Good news #1: I'm supervising the post production on the new film by Guy Maddin, Keyhole.
Good news #2: I've been asked to do a blog/diary of its progress. Sweet!
Here's the link to my Keyhole post production blog. Don't be surprised if it takes my attention away from here for the next while. I will endeavour to keep Imaginary Magnitude updated.
When Ben Affleck's The Town came out, many praised it as a powerful crime drama/action film. And yet, the shine seems to have come off of that project, probably as a result of people chasing the hype and actually watching it.
First, let's discuss its poster. In recent years, I've become sensitive to bad marketing. A good example of this is the film Forgetting Sarah Marshall: the ad campaign (in Toronto at least) consisted of anonymous black and white bus and streetcar ads, with hand-scrawled "I HATE YOU SARAH MARSHALL!" (and the like) written on them*. In short, the campaign was cheap-looking, lame, and soured any potential expectation I had for the film - it wasn't until much later, at my wife's urging, that I caught it on DVD and found it to be one of the comedy highlights of the year.
Similarly, the poster for The Town (displayed here) is a marketing mystery to me: it looks like a horror movie. It's directed by and stars Ben Affleck, yet the poster is covered in evil nuns with automatic weapons. In short, I don't get it: sure, it's a "serious movie" but what were they thinking? Was it reverse psychology? Who knows. If it were me, it would be a close-up photo of John Hamm licking Ben Affleck's unshaven face, with the caption: "Holy shit! It's the guy from MadMen with Ben Affleck! (They also shoot weapons!)"
Then there's the film itself. From a technical point of view, it's very impressive. Affleck's direction is solid. The performances are gritty and engaging. It's free of stunt-casting. Camerawork, editing, sound: great. But when the credits rolled, I realized what was wrong. What's wrong is that the story's been done a hundred fucking times before - and at least once by Michael Mann. So, for me, there was nothing being risked as a viewer because, having watched more than one crime drama in my life, there were no surprises in the script. Believe me when I say that I wanted this film to be as good as it promised - and, in fact, it is good. Just not as good as it clearly could've been when you take into account all that it has going for it.
So what did I want The Town to be? I wasn't sure...until I saw the Australian crime drama, Animal Kingdom on DVD. It has all the grit, tension, and complexity of The Town, with less overt style, and no actors recognizable to North American audiences (outside of Memento's Guy Pearce). It's poster? Have a look:
It's like a Jeff Wall photograph. And in the middle of it all is the crafty look on the face of actor Jacki Weaver (nominated, it should be noted, for Best Supporting Actress at the upcoming Oscars).
Animal Kingdom is a film fluent in the crime drama language - it even shares some of the tropes of The Town (the nervous druggie robber, the dutiful police detective) yet never once feels as if you are watching a re-treaded story. It is unpredictable and the performances are naturalistic and nuanced. It is its lack of artifice which keeps us watching, whereas with The Town, each successive car chase weighed it down with Hollywood cliché. Where the latter certainly carries legitimate tension, the former is quietly disturbing and takes a more nihilistic view of the cops and robbers game.
The good news is that both are available for your perusal on DVD, and both are extremely watchable. Neither will ultimately disappoint: it just depends on where your expectations are set. I feel that Animal Kingdom is the film The Town wanted to be.
* I admit I'm particularly sensitive to ads which don't make it clear that they are ads, especially if they look like actual public messages of hatred.Here's the best of what I've seen this year. I haven't seen everything. You may disagree with what I have seen. This is life.
Go ahead. Try. Try disagreeing that this is one of the most technically (and perhaps conceptually) elaborate mainstream Hollywood productions released in years which also happens to work as a "movie" that a wide variety of audiences would enjoy watching.
There has been a backlash against Inception. I don't know how or why this is - perhaps it was over-sold as a deep "puzzle-solver" film, which it is not. And yes, the NYT's A.O. Scott has a point in his comment that the film's literal depiction of dreams are lacking psychological heft (outside of Marion Cotillard's performance as DiCaprio's wife). In any case, something has caused a revolt against this film and I say this revolt is missing the point.
Inception is, generally speaking, the most watchable, the most fascinating film of 2010. You are allowed to hate it.
I am a huge fan of Jacques Audiard, a French director who has always rewarded the viewer with films (Read My Lips, The Beat My Heart Skipped) that balance passion with style. With A Prophet, Audiard expands his canvas, creating a gritty, novelistic masterpiece on-par with The Godfather (yes). The story concerns a young incarcerated Muslim who slowly rebuilds himself from within the treachery of prison life, rising from under the thumb of a vicious mob leader to become his own person and create his own empire. Epic, patient, and in places extremely violent. People will be referring to this film for years to come even if it has not really made a mark in North America. Again, a masterpiece.
I realize this Irish film was released in 2009, but it didn't get here until now. A compelling ghost story which eschews the two-dimensionality of ghost story films. It was around the twenty-minute mark that I realized it was a film which was going to confound my expectations (expectations based upon years and hundreds of similar plot lines): it wasn't going to squander what it was and fall prey to hackneyed cliché. A gorgeous, touching, ultimately humanistic film with a stand-out performance by Ciarán Hinds as a grieving father of two children who must swallow his pride to escort a loud-mouthed Aidan Quinn through the motions of a book tour of the small coastal city of Cobh, in County Cork. A sublime achievement by director Conor McPherson.
Notable: Winter's Bone - see it. It's on DVD now. Like A Simple Plan, it's a self-contained "rural thriller" (ugh) with a chilling undertone of barren hopelessness. Unlike A Simple Plan, it's uncomplicated which is what gives it more of an honest strength. Exit Through The Gift Shop is the perhaps best film made about art and the art world that I have seen - like Inception, it's not trying to be deep, just smart. Scott Pilgrim vs. The World blew me away because I expected it to be weak (perhaps because all the publicity photos inexplicably used a static image of Michael Cera standing against a fucking wall...imagine if you will, trying to sell Star Wars with a picture of Mark Hamill sitting cross-legged in the desert - sounds awesome, eh?). Not only was it not weak, it was the strangest case of "I don't know why I love this movie but I really do". Painstakingly, sublimely Toronto-centric (which, unlike the inexplicable promo photos of Michael Cera, shouldn't be factored into explaining why it didn't fare well at the box office) and wildly imaginative - those two things have never met before...oh but wait, I forgot the perfect companion piece: Kick Ass - also shot in TO, and also exceedingly expectation-defying (although the climax is kinda drawn-out). As far as performances go, Jesse Eisenberg (The Social Network) and Colin Firth (The King's Speech) stand out, along with Winter's Bone's Jennifer Lawrence, and Hailee Steinfeld for True Grit (who, at 14-years, shows huge promise as an actor).
