Tuesday, December 2, 2008
Filmmaking Today
Filmmaking today is the capturing of reality and the transformation of reality into a recognizable form from which a story can be told. Whether a film is considered documentary or science-fiction, it still requires a certain level of human input that makes the plotline more or less realist. As filmmaking becomes accessible by more and more people due to simplification of video and editing software, the filmgoer can now become a filmmaker, which only requires a camcorder, a computer, and editing software. With filmmaking becoming more democratic and accessible, the medium that is film is no longer reserved only for high-budget Hollywood studio's.
Emotional Attachment with Sound, and without it
After attending the Haggerty Art Musuem's current exhibition entitled stop.look.listen, I became aware of two work's contrasting uses of sound, and the emotion's that the convention's of sound stir for a viewer. In regard's to Glenn Bach's lecture on sound artist Aaron Ximm, the two video's entitled Cave Trilogy by Salla Tykka and Deeparture by Mircea Cantor both relate in different ways. Of course, Deeparture is silent, but through it's silence, it convey's quite a strong message.
First, Tykka's trilogy uses three conventional soundtrack's without any dialogue to convey messages about what music viewers relate to what types of films. The first film of the trilogy is entitled "Lasso," in which a young woman spies on a man performing lasso tricks, and the music is quite like a "Old Western" with abrupt horns and an epic feel to the music. The lasso trick's are performed in slow motion, adding to the epic tone of the work. The second piece, entitled "Thriller," would apply more to Aaron Ximm's work, in that it uses only a repetitive piano line and numerous atmospheric sounds to convey a horror story about three very odd characters, and the murder of a sheep. Although the characters interact, the lack of dialogue forces an assumed conversation that is individual for each viewer, although the music usually directs the assumed conversation to something disturbing or even evil. The final piece has a soundtrack that could almost be taken from Aaron Ximm's database of sound. The music uses atmospheric tones that invoke a scifi or futuristic plot line that contains electronic long-tones, heavy bass, and lack of acoustic instruments. Again, the lack of dialogue in combination with the soundtrack evokes a whole new emotion, as the protagonist stumbles upon three uniformed miners, forcing a feeling of not belonging to the group, therefore the uniformed antagonists are the enemy. Overall, the soundtrack is a combination of conventional music and natural sound captured and repurposed, which in relation to Ximm, inspires the same in the viewer or listener: that sound alone can not only evoke emotion, but also guide a narrative where one normally wouldn't exist.
However, narrative can also be derived by a lack of sound. In Cantor's piece, the viewer comes across a plain white room with only two character's, a wolf and a deer, setting up an obviously twisted plot line. Thankfully, after watching the video loop, the wolf wasn't very hungry, or had befriended the deer, because they both looked very alive as the video continued to play over again. At first I though the lack of sound was detrimental, and that Ximm could have swept into the room and placed microphones everywhere to capture intimate sounds of the deer's hooves on the cement floor, the heavy breathing of the deer as it watches the wolf. The wolf's sounds could have stirred a sense of impending violence, as he lick's his teeth and the viewer could hear the slobber of the wolf's long tongue, or the heavy panting not unlike a dog as the wolf circles its prey. Instead however, Cantor chose to leave out sound of inevitable violence, and instead gave us silence. This silence creates a paranoia, as if the deer has lost it's ability to hear as death comes closer. The loss of sound causes confusion, and I imagined that instead of a cement room, the deer and wolf were in a forest during a winter snowstorm, where the heavy breathing and click of a deer's hooves would be silent. In hindsight, the idea of a snowstorm paranoia seemed to drive the video forward, and as the video began a new loop, the awkward situation began again, would the wolf ever be hungry enough to kill the deer?
