“Is there anybody going to listen to my story, the one about the girl who came to stay. She’s the kind of girl you want so much it makes you sorry, still you don’t regret a single day. Oh, girl. Oh, girl…”
If the performance of these opening lines doesn’t give you goosebumps, then you’re wrong. Fundamentally wrong in your psyche. People of a certain age, such as myself (not telling you what age!), grew up with parents who had at least one Beatles record (and this record was possibly a real, vinyl record). These songs are in your blood. Artists as diverse as Ozzy Osbourne and Missy Higgins cite the Beatles as one of their major inspirations. If Across The Universe only does one thing, it reaffirms the Beatles status as the voice of their generation, and every generation since.
Set in the US and the UK in the 1960s, it’s the story of a young ship builder named Jude and his relationship with Lucy, a young American girl from a well-to-do family. While living in New York their lives are forever changed by their love for another and the Vietnam War. To be honest, the story is a little fluffy. It’s lightweight material, even if it is based on a turbulent and emotional time in American (and world) history. It actually reminded your humble film cricket of a miniseries made quite some time ago simply called The 60’s, starring Leonard Roberts, Julia Stiles and Jerry O’ Connell. What makes this film so wonderful is not the story. It’s the musical sequences.
Two sequences that are particularly mind-blowing are ‘For the Benefit of Mr. Kite’, with Eddie Izzard in his element as the ringmaster Mr Kite, and ‘Strawberry Fields Forever’. The musical sequences combine amazing photography with computer-generated effects, filters and animation. All of this works to make the experience of listening to the music a visual experience: You will ‘see’ the music.
The performances, too, are impressive. The cast perform the songs themselves, and they’re all talented in their own right. You simply have not heard ‘Across the Universe’ until you’ve heard it sung with a thick Northern accent. Evan Rachael Wood and Jim Sturgess play the young lovers, and their performances are natural and convincing. The rest of the cast are also brilliant, particularly Dana Fuchs and Martin Luther (as Janis Joplin and Jimi Hendrix doppelgangers respectively). Joe Cocker, Bono and Salma Hayek all appear in fantastic cameos. Joe Cocker is particularly admirable, playing three different characters during ‘Come Together’.
The song choice and visual representation of the music become the perfect articulation of the power of these songs in expressing the emotions of an era. For anyone who hates the Beatles, this film will be torture, but for the rest of us it’s sublime. Here’s some idea of the power of Across The Universe: the lady who runs the theatre I went to came in during the last few minutes and as I walked past I saw that she was watching the credits with a huge smile on her face.
If you like this film you should:
* Watch Blackpool
*Listen to the Beatles
* Allow Evan Rachel Wood to go up in your esteem even though she's still dating Marilyn Manson
Tuesday, December 18, 2007
Friday, December 14, 2007
"Dark Night" - Le Kingste
Working Title: “Le Kingste”
Song title: Dark Night
Duration: 4:19
About the Band:
Le Kingste consists of three brothers: Paul Kingston on guitars, keys, and vocals; Arthur Kingston on bass and vocals; and Caleb Kingston on drums and vocals. Hailing from Tamworth, they currently reside in Sydney.
They have recorded an EP, available by emailing them at le.kingste@gmail.com.
The band’s musical style is a mixture of rock, funk, and pop, particularly on tunes like Two Pills and Dark Night.
Song Lyrics or Manuscript:
Unavailable.
Musical Style of the Video:
Form:
The musical style of the video combines performance and concept.
Tag Line:
Dark is the night, and in a dreamy, glittery landscape, can we ever truly be connected?
Intended Musical/Visual Approach and shooting style:
I chose this song because I instantly liked it, and I could easily find ways to visually represent the energy of the song while still maintaining focus on a performance-based, studio-made music video.
My main visual influence for the video doesn’t actually come from a music video or a band, but from a director I greatly admire, and that is Alfred Hitchcock. One scene in particular inspired me. There is a scene in Psycho when we can hear, but we can’t see, Norman Bates being yelled at by his mother. As the camera gets closer to the source of the sound, it moves up toward the room, as though the camera itself is trying to find a way into the private exchange between Norman and his mother.
Another great example of this is a British television program called Peep Show. The camera work in that series is entirely subjective. When the characters speak to one another, or engage with one another in general, they directly address the camera, and I thought that was really interesting, breaking the Fourth Wall and all that.
I’ve always liked the idea of having the camera take on a human persona, or become an embodiment of the spectator’s frustration at not being able to see everything, and I thought that it would be fun to experiment with this idea in the video.
Essentially, the idea is that the band is playing in a dark night, and that the camera or cameras are constantly searching for the band members. As the camera finds them, or attempts to connect with them, the lights brighten around that particular band member. The cameras are looking for a connection to something, or somebody, and through that primary identification with the camera, someone watching the video can engage with that desire for connection.
To shoot this, I would say that the cameras need to be very fluid, always moving, whether they’re fixed on a tripod or handheld. If they’re on a tripod, there should be lots of panning, and tilting, and zooms. The handheld camera should be trying to weave in and out among the band members, moving up as high as the camera operator’s arm can reach without endangering the camera, and moving very low across the ground, and I think the cameras we’ll be using will be perfect for that constant movement. I’d like the cameras to evoke almost a restless energy.
Much of the setting, and the mood of the video, can be established with lighting. Blue or purple gels, and dark lighting, would give the set a dreamy, night-time atmosphere, and spotlighting, done softly, could be used on the band when the cameras find them. There’s a really beautiful black and white image that accompanies the song on their Myspace page, and featured at the top of this proposal, and that could be used as a background for the shoot, but I think the look and mood of the shoot can be achieved predominantly through the lighting. I’d like to cover the floor and sprinkle glitter on the covering, to give the set a twinkling look, in keeping with the idea of turning the set into a dark night.
Treatment:
There is darkness, but for a faint twinkling. We hear a bass line, and we move toward it. As we move to the sound of the bass, we see a little better. Suddenly, a man playing a bass guitar is visible. Then, we hear another sound: keyboard and drums, and as we pull back from the bass player everything darkens a little, as we search for the source of the new sound.
We search for the drums as they continue. We follow the sound of drums, and find the drummer. When we find the drums, they and the drummer are illuminated.
Then we hear a voice. The drummer falls into darkness as we try to find the source of the vocals. When we find it, the singer is illuminated. This is it! We’ve found what we were looking for in this dark night. We start to move in time with the singer’s voice, almost swaying as though in a trance.
Then out of nowhere, guitars break the spell. We have to find them, they’re unlike anything we’ve heard before. We find them, and we linger again. As the tempo slows for the chorus, we find ourselves becoming mellow, then restless, wandering around the band, taking in the band as a whole.
As the bass begins again, we glide to the sound. We can see the fingers of the bass player as he plays, and we are fascinated. As the singer continues, however, we keep glancing over to him, and back to the bass. But we can’t stay still. Our attention is drawn by the drums, then the bass, then the singer. And as the guitars start again, we can’t decide what we want; the guitar, the bass, or the drums? The lights are almost blinding, as though reflecting our inner turmoil, and our indecision.
As the song mellows out again, reaching the chorus, the lights settle, and we are left to wander again, looking to connect. We settle down in front of the band, almost sitting and looking up at them while they play, like a child listening to a fairy tale, and the place begins to lighten, sensing our inner peace.
Then the guitar causes us to jump up, and we zero in on the guitar, as the lights illuminate each band member in turn. Then suddenly, the place darkens and we are lost again. But then we hear it, the bass. The bass player is illuminated, but very softly And a sound, almost like a flourish, reflecting the twinkling, starlit quality of the room, heralds the end of the music, and the room darkens once more.
Budget
Shooting days: 1
Editing days: 2
See attached budget.
Crew Size & Equipment:
Equipment:
Four cameras
Three tripods
Studio lights
Playback facilities
Gels for lighting
Blacks (2)
Props
Crew:
Producer
Production Assistant
Director (2)
First Assistant Director
Four camera operators
Lighting assistant (2)
Art Director
Make-up artist
Playback operator
Editor
Locations:
There is only one location, and this location is the media production studio in the ICT building at the University of Newcastle.
Song title: Dark Night
Duration: 4:19
About the Band:
Le Kingste consists of three brothers: Paul Kingston on guitars, keys, and vocals; Arthur Kingston on bass and vocals; and Caleb Kingston on drums and vocals. Hailing from Tamworth, they currently reside in Sydney.
They have recorded an EP, available by emailing them at le.kingste@gmail.com.
The band’s musical style is a mixture of rock, funk, and pop, particularly on tunes like Two Pills and Dark Night.
Song Lyrics or Manuscript:
Unavailable.
Musical Style of the Video:
Form:
The musical style of the video combines performance and concept.
Tag Line:
Dark is the night, and in a dreamy, glittery landscape, can we ever truly be connected?
Intended Musical/Visual Approach and shooting style:
I chose this song because I instantly liked it, and I could easily find ways to visually represent the energy of the song while still maintaining focus on a performance-based, studio-made music video.
My main visual influence for the video doesn’t actually come from a music video or a band, but from a director I greatly admire, and that is Alfred Hitchcock. One scene in particular inspired me. There is a scene in Psycho when we can hear, but we can’t see, Norman Bates being yelled at by his mother. As the camera gets closer to the source of the sound, it moves up toward the room, as though the camera itself is trying to find a way into the private exchange between Norman and his mother.