I would have said "BOOKS", but due to work and school I haven't read anything published this year (that I can remember), with the exception of John Vaillant's The Tiger. Lucky for me, since it is without doubt one of the best non-fiction titles I've read in years.
The Tiger is a meaty real-life tale of vengeance by the titular beast, in the winter hinterland of the Russian Far East (which the author calls, paradoxically, "the boreal forest"). Vaillant describes an environment historically, politically, and biologically unique, inhabited by hardened outcasts. The shadow of a predator male tiger, known never before to attack without cause, creates a wave of dread throughout the land, with only a small band of volunteers to figure out the mystery. Vaillant provides wave after wave of fascinating detail - examples of how man and beast have evolved throughout time, how human and animal behaviour have worked in similar paths - that by the end of the book you feel as if you should have a credit in Ethology. This is truly a page-turner and I cannot recommend it enough.
Sometimes things just line up in such a way that you can't help feeling they were put there on purpose. Early this month, as part of a course I'm taking, I went to a weekend retreat, held at a secluded compound by the Credit River. It was a bit eerie, because many of my dreams take place in expansive compounds: wherever I go, even if it seems I'm outside, I just have to look up to see that there is a roof, or some sort of enclosure to remind me that I am not free. So, what book from our library did I take with me at the last minute? Why, Kazuo Ishiguro's Never Let Me Go, of course. What I didn't realize is that much of it takes place on a compound...but I'll get back to this.
I've not read any books by Ishiguro - I haven't even seen the movie adaptation of Remains of the Day. That said, I did work on Guy Maddin's The Saddest Music In The World, an adaptation of one of his short stories. I'd heard good things about Never Let Me Go, and had always meant to read it. With it being released as a film recently (I don't think it did that well, despite the critical praise), and since I needed something to read during my time away, I thought it would be a good pick.
Never Let Me Go concerns the story of Kathy, Ruth, and Tommy. It's told from Kathy's perspective in the present. She is a carer, who drives from centre to centre, visiting those she looks after. Very soon we are introduced to their beginnings, as children, in a place called Hailsham. It's an isolated educational enclave, somewhere in England, where the students live, go to school, and grow up. But there's something a little odd about it all. Perhaps it's the isolation from the rest of the world. Something in the way some of their guardians regard them. All too soon, their sun-dappled childhood in Hailsham becomes something which haunts them as they grow into young adults. It's practically all Kathy can use to mark the passing of her time.
Within these reminiscences, we are introduced to Tommy and Ruth, who become the foundational friendships Kathy clings to through adolescence, regardless that Ruth oscillates from friend to enemy - a colourful rather than careful individual who becomes a voice of danger in the fog of their relationship.
The magic of this book is the skill with which Kathy's perspective is written. There is a purpose for Hailsham, for their being there. There is a reason she is a carer. Never Let Me Go is a capital-H haunting novel, inhabited by people who are slightly cold but reaching out, never quite managing to touch a meaning they hope is there. I can't say much more without spoiling things, not that it's a book laden with surprises, so much as layered with subtle, sad observations. A beautiful book for a rainy day.
Kazuo Ishiguro's Never Let Me Go (ISBN: 978-0-676-97711-0) is available at an independent bookstore near you, or at various online retailers.
As a writer, even though I am not part of any sort of literati, I am still plugged into the lit scene. You need to be if you want to understand the general to-and-fro of any industry you are interested in becoming a part of (same goes for TV, music, theatre, etc..). That said, I must make an admission. I am making this admission because I think there are a lot of people like me out there who feel the same but are reticent to admit it.
Here goes: I don't take any particular interest in the life of the artist outside of his or her art.
When I read a book, I don't care if an author comes from the East Coast and studied journalism, had a drug problem and now lives in a shed with a mastiff. It's not that I don't care about this author personally, it's that these facts shouldn't have anything to do with the book that I am about to read. I should be able to pick up the book, knowing nothing about said author, and be able to read it, enjoy it, be fully affected by it, without substantially missing something due to a lack of familiarity with the author's biography.
And yet, when you are culturally plugged-in (and by this I mean, you check out industry blogs, trade mags, etc.) there is so much white noise about the artists themselves that it seems divergent from what it is they are supposed to be doing: their work. We can talk about Picasso's passions, but 100 years from now there will probably only be discussion of his work - your work is the only thing left after you and everyone who knew you has died. And if people are still talking more about you than your work after this point, then I would think the quality of your work was overstated.
Would knowing that Stephen King battled drug addiction offer an insight into some of his writing? Yes. But, my point is that if that insight is necessary in order to fully appreciate a piece of work then there is a problem. The work doesn't work if you need a biographical cheat sheet to inject context into the material.
I think Bryan Ferry is an fantastic vocalist - and I don't want to know anything more than that. Nor the details outside a director's films, nor what inspired the playwright to write her play. I've got my own shit going on, thanks very much.
Ephemera is for journalists, fanzines, and those working on their Ph.D. The general public should not feel inadequate if they pick a DVD or book off a shelf, sit down in a theatre, or load a song without being prepared with supplemental information not contained within the medium which contains the work. The work inevitably has to stand up for itself. I write this for two reasons: first, with the likes of the AV Club and traditional print/TV media clamouring to add as much web-based context as possible to every article, there's a growing sense that - for the everyman - if you aren't savvy to the smallest details of each artist's passings and goings, you are nothing but a tourist. Secondly, embracing social media to a claustrophobic degree, we can now read endless commentating on authors reading their work for a live audience!...something no one really asked for outside the publishing companies themselves and perhaps the authors' parents. Let's face it: most authors can't read aloud to save their lives - it's not their specialty.