First, Tykka's trilogy uses three conventional soundtrack's without any dialogue to convey messages about what music viewers relate to what types of films. The first film of the trilogy is entitled "Lasso," in which a young woman spies on a man performing lasso tricks, and the music is quite like a "Old Western" with abrupt horns and an epic feel to the music. The lasso trick's are performed in slow motion, adding to the epic tone of the work. The second piece, entitled "Thriller," would apply more to Aaron Ximm's work, in that it uses only a repetitive piano line and numerous atmospheric sounds to convey a horror story about three very odd characters, and the murder of a sheep. Although the characters interact, the lack of dialogue forces an assumed conversation that is individual for each viewer, although the music usually directs the assumed conversation to something disturbing or even evil. The final piece has a soundtrack that could almost be taken from Aaron Ximm's database of sound. The music uses atmospheric tones that invoke a scifi or futuristic plot line that contains electronic long-tones, heavy bass, and lack of acoustic instruments. Again, the lack of dialogue in combination with the soundtrack evokes a whole new emotion, as the protagonist stumbles upon three uniformed miners, forcing a feeling of not belonging to the group, therefore the uniformed antagonists are the enemy. Overall, the soundtrack is a combination of conventional music and natural sound captured and repurposed, which in relation to Ximm, inspires the same in the viewer or listener: that sound alone can not only evoke emotion, but also guide a narrative where one normally wouldn't exist.
However, narrative can also be derived by a lack of sound. In Cantor's piece, the viewer comes across a plain white room with only two character's, a wolf and a deer, setting up an obviously twisted plot line. Thankfully, after watching the video loop, the wolf wasn't very hungry, or had befriended the deer, because they both looked very alive as the video continued to play over again. At first I though the lack of sound was detrimental, and that Ximm could have swept into the room and placed microphones everywhere to capture intimate sounds of the deer's hooves on the cement floor, the heavy breathing of the deer as it watches the wolf. The wolf's sounds could have stirred a sense of impending violence, as he lick's his teeth and the viewer could hear the slobber of the wolf's long tongue, or the heavy panting not unlike a dog as the wolf circles its prey. Instead however, Cantor chose to leave out sound of inevitable violence, and instead gave us silence. This silence creates a paranoia, as if the deer has lost it's ability to hear as death comes closer. The loss of sound causes confusion, and I imagined that instead of a cement room, the deer and wolf were in a forest during a winter snowstorm, where the heavy breathing and click of a deer's hooves would be silent. In hindsight, the idea of a snowstorm paranoia seemed to drive the video forward, and as the video began a new loop, the awkward situation began again, would the wolf ever be hungry enough to kill the deer?
Monday, December 1, 2008
The Shining & 2012
For the most part, reading The Auteur's Notebook has been interesting yet difficult to decipher as many of the film's discussed are either new and difficult to see in theatres, or old and hard to find copies of. However, a recent article posted link's for two film trailers. One for Stanley Kubrick's The Shining, and another for an upcoming film entitled 2012, which is a precursor to what some believe is the foreboding apoclypse.
Before discussing the trailers, one should watch each as to recognize the obvious point I wish to discuss. A point regarding originality and creativity, as well as paying tribute to past accomplishments.
First, the original article.
Also, alternate link's to the trailer's of The Shining and 2012's official site.
Although the original article had no actual text except for it's title "No Respect for the Dead," the comment's of other user's inspired dialogue on the obvious copycat trailer is theft of an idea, or an homage to a great Kubrick film, and also a mystifying trailer. Regardless, there is nowhere on the blog or the official 2012 website stating the actual intent of the filmmaker's. Although it's just a trailer, a trailer is the initial handshake an audience member has with a film. Regardless of any rumors or hearsay, this first impression set's the tone for the viewer's mood for when (and if) he or she sit's down in a theatre to see the film.
Regardless of the intent of the 2012 trailer, hearing the same moody music and seeing a massive amount of liquid encompass the camera's frame in a different context reveals what emotion's are stirred by the convention's of the trailer. The music from the original Kubrick trailer obviously gives the viewer a sense of fear and and inevitable violence. So when the music is transported to the new trailer, it becomes apparent that sound indeed control's the image, but also that sound is adaptable to new settings. The same music gives off a sense of exotic knowledge, when we see a monk running along a mountaintop, almost as if he knows something the viewer doesn't, and he has to warn someone.