Another great example of this is a British television program called Peep Show. The camera work in that series is entirely subjective. When the characters speak to one another, or engage with one another in general, they directly address the camera, and I thought that was really interesting, breaking the Fourth Wall and all that.
I’ve always liked the idea of having the camera take on a human persona, or become an embodiment of the spectator’s frustration at not being able to see everything, and I thought that it would be fun to experiment with this idea in the video.
Essentially, the idea is that the band is playing in a dark night, and that the camera or cameras are constantly searching for the band members. As the camera finds them, or attempts to connect with them, the lights brighten around that particular band member. The cameras are looking for a connection to something, or somebody, and through that primary identification with the camera, someone watching the video can engage with that desire for connection.
To shoot this, I would say that the cameras need to be very fluid, always moving, whether they’re fixed on a tripod or handheld. If they’re on a tripod, there should be lots of panning, and tilting, and zooms. The handheld camera should be trying to weave in and out among the band members, moving up as high as the camera operator’s arm can reach without endangering the camera, and moving very low across the ground, and I think the cameras we’ll be using will be perfect for that constant movement. I’d like the cameras to evoke almost a restless energy.
Much of the setting, and the mood of the video, can be established with lighting. Blue or purple gels, and dark lighting, would give the set a dreamy, night-time atmosphere, and spotlighting, done softly, could be used on the band when the cameras find them. There’s a really beautiful black and white image that accompanies the song on their Myspace page, and featured at the top of this proposal, and that could be used as a background for the shoot, but I think the look and mood of the shoot can be achieved predominantly through the lighting. I’d like to cover the floor and sprinkle glitter on the covering, to give the set a twinkling look, in keeping with the idea of turning the set into a dark night.
Treatment:
There is darkness, but for a faint twinkling. We hear a bass line, and we move toward it. As we move to the sound of the bass, we see a little better. Suddenly, a man playing a bass guitar is visible. Then, we hear another sound: keyboard and drums, and as we pull back from the bass player everything darkens a little, as we search for the source of the new sound.
We search for the drums as they continue. We follow the sound of drums, and find the drummer. When we find the drums, they and the drummer are illuminated.
Then we hear a voice. The drummer falls into darkness as we try to find the source of the vocals. When we find it, the singer is illuminated. This is it! We’ve found what we were looking for in this dark night. We start to move in time with the singer’s voice, almost swaying as though in a trance.
Then out of nowhere, guitars break the spell. We have to find them, they’re unlike anything we’ve heard before. We find them, and we linger again. As the tempo slows for the chorus, we find ourselves becoming mellow, then restless, wandering around the band, taking in the band as a whole.
As the bass begins again, we glide to the sound. We can see the fingers of the bass player as he plays, and we are fascinated. As the singer continues, however, we keep glancing over to him, and back to the bass. But we can’t stay still. Our attention is drawn by the drums, then the bass, then the singer. And as the guitars start again, we can’t decide what we want; the guitar, the bass, or the drums? The lights are almost blinding, as though reflecting our inner turmoil, and our indecision.
As the song mellows out again, reaching the chorus, the lights settle, and we are left to wander again, looking to connect. We settle down in front of the band, almost sitting and looking up at them while they play, like a child listening to a fairy tale, and the place begins to lighten, sensing our inner peace.
Then the guitar causes us to jump up, and we zero in on the guitar, as the lights illuminate each band member in turn. Then suddenly, the place darkens and we are lost again. But then we hear it, the bass. The bass player is illuminated, but very softly And a sound, almost like a flourish, reflecting the twinkling, starlit quality of the room, heralds the end of the music, and the room darkens once more.
Budget
Shooting days: 1
Editing days: 2
See attached budget.
Crew Size & Equipment:
Equipment:
Four cameras
Three tripods
Studio lights
Playback facilities
Gels for lighting
Blacks (2)
Props
Crew:
Producer
Production Assistant
Director (2)
First Assistant Director
Four camera operators
Lighting assistant (2)
Art Director
Make-up artist
Playback operator
Editor
Locations:
There is only one location, and this location is the media production studio in the ICT building at the University of Newcastle.
'Seeing' music: The Music Video
Music videos can essentially be thought of as a promotional tool for a band or performing artist. They are also proof of the inextricable relationship between sound and image, and the ways in which the visual and aural inform each other in music videos. The aim of this essay is to consider the relationship between sound and image and how these ideas will be applied to the music video ‘Sirens’.
A. Goodwin notes a key term in understanding the relationship between sound and image:
Synaesthesia [is] the intrapersonal process whereby sensory impressions are carried over from one sense to another, for instance, when one pictures sounds in one’s ‘mind’s eye’. This concept is key for understanding music television, since video clips build on the soundtrack’s visual associations (Goodwin, 1992, p.50).
The act of listening to a song involves an imagining of the song in a visual sense. Therefore, a music video becomes part of that process of visually making sense, or extracting meaning from, the song. According to Goodwin, meaning is to be found not just in the song as a whole, but in all of its elements: the lyrics, the music, each instrument, the tempo of the song, and the emotion in the vocals (Goodwin, 1992, p.56). If the song itself can contain several elements, all with potentially multiple meanings to be derived from them, how can a music video be asked to provide a definitive visual representation of what the song means?
One way the music video can become the visual expression of what the song ‘means’ is through the use of genre. A song’s particular genre may inform how a director of a music video may go about visually representing the song. However, this approach is problematic. According to Francois Pachet and Daniel Cazaly, musical genres appear arbitrary, and are essentially a labelling device designed “to produce the shortest possible path for consumers to CDs, while keeping a reasonable CD rack size, and meaningful category headings” (Pachet and Cazaly, 2000, http://www.idiap.ch/~paiement/references/to_read/music/genre_classification/pachet-riao2000.pdf, viewed September 15, 2007).
Musicians will often use several different musical genres within their own work. This includes blending genres not only within their albums but even within their own songs, making the identification of a particular genre difficult. Daniel Chandler notes that this is not simply a problem in defining musical genres:
Specific genres tend to be easy to recognize intuitively but difficult (if not impossible) to define. Particular features which are characteristic of a genre are not normally unique to it; it is their relative prominence, combination and functions which are distinctive (Chandler, 2000, http://blackboard.newcastle.edu.au/webapps/portal/frameset.jsp?tab=courses&url=/bin/common/course.pl?course_id=_71491_1, viewed 30/08/07).
This inability to define a particular genre makes any sort of visual representation of that genre problematic. Not only that, but how does a music video, which is a mode of film rather than music, visually express a musical genre. What does a ‘rock’ video look like? There are stylistic similarities between music videos based on rock songs, but this does not mean that all music videos featuring rock music will all follow the same generic conventions. If a rock song, for example, is visually conveyed in a particular way, this does not necessarily bear any relation to the song’s aural style.
Chandler notes that working within particular generic conventions has been denounced by some critics for its limitations:
Robert Hodge and Gunther Kress define genres as 'typical forms of texts which link kinds of producer, consumer, topic, medium, manner and occasion', adding that they 'control the behaviour of producers of such texts, and the expectations of potential consumers' (Chandler, 2000, http://blackboard.newcastle.edu.au/webapps/portal/frameset.jsp?tab=courses&url=/bin/common/course.pl?course_id=_71491_1, August 30, 2007).
Though the use of genre can add another dimension of meaning to a video, it can also limit the creative choices available to a music video director. Another problem is that film genres, which can apply to music videos, do not correspond to musical genres, and vice versa.
Because music videos use the song as the basis for their narrative, they are not bound by a particular genre. And because the music video cannot convey all the possible meanings of a given song, this allows the director of a music video to select one possible meaning and visually express it. This visual representation need not come from the song, either. It may come from other sources which the song recalls to the mind of the director. It may also come from the musician or band.
The music video, in its function as a promotional tool, is marketing not simply the song but also the band. What is it about this particular band that will make them of interest to a potential audience? And because the music video has little to no generic restrictions placed upon it, the video can communicate the band’s personality to an audience. This is the intention of the music video for ‘Sirens’ by Montana Fire. Though the meaning of the lyrics do not correspond to the narrative of the music video, the video hopes to communicate the band’s personality, in particular their sense of humour, to the audience.
Goodwin notes that one of the main ways in which a music video communicates the meaning of the song visually is through the tempo (Goodwin, 1992, p.60). The song’s tempo can be represented either through the rhythm and pace of the narrative, or through the editing of the video. At particular moments throughout the song, ‘Sirens’ conveys a sense of urgency building from a dawning realisation, and the narrative of the video will attempt to convey this, albeit through a different visual and thematic device, that of the monster movie. Editing will also play a significant role in conveying the tempo of ‘Sirens’.
While it is important to consider the promotional nature of the music video and the tempo of the song when considering a music video concept, directors of music videos have a lot of creative freedom when visualising a song. This is because music videos are not bound by generic conventions, either through the genre of the song or filmic genres, and they are not bound by one particular meaning generated by the song. Though the video for ‘Sirens’ will be used as a promotional tool for the band Montana Fire, the concept is informed by this sense of potential creative freedom available to all music video directors.