There are reasons for digging deeper, but that's up to the individual. It was interesting to learn more about HP Lovecraft when I reviewed Michel Houellebecq's quasi-biography of him and his work. What's funny, however - using that same example - is that when I proceeded to read the two works by Lovecraft contained in that same book, I don't recall thinking to myself "Ahh - this is where his uncomfortable relationship with women takes shape!". That's because the stories were two of his masterpieces, and when you witness a masterpiece, peripheral biographical information is going to gunk-up your enjoyment.
The medium may be the message, but the work contains the words. Outside of this we are left with cultural "bonus features". Nice to have, but not necessary.
I am trying (desperately) to avoid a "boy, it's been a wacky ride these last few months!" post. It certainly isn't for lack of things to talk about, news to update you with, opinions to confess/shout.
Thing is, I don't know who you are. Sure, I know there are some of you who are semi-regular visitors. There are others who happen upon this place by accident (via Blogger or StumbleUpon). There are also those who come here via Google searches, either via my name or - most likely - a book review (which admittedly I haven't done in, oh, a year or so *). And no, this isn't going to be a "Matt wittily evading accusations of being a lazy bastard by turning the camera on the reader" post.
I've been posting artsy stuff, writerly stuff, industry opinion stuff. I don't mind the randomness, so long as there's no fluff. I do mind the lack of output. I wish, for one, that I could post more photographs (which is to say, I wish I had a better selection of photos to post **).
It comes down to the fact that I've been working like a dog since May (note: this happens every year that I'm working on a SAW film). When I come out of these periods, I feel like Rip van Winkle: a little dazed, slow on the up-take. Whereas last year this time I started teaching, this time this year I am a student (part-time) †. I have a small (but good) feature and a small (but good and potentially controversial) TV show on my plate from now till February. If funds allow, I also hope to have an editor working with me on my novel, with an eye to approaching a publisher or self-publishing if that doesn't seem feasible ††. I'm collaborating on a musical.
My plate is full.
This is one of those moments where I find myself on the inside of a phenomena which (increasingly) arouses strong opinions from members of the public. In this case, stereoscopic filmmaking - or 3D, for short (even though it's not really 3D and tramples on a term which is used in animation for both stereoscopic and non-stereoscopic work).
I'm currently working on a 3D film in an age (or, more precisely, over the course of a year, starting with James Cameron's Avatar) where 3D technology is being pushed as the next in-thing. And yet there are many detractors, some of whom have some good ammunition for their opinions.
As someone who has been intimately involved with a 3D production, from beginning to end (well, almost - we'll be in theatres in October) I find myself more and more a spokesperson for the technology, if not for the studios who currently are trying to cram every release into a 3D format, whether or not they were meant to be that way.
Let me begin by saying that I enjoy the notoriety of being the resident expert on 3D technology at parties and barbecues whenever the subject arises. Now that I have that out of the way, allow me to bitch...
Everyone keeps asking me: is 3D here to stay? The answer is a conditional "yes". The condition being that film studios understand two things: First, that you can't take a 2D movie and make it 3D using brain-dead rotoscoping software and expect it to be a success; second, that you can't continue charging more for 3D films and not deliver a product that is both a good example of 3D and a relatively good film to boot.
To elaborate:
1) Since the release of Avatar, there seem to be just as many films released in theatres boasting 3D which were never shot in 3D, nor even envisioned in 3D prior to production. Some examples would be Tim Burton's Alice in Wonderland and M. Night Shyamalan's The Last Airbender. These films were taken by the studios after completion and put through a 2D-to-3D conversion process, using software to rotoscope the 3D effect, frame-by-frame, a process unsupervised by the director.
This process, while handy for converting short bits from 2D to 3D for films which originate in 3D, ignores a very large consideration for those producers and filmmakers who shoot in 3D from the outset: you have to plan to shoot in 3D from the start. You cannot take a script or a shot list for a 2D film and superimpose it onto a 3D film: your set design, your camera lenses, your blocking, your picture editing...so many things change as a result of switching from 2D to 3D. When you simply take a 2D show and auto-render it in faked-out 3D you get something which most viewers - critics and plebes alike - will say isn't necessary. At worst, you get Clash Of The Titans - the current poster child for anyone with an axe to grind about 3D in general and post-converted 3D specifically. Not only was it a weak remake of the original (from what I hear), but the 3D post-conversion was done in two weeks. Two weeks. From what I hear, the subsequent "3D" is ridiculous to view.
2) Considering that theatres charge a premium for 3D films (about $3 more than usual depending upon where you go - sometimes more), when a poorly rendered post-converted 3D film is released it damages the viability of an already vulnerable new technology. It's one thing if a film is bad, but when it's bad in two dimensions, bad in a crappily-rendered pseudo-third dimension, followed by the sucker punch of having to pay MORE to see it...you get my point. I hope. Movie audiences can be forgiving, but there comes a point of revolt which I can see happening if there aren't enough 3D films released which originate on 3D. Furthermore, the studios do no service to themselves if they don't make a point of clarifying this to audiences: why can't they say when a film is originally shot in 3D? Isn't that a selling point? Likewise, why not be honest and say when a film has been post-converted? If it's a case that no one wants it to be known that their film was post-converted...then why post-convert to 3D in the first place? There's certainly no audience I know that is clamouring for blocky cut-out shapes which look like they were poorly separated from the background using Photoshop. To summarize this point, content is king: the quality of content, not the volume of illegitimate content.
