"You Don't Get It?"

When I was in college, I found my film teachers abrasive, bitter and resentful towards cinema. At the time I didn't fully understand why. These were professors whose career was based around loving and appreciating film, and all they could do was cut people down who gave an opinion or trash the latest Batman movie. My professor for Film Theory 101 began the first day by announcing, "This is the class that will make you hate movies." It was funny, but I worried that my already cynical attitude would grow into an enormous cloud of negative didactic behavior. I loved movies, how could my studying them ever change that?

A year or so later, after I had truly emerged myself in film studies, I went to see the Bob Dylan inspired film "I'm Not There" with some friends. While sharing what we each thought of the film, and after I expressed my initial distaste for it, one of my friends retorted fatuously "Oh, well you just didn't get it." And in that moment, all my film professors' cynicism came rushing back to my memory and I suddenly realized,"Oh my God, people have no idea what they're talking about." And that sliver of truth I had finally realized was so true and pure placed me in the shoes of my teachers, and what a miserable existence they must lead. But of course, I wanted that existence too.

Just think, receiving degrees and diplomas and writing scholarly work and analyzing every aspect of the art of cinema, from the Lumiere Brothers to David Cronenberg, dedicating yourself to study and practice until that wealth of technical and aesthetic understanding became your profession, your mastery and your love, only to realize every single person on earth who has ever watched any movie believes that they know just as much as you do. Despite your best efforts, to them, you are just a cynical jerk. Because you didn't like Avatar. Because you didn't cry at the end of Love, Actually. Because you didn't think The Hangover was funny. Because honestly, Trainspotting wasn't really that good, was it? Tell someone any of these things, and you will be labeled an outcast, be told that movies aren't art, they are just entertainment, and your existence is futile. They are merely opinions, but with some intellectual ground behind them.You wouldn't treat your doctor like a fool if he explained his opinion on your health, would you? (Unless physicians undergo the same arrogant abuse from patients, and I am unaware). But unfortunately, film aficionados are considered quacks. Useless intellectuals of a pseudo art. Perhaps such is the life of a scholar.

I will clarify at this point that I do not consider myself a scholar, nor an expert by any means. I am a film lover, and I firmly believe that there is an art and a science to be appreciated in cinema. Yet I believe this ignorance towards cinema appreciation causes such grief and crushing defeat that any so devout will spiral into reclusive cynicism. And like I said, it was four words that engendered those sentiments: You don't get it. In an extremely delayed response to this, I want to impart the wisdom of my former professor onto everyone who has heard these words expressed about a film. And that is simply, that there is nothing to get.

"Not getting" a film is absolute nonsense. It is a sentiment expressed by someone who doesn't know why he or she likes a film, they just do. And instead of admitting that, the individual will make his or her opinion so lofty and presumptuous and claim that there is a secret truth hidden in the depths of the film, so grand and eloquent that those who can grasp it are simply a step ahead of the rest. "Sorry, you just don't get it." But there is no such truth. Not in any film. Not in Citizen Kane and not in I'm Not There. It's simply lights on celluloid. This expression makes the critic sound plainly like an idiot. What could there be that the viewer missed that makes the film so good? What is there to "get"? A confusing plot line? A symbolic reference to current social ills? A back story only understood by true fans of the series? Such concerns aren't the highlights of a well-made film. In fact, they are quite the opposite.

A film inherently is a visual representation of a filmmakers perspective, surreal or common, factual or fictional, story driven or collage inspired. A film is a collaboration of shots and sequences juxtaposed in a unique way to convey whatever the artist desires. And I would argue that if this juxtaposition is conveyed poorly or without innovation, it simply isn't all that interesting. Unless, of course, you are fascinated by the content. That is the biggest difference, and the problem is most people can't admit to it. It's the difference between liking Pirates Of The Caribbean because it actually had a coherent and interesting plot progression, or because you think pirates and Johnny Depp are sexy. Neither of these distinctions are any better or worse than the other. They are opinions, and it doesn't matter who says them or what they stem from. Admittedly, to hold a high opinion of one's study in cinema over anyone else's is just as ridiculous as claiming there is something to "get" in a movie. Both critics are jackasses, and myself included at times. But the vital point is that everyone has an opinion, and if you do, just admit it. Don't try to make yourself or your praise sound more intriguing. It's not. Just say why you like the movie. Any reason, no matter how undeveloped, is better than "because it got it."