Bibliography
Chandler, D., 2000, An Introduction to Genre Theory, http://blackboard.newcastle.edu.au/webapps/portal/frameset.jsp?tab=courses&url=/bin/common/course.pl?course_id=_71491_1, viewed August 30, 2007.
Goodwin, A, Dancing in the Distraction Factory – Music television and Popular Culture (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1992).
Pachet, F., and Cazaly, D., April 2000, A Taxonomy of Musical Genres, http://www.idiap.ch/~paiement/references/to_read/music/genre_classification/pachet-riao2000.pdf, viewed September 15, 2007.
A. Goodwin notes a key term in understanding the relationship between sound and image:
Synaesthesia [is] the intrapersonal process whereby sensory impressions are carried over from one sense to another, for instance, when one pictures sounds in one’s ‘mind’s eye’. This concept is key for understanding music television, since video clips build on the soundtrack’s visual associations (Goodwin, 1992, p.50).
The act of listening to a song involves an imagining of the song in a visual sense. Therefore, a music video becomes part of that process of visually making sense, or extracting meaning from, the song. According to Goodwin, meaning is to be found not just in the song as a whole, but in all of its elements: the lyrics, the music, each instrument, the tempo of the song, and the emotion in the vocals (Goodwin, 1992, p.56). If the song itself can contain several elements, all with potentially multiple meanings to be derived from them, how can a music video be asked to provide a definitive visual representation of what the song means?
One way the music video can become the visual expression of what the song ‘means’ is through the use of genre. A song’s particular genre may inform how a director of a music video may go about visually representing the song. However, this approach is problematic. According to Francois Pachet and Daniel Cazaly, musical genres appear arbitrary, and are essentially a labelling device designed “to produce the shortest possible path for consumers to CDs, while keeping a reasonable CD rack size, and meaningful category headings” (Pachet and Cazaly, 2000, http://www.idiap.ch/~paiement/references/to_read/music/genre_classification/pachet-riao2000.pdf, viewed September 15, 2007).
Musicians will often use several different musical genres within their own work. This includes blending genres not only within their albums but even within their own songs, making the identification of a particular genre difficult. Daniel Chandler notes that this is not simply a problem in defining musical genres:
Specific genres tend to be easy to recognize intuitively but difficult (if not impossible) to define. Particular features which are characteristic of a genre are not normally unique to it; it is their relative prominence, combination and functions which are distinctive (Chandler, 2000, http://blackboard.newcastle.edu.au/webapps/portal/frameset.jsp?tab=courses&url=/bin/common/course.pl?course_id=_71491_1, viewed 30/08/07).
This inability to define a particular genre makes any sort of visual representation of that genre problematic. Not only that, but how does a music video, which is a mode of film rather than music, visually express a musical genre. What does a ‘rock’ video look like? There are stylistic similarities between music videos based on rock songs, but this does not mean that all music videos featuring rock music will all follow the same generic conventions. If a rock song, for example, is visually conveyed in a particular way, this does not necessarily bear any relation to the song’s aural style.
Chandler notes that working within particular generic conventions has been denounced by some critics for its limitations:
Robert Hodge and Gunther Kress define genres as 'typical forms of texts which link kinds of producer, consumer, topic, medium, manner and occasion', adding that they 'control the behaviour of producers of such texts, and the expectations of potential consumers' (Chandler, 2000, http://blackboard.newcastle.edu.au/webapps/portal/frameset.jsp?tab=courses&url=/bin/common/course.pl?course_id=_71491_1, August 30, 2007).
Though the use of genre can add another dimension of meaning to a video, it can also limit the creative choices available to a music video director. Another problem is that film genres, which can apply to music videos, do not correspond to musical genres, and vice versa.
Because music videos use the song as the basis for their narrative, they are not bound by a particular genre. And because the music video cannot convey all the possible meanings of a given song, this allows the director of a music video to select one possible meaning and visually express it. This visual representation need not come from the song, either. It may come from other sources which the song recalls to the mind of the director. It may also come from the musician or band.
The music video, in its function as a promotional tool, is marketing not simply the song but also the band. What is it about this particular band that will make them of interest to a potential audience? And because the music video has little to no generic restrictions placed upon it, the video can communicate the band’s personality to an audience. This is the intention of the music video for ‘Sirens’ by Montana Fire. Though the meaning of the lyrics do not correspond to the narrative of the music video, the video hopes to communicate the band’s personality, in particular their sense of humour, to the audience.
Goodwin notes that one of the main ways in which a music video communicates the meaning of the song visually is through the tempo (Goodwin, 1992, p.60). The song’s tempo can be represented either through the rhythm and pace of the narrative, or through the editing of the video. At particular moments throughout the song, ‘Sirens’ conveys a sense of urgency building from a dawning realisation, and the narrative of the video will attempt to convey this, albeit through a different visual and thematic device, that of the monster movie. Editing will also play a significant role in conveying the tempo of ‘Sirens’.
While it is important to consider the promotional nature of the music video and the tempo of the song when considering a music video concept, directors of music videos have a lot of creative freedom when visualising a song. This is because music videos are not bound by generic conventions, either through the genre of the song or filmic genres, and they are not bound by one particular meaning generated by the song. Though the video for ‘Sirens’ will be used as a promotional tool for the band Montana Fire, the concept is informed by this sense of potential creative freedom available to all music video directors.
Bibliography
Chandler, D., 2000, An Introduction to Genre Theory, http://blackboard.newcastle.edu.au/webapps/portal/frameset.jsp?tab=courses&url=/bin/common/course.pl?course_id=_71491_1, viewed August 30, 2007.
Goodwin, A, Dancing in the Distraction Factory – Music television and Popular Culture (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1992).
Pachet, F., and Cazaly, D., April 2000, A Taxonomy of Musical Genres, http://www.idiap.ch/~paiement/references/to_read/music/genre_classification/pachet-riao2000.pdf, viewed September 15, 2007.
"Sirens" - Montana Fire
Working Title: Montana Fire
Song: Sirens
Duration: 4:34
About the Band:
According to the band's Myspace page (www.myspace.com/montanafire), Montana Fire’s “songs are sweet enough for the girls, with enough rock for the boys, clever for other musicians, and poppy enough to dance to”. This description of their sound perfectly sums up the band’s ability to span the genres of contemporary music.
Members:
Cameron Bone – vocals/guitar
J.B. – bass/vocals
Tom Arthur – guitar/vocals
Dean Tyler -- drums
Musical Style of the Video:
Form:
The video incorporates both performance and narrative.
Tag Line:
Godzilla as directed by Ed Wood.
Intended Musical/Visual Approach and shooting style:
I chose Sirens because it’s my favourite Montana Fire song. One night when I was watching them play the song the idea came to me, as though in a dream upon waking. I immediately had the image of the band running from the cat, but done using rear projection, so that it's obviously fake.
Montana Fire are serious about music, but the boys are fun and easygoing with a sense of humour, and I felt that though this narrative about a giant cat with eyes that shoot lasers doesn’t have much to do with the meaning of the song, it captures the band’s sense of humour, and fun-loving attitude. Rather than being a video that visually expresses the themes of the song, I think it’s a video that will visually express the personalities within the band.
I was inspired by films like Godzilla, and any parody of those kinds of movies. Though I had forgotten it, not having seen it since my childhood, my major source for inspiration was The Goodies. One episode, "Kitten Kong", featured a giant cat attacking a city. I also think the idea of making something ordinary, like a pet cat, into something monstrous. I am somewhat of a science fiction nerd.
I also love those old B-movies, like Ed Wood films, where the effects are really cheesy and the acting is really bad. I like things that look bad on purpose, as well. When a film or television show, or in this case a music video, uses this visual style or attempts to capture this particular aesthetic (bad-on-purpose), it’s not to rubbish the original filmmakers, it’s to pay a visual tribute to pop culture through the expression of a particular visual style that has influenced you, or contributed to filmmaking in some way.
The idea is that the band is rehearsing for a show. Unbeknownst to them, the city is being terrorised by an insidious monster. This monster is a giant cat. But a giant cat who can shoot lasers from its eyes. The band finishes their rehearsal and venture outside, and are plunged into chaos. The song ends with the band fleeing the cat.
Ideally, the band rehearsal footage will be shot in the studio, along with the last scene, with footage of the cat keyed into the background while the band runs on the spot and pretend to dodge lasers. If this option were not open to us, the rehearsal footage could be shot in my garage, and the footage of the band running could be composited with the footage of the cat in Adobe After Effects.
The footage of the band rehearsing the song would be very traditional, in the vein of a performance-based studio shoot, with traditional shots. That is, a wide shot of the band, with close-ups of each band member, and perhaps some handheld footage. Footage of each band member feeling as though something is wrong would also be required.
The footage of the cat, whose real name is Siegfried (Ziggy to friends and acquaintances), can be shot in the garage, or even in Ziggy’s home. The set will be inspired by the Powerpuff Girls – some cardboard skyscrapers made to a smaller scale than Ziggy, one in the foreground, and one in the background.
According to Ziggy’s owner, Ziggy can be trained to come forward, and encouraged to play with things. I think it’s just as amusing if he does nothing, but having some footage of him playing with toys and hitting things would also be appreciated.