Up until Avatar (and god knows how I long for the day when another film takes its place as the "gold standard"), the greatest accomplishment in 3D technology was the few seconds of the guy in House of Wax, standing outside a theatre with a ping-pong mallet, knocking the ball directly toward the camera. You could imagine people ducking for cover at the time. That was 1953. From that point onward, 3D technology didn't change, largely due to the format never winning over audiences: the films were oft-times gimmicky and there were never enough 3D films at any given time to make it feel as if the aesthetic was going anywhere. With the recent advent of digital cinematography, 3D is much easier (logistically and technically) to achieve. And while I would love someone to make "art" (are you reading this, Wong Kar Wai?), I'm happy if, for the time being, the format stakes its territory in the ghetto where its strengths have always been: action/sci-fi/fantasy - hey, if it works, why not? I don't hear anyone clamouring for a 3D Terms of Endearment...
Technicians and filmmakers are doing their part: they are taking a risk and trying to push forward innovatively with something daunting and new. Is 3D here to stay? Again, a conditional "yes". What we need are studios and theatre chains to be honest with the audience and not do irreparable damage to the very thing they are hoping to profit from.
In 2008/9, I worked on the indie feature, SUCK. It's a rock-and-roll vampire road-movie comedy directed by Toronto's Rob Stefaniuk and produced by Capri Films' Robin Crumley. For a low-budget feature (and I realize that's not the best way to preface a compliment) SUCK is well-written, well-cast, funny, and in places very funny.
However, despite being well received at both the Toronto International and South-By-Southwest Film Festivals, it was denied any interest in a theatrical release by Canadian distributors. The longer I waited for someone to pick it up, the more I wondered what the problem was. Sure, you could argue that vampire films have saturated the market lately, but that's seeing things from the late-summer of 2010 (SUCK was completed over a year ago). It was a no-brainer, even for a limited release: who wouldn't like a rock vampire comedy w/ cameos by Iggy Pop, Alice Cooper, and Alex Lifeson (among others)? It's the sort of smart-but-not-overly-self-conscious effort which seems perfectly balanced for a theatrical audience.
Nothing happened. Well, actually, less-than-nothing happened: a lot of crap was released in Canadian theatres instead. Crap like the widely-released and quickly forgotten Gunless, which begged the question: if nobody is interested in seeing Westerns in theatres, what could possibly have been the selling point of a comedy-romance-Western with (as you might have guessed) no gunfighting? The answer is that it doesn't matter: this is Canada, and film distributors prefer to release crap like Gunless and GravyTrain than anything which could hold an audience's sustained interest. Evidently, the point of film distribution in Canada is to go through the motions.
Well, it's too late for Canada. While SUCK secured a limited theatrical distribution in the U.S., it's out on DVD here (the US DVD release is September 28th). This means it will only be screened here through niche film festivals. While that's not a bad thing, it pisses me off that a funny, well-produced film (rare creature that is) should be all but abandoned after a successful festival run. This situation is certainly not helped by SUCK's (pardon the pun) anemic website: it makes no mention of any upcoming film screenings, DVD release dates, or even contact information. Who the hell is the site for? This is what happens when you don't have a distributor to help with publicity. Not even the local indie journals can help: NOW Magazine completely omits any mention of it, as a film or DVD release. How's that for hometown support? Thankfully, The Toronto Star's Peter Howell is the only mainstream film critic to put the DVD release of SUCK on public record (in glowing terms no less...and slagging Gunless ).
I want people to see this film. Not because I worked on it, not because I want to punish producers who keep banking on dead-brained populist Paul Gross vehicles, but because this is a worthy film. It's not Sophie's Choice, it's not going to change your life. But you'll laugh. I just wish it had been allowed the opportunity of a theatrical run, which it so clearly deserved. It works better in a theatre than on DVD: with a pumped-up audience rather than in the controlled confines of your livingroom. That said, I will be pleased if, by my writing about it, one more person will see this movie than if I hadn't.
I was flipping through the NYT last Sunday and came across a short collection of riffs from filmmakers about their favourite "Holiday Movies". The following, submitted by screenwriter David Benioff, was regarding Planes Trains and Automobiles by the late John Hughes:
Hughes once wrote: “I understood that the dark side of my middle-class, middle-American suburban life was not drugs, paganism or perversion. It was disappointment. There were no gnawing insects beneath the grass. Only dirt. I also knew that trapped inside every defeat is a small victory, and inside that small victory is the Great Defeat.”
I immediately caught the reference Benioff (via Hughes) was making and it struck a chord. You see, when we (in filmic terms) discuss the "dark side" of the middle-class in America, who else is this synonymous with? Correct: David Lynch. And was it not Lynch's seminal dark-side-of-middle-class-America, Blue Velvet, which features - literally - gnawing insects beneath the grass at the beginning? Oh, and the drugs and sexual perversion? Still don't believe me? Try this: Blue Velvet came out in '86. Planes Trains and Automobiles? That was 1987.
When I read Hughes' quote, I knew he had more to say about it. I could tell that he thought Hughes' film (and perspective on America) got short shrift.
In any case, what I'm saying is Hughes was picking on Lynch, perhaps more so picking on all of the cineastes and self-styled torch holders of American Surrealism. Look, he's saying (or I'm paraphrasing), why does any intelligent discussion of the "dark side" have to fast-forward to the Devil? Why are we in such a rush to point to the murkiest common denominator?
I think Hughes' perspective is more realistic. Perhaps even more frightening because it is anything but abstract. If there's anything which immobilizes the positivism of American can-do - an adult Boogeyman if you will - it is the spectre of defeat. It is, after all, failure. There is nothing which cuts to the heart of our civilized fears with more power than failure, pure and simple. We do not want it infecting us. We do not want it living beside us, dying slowly.
I like the drama (nee opera) of Lynch's perspective. But it is only that: one perspective. I feel we cheat ourselves by claiming that one perspective as definitive before we've truly allowed ourselves to look at the whole landscape of the human psyche.
I also think John Hughes had a good soul.
I was having brunch in the Market with my friend, Lady B, whom I've known for over 10 years. We were talking about "life changes" (we both being close to 40). We got onto the topic of how her and I sometimes are conditioned to expect the worst.
"With the house, didn't you feel that, somehow, everything would inevitably go wrong and you wouldn't get it after all?" she asked.
"Yes!"
It was as if she had read my mind. We were eating palacsinta at a small Hungarian bistro.
