primarily on an intellectual level and never really connects with the viewer emotionally.
I enjoyed the film, slow pacing and all, but I’d hesitate before recommending it to a larger audience. If you need your anime to be ultra-violent and shoot’em up, this is not the film for you. But if you can appreciate a slow, methodical story that asks you to think a little bit about the way the world around you is developing, then I can think of worse ways to spend your time on a Saturday morning.
9am
Ryerson Theatre
Sky Crawlers, directed by Mamoru Oshii (Ghost in the Shell), tells the story of a not-so-distant future where genetically modified children fight never-ending World War II type air battles at the bidding of faceless multinational corporations.
If you think that sounds exciting and full of adventure and drama, you’d be absolutely wrong. There is some dog fighting at the very beginning and a larger invasion a little later on, but this film is primarily an introspective character piece. The action scenes take back seat to the film’s character development.
The story deals with the arrival of a new ace fighter pilot, Cairn, as he attempts to fit in at his newly assigned airfield.
The plot is carefully structured, with precise measured beats. Information is released in dribs and drabs, for example much is intimated about the bases’ sordid history but never explicitly stated, even at the very end. Every time you think a key piece of information is going to be delivered the director chooses to dance around the subject matter rather than approach it directly. In the end, you’re reduced to piecing together a story entirely from an absence of information.
It’s like being given a jigsaw puzzle, but with no final picture to assemble from. You know the pieces are supposed to fit each other, you’re just not quite sure how.
The film attempts to delve into some interesting interlocking philosophical concepts about the nature of youth, war and the modern corporation. But ultimately this deep introspection means the film appeals to an audience primarily on an intellectual level and never really connects with the viewer emotionally.
I enjoyed the film, slow pacing and all, but I’d hesitate before recommending it to a larger audience. If you need your anime to be ultra-violent and shoot’em up, this is not the film for you. But if you can appreciate a slow, methodical story that asks you to think a little bit about the way the world around you is developing, then I can think of worse ways to spend your time on a Saturday morning.
Wednesday, April 30, 2008
The Spirit
So.
The new The Spirit trailer. I reserved judgement, with great difficulty, and sat on my thoughts until I could go home and sit through another viewing of Sin City, which I hadn't seen since its theatrical release.
Thankfully, it's still a good movie.
My personal take has always been that Robert Rodriguez was the real director of SC and, even though Miller shared co-directing credits he was really more of a consultant, providing insight into what kind of visual look he was striving for in the comic. But this trailer sort of muddies the water a little bit, by thoroughly aping the visual motifs of SC.
So now I ask the question, was Miller driving the cinematic look of Sin City, and as such, just transferring his own personal style to The Spirit? Or is he just copying Rodriguez's style having seen it in action?
Unfortunately the trailer really isn't long enough to make that call.
On the whole, I was disappointed with the trailer. It felt unfinished. Some of the stunt work and CGI look pretty phony and the scratch track they stuck to it is fairly generic. It's from The Untouchables isn't it? I've never read the title this movie is based on, and probably never will, so I've got no hangups about this film being true to the source material. Essentially, I'm the best kind of audience this film can hope for. No expectations.
Do I care that it looks like SC redux? Hell no. Directors have been ripping visual stylistic traits off each other since the movie camera was first invented. If Miller is able to do some interesting with the look, I'm willing to let him try.
So, in summary, weak trailer, but still I still have an interest in seeing the final product.
The new The Spirit trailer. I reserved judgement, with great difficulty, and sat on my thoughts until I could go home and sit through another viewing of Sin City, which I hadn't seen since its theatrical release.
Thankfully, it's still a good movie.
My personal take has always been that Robert Rodriguez was the real director of SC and, even though Miller shared co-directing credits he was really more of a consultant, providing insight into what kind of visual look he was striving for in the comic. But this trailer sort of muddies the water a little bit, by thoroughly aping the visual motifs of SC.
So now I ask the question, was Miller driving the cinematic look of Sin City, and as such, just transferring his own personal style to The Spirit? Or is he just copying Rodriguez's style having seen it in action?
Unfortunately the trailer really isn't long enough to make that call.