A roadside location may be needed for one particular scene, which involves a man being ‘attacked’ by Ziggy, a woman being toyed with by Ziggy, and the band both scrambling into a car in order to get away and getting out of it and fleeing the scene. For these scenes, we’ll be cutting from the exterior location to the footage of Ziggy. I think that if the locations look different it will add to the cheesy, 1950s B-Movie, Ed Wood-style look that I am aiming for with the video.
Special effects, such as Ziggy’s eye lasers, can be made using Adobe After Effects.
Treatment:
We see a black screen with a special emergency message. It says simply, ‘City Under Threat’. We see people running in terror.
In a small garage/rehearsal space, a band rehearses their swinging tunes, oblivious to the danger outside the walls.
We see the source of the townspeople’s terror. It is a cat. Not just any old cat, but a giant cat!
A man sees this cat and screams in terror. This displeases the giant cat. It unleashes the full extent of its wrath upon the man. We see bright green and purple light in the cat’s eyes. The man is petrified, yet fascinated. The light from the cat’s eyes become lasers – No! The man is now nothing more than a pile of ash.
Back in the rehearsal space, the band continues to play. One of the members senses a disturbance outside, but shrugs it off and continues to play.
Outside, the cat is resting, merely waiting for its next victim.
In the rehearsal space, other members are sensing that all is not right with the world outside, but they continue to play.
The cat appears to be playing with an object. What is this beast from another horizon playing with? It’s a person.
The band finishes their rehearsal. They pack up, and leave the rehearsal space.
They venture outside. They witness the terror of the cat with laser eyes with their own eyes, which do not shoot lasers. They dodge the lasers and head to the nearest car. The cat strikes out at the car, shaking it, but fails to destroy it.
The authorities arrive. The cat quickly destroys the police car, reducing it to rubble. Then the fire truck is reduced to flames, how bitterly ironic. The ambulance is crushed with the cat’s mighty paw.
The band flees the scene. But the cat sees them. The cat follows them. The band runs for their lives, dodging the cat’s laser-beam eyes.
The End…?
Budget:
Shooting days: 2
Editing: 4.
Crew Size and Equipment:
Equipment
Camera (1)
Playback facilities
Lighting kit
Props
Studio lights
Green cyc in studio
Crew:
Producer
Director
Camera operator
Playback operator
Art Direction
Lighting technician
Editor
Locations:
The Media Production Studio at the University of Newcastle
My house
Hunter St Mall, Newcastle.
P.S. :
This is the treatment for a music video I produced for my friend's band. Check them out at www.myspace.com/montanafire. You will not be sorry you did.
Of course, the video looks nothing like this treatment. But I still think it would make for a great video. I think access to resources was our main issue, along with the fact that we didn't have enough time to prepare. I will come back to it one day, so stay tuned...
Oh, and here's the video:
Now, I must stress that this was made for student purposes only, and we have not (and are never likely to) gain profit for it. Please to enjoy.
Song: Sirens
Duration: 4:34
About the Band:
According to the band's Myspace page (www.myspace.com/montanafire), Montana Fire’s “songs are sweet enough for the girls, with enough rock for the boys, clever for other musicians, and poppy enough to dance to”. This description of their sound perfectly sums up the band’s ability to span the genres of contemporary music.
Members:
Cameron Bone – vocals/guitar
J.B. – bass/vocals
Tom Arthur – guitar/vocals
Dean Tyler -- drums
Musical Style of the Video:
Form:
The video incorporates both performance and narrative.
Tag Line:
Godzilla as directed by Ed Wood.
Intended Musical/Visual Approach and shooting style:
I chose Sirens because it’s my favourite Montana Fire song. One night when I was watching them play the song the idea came to me, as though in a dream upon waking. I immediately had the image of the band running from the cat, but done using rear projection, so that it's obviously fake.
Montana Fire are serious about music, but the boys are fun and easygoing with a sense of humour, and I felt that though this narrative about a giant cat with eyes that shoot lasers doesn’t have much to do with the meaning of the song, it captures the band’s sense of humour, and fun-loving attitude. Rather than being a video that visually expresses the themes of the song, I think it’s a video that will visually express the personalities within the band.
I was inspired by films like Godzilla, and any parody of those kinds of movies. Though I had forgotten it, not having seen it since my childhood, my major source for inspiration was The Goodies. One episode, "Kitten Kong", featured a giant cat attacking a city. I also think the idea of making something ordinary, like a pet cat, into something monstrous. I am somewhat of a science fiction nerd.
I also love those old B-movies, like Ed Wood films, where the effects are really cheesy and the acting is really bad. I like things that look bad on purpose, as well. When a film or television show, or in this case a music video, uses this visual style or attempts to capture this particular aesthetic (bad-on-purpose), it’s not to rubbish the original filmmakers, it’s to pay a visual tribute to pop culture through the expression of a particular visual style that has influenced you, or contributed to filmmaking in some way.
The idea is that the band is rehearsing for a show. Unbeknownst to them, the city is being terrorised by an insidious monster. This monster is a giant cat. But a giant cat who can shoot lasers from its eyes. The band finishes their rehearsal and venture outside, and are plunged into chaos. The song ends with the band fleeing the cat.
Ideally, the band rehearsal footage will be shot in the studio, along with the last scene, with footage of the cat keyed into the background while the band runs on the spot and pretend to dodge lasers. If this option were not open to us, the rehearsal footage could be shot in my garage, and the footage of the band running could be composited with the footage of the cat in Adobe After Effects.
The footage of the band rehearsing the song would be very traditional, in the vein of a performance-based studio shoot, with traditional shots. That is, a wide shot of the band, with close-ups of each band member, and perhaps some handheld footage. Footage of each band member feeling as though something is wrong would also be required.
The footage of the cat, whose real name is Siegfried (Ziggy to friends and acquaintances), can be shot in the garage, or even in Ziggy’s home. The set will be inspired by the Powerpuff Girls – some cardboard skyscrapers made to a smaller scale than Ziggy, one in the foreground, and one in the background.
According to Ziggy’s owner, Ziggy can be trained to come forward, and encouraged to play with things. I think it’s just as amusing if he does nothing, but having some footage of him playing with toys and hitting things would also be appreciated.
A roadside location may be needed for one particular scene, which involves a man being ‘attacked’ by Ziggy, a woman being toyed with by Ziggy, and the band both scrambling into a car in order to get away and getting out of it and fleeing the scene. For these scenes, we’ll be cutting from the exterior location to the footage of Ziggy. I think that if the locations look different it will add to the cheesy, 1950s B-Movie, Ed Wood-style look that I am aiming for with the video.
Special effects, such as Ziggy’s eye lasers, can be made using Adobe After Effects.
Treatment:
We see a black screen with a special emergency message. It says simply, ‘City Under Threat’. We see people running in terror.
In a small garage/rehearsal space, a band rehearses their swinging tunes, oblivious to the danger outside the walls.
We see the source of the townspeople’s terror. It is a cat. Not just any old cat, but a giant cat!
A man sees this cat and screams in terror. This displeases the giant cat. It unleashes the full extent of its wrath upon the man. We see bright green and purple light in the cat’s eyes. The man is petrified, yet fascinated. The light from the cat’s eyes become lasers – No! The man is now nothing more than a pile of ash.
Back in the rehearsal space, the band continues to play. One of the members senses a disturbance outside, but shrugs it off and continues to play.
Outside, the cat is resting, merely waiting for its next victim.
In the rehearsal space, other members are sensing that all is not right with the world outside, but they continue to play.
The cat appears to be playing with an object. What is this beast from another horizon playing with? It’s a person.
The band finishes their rehearsal. They pack up, and leave the rehearsal space.
They venture outside. They witness the terror of the cat with laser eyes with their own eyes, which do not shoot lasers. They dodge the lasers and head to the nearest car. The cat strikes out at the car, shaking it, but fails to destroy it.
The authorities arrive. The cat quickly destroys the police car, reducing it to rubble. Then the fire truck is reduced to flames, how bitterly ironic. The ambulance is crushed with the cat’s mighty paw.
The band flees the scene. But the cat sees them. The cat follows them. The band runs for their lives, dodging the cat’s laser-beam eyes.
The End…?
Budget:
Shooting days: 2
Editing: 4.
Crew Size and Equipment:
Equipment
Camera (1)
Playback facilities
Lighting kit
Props
Studio lights
Green cyc in studio
Crew:
Producer
Director
Camera operator
Playback operator
Art Direction
Lighting technician
Editor
Locations:
The Media Production Studio at the University of Newcastle
My house
Hunter St Mall, Newcastle.
P.S. :
This is the treatment for a music video I produced for my friend's band. Check them out at www.myspace.com/montanafire. You will not be sorry you did.
Of course, the video looks nothing like this treatment. But I still think it would make for a great video. I think access to resources was our main issue, along with the fact that we didn't have enough time to prepare. I will come back to it one day, so stay tuned...
Oh, and here's the video:
Now, I must stress that this was made for student purposes only, and we have not (and are never likely to) gain profit for it. Please to enjoy.
Thursday, December 13, 2007
“I came across time for you”: Time Travel and Classical Character Motivation
In a recent episode of Doctor Who, entitled ‘Blink’ (Hettie MacDonald, 2007), the Doctor (David Tennant) attempts to explain the logic of time travel to a young woman called Sally Sparrow (Carey Mulligan):
People assume that time is a strict progression of cause to effect... but actually, from a non-linear, non-subjective viewpoint, it's more like a big ball of wibbly-wobbly... timey-wimey... stuff.