We talked about this, because she'd felt the exact same way when she and her partner bought their house. She speculated, correctly in my estimation, that this mode of thinking - let's call it auto-tragic thinking - was the result of her and I coming from divorced families (the divorces or circumstances surrounding them being particularly destructive). The end-result, if not in all cases then certainly in ours, was that we were conditioned to expect gift horses to have mouth cancer and every silver lining to have a cloud moving in its way. Happiness was a pulled rug away from tragedy.
I thought about moments in my life - moments that everyone experiences - like applying for a job, asking someone out for a date. Moments where, realistically, we hope/aim for the best. The difference between the average person and people like myself and Lady B is that, in the event we don't get the job we hope for, in the event that special someone isn't interested in us, we tend to see it as a fateful inevitability; a symptom of a curse. Of course, we say to ourselves. Why should this be any different than any other time?
The subject clearly struck a chord for both of us.
"You expect it to be like in Carrie." she said in a follow-up email, discussing how we became conditioned to expect the worst. "You're at the prom, thinking that everything's turning around in your life and then suddenly you're covered in pig blood."
The best male equivalent I could think of was Laurence Harvey's character in (the original) The Manchurian Candidate; a tragic puppet whose fleeting tastes of freedom coincide with horrific end results.
So, no, neither Lady B nor I are cursed. Our houses have not fallen down or been taken away from us by a nightmarish bureaucracy. If anything we are only beginning to sense just how much re-wiring is necessary for us to see things clearly, without the faulty psychological infrastructure that led to us to believe that, indeed, the odds were stacked against us.
The mind is a frightening thing. This is why I read books and watch films which challenge my preconceptions. This is why I am lucky to have friends such as Lady B.
I will do what most major news outlets won't do and say upfront that there are an enormous amount of more important things going on in the world (or, conversely, not going on) than this...
That said, I'm a film hound and thus can justify this mirage of mostly-useless information
The 834th Academy Award (ie. The Oscars) nominations were announced this morning. I don't think there has ever been an Oscars year where I've been satisfied that the right films were (or weren't) nominated for the right category (or at all). And yet...
And now, on to more interesting things...
Reading Shelly Lowenkopf's blog - which he should consider titling Opium for Fiction Writers - one does not need to look too closely to see he likes the TV program The Wire; he often references the show to demonstrate whatever aspect of story-crafting he has chosen as his subject that day. I've never watched The Wire, but I'm sure some day I will, if only because it seems to genuinely merit the attention.
Being more of a film person, it got me thinking what films have influenced me as a writer, or which - should I ever find myself in a situation to dispense wisdom - I would choose, if only because they demonstrate some part or element of writing very well. What follows are a few films which, for lack of a better term, have writerly aesthetics. Coincidentally, most of what I've picked ended up being based on novels.
Off the top of my head, I would begin with Cutter's Way (1981), a little-known/little-shown film with Jeff Bridges and John Heard. 
On the one hand, it's about a drifter in San Francisco who thinks he witnessed a murder one night, who's suspicions are heightened by his best friend, a self-destructive Vietnam veteran. Yet, the more ornate (and by the ending, spectacular) elements of its drama serve as a background, a nuisance to the drifter protagonist, and it ultimately becomes a story about someone who discovers they've spent their life dodging the responsibility of making tough choices. Based on Newton Thornburg's novel Cutter and Bone.
I would then travel back in time to The Third Man (1949), with Joseph Cotton and Orson Welles, a film-noir set in post-WWII Vienna (then occupied, as wonderfully described in the film's opening narration, by the American, British, and Russian armies, and of course, the black market). 
An American novelist discovers on his arrival to the city that the only person there he knows - his old friend, Harvey Lime - was recently killed in an accident. Yet, the longer he stays, the more splintered are of the accounts of Lime's passing, and the more strange are the cast of characters who claim to be his deceased friend's associates. Add love interest and stir. Strangely, though written by Graham Greene, it wasn't based on one of his published stories; he wrote a novella as a means of creating a template on which to base the screenplay, later published in book form after the film's release.
Fast-forward to 1980 and The Ninth Configuration, with Stacy Keach and Scott Wilson. 
It is the story of a shadowy military psychologist assigned to a remote castle in the Pacific Northwest, used as an asylum for those temporarily discharged from service in the Vietnam War. However, as the colonel is inspired by his discussions with the asylum's star patient, an astronaut who abruptly terminated his mission to the Moon just prior to take-off, the staff discover the colonel's methodry is more unorthodox than expected. This is the one film I knew was based on a novel, seeing as I read both the first incarnation (Twinkle, Twinkle "Killer" Kane) and its subsequently re-titled revision prior to the film being released. Written, produced, and directed by none other than William Peter Blatty (author of "The Exorcist", and a damn good director in his own right).
So, what is it? What is it about these random picks which touch upon fiction writing, aside from their literary pedigrees? Well, they all instill in the viewer a wider, more long-range idea of the story being told - much in the way that a good novel is capable, with the inclusion of just a few words inserted into the right spot, of suggesting dimensions which exist beyond the edge of the book pages. All three films include characters who stand out; characters who you can imagine living beyond the breadth of the films' respective duration times, if not from the beginning then surely afterwards. In all three films, we have protagonists who are thrust into a gnawing responsibility they did not request to be part of, a responsibility which in The Ninth Configuration is karmic, in The Third Man is seductive, and in Cutter's Way a question of conscience over desire. However, like all good stories, these responsibilities are seminal for the characters, and for the viewer with literary influences, perhaps inspirational.
[Post-script: it is not lost on me that all three of these stories are essentially mysteries, influenced by the remnants of armed conflict, namely WWII and Vietnam. I'm tempted to delve into why this is, but again, this is a blog and not a doctoral thesis. Perhaps another day. In the meantime, I've got a film mix to supervise...]
