There isn't enough time. I must be quick before the synapses fade.
In a round-about way I was in the preliminary stages of commencing an assessment on Terrence Malick. I was looking at the most recent issue of Sight and Sound in the library. Came across an advertisement for a company called lastexittonowhere that creates t shirts using famous macguffins and quotes from films and stylises them into 'fictitious' (irreconcilable) decals - look it up. Anyway I was thinking of checking it out, and began to type the site into google, when the deus ex machina of the search bar's auto-complete function suggested 'lastexit', which turned out to be a marketing firm who were responsible, amongst other things, for the Absolut campaign wherest I believe they gave Spike Jonze free reign to make his robot short film "I'm here".
Now I watched this in early april, and it was a chief factor in my determination to include short films (and marketing exercises) in my thesis. This thesis was was meant to be. Now right; how did I intend to sew this up into a perpetual poetic commentary? I'm not sure, it probably isn't complete. But an implosion has begun, and that in itself is important, as it means an explosion of greater proportions, magnitudes even, is ahead. It's science see, and science deals with facts. which are true.
I remember also finding the firms responsible for the Johnny Walker Robert Carlyle around the world and Adidas house party campaigns also. Just jotting this down for reference. There's something in this. This firm did gigs for real trademarks too, not stylised ones. Facts n that
Friday, 7 May 2010
Friday, 5 June 2009
Building steam
Just to recap - if a fan-vid contains shots from Law and Order and music from Evanescence, it is Rubbish. Yes, the some of those parts really is definitely less than the whole. There is no artistic merit to be found in there anywhere. The clip we watched in one of our early classes was perverted: an affront to my integrity as an opinionated student and a fantastic and ludicrous example of how a denizen of the internet can create something so carefully considered and contrived and still get nowhere in life. I hate that television show, as I do most of that procedural rubbish that is thrown onto our screens, and don't get me started on that wailey death-girl. Now please enjoy this clip of bridges being esploderised that, while similar in construction, is better than the former by an order of magnitudes.
Did you notice that in the Law and Boredom film clip that the music swells just as the male lead bursts through the lift doorway and trudges down the hall? Or that in the tilt-shift clip I posted earlier that at 41 seconds in, as the man first falls in the swell, the percussion from the accompaniment begins? Something deeper is going on here. It is the same thing that draws us not to the shapes and outlines of the looming structures in the actualities but to the wisps of steam swirling from their rooftop pipes; it is the the kinetic allure of Deleuze's 'movement-image', from his Cinema 1. All that is modern is movement. We are obsessed with that which we did not have before. If something is built it is finished, it is in the past. Roads, rails, channels - sure they're there and they're static, but they're tools for movement, continuously, for ever. There is a joy in the observation of movement, but when environments are made specifically for that kind of movement, like in any of the spatial dioramas of the Eames creations, the sensations can be further distilled.
Ozu's Tokyo Story is a powerful export precisely because it sets itself against concepts of the modern that we have since come across. it is static (stoic) and compartmentalised. Everything is in its place. the camera is mostly still, and reflects the mesmerising, almost kaleidoscopic chiaroscuro quality of the Japanese domestic interior. It's like an eastern Ikea advertisement in every room, with collaged found objects and talismans not displayed but integrated, collectivised, busy but ordered, not ostentatious. If it is a period piece, not 'modern day' (should we fall back to that conundrum!) it concerns us more with the human condition but curiously how it operates - with a plethora of unknown cultural cues and attitudes - in an intensely un-western space. While not as alien as it could have been before the war, the Japan in Tokyo Story is still quite exotic, and as such is a veritable export. We are unnerved in much the same way as watching historical programs about our own domestic space, as in the interviews with the Eames.