What the Doctor is suggesting is that time is not a linear progression; rather, it is in a constant state of flux, allowing people to revisit different moments in time. Under this view, time is never stable, and with the possibility of time travel, narratives can be rearranged because at any given moment, a character can change story events and story order. This concept of time being in a constant state of flux appears to be in contrast with the idea of film narrative, which demands a beginning, middle, and end. The way in which an audience member understands a story is through a particular structure, and the theme of time travel represents a rupturing of that structure. It follows, then, that a film narrative about time travel must follow a structure that can be understood by the audience. Time travel, at its core, represents the subversion of a linear narrative, because it allows the story to revisit different points along that narrative. But does this mean that time travel in film can be represented without some kind of linear narrative structure? How do time travel films negotiate the structure of film and its construction of time? This essay will attempt to explore these questions through an analysis of La Jetée (Chris Marker, 1962) and The Terminator (James Cameron, 1984), with reference to Twelve Monkeys (Terry Gilliam, 1995).
In La Jetée, a man (Davos Hanich) is obsessed with an image from his childhood. Just before the advent of the Third World War, he sees a man die at Orly airport. After the war, he becomes the subject of an experiment, which forces him to travel through time. In the past, he falls in love with a woman. At the film’s end, he travels back to her, where she is waiting at Orly airport. As he is shot down by one of the men performing the experiments, he realises that the death he witnessed as a child was his own.
In The Terminator, the machines known collectively as Skynet have enslaved humankind in the future. One human named John Connor has defeated the machines. In order to prevent this victory, the machines send a cyborg into the past to kill John Connor’s mother, Sarah (Linda Hamilton), before she can give birth to him. Connor discovers the machines’ plan and sends a human into the past to stop the cyborg known as the Terminator (Arnold Schwarzenegger). The Terminator is defeated and Kyle Reese (Michael Biehn), John Connor’s best friend in the future, becomes his father in the past. Sarah Connor leaves town, determined to keep John alive and raise him to become the leader he is in the future.
In Twelve Monkeys, a disease has all but wiped out the human race. A group of scientists are attempting to send human subjects back in time to trace the spread of the disease. They decide to send James Cole (Bruce Willis). On his first journey to the past, he ends up in the wrong year and meets a psychologist (Madeleine Stowe) who tries to assist him in his search for the truth. As the film progresses, Cole discovers that he cannot change time, and at the film’s end, he discovers the death he witnessed as a child was his own.
According to David Bordwell, ‘a discreet narration oversees time, making it subordinate to causality, while the spectator follows the causal thread’.[i] Bordwell is referring to the classical Hollywood cinema and its detailed conventions. If narrative is subordinate to cause and effect, as Bordwell asserts, then time travel films pose a problem for narrative. Causality in a time travel film works on a different level, because the chain of cause and effect is linked in a different way. Often, events are motivated by actions which have not yet taken place. Sarah Connor vocalises this complicated idea when she berates Kyle Reese, saying ‘you’re talking about things I haven’t done yet in the past tense. It’s driving me crazy’. In La Jetée, the actions that lead to the protagonist’s death have already happened when he was a child. With this complicated chain of cause and effect in time travel films, how can story information be presented in such a way as to still be understood by an audience?
Bordwell conceives of classical Hollywood narration in the following way:
The classical filmmaker needs an opening, a threshold – that concentrated, preliminary exposition that plunges us in media res. Events unfold successively from that. Advance notice of the future is especially forbidden, since a flashforward would make the narration’s omniscience and suppressiveness overt. The only permissible manipulation of story order is the flashback.[ii]
The classical Hollywood cinema’s imagining of time is not irrelevant to a discussion of time travel films. The way in which these particular time travel films negotiate time and structure can be better understood through an application of the classical Hollywood cinema’s construction of time.
La Jetée and The Terminator both begin with what Bordwell calls ‘a concentrated, preliminary exposition’. The former begins with images from Orly airport, with a narrator (Jean Negroni) who informs the spectator that ‘this is the story of a man marked by an image from his childhood’. Through the voice of the narrator, and the still images, the audience is able to understand the story of a man travelling through time. The film’s opening is declared as a moment in the past, and the main story is told in a distant future. The latter film begins in the future. Images of machines rolling over human bones are accompanied by titles stating that ‘the final battle would not be fought in the future. It would be fought here in our present. Tonight…’
In the classical Hollywood cinema, time and story order are negotiated in two key ways. The first is crosscutting, and the second is through the flashback. Crosscutting is used to give the impression of two events happening simultaneously, and is not as important to this discussion as the use of flashbacks. In the classical Hollywood cinema, flashbacks are introduced by character motivation. Once the scene has been established, the accompanying flashback can be portrayed objectively. In order to have a greater understanding of the time travel film, the way in which the time travel film crosses from one time to another can be thought of in terms of a flashback. In a film such as Twelve Monkeys, the film’s climax is presented to the audience as a series of flashbacks. As James Cole attempts to discover the source of the disease which has all but wiped out the human race in the future, he has flashbacks of the day he saw a man shot to death at an airport as a child. The more he sees of this moment from his childhood, the more he realises that it is an important moment not only in his past, but also his future. All points in the story converge upon this event that Cole witnesses as a child, much like the protagonist in La Jetée, which is no coincidence, as Twelve Monkeys was inspired by La Jetée.
Bordwell notes that the flashback is introduced with a variety of visual cues:
Several cues cooperate here; images of the character thinking, the character’s voice heard over the images, optical effects (dissolve, blurring focus), music, and specific references to the time period we are about to enter.[iii]
In The Terminator, we are told from the beginning that the film will take place in the present, in one night. Aside from the nightmare vision of the future in the film’s opening, scenes of the future are motivated by flashback. The first flashback occurs as Kyle Reese sits in a stolen car near a construction site. The second flashback occurs after he and Sarah have escaped from the police station, taking refuge in a cave. Sarah asks Kyle to tell her about his world. As he begins to talk, she closes her eyes. We then go from a close-up of Sarah’s profile to the future via dissolve. We hear Kyle discussing his life in the future on the soundtrack, and a reference to the time period we are about to enter, through Sarah and Kyle’s discussion. It can be argued that in this film, the changing timelines of the future and the present are handled through a classical manipulation of story order.
Though the protagonist’s travels through time are not strictly flashbacks in La Jetée, they are introduced in a way that is in keeping with the classical Hollywood manipulation of story order. Each time the protagonist arrives in the past, it is motivated by a close-up of his face, suggesting a series of events relating to his memory. These moments are introduced subjectively, but are then portrayed objectively. The transition from the present to the past is expressed visually through a dissolve, a visual cue Bordwell notes in his chapter on time in the classical Hollywood cinema. For Bordwell, ‘character memory is simply a convenient immediate motivation for a shift in chronology’.[iv] Under this view, it can be argued that time travel films rely on a classical understanding of time to transmit important story information to the spectator, and this means that time travel must be motivated by character. In particular, it is often motivated by character memory.
Character motivation forms the focus of classical Hollywood cinema. Aspects such as plot, narration, story order, and spatial relations are all motivated by characters within the film. Bordwell argues that this is what drives these films, allowing the spectator to understand what is going on. He argues that ‘character causality provides the basis for temporal coherence’.[v] In La Jetée and The Terminator, time travel is motivated entirely by character. Authority figures determine that time travel is the only recourse to understand the impact a past event has had on the present, but this travel itself is only made possible, or is completed by, a particular character’s memory and/or desire.
In La Jetée, the scientists have been experimenting on prisoners, trying to send them into the past to understand the events leading up to the war. It is only upon meeting the protagonist that they discover the key to time travel is to find a subject who has a strong attachment to the past that goes beyond any physical or mental anguish the process might bring about. The protagonist is haunted by a still image from his childhood. It is the image of a woman’s face, frozen in anguish as she watches a man die. It is this image alone that allows him to travel to the past.
In The Terminator, Skynet, having been destroyed, determine that the only way to stop the uprising of the humans is to go back in time and destroy Sarah Connor before she can give birth to her son, who is responsible for destroying Skynet and Cyberdyne Systems. Like the protagonist of La Jetée, Kyle Reese’s eagerness for the job of protecting Sarah Connor is motivated by a still image of Sarah, given to him by John. At the end of the film, we discover that the photograph is taken after the Terminator has been destroyed, as a pregnant Sarah begins the task of saving the future. The link between time travel and human desire is made explicit when Kyle tells Sarah, ‘I came across time for you, Sarah. I love you. I always have’.
The time travel film involves some imagining of the future, and in La Jetée, The Terminator, and even Twelve Monkeys, these futures are all bleak dystopias created by war or disease. In all three films, humans live like prisoners; starving and hiding from authority. It is the past that is more alive, more vibrant, and more beautiful. The spectator, much like the characters within the film, desires the past more than the present or future. While technological fantasy plays an essential role in imagining the future, these films in particular are devoted to the past and the present, and the way in which the past and present affect the future.