My "day job" in film and television (which often bleeds well into the evening, depending upon what part of the process I'm involved with) is to supervise what is known as "post production" (sometimes hyphenated as "post-production"). This is the rather Deconstructivist (as opposed to deconstructionist) process which involves picture editing (which virtually assembles the footage and sound back into a comprehensible story, if all goes well), sound editing (including sound effects, dialogue replacement, foley - that's the man with the track pants and high heels - and music), and, depending upon the project, visual effects (whether they be corrective or something more snazzy involving CGI and goblins running down an exploding volcano).
It can all be extremely interesting - even if you've done it for years, sometimes you just can't wait to see the end result - or nightmarishly absurd. It really depends on the project, the people involved, and the budget. Working in post, as opposed to working on the set during production, I get to see the various bits that were shot slowly congeal into what eventually gets delivered to the broadcaster or film distributor. I end up seeing the shows I'm working on many, many times before anyone outside gets to see it once. Regardless of whether it is a sensitive, intelligent Canadian documentary or a Hollywood torture-horror film, they all kind of dovetail into one another. I sometimes wish the sensitive, intelligent people in the documentary were in the horror film. Sometimes I wish the people who work on horror movies were profiled in a sensitive, intelligent documentary.
Big or small, there is a lot of money hanging on any given project, so the pressure put on those, like myself, overseeing the process can be profound. Stress is like alcohol; it can be habit-forming as a motivator, but it can also engulf your better reasoning. Thankfully, I don't think I've worked on a project where I haven't been able to openly poke fun at it with my peers. Laughter is a wonderful antidote, particularly when you don't have a creative stake in what you're laughing at; the important thing is making sure that it isn't the mirthless, bitter laughter of someone whose sanity has been frayed by deadlines and intermittent bullying. If the latter is your case, you need to step away. Soon.
One thing the Internet has helped birth is the ability of anyone to sound (or sound like they are writing, rather) like a professional film critic, regardless of whether they know what they they are talking about, whether they have seen more than three films in their lives, etc. . I've glanced at "user-contributed" reviews on Facebook's Flixter application which make even the trashiest pieces of celluloid sound like fair-game for a first-year Media Arts screening.
There's nothing wrong with this. I'm not going to editorially trample on anyone's feelings, yet.
However, while the same could be said for online book reviews, it's much harder to get away with it (it being sounding like a professional...or a professional who writes as they sound. Something like that).
A film is inherently visual. It also has sound (most of them, at least). It also usually uses actors who speak lines. For the armchair (or E-Z Boy) critic, this audio/video-based performance makes the casual accusation of, say, "bad acting" somewhat verifiable (again, somewhat verifiable - there are always disagreements and prejudices, but these tend to be questions of degrees rather than disagreements of monolithic good or badness. To this end, it's always harder for the viewer to infer a good performance from a bad film; it's like a supermodel who cleaned her hands with an old dish cloth - sure she's pretty, but she smells bad for some reason.).
Outside of the necessity of reading words printed on a page, books by comparison are not visual, nor do they have sound (assuming we forget for the moment about audiobooks). When a character speaks in a book, we don't see Sally Field (mind you, perhaps some of us do...), but rather some variously fuzzy or non-fuzzy imaginary abstraction - an avatar if you will - that we attach to the words in order to help us visualize the character(s). For one person, they may be fluffy, indeterminate cloud-like beings, for others the animated cast of Battle of the Planets. Whatever floats your boat.
In other words, as regards books, whether it be War & Peace or The DaVinci somethingsomething, chances are pretty slim that someone's going to criticize the performance of their personalized imaginary helper-beings, who mouth the pretty words in their head whilst they read. For the book reader, they don't need to be convinced primarily through performance, but rather through conviction; the conviction of the author's choice in story crafting, character actions, etc... This is not to say that the topic of conviction in books cannot be just as debatable as an actor's performance in a film, however, due to being a medium which is more abstract, the arguments are invariably deeper than those shared about films.
Let me cut to the chase, this being the Internet and most of you having probably left to check out porn or martini recipes by now: books are abstractions whereas films are pantomimes of abstractions. Here, let me pull my chair closer [chrrrr]: films are easier to criticize. Period. They are small books, painted big. Once you have a rudimentary sense of what works and what doesn't in film (acting, dialogue, story, and, peripherally, visual effects, sound design, directing) it's pretty easy to sound like A.O. Scott, even when reviewing, say, Tank Girl:
In this wild, cheeky romp, the audience benefits from wonderfully imaginative environments, spunky performances, and a ceaseless plot driven by pure adrenaline. Tank Girl issues a decree to the viewer: the graphic novel-turned movie is a serious threat to original screenplays.
Is this valid? Again, if you've only seen three movies in your life, perhaps it is. Perhaps Tank Girl is for you. I only saw the first half of Tank Girl. I suggest you see none of it. In fact, I suggest all remaining prints be stored on the moon - but that's me.
The problem (or advantage) with a book review (vs. film) is that there is much less wiggle-room when declaring your opinion. Unlike film, where there is more latitude for interpretation (particularly as regards camera work and editing), with books we are dealing with what is literally written on the page. Room for interpretation? Of course - there will always be room for interpretation, otherwise MFA professors would have nothing to structure their courses with. But certainly - whether we are talking about so-called professional book critics, or their translucent-skinned basement-dwelling non-professional Internet cousins - the opinions don't nearly or consistently bounce from one end of the "good/bad" spectrum to another as is common with film.
I think it comes down to the fact that readers generally respect authors more than viewers respect filmmakers [and on this note, I suppose that really means "directors" - filmmakers, in my book, are people who go out with a camera, an idea, and come back from the edit room having done 80% of the process with their own hands - I'll write more about this later]. This isn't to say that readers respect authors as people; rather, I submit there's a begrudging respect to anyone who has the perseverance to lay down 40,000 words which construct coherent sentences and paragraphs.
It's a layman's respect, whereas with filmmakers, if we don't like what they do, then... well, they suck.
[For sake of disclosure, I've only done one film review on this blog - albeit in collaboration with my friend, Simon - and it was an artsy documentary about a soccer player.]