This revealing use of similar music in different contexts forces me to offer an opinion on the value of originality. Why come up with something new if something proven to work is available? Both trailer's want to invite the viewer to something obviously violent, tragic, and daringly epic. Kubrick's The Shining was and still is a massive success of a film, and the creator's of 2012 are hoping to succeed in a similar way. However, if the creator's of the trailer only saw the original trailer as a business model for success, and not for it's ability to capture an emotion that would invite a filmgoer to take interest, then "No Respect for the Dead" is an appropriate expression to describe their theft. If, however, the new trailer is a tribute to a great Kubrick film, then maybe reusing and "remixing" old creation's is in itself, original.
Before discussing the trailers, one should watch each as to recognize the obvious point I wish to discuss. A point regarding originality and creativity, as well as paying tribute to past accomplishments.
First, the original article.
Also, alternate link's to the trailer's of The Shining and 2012's official site.
Although the original article had no actual text except for it's title "No Respect for the Dead," the comment's of other user's inspired dialogue on the obvious copycat trailer is theft of an idea, or an homage to a great Kubrick film, and also a mystifying trailer. Regardless, there is nowhere on the blog or the official 2012 website stating the actual intent of the filmmaker's. Although it's just a trailer, a trailer is the initial handshake an audience member has with a film. Regardless of any rumors or hearsay, this first impression set's the tone for the viewer's mood for when (and if) he or she sit's down in a theatre to see the film.
Regardless of the intent of the 2012 trailer, hearing the same moody music and seeing a massive amount of liquid encompass the camera's frame in a different context reveals what emotion's are stirred by the convention's of the trailer. The music from the original Kubrick trailer obviously gives the viewer a sense of fear and and inevitable violence. So when the music is transported to the new trailer, it becomes apparent that sound indeed control's the image, but also that sound is adaptable to new settings. The same music gives off a sense of exotic knowledge, when we see a monk running along a mountaintop, almost as if he knows something the viewer doesn't, and he has to warn someone.
This revealing use of similar music in different contexts forces me to offer an opinion on the value of originality. Why come up with something new if something proven to work is available? Both trailer's want to invite the viewer to something obviously violent, tragic, and daringly epic. Kubrick's The Shining was and still is a massive success of a film, and the creator's of 2012 are hoping to succeed in a similar way. However, if the creator's of the trailer only saw the original trailer as a business model for success, and not for it's ability to capture an emotion that would invite a filmgoer to take interest, then "No Respect for the Dead" is an appropriate expression to describe their theft. If, however, the new trailer is a tribute to a great Kubrick film, then maybe reusing and "remixing" old creation's is in itself, original.
Wednesday, October 29, 2008
Snow Mirror & Deep Walls, Act/React
My experience with the Act/React show was filled with delight, which I now consider first an artistic playground, and second an exploration into the possibilities of modern art. Of all the works, Daniel Rozin's Snow Mirror and Scott Snibb's Deep Walls spoke to my interests the most. The reason I want to refer to my own experience lies in interactive art's ability to offer a unique experience to each viewer. However, "viewer" is not the best way to describe the person interacting with the art, so I will offer the word "performer" instead. A performer usually works with a writer or a director to act out a play or scene in a film. In the case of interactive art, I see the artist as the writer, the actual work as the stage, and the person interacting as the performer taking advantage of the artist's special stage.
This is especially true with Snibb's Deep Walls, as it is simply a collection of shadows which seem to have a desire to show off. The squares that each contained a performers shadow ranged from waves to dances to zombie walks and even a cartwheel, and the list of performances is infinite. Infinite is an important word to consider along side interactive art, since every piece of art at the Act/React gallery had no limited amount of possibilities. Of course, this does not separate interactive art from a painting, sculpture, or film, which all have an infinite amount of interpretations. However, interactive art seems to be concerned more with a physical interpretation that includes activity as well as analysis. In my own experience, I found my connection with Deep Walls, Snow Mirror, and all the other works to be similar: first I would figure out how the installation worked, then I would attempt to push every boundary I could think of, once the boundaries were found I would then try to create something appealing. With Snibb's work I attempted a zombie walk, which I was thoroughly pleased with. The final action was to step back and try to decipher what was so appealing to interact with a piece of art. Never before I had seen someone attempt a cartwheel in a museum.