Though it may initially be a desire to make the future as beautiful and vibrant as the past, the characters within the film can only experience the beauty of the past for a short period of time. They cannot change things; they can only put a set of events in motion. The protagonist in La Jetée finally possesses the moment of his childhood just before his death. It is the same for Cole in Twelve Monkeys. In The Terminator, Kyle Reese can only ever be with the woman he loves for a few hours. In all three films, the characters that travel through time discover that this moment in the past they have been yearning for is the moment of their destruction. In La Jetée and Twelve Monkeys, the image that haunts the time traveler is both the beginning of the film and the end of the film, and the chain of cause and effect ensures that all moments within the film establish both the beginning and the end. In The Terminator, the image that haunts Reese is the end of the film, and perhaps the beginning of the sequel, more so than the beginning of that particular film.
According to Brooks Landon, time travel films reveal the inherent power of film to transcend the limits of time:
If we consider time travel films as the manipulation of our experience of time, then cinema’s most basic and fundamental special effect of movement from stillness constitutes a kind of meta-time travel story – not one told by cinema, but one enacted by the film-viewing experience. For all the time machines, time tunnels, and disruptions of the space-time continuum SF has imagined, motion picture technology may itself be the most effective time machine of all.[vi]
People assume that time is a strict progression of cause to effect... but actually, from a non-linear, non-subjective viewpoint, it's more like a big ball of wibbly-wobbly... timey-wimey... stuff.
What the Doctor is suggesting is that time is not a linear progression; rather, it is in a constant state of flux, allowing people to revisit different moments in time. Under this view, time is never stable, and with the possibility of time travel, narratives can be rearranged because at any given moment, a character can change story events and story order. This concept of time being in a constant state of flux appears to be in contrast with the idea of film narrative, which demands a beginning, middle, and end. The way in which an audience member understands a story is through a particular structure, and the theme of time travel represents a rupturing of that structure. It follows, then, that a film narrative about time travel must follow a structure that can be understood by the audience. Time travel, at its core, represents the subversion of a linear narrative, because it allows the story to revisit different points along that narrative. But does this mean that time travel in film can be represented without some kind of linear narrative structure? How do time travel films negotiate the structure of film and its construction of time? This essay will attempt to explore these questions through an analysis of La Jetée (Chris Marker, 1962) and The Terminator (James Cameron, 1984), with reference to Twelve Monkeys (Terry Gilliam, 1995).
In La Jetée, a man (Davos Hanich) is obsessed with an image from his childhood. Just before the advent of the Third World War, he sees a man die at Orly airport. After the war, he becomes the subject of an experiment, which forces him to travel through time. In the past, he falls in love with a woman. At the film’s end, he travels back to her, where she is waiting at Orly airport. As he is shot down by one of the men performing the experiments, he realises that the death he witnessed as a child was his own.
In The Terminator, the machines known collectively as Skynet have enslaved humankind in the future. One human named John Connor has defeated the machines. In order to prevent this victory, the machines send a cyborg into the past to kill John Connor’s mother, Sarah (Linda Hamilton), before she can give birth to him. Connor discovers the machines’ plan and sends a human into the past to stop the cyborg known as the Terminator (Arnold Schwarzenegger). The Terminator is defeated and Kyle Reese (Michael Biehn), John Connor’s best friend in the future, becomes his father in the past. Sarah Connor leaves town, determined to keep John alive and raise him to become the leader he is in the future.
In Twelve Monkeys, a disease has all but wiped out the human race. A group of scientists are attempting to send human subjects back in time to trace the spread of the disease. They decide to send James Cole (Bruce Willis). On his first journey to the past, he ends up in the wrong year and meets a psychologist (Madeleine Stowe) who tries to assist him in his search for the truth. As the film progresses, Cole discovers that he cannot change time, and at the film’s end, he discovers the death he witnessed as a child was his own.
According to David Bordwell, ‘a discreet narration oversees time, making it subordinate to causality, while the spectator follows the causal thread’.[i] Bordwell is referring to the classical Hollywood cinema and its detailed conventions. If narrative is subordinate to cause and effect, as Bordwell asserts, then time travel films pose a problem for narrative. Causality in a time travel film works on a different level, because the chain of cause and effect is linked in a different way. Often, events are motivated by actions which have not yet taken place. Sarah Connor vocalises this complicated idea when she berates Kyle Reese, saying ‘you’re talking about things I haven’t done yet in the past tense. It’s driving me crazy’. In La Jetée, the actions that lead to the protagonist’s death have already happened when he was a child. With this complicated chain of cause and effect in time travel films, how can story information be presented in such a way as to still be understood by an audience?
Bordwell conceives of classical Hollywood narration in the following way:
The classical filmmaker needs an opening, a threshold – that concentrated, preliminary exposition that plunges us in media res. Events unfold successively from that. Advance notice of the future is especially forbidden, since a flashforward would make the narration’s omniscience and suppressiveness overt. The only permissible manipulation of story order is the flashback.[ii]
The classical Hollywood cinema’s imagining of time is not irrelevant to a discussion of time travel films. The way in which these particular time travel films negotiate time and structure can be better understood through an application of the classical Hollywood cinema’s construction of time.
La Jetée and The Terminator both begin with what Bordwell calls ‘a concentrated, preliminary exposition’. The former begins with images from Orly airport, with a narrator (Jean Negroni) who informs the spectator that ‘this is the story of a man marked by an image from his childhood’. Through the voice of the narrator, and the still images, the audience is able to understand the story of a man travelling through time. The film’s opening is declared as a moment in the past, and the main story is told in a distant future. The latter film begins in the future. Images of machines rolling over human bones are accompanied by titles stating that ‘the final battle would not be fought in the future. It would be fought here in our present. Tonight…’
In the classical Hollywood cinema, time and story order are negotiated in two key ways. The first is crosscutting, and the second is through the flashback. Crosscutting is used to give the impression of two events happening simultaneously, and is not as important to this discussion as the use of flashbacks. In the classical Hollywood cinema, flashbacks are introduced by character motivation. Once the scene has been established, the accompanying flashback can be portrayed objectively. In order to have a greater understanding of the time travel film, the way in which the time travel film crosses from one time to another can be thought of in terms of a flashback. In a film such as Twelve Monkeys, the film’s climax is presented to the audience as a series of flashbacks. As James Cole attempts to discover the source of the disease which has all but wiped out the human race in the future, he has flashbacks of the day he saw a man shot to death at an airport as a child. The more he sees of this moment from his childhood, the more he realises that it is an important moment not only in his past, but also his future. All points in the story converge upon this event that Cole witnesses as a child, much like the protagonist in La Jetée, which is no coincidence, as Twelve Monkeys was inspired by La Jetée.
Bordwell notes that the flashback is introduced with a variety of visual cues:
Several cues cooperate here; images of the character thinking, the character’s voice heard over the images, optical effects (dissolve, blurring focus), music, and specific references to the time period we are about to enter.[iii]
In The Terminator, we are told from the beginning that the film will take place in the present, in one night. Aside from the nightmare vision of the future in the film’s opening, scenes of the future are motivated by flashback. The first flashback occurs as Kyle Reese sits in a stolen car near a construction site. The second flashback occurs after he and Sarah have escaped from the police station, taking refuge in a cave. Sarah asks Kyle to tell her about his world. As he begins to talk, she closes her eyes. We then go from a close-up of Sarah’s profile to the future via dissolve. We hear Kyle discussing his life in the future on the soundtrack, and a reference to the time period we are about to enter, through Sarah and Kyle’s discussion. It can be argued that in this film, the changing timelines of the future and the present are handled through a classical manipulation of story order.
Though the protagonist’s travels through time are not strictly flashbacks in La Jetée, they are introduced in a way that is in keeping with the classical Hollywood manipulation of story order. Each time the protagonist arrives in the past, it is motivated by a close-up of his face, suggesting a series of events relating to his memory. These moments are introduced subjectively, but are then portrayed objectively. The transition from the present to the past is expressed visually through a dissolve, a visual cue Bordwell notes in his chapter on time in the classical Hollywood cinema. For Bordwell, ‘character memory is simply a convenient immediate motivation for a shift in chronology’.[iv] Under this view, it can be argued that time travel films rely on a classical understanding of time to transmit important story information to the spectator, and this means that time travel must be motivated by character. In particular, it is often motivated by character memory.
Character motivation forms the focus of classical Hollywood cinema. Aspects such as plot, narration, story order, and spatial relations are all motivated by characters within the film. Bordwell argues that this is what drives these films, allowing the spectator to understand what is going on. He argues that ‘character causality provides the basis for temporal coherence’.[v] In La Jetée and The Terminator, time travel is motivated entirely by character. Authority figures determine that time travel is the only recourse to understand the impact a past event has had on the present, but this travel itself is only made possible, or is completed by, a particular character’s memory and/or desire.
In La Jetée, the scientists have been experimenting on prisoners, trying to send them into the past to understand the events leading up to the war. It is only upon meeting the protagonist that they discover the key to time travel is to find a subject who has a strong attachment to the past that goes beyond any physical or mental anguish the process might bring about. The protagonist is haunted by a still image from his childhood. It is the image of a woman’s face, frozen in anguish as she watches a man die. It is this image alone that allows him to travel to the past.