Did you notice that in the Law and Boredom film clip that the music swells just as the male lead bursts through the lift doorway and trudges down the hall? Or that in the tilt-shift clip I posted earlier that at 41 seconds in, as the man first falls in the swell, the percussion from the accompaniment begins? Something deeper is going on here. It is the same thing that draws us not to the shapes and outlines of the looming structures in the actualities but to the wisps of steam swirling from their rooftop pipes; it is the the kinetic allure of Deleuze's 'movement-image', from his Cinema 1. All that is modern is movement. We are obsessed with that which we did not have before. If something is built it is finished, it is in the past. Roads, rails, channels - sure they're there and they're static, but they're tools for movement, continuously, for ever. There is a joy in the observation of movement, but when environments are made specifically for that kind of movement, like in any of the spatial dioramas of the Eames creations, the sensations can be further distilled.
Ozu's Tokyo Story is a powerful export precisely because it sets itself against concepts of the modern that we have since come across. it is static (stoic) and compartmentalised. Everything is in its place. the camera is mostly still, and reflects the mesmerising, almost kaleidoscopic chiaroscuro quality of the Japanese domestic interior. It's like an eastern Ikea advertisement in every room, with collaged found objects and talismans not displayed but integrated, collectivised, busy but ordered, not ostentatious. If it is a period piece, not 'modern day' (should we fall back to that conundrum!) it concerns us more with the human condition but curiously how it operates - with a plethora of unknown cultural cues and attitudes - in an intensely un-western space. While not as alien as it could have been before the war, the Japan in Tokyo Story is still quite exotic, and as such is a veritable export. We are unnerved in much the same way as watching historical programs about our own domestic space, as in the interviews with the Eames.
When new is different, and old is old again
In conceiving modernity and its identification in modes of art, there is an implication that for something to be regarded as modern and noteworthy there must inherently also be something left behind, something now superseded or otherwise made mundane. ‘timeless’ pieces of art or objects of discourse are of course exceptions to this rule, but that is exactly what imbues them with this sought-after power of appearing fresh and new and avant-garde. There is a cool detachment, a confident and swaggering attitude in the way new art severs (or merges) itself from tradition. It is an inert rendition but is nonetheless complementary to the particular mannerism recognised in the original African-American jazz players in the ‘deep south’ of the United States (painfully underrepresented in O’Connor’s Wise Blood) who would stand on the stage at functions and play - with their backs to the audience – the kind of music that was incredibly hard to anyone in the immediate vicinity to notate...
As we can see, new or hybrid media are strange and rarely comprehended, nor is the reason for their existence fully formed. Is that why there are not more? The anthropologist is always wary of that which he tries so hard to prevent but which he must ultimately concede. He taints all that he records. The documentation of phenomena always dates it, makes it ‘past new’ and enforces a rate of decay upon it. Especially with technology (or in the state of the recording-of, is that a kind of self-reflexive act?), which even if we try to make it seem futuristic, it always ends up looking like the cardboard cut-out mainframes and hulking terminals from old Star Trek reruns or even the latest episode of Dr. Who, bleeping and blooping in the background.
The advertisement is the definitive example. Those we’ve viewed in our ENGL 3604 class of television ‘promos’ and other such early experiments with the televisual such as product placement appear to us now to be absolutely and inadvertently hilarious, though they must surely not have been then. Maybe they just haven’t aged well. So to play against this trap of appearing old before one’s even out of the blocks, I want to position on the other side of the ring the proverbial avant-garde work (if ads are avant-garde, then they age better..). This work for us is Hans Holbein’s The Ambassadors (1533). Utilising the camera-obscura, Holbein adds another layer to the semiotics of the work by including above the floor the warped picture of a skull, disregarding the perspective plane. The eye cannot immediately discern the shape of the skull, but if we view it from the side – there it is.
Is what defines art as art this ability to avoid appearing ‘dated’? If we could ever suggest that we’ve moved past modernism and into post-modernism, then can modern artefacts appear to be old or out of date? One must account for personal or cultural tastes, the cycles of fashion and conceptions of the exotic, for these complicate things. If we can suggest the nucleus of contemporality is the city, (Rutman’s Berlin, Dupont’s Picadilly, or even the freshly melded New York seen in various Actualities) the place where things are eternally modern or always up to date, then the suburbs – the deep south - balance this out by being left by the wayside, unkempt, with potholes in the roads and too many red-brick apartment blocks from the 60’s. They could never have been modern!
