Bring Out Yer Dead!

After having my fill of traditional horror movies and the apocalypse, I decided that the next natural step is to move on to zombies. In a way, the zombie flick is the perfect complement as they combine the gore and suspense of horror movies with the doom and destruction of post-apocalyptic films. And I wasn't fully depressed about the state of the world yet, so why not add to my pessimism about our fate as human beings?

I actually kind of love movies about the undead. I can't say why, but ever since I saw Night of the Living Dead, I became a fan of the genre in a way that I could never embrace mainstream horror or slasher movies. Mainly, it's that zombie films seem to be a little smarter, a little better crafted and usually have a larger message about humanity or some other theme that transcends pure blood and guts (though there's always plenty of that to satisfy fans of gore). It's a bit ironic I suppose that movies about post-mortem human beings that have been reanimated by infected brains could be smarter than the average Hollywood film, but let's just say the bar isn't always set too high.

George Romero put zombies (or ghouls as he called them) on the map back in the 1960s with Night of the Living Dead. He's since added to the mystique of these grotesque and frightening creatures with subsequent updates including Dawn of the Dead, Day of the Dead, and Land of the Dead, among others. These trailblazing films created a whole new genre and paved the way for future zombie filmmakers. I've recently become enamored with the new series on AMC that premiered on Halloween called The Walking Dead. It's a TV series unlike most of what's on television currently. First of all, it's among the grossest, bloodiest zombie related thing I've ever laid eyes on. The zombies are not only horribly disfigured, but in some cases, rotting to the bone or missing vital parts, like say legs, torsos or pieces of their head. But more than the gross out factor, it's very much focused on the still living characters and their plight to survive the epidemic of "walkers" as they're called in the show. The characters have more dimension than we're used to seeing in this genre, and as a viewer, I find myself so drawn in to what they're going through, I sometimes forget about the zombie part of it until the walkers rear their ugly heads every now and again, and boy are they ugly.

The show centers around a likely hero, a sheriff's deputy in a small Georgia town who is shot in the line of duty, before the undead begin to take over the territory. He spends several days, possibly weeks in a coma (it's unclear just how long), only to wake up and discover a deserted hospital, trashed beyond recognition by some sort of cataclysmic event. In a daze, he wanders out to discover the rest of this brave new world that has emerged while he slumbered. And that's only the first fifteen minutes or so of the first episode. From there it just gets better, and creepier. Although the hero may be a likely choice, most everything else, is quite unlikely, and unexpected. As many times as the genre has been replayed in new incarnations, this show is as fresh as anything out there. The only question I really had after episode one ended was, how are they going to sustain this plot over a season, let alone multiple seasons. Well, as the first season winds down, I have to say, they've not only sustained it, they've added some swagger that other installments have lacked.

My other foray into the recent developments in the zombie arena was the Danny Boyle film from 2002 called 28 Days Later. I've always been a fan of Boyle, from his early days with Shallow Grave and Trainspotting, made overseas before he made the move to Hollywood. His more recent films made stateside, or at least with major studio backing, have an entirely different feel. In some ways they are flashier and more polished, but they also lack some of the raw energy and imagination of the earlier work. Sure, Slumdog Millionaire may have earned him an Oscar, but in my mind it doesn't compare to the gritty bravado of Trainspotting. Nonetheless, Boyle is still a filmmaker that I admire, and I always find just about anything he does worth watching. 28 Days Later is no exception to this rule.

The film starts quite similarly to The Walking Dead. There is a brief scene that shows a lab full of caged monkeys pounding on the glass that encases them, some that are dead, one that is infected with some sort of disease that has transformed it into a frenzied, bloodthirsty monster. This is the origin of the disease that will envelope all of London, and possibly the world quite soon. Cut to a hospital, where our main character wakes to find a desolate building, with destruction all around, and outside in the streets a similar scene. I can't help but think that the producers of The Walking Dead watched this film during the process of working on their series and used it as a jumping off point.

One of the main differences in this film from other zombie movies is the zombies themselves. These are not slow, plodding figures stooped over feebly pursuing their victims from a distance. They move with the speed of an olympic sprinter and the rage of 10 disgruntled postal workers. It's surprising and terrifying to witness at first since I'm so conditioned to seeing the more typical, slow-footed zombie. It's the one saving grace when you're trying to outrun the undead. They may outnumber you and possess a strong determination to snack on your flesh, but at least you can count on being quicker and more agile. This virus is also much more virulent, taking only contact with contaminated blood to be infected, with the gruesome transformation happening in mere seconds rather than days or hours.