With Rozin's Snow Mirror, the interaction was less playful, but more appealing to the eye. The odd formation that the snow created of my image imposed of feeling of familiarity. Using the word "mirror" in the title was an excellent choice, since the most interesting aspect of the work was identifying yourself in the digital pattern of falling snow and a black background. While I was viewing the mirror, a father walked in with his child strapped in a baby carrier on his chest. When this occurred I realized that the mirror was just an abstract portrait painting that would never be the same twice. The father took the baby's hands and waved them towards the mirror, which seemed to be a trend in all the installations that changed the image of the performer. Is the greeting a way to ensure that it is in fact you who is shaping the art, and not just a tricky computer program?
Overall, interactive art is a new medium that I hope to see more of. The idea of an artist being able to connect with their audience in such a physical way is profound in that it breaks down a wall that might hold one back from appreciating new artwork. Instead of questioning whether or not the installation is truly art, one can simply play and move on, or push the installation to its limits.
This is especially true with Snibb's Deep Walls, as it is simply a collection of shadows which seem to have a desire to show off. The squares that each contained a performers shadow ranged from waves to dances to zombie walks and even a cartwheel, and the list of performances is infinite. Infinite is an important word to consider along side interactive art, since every piece of art at the Act/React gallery had no limited amount of possibilities. Of course, this does not separate interactive art from a painting, sculpture, or film, which all have an infinite amount of interpretations. However, interactive art seems to be concerned more with a physical interpretation that includes activity as well as analysis. In my own experience, I found my connection with Deep Walls, Snow Mirror, and all the other works to be similar: first I would figure out how the installation worked, then I would attempt to push every boundary I could think of, once the boundaries were found I would then try to create something appealing. With Snibb's work I attempted a zombie walk, which I was thoroughly pleased with. The final action was to step back and try to decipher what was so appealing to interact with a piece of art. Never before I had seen someone attempt a cartwheel in a museum.
With Rozin's Snow Mirror, the interaction was less playful, but more appealing to the eye. The odd formation that the snow created of my image imposed of feeling of familiarity. Using the word "mirror" in the title was an excellent choice, since the most interesting aspect of the work was identifying yourself in the digital pattern of falling snow and a black background. While I was viewing the mirror, a father walked in with his child strapped in a baby carrier on his chest. When this occurred I realized that the mirror was just an abstract portrait painting that would never be the same twice. The father took the baby's hands and waved them towards the mirror, which seemed to be a trend in all the installations that changed the image of the performer. Is the greeting a way to ensure that it is in fact you who is shaping the art, and not just a tricky computer program?
Overall, interactive art is a new medium that I hope to see more of. The idea of an artist being able to connect with their audience in such a physical way is profound in that it breaks down a wall that might hold one back from appreciating new artwork. Instead of questioning whether or not the installation is truly art, one can simply play and move on, or push the installation to its limits.
Tuesday, October 28, 2008
Film Festivals & The Auteurs Notebook
The Auteurs Cinema is a website that is dedicated to the promotion of a new medium for film and video, the internet. While the main part of the website will eventually be dedicated to streaming videos, the Auteurs Cinema currently has a dedicated journal of editorials on international cinema. This journal offers insight on films being screened across the globe that one might not ever have the chance to learn about without the help of the internet. The actual writing offers critical analysis and important information many films, but what seems to be a strong point of the notebook, is the capturing of films screened at film festivals.
A few recent posts illustrate this in the notebook's coverage of the Bangkok International Film Festival (BKKIFF) and the New York Film Festival (NYFF). The coverage on both offered insight onto international films that definitely do not fit the Hollywood mold. For the NYFF, the notebook offers insight on such films as the Korean Night and Day, and an interview with Kiyoshi Kurosawa, who is famous for his Japanese horror films. Most of the reviews highlight the difficulty of seeing any of the films screened at the festival at another widespread release, and even the chances of a film making it to DVD. So if one could view Night and Day with an online hi-definition stream, the secret culture of film festival films could be broken down.