Hi from Multitouch Barcelona on Vimeo.
As we can see, new or hybrid media are strange and rarely comprehended, nor is the reason for their existence fully formed. Is that why there are not more? The anthropologist is always wary of that which he tries so hard to prevent but which he must ultimately concede. He taints all that he records. The documentation of phenomena always dates it, makes it ‘past new’ and enforces a rate of decay upon it. Especially with technology (or in the state of the recording-of, is that a kind of self-reflexive act?), which even if we try to make it seem futuristic, it always ends up looking like the cardboard cut-out mainframes and hulking terminals from old Star Trek reruns or even the latest episode of Dr. Who, bleeping and blooping in the background.
The advertisement is the definitive example. Those we’ve viewed in our ENGL 3604 class of television ‘promos’ and other such early experiments with the televisual such as product placement appear to us now to be absolutely and inadvertently hilarious, though they must surely not have been then. Maybe they just haven’t aged well. So to play against this trap of appearing old before one’s even out of the blocks, I want to position on the other side of the ring the proverbial avant-garde work (if ads are avant-garde, then they age better..). This work for us is Hans Holbein’s The Ambassadors (1533). Utilising the camera-obscura, Holbein adds another layer to the semiotics of the work by including above the floor the warped picture of a skull, disregarding the perspective plane. The eye cannot immediately discern the shape of the skull, but if we view it from the side – there it is.
Is what defines art as art this ability to avoid appearing ‘dated’? If we could ever suggest that we’ve moved past modernism and into post-modernism, then can modern artefacts appear to be old or out of date? One must account for personal or cultural tastes, the cycles of fashion and conceptions of the exotic, for these complicate things. If we can suggest the nucleus of contemporality is the city, (Rutman’s Berlin, Dupont’s Picadilly, or even the freshly melded New York seen in various Actualities) the place where things are eternally modern or always up to date, then the suburbs – the deep south - balance this out by being left by the wayside, unkempt, with potholes in the roads and too many red-brick apartment blocks from the 60’s. They could never have been modern!
Tuesday, 21 April 2009
Through the mists of several weeks ago... at least three
Now I feel it pertinent to point out that this blog is the phoenix of another, one significantly less successful. Yes, already. The posts I'd done for that one were elaborate by my standards and made me feel like a technical marvel, a machine with a conscience who's just found out he's better than a human at his own game. That is of course until the computer tookethed away.
Therefore I expect this one to be a blithering mess, a little (even more) incoherent, and not altogether condusive to tertiary education at all, partially because of my anger to rush over the stuff I feel I've already got down. Despite what advantageous observations I could bring to the each text in relation to texts studied in the weeks afterward, I will avoid any anachronisms if only for the honorable intention of not tearing a hole in spacetime. Having said that... Who's ready to Reflect?!
Joseph Cornell's Rose Hobart (1936) could be considered the first fanvid. It is a hybrid of collage and film, assembled from strips of celluloid recovered from the cutting-room floor of George Melford's East of Borneo (1931). I want to suggest that it is not quite a montage. Its aim appears to be primarily experimental, with no clear 'through-line' or persistence of ideas, of visual cues. Any connections between shots, despite how we long for them and search for them in myriad ways, are made at our own peril. To its merit, it is an independent attempt at filmmaking, one free from the shackles of the hollywood systems of commerce and narrative cinema, let alone the 'rules' of filmmaking (shot/reverse shot, 30° rule, etc).
__
BRAINWAVE: Please include for possible film No. 5: North By Northwest, Children Of Men.__
What I found immediately disconcerting was the choice of music to accompany the image. I understand this may have been added later, and could only act in a default relation to the movement-image to give it some degree of currency, of flow. Concerning currency, watching the film as we do in a state of ever-presentness, I could not resist the observation that the film was nonetheless playing on our perceptions of narrative-making, our intention of making meaning. We are frustrated as for the length of the film we do not know what is going on, but soon come to the realisation that perhaps Cornell is using film as another medium with which to direct adoration to Rose.