In The Terminator, Skynet, having been destroyed, determine that the only way to stop the uprising of the humans is to go back in time and destroy Sarah Connor before she can give birth to her son, who is responsible for destroying Skynet and Cyberdyne Systems. Like the protagonist of La Jetée, Kyle Reese’s eagerness for the job of protecting Sarah Connor is motivated by a still image of Sarah, given to him by John. At the end of the film, we discover that the photograph is taken after the Terminator has been destroyed, as a pregnant Sarah begins the task of saving the future. The link between time travel and human desire is made explicit when Kyle tells Sarah, ‘I came across time for you, Sarah. I love you. I always have’.
The time travel film involves some imagining of the future, and in La Jetée, The Terminator, and even Twelve Monkeys, these futures are all bleak dystopias created by war or disease. In all three films, humans live like prisoners; starving and hiding from authority. It is the past that is more alive, more vibrant, and more beautiful. The spectator, much like the characters within the film, desires the past more than the present or future. While technological fantasy plays an essential role in imagining the future, these films in particular are devoted to the past and the present, and the way in which the past and present affect the future.
Though it may initially be a desire to make the future as beautiful and vibrant as the past, the characters within the film can only experience the beauty of the past for a short period of time. They cannot change things; they can only put a set of events in motion. The protagonist in La Jetée finally possesses the moment of his childhood just before his death. It is the same for Cole in Twelve Monkeys. In The Terminator, Kyle Reese can only ever be with the woman he loves for a few hours. In all three films, the characters that travel through time discover that this moment in the past they have been yearning for is the moment of their destruction. In La Jetée and Twelve Monkeys, the image that haunts the time traveler is both the beginning of the film and the end of the film, and the chain of cause and effect ensures that all moments within the film establish both the beginning and the end. In The Terminator, the image that haunts Reese is the end of the film, and perhaps the beginning of the sequel, more so than the beginning of that particular film.
According to Brooks Landon, time travel films reveal the inherent power of film to transcend the limits of time:
If we consider time travel films as the manipulation of our experience of time, then cinema’s most basic and fundamental special effect of movement from stillness constitutes a kind of meta-time travel story – not one told by cinema, but one enacted by the film-viewing experience. For all the time machines, time tunnels, and disruptions of the space-time continuum SF has imagined, motion picture technology may itself be the most effective time machine of all.[vi]
Landon argues that it is film’s singular power to be able to portray past events as though they are happening in the present, and that this in itself is a form of time travel. Time travel and film do share the idea that time is a construct and so can be manipulated in certain ways. This is not being disputed here, but it is important to remember Bordwell’s argument that temporal order must be manipulated in such a way as to be understood by an audience. The key to audience understanding is in character motivation, and time travel films are able to manipulate temporal order through character desire and memory. This allows time travel films to negotiate the structure of film.
Endnotes
[i] David Bordwell, ‘Time in the Classical Film’ in Bordwell, D., Staiger, J., and Thompson, K. (Eds), The Classical Hollywood Cinema: Film Style and Mode of Production to 1960 (London: Routledge, 1985). p.49.
[ii] Ibid. p.42.
[iii] Ibid. p.43.
[iv] Ibid. p.43.
[v] Ibid. p.43.
[vi] Brooks Landon, The Aesthetics of Ambivalence: Rethinking Science Fiction Film in the Age of Electronic (Re)Production (Westport: Greenwood Press, 1992). p.74.
Why the French Hate Marie Antoinette (Sofia Coppola, 2006), and why I love it
I usually hate Biopics. I think they're boring and unconvincing. I listen to every word of dialogue thinking, 'how do they know that's what he actually said?' Ahh, when it comes to biopics, I'm that guy. That guy who watches Bad Boys and thinks the car chases and explosions are unrealistic. That guy who thinks science fiction films are rubbish because they don't reflect real life (well, they do, but we're not dealing with someone sane here). I'm that guy who sits there and scoffs, uttering those dreaded words that make all film lovers cringe: as if that would happen in real life.
I usually want to kick that person in the eye. So why do I treat biopics in such a shabby fashion? I think it's because format shifting is a tricky business, unless you're a computer geek (hello, friends!) or a music pirate (hello friends!). Source material that hasn't been made especially for a film is tough to produce in a satisfying way. It can be achieved, but by people who know what they're doing. Or people who have absolutely no idea at all what they're doing.
Now, if you read my debut post, which is a review of a well-made biopic, you'll remember what I said about biopics: balancing act. Because really, it all comes down to one thing: Narrative. Simply put, narrative is how you tell the story. It's how you let the story unfold. It's how you turn the plot into a fully realised cinematic experience. Which basically means that everything comes down to narrative. Well, that's my theory, and trust me, it's not very original. David Bordwell, Kristin Thompson and Janet Staiger wrote the book on Classical Hollywood Cinema (literally. It's called Classical Hollywood Cinema: Film Style and Mode of Production to 1960), and I think that not only can you extend their analysis of classical Hollywood cinema to mainstream cinema, i.e. contemporary Hollywood cinema, I think you can still apply it to cinema in general. This theory remains largely untested, I'm fully prepared to find that I'm mayor of Wrongtown on this, but the fact is: Much like classical Hollywood cinema, every element of film is subordinate to narrative, which is what Bordwell found when he watched a veritable shiteload of classical Hollywood films. And I reckon that's still true. How you tell the story is the key. It seems completely effing obvious, but those are usually the things that are left unexplored.
So film narrative, obviously, is different to say, narrative in literature. And it certainly isn't the same as real life. Film narrative borrows from the three-act structure and turns it up to 11: exposition, rising action, climax, falling action, denoument. Now, this is universal dramatic structure, but film has to do it visually and aurally, and it only has a certain amount of time do it all in. Which brings me back to the biopic.
How do you take a real person and turn them into a constructed story that conforms to the dramatic structure of narrative film? Inevitably, you're going to start with them on the brink of notoriety if they're famous, maybe end on their downfall, basically focus on their life from start to finish. Which is why I think I can't connect with them. You have to turn their life into an exciting adventure, in a nutshell (hmmm, there's an idea, make a film about a celebrity inside a nutshell...), and what if their life just doesn't fit that mould? On the other hand, if it doesn't, why are they making a film about them in the first place?
There's a tendency in many biopics to be completely faithful to the subject, mostly for the sake of the family. However, there's a difference between accurately portraying an historical figure and playing it safe in the narrative. There are so many things you can do with film, so my theory is why not use all your available resources? You can still make an exciting film that stays true to the essence of a historical figure. By narrowing your focus, you can create an exciting film that's still historically accurate. And why does it have to be a period piece? If an historical figure reminds you of something modern and new, why not incorporate it? No matter how hard a film maker tries, their film will only ever be an interpretation of someone's life, so why make something dull? No matter how accurate it is, the people who know the subject best will not be entirely happy with the finished product. For Natalie Curtis, Control is distracting, because it's not quite like the stories she was told, and she thought her mother should have been a more dominant presence in the film, a not-invalid point, because after all, Deborah Curtis' book is the source material for the film. Roseanne Cash said she didn't want to watch Walk The Line because she didn't want to see the Hollywood version of her father's drug addiction. If I saw a film about one of my family members, I don't think I'd be entirely happy with the finished product, either. I think a film maker has to be respectful, but also have the courage to tell the story they want to tell. Which is why I haven't watched a lot of biopics, and the ones I have are mostly boring. Except for three. And those are Walk the Line (James Mangold, 2005), Marie Antoinette (Sofia Coppola, 2006), and Control (Anton Corbijn, 2007).
Walk the Line is probably the most conventional of the three, but that's not a bad thing. I think it's the narrowed focus and opening that makes this biopic really great. For those who have no idea, it's the story of Johnny Cash, and in particular, his drug battle and relationship with June Carter Cash (I'll give you a hint: they get together at the end). It opens with Cash in a prison, about to perform for the inmates. Some machinery reminds him of his childhood and takes him back to an event that will haunt his adult life. I don't want to spoil it, because I think everyone should watch it, but it's a film that takes Johnny Cash's well-documented drug abuse, long, illustrious career and high profile relationship with June Carter Cash and turns it into a beautiful story about the power of love.
tip: watch the video for Johnny Cash's cover of Hurt. It's the last video he made, and it's heartbreaking. It's like watching a sunset.
Now, I don't know if every single French person hates Sofia Coppola's treatment of their teenage queen, but the response to the film when it was shown at Cannes was a sign that maybe the French don't have a sense of humour when it comes to historical figures they murdered during the Revolution. I know it's not everyone's cup of tea, but I count Marie Antoinette as my favourite Sofia Coppola film, and one of my favourite films of all time. Sure, it's partly my girl crush on Kirsten Dunst, and well, Sofia Coppola, but it's mostly the bold treatment of the subject. Coppola based the film on the book Marie Antoinette: The Journey by Antonia Frazer, but I think it was very losely based. In an interview with Coppola, she said that the French court during Marie Antoinette's reign reminded her of the New Romantics, a music movement in the 1980s (post-punk, slightly post-joy division). Coppola incorporated this idea into the film by using a soundtrack made up of new romantic music, including Adam and the Ants, New Order, Bow Wow Wow, The Cure, and Siouxsie and the Banshees, as well as contemporary artists such as the Strokes and Aphex Twin, which I thought was brilliant. Add to that awesome soundtrack a trailer set to New Order's Age of Consent, a shot of powder-blue chuck taylors amongst 18th Century heels, and the Blondie-esque movie poster and you've got a fairly vivid imagining of 1770s France. But don't confuse rock and roll treatment for historical inaccuracy. The stunning attention to detail makes the film absolutely delightful to look at. The colourful food, the cakes and pastries and ornate clothes, ah! It makes you wish you were there. Coppola's wish to make something about Marie Antoinette that felt like it was from Marie Antoinette's perspective, and that association with the music Coppola probably listened to as a teenager has lead her to create, for me anyway, not so much a biopic so much as a 1980s teen film with Marie Antoinette as the protagonist. It is this treatment of the material that makes me admire the film so much: Coppola didn't feel the need to make a conventional biopic, which is why I love it.
tip: Listen to all the records from the 80s that your older sister threw away (or, for you younglings, your parents).