Case in point. I love Steven Spielberg's Jurassic Park. I love it. I have since I was young and I still do today. And the reason is because I think dinosaurs are super bad-ass. And that movie was super bad-ass. I'm not going to dazzle and bewilder anyone with fanciful or technical descriptions because I need to be taken seriously. It's just an awesome movie. Because the T-Rex is huge and the velociraptors attack from the side and Jeff Goldblum says, "When you gotta go, you gotta go." I think all that is awesome. It is as simple as that.


All I wish was that my friend who enjoyed I'm Not There could have said, "I like Bob Dylan. This movie had Bob Dylan songs. Therefore, I like this movie," instead of the high and mighty claim that I didn't "get it." Perhaps this entire ranting and raving could be spared. But instead I  will encourage only one thing from movie-goers, and that is say what you mean. Movies exist for your enjoyment, whether its because you appreciate how the timing of the cuts in an Alfred Hitchcock film heighten suspense, or because you think Julia Roberts is such a wonderful woman that everything she's in is amazing. It doesn't matter. Both are equally valid. Just know what you like, don't be afraid to admit it, and for the love of God, don't ask ANYONE while walking out of a theater if they "got it."

Movies People Will Often Say You Need To Get To Enjoy (false)
Donnie Darko
Mulholland Dr.
Fight Club
Requiem For A Dream
Memento
Citizen Kane

Again, just enjoy these films. If you've watched it, you haven't missed anything.

Why I Think Westerns Are Awesome

Recently I purchased Sergio Leone's The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly because it was sitting in the western section and giving off a strange luminance that kept catching my eye. And it was on sale. I had seen bits and pieces of it before, but like all good films (or any film really), it can only be truly appreciated when its watched from beginning to end. So I watched it, in its 3 hour long glorious entirety, and I was hooked. It is truly a remarkable feat in cinema, which is no mystery to any of Leone's appreciators. The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly masters the techniques that were attempted in his first to films in the series, Fistful of Dollars and For A Few Dollars More, both starring Clint Eastwood.

Thus, my adoration for the Western genre was sparked. A dirty shot glass full of aged whiskey served with  a dusty revolver in a rustic 1880's New Mexico saloon became my idea of a good time. If I could get away with it, I wouldn't hesitate to wear a poncho and spurs everywhere. I've seen westerns before, but somehow Sergio Leone's trilogy was truly inspirational, and turned me on to an hidden love of a pre-industrialized United States that I didn't realize existed within me. And the ironic thing is that it took a series filmed in Spain by an Italian director to do so.

Leone began what is referred to as the "Spaghetti Western" genre. During the beginning of the 1960's, Italy was still in the aftermath of its postwar turmoils and hurting economically. Consequently, so was its film industry. In an effort to save money, the Italian film industry decided to finance Serigo Leone's Fistful of Dollars, starring young and unknown Clint Eastwood. The relatively inexpensive production costs of western films popularized by American cinema was appealing for the film studios, and after the first movie in the Dollars trilogy became successful, the "Spaghetti Western" genre was born. Thanks to Leone, Eastwood, and the classic composer Ennio Marconie (whose iconic music in each film became a staple of the genre), the film industry boomed with westerns. Over 200 were made during its era, and all were in the style of Leone and Marconie.

Everyone is familiar with the score of The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly, whether they are aware of it or not. Leone often referred to Marconie as a screenwriter as well as a composer, because the scene could be easily rewritten by Marconie's musical stings that could add tension and suspense to any segment of the film, even one where three character's stare at each other for what seems to be hours in a supremely climaxing apex (below).

These films in many ways, I feel, surpassed the level that American filmmakers like John Ford set when the Western was first invented. Not only are the films remarkable to look at and listen to, but they characterize everything that is awesome about Westerns, and crank up their intensity. As a film enthusiast with a self-proclaimed motto that movies should be enjoyed on a deeper level then simply the context, I cannot help but feel like a wide-eyed child admiring Eastwood's bad-ass-itude, and sit hoping one day I'll be able to live with fellow outlaws.  Shotguns, tequila, saddles, and cabaret dancers. There is something about the cinema that makes these things fantastic.