Like most other stories in the genre, this one follows a fairly conventional plot line otherwise. A motley group of individuals are thrown together and must stick together to survive. Along the way there are some casualties, and a rather unlikely love story. The real twist comes toward the end, when the group seems to have found a safe haven, but as it turns out, they've encountered a danger of a different kind. In the end, it isn't the zombies or infection that is the most threatening foe, it is humanity itself, or the lack of it in the people that are left behind.

I suppose this is part of the draw of movies and shows like these, as with the post-apocalyptic films. We all want to know how it's going to end, and of course, though we have our beliefs to guide us, none of us will really know exactly how or when it will happen until the end actually comes. But in the process of looking into the dark corners of this world, we can perhaps learn something about ourselves and make life a bit better in the process.

The Art of Film

We've been talking a lot about different techniques used in film, and I'm sure at times it's left you scratching your heads wondering, "how the heck does this apply to what we're doing in our projects?" Well, I know at times it seems like it's unrelated to what you're doing, but there is a point to all this. I hope that at least some of what you've read and looked at this semester has caused a lightbulb to go off in your head and that you've found some way to incorporate it into your work.

Our last reading from David Bordwell's book On Film Style is one of those that may have left you scratching your head a bit, and that's okay. Who is this Bazin character we keep hearing about and why is he important? What is la nouvelle critique and by the way, what's with all the French terminology? Well, it's not necessarily important that you have all the answers to these questions to know that there is something useful in there.

By now, we've talked enough about montage that hopefully you've made some connections with how it's used in film today, perhaps even in your own work, and how it has evolved over time. Decoupage is a little more foreign, but it's essentially the convention of cutting a scene into a sequence of wide, medium and close-up shots. This is something that undoubtedly you've had to figure out in your projects. And finally, there is the approach referred to in the text of profondeur de champ. It sounds fancy, and at the same time, the idea is deceptively simple, but in practice is decidedly complex. What this phrase refers to is the staging of elements in different areas of the scene, from foreground, to middleground, to background, all in one shot rather than cutting it into a sequence of several shots. We saw this quite a bit with Citizen Kane, and it started a trend in filmmaking that persists to this day, though it's not widely practiced.

As we get into the process of making films, we discover that each technique has its uses in different circumstances, and each presents its own inherent challenges. In many cases, it may actually be easier to break up an action into a sequence of several shots rather than trying to stage it creatively in a single shot. That doesn't mean one approach is wrong or right. There are so many choices to make in any film or video project, and it's up to you to decide which one is right for each instance. That's just one reason why looking at the work of other artists is so important. In selecting what to look at, we must not simply look at what's being done by mainstream and contemporary filmmakers, but also delve into the more obscure and historical examples to find the roots and influences of better known works. It is there that we may find some unexpected gems that reward our vigilance and inspire us in ways that we could not have otherwise imagined.

How's It Gonna End?

Gray. Bleak. Devastated. That's the landscape of the post-apocalyptic world, at least as interpreted in the cinematic versions that seem to be popping up more and more these days. I suppose it's been a point of curiosity just about since the dawn of humankind. How's it gonna end? These days it seems that the topic comes up more and more often, whether from the extremes of the religious communities, the paranoid ex-hippies, or the more pessimistic elements of our society. If you listen to these folks, the signs are all around us. The prophecies have all been fulfilled and it's just a matter of time. While it's true that they could be right, I guess I'd rather spend my time believing that God has a better grip on these things than I do, and so it's best not to worry about it.

In the meantime, I've kept up with the possible scenarios by watching some of what Hollywood has had to say on the subject. I know you might be thinking that those folks probably aren't the authority when it comes to these matters, but then again, if you listen to certain politicians, it may just be that the entertainment industry is the very thing that is accelerating armaggedon. So perhaps they do know a thing or two about the end of the world.

At any rate, it isn't my favorite topic, but I must say, I'm intrigued by the fact that there seems to be so much interest in this area. So I recently checked out two of the more recent entries in the genre, The Book of Eli and The Road. I must first offer the caveat that if you're at all prone to depression, especially around this time of year when we in the northeast have said bye-bye to the sun for the next six months and it looks rather like the post-apocalyptic worlds of these films, you might want to pass on watching this stuff. The one thing that puzzles me about these films is that if you believe anything you see on the History Channel, the show "Life After People" suggests that a post-apocalptic world, with or without humans would look quite different. If cities suddenly crumbled after a cataclysmic event, it's more likely that vegetation would take over and things would be much more green than gray (ever let your garden go unweeded for a season?). But I guess it just doesn't fit the motif quite as well.