This is highlighted more so with the coverage of the Bangkok International Film Festival, which was highlighted this year with films that mesh cinema-verite documentary and fictional storytelling, with a Columbian film entitled PVC-1 that uses one 90 minute shot to capture a retelling of the true story of a woman who had a pipe bomb strapped around her neck as an incentive to pay a ransom. Again, the editorial on the films covered at the BKKIFF praises the films, and entices the reader to seek out these very peculiar films from so far away. The Auteurs Notebook is inviting the reader to seek out more information, since actually seeing the film might mean traveling half-way across the world. This is especially the case at the BKKIFF when films that will most likely only be screened at only a few festivals are banned only weeks ahead of time due to political disagreements between the filmmaker's topic choice and the festival's host country government.
The mission statement of the Auteurs Notebook is bold:
However, independent filmmakers are waiting for an internet venue that appreciates the "classic approach" to cinema, instead of the normal "Youtube" internet video. Although the website only contains the "notebook" portion, it will soon be a host for independent film all over the globe.
A few recent posts illustrate this in the notebook's coverage of the Bangkok International Film Festival (BKKIFF) and the New York Film Festival (NYFF). The coverage on both offered insight onto international films that definitely do not fit the Hollywood mold. For the NYFF, the notebook offers insight on such films as the Korean Night and Day, and an interview with Kiyoshi Kurosawa, who is famous for his Japanese horror films. Most of the reviews highlight the difficulty of seeing any of the films screened at the festival at another widespread release, and even the chances of a film making it to DVD. So if one could view Night and Day with an online hi-definition stream, the secret culture of film festival films could be broken down.
This is highlighted more so with the coverage of the Bangkok International Film Festival, which was highlighted this year with films that mesh cinema-verite documentary and fictional storytelling, with a Columbian film entitled PVC-1 that uses one 90 minute shot to capture a retelling of the true story of a woman who had a pipe bomb strapped around her neck as an incentive to pay a ransom. Again, the editorial on the films covered at the BKKIFF praises the films, and entices the reader to seek out these very peculiar films from so far away. The Auteurs Notebook is inviting the reader to seek out more information, since actually seeing the film might mean traveling half-way across the world. This is especially the case at the BKKIFF when films that will most likely only be screened at only a few festivals are banned only weeks ahead of time due to political disagreements between the filmmaker's topic choice and the festival's host country government.
The mission statement of the Auteurs Notebook is bold:
We believe it's time for a new, global, internet-based film venue. With a keen focus, style and a classic approach to cinema, we've dubbed our venture The Auteurs.
However, independent filmmakers are waiting for an internet venue that appreciates the "classic approach" to cinema, instead of the normal "Youtube" internet video. Although the website only contains the "notebook" portion, it will soon be a host for independent film all over the globe.
Monday, October 6, 2008
Art Encounter: Paul Chan, New Orleans, & Baghdad
Paul Chan’s work has enlightened my existence as a film student by showing what first appears as simplicity, may really contain. Specifically in Waiting for Godot and Baghdad in No Particular Order, Chan creates a work of art in just a few steps. For Baghdad, it required a camera and plane tickets to Iraq, and what unfolded was a snapshot of time before Iraq’s current existence, a state of war. For Godot, Chan repurposes a play and an outdoor space in which to produce it. However, there is obviously more than meets the eye in regards to the simplicity of Chan’s artwork. So instead of discussing simplicity, the work Chan produces is more about the impact that such simple ideas can hold.
Of course, Paul Chan’s projects are never confined to just one “part.” Baghdad also applies a website with a profound abundance of information, leading the viewer of the website to countless sources of information. The typical viewer of a film may peruse the internet for more information on a film he or she enjoyed or wanted to learn more about, but usually just finds information on the cast and crew and what the star of the film is doing next. But Chan’s site has more impact, it delivers extra information that furthers the film’s agenda. The agenda is not to sway or persuade the viewer, but to give a translation of what he encountered while creating his work. This concept of translation is even stronger in Waiting for Godot.