If nothing else, this article, though lacking any real film study, may just be a plea for escapism and its justification. But if any words in this has peaked any interest in the Old West, I highly recommend purchasing any of Leone's films. Immediately. And you too might find yourself in a situation where your  stagecoach has been ransacked by Injuns or some dude cuts you off on the freeway, and ask yourself "What Would Eastwood Do?"

For more on The Good, The Bad, And The Ugly, check out: The Good, The Bad, And The Ugly IMDB
For more on Sergio Leone, check out: Fistful-of-Leone.com

For more Movies To Love, check out: MoviesToLove Blog

Recommended Films:
Stagecoach
Fistful Of Dollars
For A Few Dollars More
Once Upon A Time In The West
Dances With Wolves

Why I Still Can't Sleep at Night

Maybe I have a weaker tolerance for horror films then most people, but I can man up and admit that last Fall, Paranormal Activity scared the holy hell out of me. The buzz around the film was that if it didn't terrify you to tears the in the theatre, then at least be impressed by its budget. The entire film cost just about $15,000 to make, which is pennies compared to let's say Saw VI, which was made for about $10 million. But beyond its success and underdog status, director and screenwriter Oren Peli's technique is something to be noted, and his low budget to be considered his blessing.

The theory in horror films is that longer you don't see killer (albeit spirit, creature, human, whatever), the more terrifying it becomes. Think of Steven Spielberg's 1977 hit, Jaws. The audience barely sees the shark in its entirety throughout the whole film. Only the musical sting (provided by the legendary John Williams) and the shark's ominous fin was enough to stop movie-goers from also becoming beach-goers for many summers after its release. We all know the classic tale about how the mechanical shark never worked, and how Spielberg had to work around it, and the story described every time you take the Backlot Tour at Universal Studios, Hollywood. But it says a lot about how to scare your audience. And I believe Paranormal Activity uses the same effect.

Now which came first, the chicken or the egg, for Paranormal Activity, I'm not sure. Did Peli get stripped of his budget and had to make due, or did the movie start small and escalate enormously? I'll have to ask him one day. But let's marvel at the fact that by not showing the demonic presence once in the entire film, it made it so much more terrifying. Nothing is scarier then our own imaginations. This point is proven by the film.

And how does one go about making an unseen presence in a house disturbing and frightening? Proper use of filmmaking techniques, of course. By only using only sound and lighting, and maybe a door slamming, Peli creates the illusion of a unholy demon, completely invisible, but nonetheless horrifying. Really think about everything that you saw in the movie (oh and delayed spoiler alert: its not real. Sorry). About 3/4 of the film was that one shot in the bedroom, and the rest was a shaky camera around the house. Now think about the staging of that one shot in the bedroom, and divide it into 3 parts: Katie's side of the bed, Micah' side of the bed, and the empty hallway framed by the open door. Filling two spaces with characters, Peli fills the void of the hallway with strange lighting and sound effects, so we assume there's another character there. Yikes.

from Paranormal Activity (2007)

Also, think about how important the sound is in the movie. It's no secret to directors or audiences that the best way to make someone jump is to make everything quiet, then blast a loud noise out of nowhere. But what works even better is when the audience knows its coming and sits and waits for it. Paranormal Activity uses this technique perfectly. Every time the film faded into that one bedroom scene, you knew something was gonna go down. All you did was watch and wait. Then all of sudden an abnormal scream hits the house like a demonic jet crashing into the roof, the only aftermath being a swinging light. And the audience is left completely freaked out.

I highly recommend watching this film again, this time thinking "This is only a few shots and loud sound effects, and I've just crapped myself! Again!" What's really terrifying about Paranormal Activity is its good directing. I applaud director Oren Peli's accomplishment of using almost no special effects (I think only about 3 seconds worth at the end of the film) and relying on basic film techniques to scare the (in some cases) metaphorical crap out of everyone.