So, the listing (previously done here) continued, this time my friend thought it best to do movies: one for every year you've been alive, as per last time. There was a particular emphasis this round on re-watchability, so instead of simply picking the best of a particular year, we needed to pick the films that we would involuntarily pay attention to if they happened to come on TV one night (as an example).
My picks:
1970 Five Easy Pieces, dir. Bob Rafelson
1971 A Clockwork Orange, dir. Stanley Kubrick
1972 Solaris, dir. Andrei Tarkovsky
1973 The Exorcist, dir. William Friedkin
1974 Chinatown, dir. Roman Polanski
1975 tie: Love and Death, dir. Woody Allen
tie: Three Days of the Condor, dir. Sydney Pollack
1976 The Killing of a Chinese Bookie, dir. John Cassavetes
1977 Annie Hall, dir. Woody Allen
1978 Invasion of the Body Snatchers, dir. Philip Kaufman
1979 The Ninth Configuration, dir. William Peter Blatty
1980 The Shining, dir. Stanley Kubrick
1981 Cutter's Way, dir. Ivan Passer
1982 The Thing, dir. John Carpenter
1983 tie: Rock & Rule, dir. Clive Smith
tie: The Fourth Man (De Vierde man), dir. Paul Verhoeven
tie: Monty Python's The Meaning of Life, dir. Terry Gilliam, Terry Jones
1984 Paris, Texas, dir. Wim Wenders
1985 Brazil, dir. Terry Gilliam
1986 Aliens, dir. James Cameron
1987 Wings of Desire (Der Himmel uber Berlin), dir. Wim Wenders
1988 The Vanishing (Spoorloos), dir. George Sluizer
1989 Crimes and Misdemeanors, dir. Woody Allen
1990 La Femme Nikita, dir. Luc Besson
1991 Zentropa (Europa - original title), dir. Lars von Trier
1992 Glengarry Glen Ross, dir. James Foley
1993 Naked, dir. Mike Leigh
1994 White, dir. Krzysztof Kieslowski
1995 tie: Underground, dir. Emir Kusturica
tie: 12 Monkeys, dir. Terry Gilliam
1996 tie: Ghost in the Shell, dir. Mamoru Oshii
tie: Breaking the Waves, dir. Lars von Trier
1997 Perfect Blue, dir. Satoshi Kon, Hisao Shirai
1998 Dark City, dir. Alex Proyas
1999 tie: Top of The Food Chain, dir. John Paizs
tie: The Iron Giant, dir. Brad Bird
2000 tie: Maelstrom, dir. Denis Villeneuve
tie: Possible Worlds, dir. Robert Lepage
2001 In the Bedroom, dir. Todd Field
2002 Read My Lips (Sur mes levres), dir. Jacques Audiard
2003 Mystic River, dir. Clint Eastwood
2004 2046, dir. Wong Kar-Wai
2005 Grizzly Man, dir. Werner Herzog
2006 Children of Men, dir. Alfonso Cuaron
2007 No Country For Old Men, dir. Joel & Ethan Coen
Now, I took some flack from Simon for picking the likes of Solaris and Paris, Texas. This turned into an interesting discussion about how one person's "You picked what??" is another person's "Damn straight - and yes I consider that film extremely watchable.". Sure, a film like Naked is probably something most people will only wish to watch once...and yet, despite the fact that I love a good suspence/thriller/comedy/sci-fi/anime film, I honestly do like certain films which are slooow and gloomy. I consider them re-watchable even if they aren't, by nature, exciting.
A new documentary, if it can be called that, has been recently released through a limited selection of venues in the U.S. and Canada. I'm not interested in naming it, though a cursory glimpse of recent newspapers will make it clear which I'm referring to. It takes the Michael Moore approach (in other words, disingenuously removing anything which does not conform to a frustratingly partisan point of view) in an attempt to prove its thesis that there is a systemic (nay conspiratorial) effort to discredit scientists who believe in creationism (more specifically, the recently-minted term "intelligent design" or "ID" for short) by those in the scientific establishment who extol the findings of Darwin.
Reading the paper Friday morning, my wife commented on an interview with the film's host and narrator, Ben Stein. She took note of his perspective on the debate and thought it was interesting. I was less than enthusiastic (if not hostile toward Stein), though to be honest his interview wasn't that bad (unlike the film, which has been almost universally derided with contempt outside of evangelical circles). What upset me is that I actually think there is a debate to be had (if not owed) between secularists and Creationists.
I'm not a religious person. I was raised a quasi-Catholic, but found myself too interested in other streams of thought to figure that any one system of belief - secular humanism being one in a series of legitimate choices - had the copyright on truth. I'm very comfortable calling myself Agnostic, though these days wary of those who would have the public believe that Agnosticism is simply a less-assured branch of Atheism. I respect Atheists. I just wish more Atheists would respect Agnostics.
For me, Science, Art, and Religion are the same; they each aim to spelunk the chasm between knowing and not knowing. To investigate the disparity between the I and the not I in the universe. I've never been prepared to declare that there is or isn't a higher intelligence/level of consciousness at play in the unfathomable orchestration we find ourselves surrounded by, whether it exists only for mankind to perceive or something more holistic and all-embracing.
I'm frustrated that, in this age of elaborate misinformation, the only time an interesting perspective is given publicity it's usually loaded with so much subjectivity and partisan half-truth that it's tainted with suspicion before it even comes to the table of debate. And this is my problem with this documentary. The dice of its argument are so loaded from the start that it negates intelligent discussion from the start.
One cannot talk about this without referring to previous unsuccessful efforts by the current United States government, endorsing "intelligent design" to be taught in science classrooms as a legitimate alternative, and that the theory of evolution be referred to as a "current theory". The problem being, procedurally speaking, there's nothing remotely scientific about "ID", whereas Darwinism and the theory of evolution are demonstrable, regardless that there are many disagreements on the details. As a result of this meddling on behalf of the Bush administration, scientists across America took to the streets (or the web, at least) denouncing the idea, aided by the burgeoning Atheist movement, driven by the likes of Richard Dawkins.
In other words, the water in this wading pool is poisoned.