The Book of Eli is the more commercial of the two, and in some ways more palatable for general consumption. It's also lacks the depth and plausibility of The Road. Denzel Washington plays a sort of messenger, named Eli, who is on a journey through a desert wasteland. We aren't privy to all the details of just where he is headed or why he is traveling there from the get go. All we know is that he's traveling west, and that he has something of value that he's carrying.

There are a few things that bothered me about this film from the outset. First of all, how is it that people manage to go through these harrowing situations and dire conditions looking relatively well groomed and fed? Shouldn't their hair and beard be a bit scruffier looking? Shouldn't they look at least a little dirty not having showered in God knows how long? And how is it that they are traveling through a desert (in what appear to be several layers of clothing) barely breaking a sweat or losing stride, surviving on just a canteen of water every few days, or longer? These are just a few of the bits of logic that I got hung up on, and believe me there are others.

Eli is a lone ranger, not interested in companionship or help in his quest. He's also a fierce warrior, taking on gangs of thugs with an impossibly sharp sword, a handgun with endless bullets and range, or at other times, a bow and arrow that appears out of thin air. He's nearly invincible with these few tools, almost impossible to shoot or even harm, unless shots are fired at point blank range, and yet his aim seems to be dead on with every single shot. His timing is also impeccable. In one scene, he rescues a girl he had left behind hours earlier on his journey from some brutish attackers, by suddenly showing up with that magic bow and arrow and vanquishing them with deadly aim. I found myself wondering where he had come from, considering he had left the girl behind, making it clear that he didn't want her to follow him. Did he follow her, or just lurk around the corner waiting for trouble to find her?

Getting past these flaws in logic and storyline, I did find the payoff worthwhile. Although some of the twists were less believable and more predictable, the final twist is well hidden, and makes the journey seem more fulfilling in the end. Gary Oldman's familiar role as villain almost seems recycled from other films I've seen him in, though I think he always brings something to the role. And Denzel is a characteristically a strong, if ill-defined figure, lacking some of the depth that he has achieved in other roles. I think there are missed opportunities in stories like these. I found myself more intrigued by some of the logistics that were glossed over, such as the value of commodities we take for granted like water and toiletries. The vague references to a war, which no one but the middle aged folks like Eli and Oldman's villain seem to remember leave me unsatisfied in terms of the explanation for the state of the world they live in.

In a decidedly darker and more intense foray into the aftermath of disaster, The Road treads its way into this territory in a much more interesting way. Unlike The Book of Eli, there's no effort to explain what has happened to the world. It really isn't referenced, and so I found that I focused less on the explanation, and more on the plight of the characters. The story centers around a father and son played brilliantly by Viggo Mortensen and young Australian actor Kodi Smit-McPhee. Like Eli, this pair is on a journey, this time headed south. Their destination and purpose is less defined. In essence, they are simply trying to survive, but the story is about much more than survival. It's about a father and son and how the strength of that bond alone makes life worth living, even when the world is literally collapsing all around.

There are some similarities between the two films. Both display a similar landscape of burned out buildings, ominously dark skies and the few humans that are encountered seem to be gangs of thieves up to no good. Rather than a desert however, The Road takes place somewhere in the northeast, and the terrain is much grassier and filled with trees, though it seems that for some unknown reason, all this vegetation has died and looks just as gray as the skies above. There are also apparently no animals left, which makes food quite scarce, but it left me wondering what event could have killed all animal and plant life, but left some humans behind? But for the most part, the logic in this film is more intact. The characters look far from clean and groomed, and in some scenes we actually see Mortensen's ribs, apparently a result of him dropping significant weight for the role. As the film goes on, they look more and more haggard, as do the people they encounter along the way. There are no slick action scenes in which the man and boy suddenly transform from mere mortals into action heroes. They are simply surviving.

Besides the story of the man and his son on their journey, we get occasional flashbacks to scenes between Viggo and his now deceased wife, played grippingly by Charlize Theron. We see only a handful of scenes between them throughout the film, but each time Theron is on screen, it's captivating. She's a model turned actress, but it has nothing at all to do with her looks. It has everything to do with her genuine performance of a troubled woman who seems to know the certain disaster that awaits her. Her husband knows of the impending doom as well, but only one of them is willing to endure.