On the whole, I was disappointed with the trailer. It felt unfinished. Some of the stunt work and CGI look pretty phony and the scratch track they stuck to it is fairly generic. It's from The Untouchables isn't it? I've never read the title this movie is based on, and probably never will, so I've got no hangups about this film being true to the source material. Essentially, I'm the best kind of audience this film can hope for. No expectations.
Do I care that it looks like SC redux? Hell no. Directors have been ripping visual stylistic traits off each other since the movie camera was first invented. If Miller is able to do some interesting with the look, I'm willing to let him try.
So, in summary, weak trailer, but still I still have an interest in seeing the final product.
Tuesday, April 15, 2008
30 Second Movie Review: Doomsday
So,
Awesome called. Awesome called and it said you should watch Doomsday.
And you know what?
Awesome was right.
This is the kind of movie that I absolutely would have loved as 13 year old. There would have been multiple viewings, armed with a VCR control, to capture every glorious beheading and graphic fight scene in the film. The tape would have lasted about six months before I’d have worn it out.
And it would have been glorious.
Even as a 29 year old I think this movie is pretty goddamn fun. It name checks a lot of my favourite classic horror and genre movies from the past 20 years like Aliens, 28 Days Later, Underworld, Escape from New York and The Road Warrior. It’s like these films were dropped into a blender and Doomsday is the end result. The acting is barely passable, the story and visuals absolutely cliché ridden and you’ll absolutely destroy your brain if you seriously try to make sense of anything you see on screen. (There is a serious cow overpopulation in this film and yet cannibalism is rappant)
Directed by Neil Marshall, of The Descent and Dog Soldiers fame, this movie doesn’t care what you think about it. With a plot grafted onto the thinnest of premises, futuristic soldiers must enter an apocalyptic wasteland in search of a cure for a deadly disease that threatens all of mankind, it’s really just an excuse for the director to throw whatever he thinks will look cool up on the screen. Thankfully he’s got a vivid imagination so movie goers, ill advisedly expecting coherency from this story, won’t have to wait long before the next little bit of eye candy pops up to keep them entertained.
There’s no point in even trying to do a straight forward review of this film. It works hard at not taking itself seriously. If you’re looking for insightful social commentary or hidden levels of meaning, you’ll never find it here. A potboiler, in the purest sense, Doomsday is all about turning your brain off for a little while and remembering what its like to be a kid again.
Hells yeah.
Awesome called. Awesome called and it said you should watch Doomsday.
And you know what?
Awesome was right.
This is the kind of movie that I absolutely would have loved as 13 year old. There would have been multiple viewings, armed with a VCR control, to capture every glorious beheading and graphic fight scene in the film. The tape would have lasted about six months before I’d have worn it out.
And it would have been glorious.
Even as a 29 year old I think this movie is pretty goddamn fun. It name checks a lot of my favourite classic horror and genre movies from the past 20 years like Aliens, 28 Days Later, Underworld, Escape from New York and The Road Warrior. It’s like these films were dropped into a blender and Doomsday is the end result. The acting is barely passable, the story and visuals absolutely cliché ridden and you’ll absolutely destroy your brain if you seriously try to make sense of anything you see on screen. (There is a serious cow overpopulation in this film and yet cannibalism is rappant)
Directed by Neil Marshall, of The Descent and Dog Soldiers fame, this movie doesn’t care what you think about it. With a plot grafted onto the thinnest of premises, futuristic soldiers must enter an apocalyptic wasteland in search of a cure for a deadly disease that threatens all of mankind, it’s really just an excuse for the director to throw whatever he thinks will look cool up on the screen. Thankfully he’s got a vivid imagination so movie goers, ill advisedly expecting coherency from this story, won’t have to wait long before the next little bit of eye candy pops up to keep them entertained.
There’s no point in even trying to do a straight forward review of this film. It works hard at not taking itself seriously. If you’re looking for insightful social commentary or hidden levels of meaning, you’ll never find it here. A potboiler, in the purest sense, Doomsday is all about turning your brain off for a little while and remembering what its like to be a kid again.
Hells yeah.
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