For more on Paranormal Activity, check out: Paranormal Activity on IMDB

For more Movies To Love, check out: MoviesToLove by James Knapp

Why We Should Know Who John Toll Is

When watching Braveheart or Almost Famous, have you ever paused the movie, looked at your screen and thought 'if this were a painting, it would be gorgeous'? Maybe not, but I highly recommend trying it next time. The other night I watched Legends of the Fall  and thought "My god, this movie is beautiful." It seemed like every shot was a work of art. I feel like if I were to watch this film on mute (or maybe only accompanied by the equally beautiful score provided by James Horner), I would enjoy it to the same effect. Even when I watched Tropical Thunder for the fourth time and thought "This was funnier the third time," I can't help but follow that statement with "But man, this just looks incredible."

So what do these movies have in common? Why do they all look so stunning, regardless of content? The answer: John Toll. The cinematographer. When making a movie, everyone has their job. The screenwriter creates the story, the actors portray the characters in that story, the director organizes everyone so it all makes sense eventually, and the producer makes sure he'll get his money back. So who controls how the actual image looks? For the movies previously mentioned, this is John Toll's job. Color, lighting, framing; these are all things the director or producer or screenwriter recommends, but the cinematographer ultimately delivers.

I'll spare this from being a glamorous article filled with magnificent descriptions that only convey some artistic appreciation. I would much rather just point out that when you're watching a movie, and you think "Dude, this looks awesome," and your friends ask how the movie was, you can safely say "Dude, the cinematography was kickass." And give some credit where credit's due.

from The Thin Red Line (1998)

And if you do find yourself saying, or even just thinking that more often than not, I highly recommend a film where the cinematography was done by John Toll. He won an Academy Award in 1994 for Legends of the Fall and again in 1995 for Braveheart, and nominated for The Thin Red Line in 1998. He combines well-constructed shots (meaning the actors are placed somewhere in the shot that makes sense and looks proportionate) and beautiful color palates so that each scene looks like a work of art. If you enjoy that kind of thing, take this article as a recommendation and a dare. Next time you watch a film done by John Toll, I dare you to pause the film, imagine you're looking at  that still frame on a wall in a museum, and try not to be impressed.

For more on John Toll, check out John Toll's IMDB

For more  Movies To Love, check out MoviesToLove by James Knapp

Just to Name a Few
If you like John Toll, you should check out these cinematographers: Gregg Toland (Citizen Kane, 1941), Nester Almendros (Days of Heaven, 1978), Roman Osin (Pride and Prejudice, 2005)

What's Interesting About 'The Shining'?

Almost everyone is familiar with Stanley Kubrick's horror classic The Shining. Jack Nicholson and axes and "Here's Johnny." All great stuff. But there's more to this film then Nicholson creeping the hell out of everyone. The next time you watch it, keep your eyes centered in the middle of the screen. You'll notice throughout almost the entire film everything is framed in the middle of the shot. From Scatman Crothers to the wave of blood getting off at the 2nd floor, everything is centered. Look at the two little girls above. Right in the middle.

This, of course, is no accident. Kubrick purposely framed the film like this. Here's why: It's weird. Traditional editing and framing techniques are designed to make cuts between shots seamless. We are not meant to notice when one shot cuts to another. In The Shining, however, the cuts are obvious. Our eyes never have to leave the center of the screen. Using a traditional cut (i.e. following the eye line of the character and repositioning the image) is relatively unnoticeable, making the viewer more comfortable while watching the film. Doing the opposite is awkward, and makes the viewer particularly uncomfortable. It just isn't smooth. And Kubrick uses this technique to make the viewer as uncomfortable as possible. Awesome.

Also, a shot of a character placed in the center of the frame, then cut to another character placed in the center of the frame is going to result in the two characters staring directly at the audience. Their eyelines are looking center frame to center frame. I personally don't want any of the characters in The Shining looking directly at me. What if a scene in a movie was of one Mona Lisa talking to another Mona Lisa? Creepy, right? That's the affect Kubrick achieved.

These elements bother the audience subconsciously, making an already disturbing image (maybe of two little girls bloodied and hacked to pieces in a hallway?) into a scene that leaves the viewer unsettled in every way possible. Well done, Mr. Kubrick. Well Done.

For more on The Shining, check it out on IMDB http://bit.ly/tKLqY

For more Movies to Love, check out www.jamesknapp.blogspot.com