The question of Darwinism's compatibility with the idea of a higher intelligence/consciousness, if such a thing exists, is not a zero sum game. One does not, theoretically, eliminate the other's existence. I would love nothing more than an open discussion on the subject, if only to highlight the limits of understanding in both Science and Religion and perhaps find perspectives which intelligently respect opposite approaches. Unfortunately, given the current climate, this isn't likely to happen outside of a university campus, and in the case of the documentary released last week, the prospects of we - the intelligent public, of which I include you, dear reader - being treated to such a thing without the deck being stacked by partisan ideologues of either side of the argument is slim.
I was explaining to someone last week - a female friend who was stressed about a commitment she'd made, only to find afterwards that it was impossible to fulfil even though it was very important - how I would approach the problem. Yes, to be fair, I was drinking, just in case you think I speak this freely/condescendingly in general.
"There's a thing about guys. Some, not all. But, when men are under pressure, we immediately think we're U-Boat commanders."
"What?" she asked, understandably perplexed.
I explained what U-Boats are, particularly within the context of the classic German WWII film, Das Boot. You see, once a man over the age of 25 has seen that film (or, for that matter, similar films such as The Hunt For Red October, or quite frankly any movie involving a submersible military vessel with men yelling at each other inside of it) he has a perfectly tailored example which appeals to our testosterone-laden imaginations.
And thus, when men find themselves under pressure, it's easy for them to transpose the tense life/death struggle they've seen onto their comparatively mundane situations.
I told her that, as a U-Boat commander, your first responsibilities are to your country and your crew. This meant sacrificing one's honour, if need be. That, for the greater good (i.e. posterity) it would probably be best to own up to her inability to satisfy the terms of her commitment and either state this immediately to the other party, or, better still, come up with a ruse that is so ingenious that it fools everyone and saves both honour and embarrassment while preserving the integrity of country (you) and your crew (your reputation).
So, as a breezy aside, next time you find yourself being metaphorically torpedoed (whether by others or yourself), remember the stoic lessons of the heavily burdened U-Boat commander. Or, at the very least, run out and rent Das Boot or Master and Commander for inspiration.
An eclectic stew for you today, the reader.
Last night's show at Mitzi's Sister (see previous entry) went very well. The band was tight, though I found myself slightly disappointed overall in the experience. Part of it has to do with the fact that, when you step onto a stage to perform (whether it be reading, acting, or drumming), particularly when you don't have the opportunity to very often, time passes like a buttered bullet. You find yourself walking off the stage, seemingly five minutes after you got up there when in fact it's been more like forty. As the glare of the stage lights leave your eyes and you join the ranks of the audience, ending your turn as it were, you feel as if you could've done more - either in your performance or in your enjoyment of the experience.
The last time we played (same place, nearly the same date), the situation was reversed. I had a blast and thought we did a great job (also the crowd was bigger and they defied the typical "Toronto audience" behaviour, with one or two actually dancing), but when I talked to the band they were less than thrilled.
Methinks this disconnectedness is a drummer-thing. Or a writer-posing-as-drummer-thing. Someday I'll know what I want to do when I grow up.
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Yesterday there was school shooting in Illinois at a university. Five dead and fifteen wounded. While this left me numbed - what really can I or anyone else do about it after the fact? - what I found staggering was that this was the fourth shooting at a U.S. school in the last week.
In the (normally poisonous) comment section on the Globe & Mail, someone noted how this phenomena (of which we are certainly not immune in Canada) seems to be applicable only to wealthier Western societies. In other words, for no apparent logical reason, given the superficial socio-economic circumstances of the communities in which these acts occur.
Earlier this week, my wife and I finally got around to watching Gus Van Sant's Elephant. I'd avoided seeing it because, although I was sure it was going to be well done, I didn't want to see something that articulated such a heavy-hitting subject - the Columbine massacre of April 1999. The film surprised me, in that rather than meditating on the after-effects (ie. 2 video-hours of grief), it dealt with the event as it happened, mostly in real-time, from the perspective of several characters who are students in the high school, including the two killers. Neither glorifying the horror nor practising intellectual avoidance, I thought the film was very strong, though ironically I thought it could've been more meditative in the end - perhaps a more hands-on narrative was necessary. This is not to say that it was Peckinpah via Linklater.
Aside from the coincidental nature of seeing Elephant amidst a surge of related killings across the U.S., I cannot help but wonder what lies at the heart of this. I can tell you what doesn't, as far as I'm concerned: guns, videogames, and violent films. Each, in their own way, are massively influential on youths, but I refuse to believe that they are in any way a cause.
It's as if, more and more, there is a proportion of our society that acts as if it's had a frontal lobotomy, thus removing a moral imperative that, for most, would stop us from taking enjoyment from the random killing of others around us. I find myself looking for answers: is this a bio-medical condition (say, exposure to heavy metals), a psychological illness, or strictly speaking is this something that can be explained sociologically? All of the above?
But another part of me often wonders: when we removed Christianity from public spaces like schools (and I don't argue with the need to do so), did we replace it with anything substantial? I sometimes wonder if, in the removal of a code of behaviour (as corrupted, hypocritical, or out-of-touch as it may have been) are we thoughtful of what should be put in its place - something substantial and not generic, p0litically-correct lip service which ends up inspiring no one? Or, am I kidding myself, in that we are all really indiscriminate savages on the inside, holding on desperately to illusions of civilization?
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I remember, as a kid and avid comic-reader at the time, reading a story called The Realists. A handsome high school hunk-type is lured by the "new girl", a beauty, back to her house after school one day. She tempts him with a special drink. When he drinks it, it's like he's under the influence of a drug - everyone around him is ugly and fat, food is rotten, he stares at his reflection in the mirror and sees that he's hideous. She tells him that what he drank is real water, and that what he and the rest of society consumes is laced with a drug which provides the illusion of a beautiful "normalcy". He runs out of her house, screaming, and as the "drug" wears off, he decides to treat the experience like a bad dream and forget the fact that what he thinks is reality is actually an engineered apparition.
- - -
These are fleeting thoughts, sufficiently scattered. Enjoy your weekend.
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