There are a few factors at play that combine to distance us from comfort. I want to focus less on why they are present (that is, because of their mechanical necessity or unavoidable concession) and more on how they contribute (or don't) to my reading of the film. The odd otherworldly blue tint - seen in early Weimar cinema but not in East of Borneo - seperates us further than time or a rudimentary narrative. The music, although grating, is on a loop: it doesn't go anywhere. If the film is to immerse is in a dreamlike state, or to show us such a state, this is complemented by the different temporal registers of a few of the shots. Some are slow, some are extended, repeated.
My next point, which may be a little convoluted, is very important. What we are viewing here occurs at different speeds through time, despite being played back to us at a constant rate. This is not an Actuality (documentary). We cannot believe in participating in the same space as Rose as we ourselves cannot travel through time. Also we don't see primarily in blue. The world is distorted and oblique. To illustrate my point further I'll attept to include a similar and more recent exercise in this sort of "non-worldly" filmmaking:
Bathtub IV from Keith Loutit on Vimeo.
If Cornell's practise was to make his film look atiquated, a sort of retro filmmaking to make it appear as a silent film, then what is this? Future-post? I'll leave that to you. Nice song too.
Therefore I expect this one to be a blithering mess, a little (even more) incoherent, and not altogether condusive to tertiary education at all, partially because of my anger to rush over the stuff I feel I've already got down. Despite what advantageous observations I could bring to the each text in relation to texts studied in the weeks afterward, I will avoid any anachronisms if only for the honorable intention of not tearing a hole in spacetime. Having said that... Who's ready to Reflect?!
Joseph Cornell's Rose Hobart (1936) could be considered the first fanvid. It is a hybrid of collage and film, assembled from strips of celluloid recovered from the cutting-room floor of George Melford's East of Borneo (1931). I want to suggest that it is not quite a montage. Its aim appears to be primarily experimental, with no clear 'through-line' or persistence of ideas, of visual cues. Any connections between shots, despite how we long for them and search for them in myriad ways, are made at our own peril. To its merit, it is an independent attempt at filmmaking, one free from the shackles of the hollywood systems of commerce and narrative cinema, let alone the 'rules' of filmmaking (shot/reverse shot, 30° rule, etc).
__
BRAINWAVE: Please include for possible film No. 5: North By Northwest, Children Of Men.__
What I found immediately disconcerting was the choice of music to accompany the image. I understand this may have been added later, and could only act in a default relation to the movement-image to give it some degree of currency, of flow. Concerning currency, watching the film as we do in a state of ever-presentness, I could not resist the observation that the film was nonetheless playing on our perceptions of narrative-making, our intention of making meaning. We are frustrated as for the length of the film we do not know what is going on, but soon come to the realisation that perhaps Cornell is using film as another medium with which to direct adoration to Rose.
There are a few factors at play that combine to distance us from comfort. I want to focus less on why they are present (that is, because of their mechanical necessity or unavoidable concession) and more on how they contribute (or don't) to my reading of the film. The odd otherworldly blue tint - seen in early Weimar cinema but not in East of Borneo - seperates us further than time or a rudimentary narrative. The music, although grating, is on a loop: it doesn't go anywhere. If the film is to immerse is in a dreamlike state, or to show us such a state, this is complemented by the different temporal registers of a few of the shots. Some are slow, some are extended, repeated.
My next point, which may be a little convoluted, is very important. What we are viewing here occurs at different speeds through time, despite being played back to us at a constant rate. This is not an Actuality (documentary). We cannot believe in participating in the same space as Rose as we ourselves cannot travel through time. Also we don't see primarily in blue. The world is distorted and oblique. To illustrate my point further I'll attept to include a similar and more recent exercise in this sort of "non-worldly" filmmaking:
Bathtub IV from Keith Loutit on Vimeo.