In many ways, The Road is even more bleak than The Book of Eli. Neither has a particularly happy ending in the conventional sense, though Eli seems to end with at least a note of hope. The Road doesn't offer much of that, and yet in many ways it rings truer purely because it does not attempt to iron out all of the plot details that it has unfurled. It's not a story about hope, but about a relationship. I'm sure many of us may feel that we'd like to be closer to our father, or if we have children, we want to be close to them. None of us look forward to living in a world like this one, but if we did, the one thing we'd likely want to hang onto is our family. In that sense, I think it's a story we can all relate to, and the fact that things don't always turn out the way we'd like, relates more to what life is about as well.

I can't say that either of these films offered me any sort of hope about the future of this world. I certainly hope not to experience anything like it in my lifetime. And yet somehow, it does put things in perspective. When we consider all of the things that we surround ourselves with in life, all the conveniences that money can buy, what is truly important? It becomes harder to see, but if we imagine all of those things being wiped away, and the only thing left on our to do list is to survive, what will you hang on to?

The Kane Legacy

Since lists of the greatest movies ever made have been compiled, Citizen Kane has consistently been at the top spot, and really without disagreement. It's hard to imagine that a film nearly three quarters of a century old could hold up that well, and that any film could win and maintain such unanimous praise. So what is it that makes Kane so great? To answer that question, one really has to view it for themselves, and with that first viewing, the tip of the iceberg has only begun to be revealed.

I recall my first viewing of this enigmatic masterpiece. I think I was probably 16 or 17 years old. I had just begun to take a serious interest in film and I had started to stray from the typical mainstream Hollywood fare to investigate the boundaries of this daunting art form. I had long heard about the lore of Citizen Kane, and so I wanted to experience it for myself. So I rented a VHS copy (a poor substitute for the original theatrical experience) and watched it to find out just what all the fuss was about. I didn't have the benefit of a film class or even a book about it at the time, so it was hard to really grasp just what made this film so revered. To be quite honest, I didn't much care for it upon that first viewing. It was dark, both in the look and the plot, it wasn't particularly engaging. To me, movies had always been about escape and enjoyment, and in this case, it seemed there was little effort to transport me anywhere I would want to go, let alone entertain me. It seemed boring, and more than a bit esoteric. I chalked it up to critics who have nothing better to do than proclaim what is great, purely in spite of the tastes of the masses.

A couple years went by and as my interest in movies grew, so did my appetite for seeking out films that challenged me and expanded my knowledge. I printed out a copy of the newly released list of the top 100 movies according to the American Film Institute and became determined to see each and every film on it. And of course, the film that topped that list was none other than Citizen Kane. I decided to give it another try. Perhaps with a little bit of perspective and time, my second viewing would be different. How true that was.

In the years that have passed, I've seen Kane a few more times, and with each viewing, it seems I spot something new in it that I hadn't noticed before. I might just pop it in to take a look at a scene or two, but it never disappoints. Through a bit of research and the magic of DVDs, I've managed to discover a lot of the mystique behind the film that grew out of the legends surrounding its making. There was the brash young prodigy Orson Welles, all of 24 years old when he began work on the project, coupled with the brilliant and daring cinematographer Gregg Toland and a host of talented young stage actors from Welles' Mercury Theatre company. Between them, they would push the boundaries of all conventional wisdom about the filmmaking process and what was accepted practice. They would test the limits of technology and narrative structure. They would experiment in ways that jeopardized the entire production, and in the end, they would leave a lasting impression that would cross generations of film audiences.

It's hard to appreciate just how great an achievement Citizen Kane really is until you understand just what a technical feat it was to accomplish much of what we see on the screen. Beyond the staggering accuracy with which Toland performed in-camera effects and the artistry and creativity of angles and camera movements, there are the performances which these techniques highlight that make the story come alive. It's a beautiful film to behold, even if the narrative does not grip you, at least not at first. I suppose it's appropriate that I didn't see all of the magnificence of that artistry the first couple viewings. It's often said that the most effective tools of filmmaking are those that are invisible to the audience. That is to say that if a film is really successful, we shouldn't notice how it's shot or edited. For me at least, this was largely true in my early viewings of Kane. Now that I've studied it a bit more, it's hard not to notice. But as someone who has worked on films and knows just how difficult the process is even with all the technology we have at our fingertips today, I'm that much more enthralled when I can go back and view a film that is this masterfully done without all those advantages.