So much of what the modern individual learns is from a corporate media, whose goal is to quickly inform with minute detail, as to fit in enough commercial advertising between the sports report and weather report. Hurricane Katrina is no different, after countless news reports, Dateline specials, Presidential addresses, and watching Oprah travel to the Superdome, New Orleans is still waiting to be rebuilt to a point where its previous inhabitants can return knowing that their city will be there, although never the same. Paul Chan may have had this in mind when he decided to use Samuel Beckett’s Waiting for Godot. For those citizens of New Orleans who already returned or who never left, the “wait” needed to be addressed. While the production itself is simple, only requiring two main actors, “a country road, a tree, evening,” Godot had an impact on the community, who immediately recognized the relevance of the play. When a local play appears in a baptist ministers sermon, it is quite obvious that the community can feel the impact that a play can hold. Of course, all plays can be interpreted in different ways, but to citizens of a destroyed hometown, the interpretation is along the same general lines. The citizens of New Orleans are questioning why they are waiting for their home to be built, and what the chances of reconstruction occuring are. The relation to the play is so profound, it almost seems as if Waiting for Godot was written right after Hurricane Katrina destroyed New Orleans, not over fifty years ago. However, patience is constantly questioned, as it is human nature to constantly move and renew.
Chan’s work’s use simplicity in execution to empower simple concepts that have the impact of a meteor, whether we question our reasons for war on people that seem shockingly familiar, or we question our constant battle with patience. Battling with patience is even more difficult when the wait is for something that isn’t clear when it will happen or what it will be. Will New Orleans be a dystopian wasteland, will it take its destruction as a chance to improve, or will it simply exist as a collective of people waiting for some sort of answer as to what to do next?
Of course, Paul Chan’s projects are never confined to just one “part.” Baghdad also applies a website with a profound abundance of information, leading the viewer of the website to countless sources of information. The typical viewer of a film may peruse the internet for more information on a film he or she enjoyed or wanted to learn more about, but usually just finds information on the cast and crew and what the star of the film is doing next. But Chan’s site has more impact, it delivers extra information that furthers the film’s agenda. The agenda is not to sway or persuade the viewer, but to give a translation of what he encountered while creating his work. This concept of translation is even stronger in Waiting for Godot.
So much of what the modern individual learns is from a corporate media, whose goal is to quickly inform with minute detail, as to fit in enough commercial advertising between the sports report and weather report. Hurricane Katrina is no different, after countless news reports, Dateline specials, Presidential addresses, and watching Oprah travel to the Superdome, New Orleans is still waiting to be rebuilt to a point where its previous inhabitants can return knowing that their city will be there, although never the same. Paul Chan may have had this in mind when he decided to use Samuel Beckett’s Waiting for Godot. For those citizens of New Orleans who already returned or who never left, the “wait” needed to be addressed. While the production itself is simple, only requiring two main actors, “a country road, a tree, evening,” Godot had an impact on the community, who immediately recognized the relevance of the play. When a local play appears in a baptist ministers sermon, it is quite obvious that the community can feel the impact that a play can hold. Of course, all plays can be interpreted in different ways, but to citizens of a destroyed hometown, the interpretation is along the same general lines. The citizens of New Orleans are questioning why they are waiting for their home to be built, and what the chances of reconstruction occuring are. The relation to the play is so profound, it almost seems as if Waiting for Godot was written right after Hurricane Katrina destroyed New Orleans, not over fifty years ago. However, patience is constantly questioned, as it is human nature to constantly move and renew.
Chan’s work’s use simplicity in execution to empower simple concepts that have the impact of a meteor, whether we question our reasons for war on people that seem shockingly familiar, or we question our constant battle with patience. Battling with patience is even more difficult when the wait is for something that isn’t clear when it will happen or what it will be. Will New Orleans be a dystopian wasteland, will it take its destruction as a chance to improve, or will it simply exist as a collective of people waiting for some sort of answer as to what to do next?
Tuesday, September 30, 2008
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