If Cornell's practise was to make his film look atiquated, a sort of retro filmmaking to make it appear as a silent film, then what is this? Future-post? I'll leave that to you. Nice song too.
This better not be in Hindi...
Right. Hello. After an inaugural hiatus involving phantom posts and automatically transliterationising words I have landed, in blog form.
As is the norm with peers in my course, I feel a top five films is in order. This became (a) problematic in class today and will remain so in this post:
1. The Italian Job (1969)
Cars, British Humour, 'timeless style'.
2. Jumanji
I feel this spot could be occupied by any other interchangable childhood film, eg Disney's The Lion King, or my first cinematic experience, Aladdin.
3. The Beach
We all have our guilty pleasures; interesting enough as it is that I may even feel the need to defend myself on this one. Although not universally well-received, director Danny Boyle and writer Alex Garland's escapist adventure resonates in me, or it did for a few years before everyone else on facebook had overrun Thailand before I had the chance. Also from the same team, 28 Days Later and maybe a little less, Sunshine.
4. Goldeneye
This Bond film ages perhaps better than any other, and was shown to me I guess at an age when I was most receptive/responsive to it.
5.
I have been sitting here trying to force one out (a fifth film that is, you dirty swines) but I think I'll have to leave it there. Shawshank didn't end up making it because right at the last minute I felt it would be a cop-out, a place-stealer, perhaps sitting there nonplussed at making another boring list in the spot where something more deserving of the publicity or more revealing of my own self and what I identify with could be. There are many, many films that could be here. Nearly all of those mentioned by other students that I have seen would definately be worthy of mention here.
Considering this, I want to point out that I am not a film buff. I am incredibly interested in them, to the point of putting off those who aren't as much, but at the same time if I encounter another enthusiast more accomplished than myself then I feel a little defeated, a little purposeless. They're just nerds. It's fascinating how invested you become in them as subjects and/or as pieces of entertainment, how you feel you have some of them or them of you. So i'll try my best at venturing the term enthusiast. Also, I feel I haven't seen enough yet to gain some form of wise all-roundedness that Margaret and David of ABC fame have, or did have (in the mind of one of my English tutors last year) quite some time ago, before their lenses all blurred into one.
As is the norm with peers in my course, I feel a top five films is in order. This became (a) problematic in class today and will remain so in this post:
1. The Italian Job (1969)
Cars, British Humour, 'timeless style'.
2. Jumanji
I feel this spot could be occupied by any other interchangable childhood film, eg Disney's The Lion King, or my first cinematic experience, Aladdin.
3. The Beach
We all have our guilty pleasures; interesting enough as it is that I may even feel the need to defend myself on this one. Although not universally well-received, director Danny Boyle and writer Alex Garland's escapist adventure resonates in me, or it did for a few years before everyone else on facebook had overrun Thailand before I had the chance. Also from the same team, 28 Days Later and maybe a little less, Sunshine.
4. Goldeneye
This Bond film ages perhaps better than any other, and was shown to me I guess at an age when I was most receptive/responsive to it.
5.
I have been sitting here trying to force one out (a fifth film that is, you dirty swines) but I think I'll have to leave it there. Shawshank didn't end up making it because right at the last minute I felt it would be a cop-out, a place-stealer, perhaps sitting there nonplussed at making another boring list in the spot where something more deserving of the publicity or more revealing of my own self and what I identify with could be. There are many, many films that could be here. Nearly all of those mentioned by other students that I have seen would definately be worthy of mention here.
Considering this, I want to point out that I am not a film buff. I am incredibly interested in them, to the point of putting off those who aren't as much, but at the same time if I encounter another enthusiast more accomplished than myself then I feel a little defeated, a little purposeless. They're just nerds. It's fascinating how invested you become in them as subjects and/or as pieces of entertainment, how you feel you have some of them or them of you. So i'll try my best at venturing the term enthusiast. Also, I feel I haven't seen enough yet to gain some form of wise all-roundedness that Margaret and David of ABC fame have, or did have (in the mind of one of my English tutors last year) quite some time ago, before their lenses all blurred into one.
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