Now, I can't tell you what you should think or what you should see in Citizen Kane if you take the time to view it. But I can tell you that your time will not have been wasted. Your initial reaction may be similar to mine. But don't be so quick to write it off. It may take some time, and a second or third screening, but I can almost bet that you too will find something of value in this gem. And then you can truly say you know first hand just what all the fuss is about.

What is Art?

It's a question that has been posed time and again. Particularly in this age of post-modernism, where it seems that the things that show up in museums and galleries have more to do with thumbing one's nose at the audience than engaging them, it is more pertinent than ever. It's been asked about Pollock's splatters of paint, Warhol's Brillo boxes, Cy Twombly's scribbles, and today the discussion is even more complicated. Is something art just because someone says it's art? Normally the debate is centered on the cultural and intellectual value. It's often a high minded sparring match between critics, artists, collectors and the like, often leaving the general public feeling alienated by the very thing that is designed to communicate with us and touch our souls. So what happens when all of this vaunted rhetoric of the art world gets turned on its head by someone who has no interest or comprehension of what the argument is even about? What if that person is not able to have a voice in this discussion, not because they are too small in terms of fame and clout, but rather too small in terms of age and attention span. Enter 4 year old Marla Olmstead, world famous painter from Binghamton, NY.

You may have heard of her. She's made the national talk show circuit and been featured on countless news programs from the nightly news to 60 Minutes. Her paintings have sold for $20,000 and up, and she's had a feature length documentary made about her. That documentary, aptly titled My Kid Could Paint That, started like most of the hoopla surrounding this apparent prodigy, out of fascination and curiosity. And like much of that attention, at some point it turned to skepticism and suspicion.

The paintings at the center of what turned from celebration to controversy are far from what one might expect out of a preschooler. They're fairly large canvases filled with abstract imagery, broad palates of striking color and a certain sophistication that belies the age of the maker. As one critic pointed out, they could easily be slipped into a collection at the Metropolitan Museum of Art and not seem out of place. I wouldn't disagree. They're beautiful and elegant on a number of levels. They're at times playful, but not in the same way that a typical toddlers finger paintings might be. And that is where the controversy comes alive. Could a 4 or 5 year old really be capable of doing this work on her own, or did she have help? Is she a genius, or a cleverly built fraud? These are some of the questions the film attempts to answer.

The director Amir Bar-Lev actually didn't set out to tackle these questions, not originally anyway. Rather he began with a genuine interest in the story, like so many. But as the doubts of the painting's authenticity mounted in their volume and intensity, Bar-Lev himself began to doubt as he never had before. And so he was faced with a dilemma. Continue to make the film that he had set out to make, which he no longer really believed in, or at least was not as sure of, or bring the questions to the surface and risk losing the trust of the people who had welcomed him so graciously into their lives. It's a challenge for anyone making a documentary, to gain our subject's trust, but to not become too involved and risk losing some of our objectivity.

In the end, it's an open question as to whether or not Marla's paintings are authentic. The parents go to great pains to convince the world that they aren't phonies. They videotape her making paintings from start to finish, but even then there are those who say the new paintings lack the quality of earlier ones. Caught in the middle of all this is young Marla, who at least appears to be oblivious. She seems like a normal kid. We see her painting in the film and at times she seems to be making a mess, and at other times she displays certain technique and intensity that suggests a greater than average ability and knowledge. While its hard to imagine there wasn't some input from her parents, it's hard to say whether it was in the form of telling her specific things to paint or simply coming up with the titles or a statement for the work, or perhaps just coaching her as any supportive parent does whether it's their child at baseball practice or dance class.

And then there's the whole issue of meaning and intention behind the work. If a child can make this work and has no particular agenda or grand notion in mind, does it dilute the work of more serious artists who go to great pains to develop their work and stress the conceptual nature and meaning behind the work? I don't think it does. I believe that art is not about who made the work or even what they necessarily wanted their audience to get out of it. It has more to do with what we as viewers acutally get out of the work. We bring our own experiences to it and if it is thought provoking or brings certain emotions to the surface, that is in my mind what art is about. If someone is intentionally deceiving their audience to make a profit, that certainly would be troubling, and it's hard to say definitively if that is in fact going on. I'd certainly like to think that's not the case and what exists truly is a child with an incredible talent, and perhaps some parents who had good intentions, but allowed her to get too much exposure. Like any story, it's ultimately up to us to make up our own minds.