Anton Corbijn loves his black and white. Ain't nothing wrong with that, because i love black and white too. I've produced two music videos, and we used the same technique as Corbijn for both of them: shot in colour and printed to black and white. Why? Because black and white just makes those little flares of light so much more interesting. And don't shoot in black and white when you can use a filter in Final Cut, just in case it looks a bit rubbish (how could it? But I'm sure it's possible). As someone whose photos were largely responsible for Joy Division's legendary status (one of the few times NME were right), who better to chronicle the life of lead singer Ian Curtis than someone who not only helped create his image but loved his music? Control is a studied, personal, visually stunning insight into five years in the life of Ian Curtis and Joy Division. Joy Division and Tony Wilson's involvement in their career had already been touched on in Michael Winterbottom's 24 Hour Party People, but Corbijn chose to include it in his film, at times more as a comic subplot than as a central plot point. His source material is intimate: Touching From a Distance: Ian Curtis and Joy Division by Deborah Curtis, Ian Curtis' wife, and I guess the film is much more sympathetic to Curtis than even its source material, and yet it feels like Curtis' personality has been accurately portrayed, even if there is a certain amount of dramatic license (there has to be, it's a narrative film, not a documentary or a rock profile). It's Corbijn's dominant photographic style and execution of live performances (much like Joaquin Phoenix and Reese Witherspoon in Walk The Line, the actors performed the songs themselves) that set this film apart.
tip: become as obssessed with Joy Division as I am. Then I'll have someone to talk to about them. Oh, and watch 24 Hour Party People. Then lend it to me.
I guess the tip I have for anyone making a biopic that I'll actually want to watch is not to try to throw away film narrative for the sake of accuracy. Because film can bring your subject to life in such a wonderful way. Use your subject as the inspiration for the kind of vision you have for the film. Make the film you want to make, and don't lose your style in the process.
I usually want to kick that person in the eye. So why do I treat biopics in such a shabby fashion? I think it's because format shifting is a tricky business, unless you're a computer geek (hello, friends!) or a music pirate (hello friends!). Source material that hasn't been made especially for a film is tough to produce in a satisfying way. It can be achieved, but by people who know what they're doing. Or people who have absolutely no idea at all what they're doing.
Now, if you read my debut post, which is a review of a well-made biopic, you'll remember what I said about biopics: balancing act. Because really, it all comes down to one thing: Narrative. Simply put, narrative is how you tell the story. It's how you let the story unfold. It's how you turn the plot into a fully realised cinematic experience. Which basically means that everything comes down to narrative. Well, that's my theory, and trust me, it's not very original. David Bordwell, Kristin Thompson and Janet Staiger wrote the book on Classical Hollywood Cinema (literally. It's called Classical Hollywood Cinema: Film Style and Mode of Production to 1960), and I think that not only can you extend their analysis of classical Hollywood cinema to mainstream cinema, i.e. contemporary Hollywood cinema, I think you can still apply it to cinema in general. This theory remains largely untested, I'm fully prepared to find that I'm mayor of Wrongtown on this, but the fact is: Much like classical Hollywood cinema, every element of film is subordinate to narrative, which is what Bordwell found when he watched a veritable shiteload of classical Hollywood films. And I reckon that's still true. How you tell the story is the key. It seems completely effing obvious, but those are usually the things that are left unexplored.
So film narrative, obviously, is different to say, narrative in literature. And it certainly isn't the same as real life. Film narrative borrows from the three-act structure and turns it up to 11: exposition, rising action, climax, falling action, denoument. Now, this is universal dramatic structure, but film has to do it visually and aurally, and it only has a certain amount of time do it all in. Which brings me back to the biopic.
How do you take a real person and turn them into a constructed story that conforms to the dramatic structure of narrative film? Inevitably, you're going to start with them on the brink of notoriety if they're famous, maybe end on their downfall, basically focus on their life from start to finish. Which is why I think I can't connect with them. You have to turn their life into an exciting adventure, in a nutshell (hmmm, there's an idea, make a film about a celebrity inside a nutshell...), and what if their life just doesn't fit that mould? On the other hand, if it doesn't, why are they making a film about them in the first place?
There's a tendency in many biopics to be completely faithful to the subject, mostly for the sake of the family. However, there's a difference between accurately portraying an historical figure and playing it safe in the narrative. There are so many things you can do with film, so my theory is why not use all your available resources? You can still make an exciting film that stays true to the essence of a historical figure. By narrowing your focus, you can create an exciting film that's still historically accurate. And why does it have to be a period piece? If an historical figure reminds you of something modern and new, why not incorporate it? No matter how hard a film maker tries, their film will only ever be an interpretation of someone's life, so why make something dull? No matter how accurate it is, the people who know the subject best will not be entirely happy with the finished product. For Natalie Curtis, Control is distracting, because it's not quite like the stories she was told, and she thought her mother should have been a more dominant presence in the film, a not-invalid point, because after all, Deborah Curtis' book is the source material for the film. Roseanne Cash said she didn't want to watch Walk The Line because she didn't want to see the Hollywood version of her father's drug addiction. If I saw a film about one of my family members, I don't think I'd be entirely happy with the finished product, either. I think a film maker has to be respectful, but also have the courage to tell the story they want to tell. Which is why I haven't watched a lot of biopics, and the ones I have are mostly boring. Except for three. And those are Walk the Line (James Mangold, 2005), Marie Antoinette (Sofia Coppola, 2006), and Control (Anton Corbijn, 2007).
Walk the Line is probably the most conventional of the three, but that's not a bad thing. I think it's the narrowed focus and opening that makes this biopic really great. For those who have no idea, it's the story of Johnny Cash, and in particular, his drug battle and relationship with June Carter Cash (I'll give you a hint: they get together at the end). It opens with Cash in a prison, about to perform for the inmates. Some machinery reminds him of his childhood and takes him back to an event that will haunt his adult life. I don't want to spoil it, because I think everyone should watch it, but it's a film that takes Johnny Cash's well-documented drug abuse, long, illustrious career and high profile relationship with June Carter Cash and turns it into a beautiful story about the power of love.
tip: watch the video for Johnny Cash's cover of Hurt. It's the last video he made, and it's heartbreaking. It's like watching a sunset.
Now, I don't know if every single French person hates Sofia Coppola's treatment of their teenage queen, but the response to the film when it was shown at Cannes was a sign that maybe the French don't have a sense of humour when it comes to historical figures they murdered during the Revolution. I know it's not everyone's cup of tea, but I count Marie Antoinette as my favourite Sofia Coppola film, and one of my favourite films of all time. Sure, it's partly my girl crush on Kirsten Dunst, and well, Sofia Coppola, but it's mostly the bold treatment of the subject. Coppola based the film on the book Marie Antoinette: The Journey by Antonia Frazer, but I think it was very losely based. In an interview with Coppola, she said that the French court during Marie Antoinette's reign reminded her of the New Romantics, a music movement in the 1980s (post-punk, slightly post-joy division). Coppola incorporated this idea into the film by using a soundtrack made up of new romantic music, including Adam and the Ants, New Order, Bow Wow Wow, The Cure, and Siouxsie and the Banshees, as well as contemporary artists such as the Strokes and Aphex Twin, which I thought was brilliant. Add to that awesome soundtrack a trailer set to New Order's Age of Consent, a shot of powder-blue chuck taylors amongst 18th Century heels, and the Blondie-esque movie poster and you've got a fairly vivid imagining of 1770s France. But don't confuse rock and roll treatment for historical inaccuracy. The stunning attention to detail makes the film absolutely delightful to look at. The colourful food, the cakes and pastries and ornate clothes, ah! It makes you wish you were there. Coppola's wish to make something about Marie Antoinette that felt like it was from Marie Antoinette's perspective, and that association with the music Coppola probably listened to as a teenager has lead her to create, for me anyway, not so much a biopic so much as a 1980s teen film with Marie Antoinette as the protagonist. It is this treatment of the material that makes me admire the film so much: Coppola didn't feel the need to make a conventional biopic, which is why I love it.
tip: Listen to all the records from the 80s that your older sister threw away (or, for you younglings, your parents).
Anton Corbijn loves his black and white. Ain't nothing wrong with that, because i love black and white too. I've produced two music videos, and we used the same technique as Corbijn for both of them: shot in colour and printed to black and white. Why? Because black and white just makes those little flares of light so much more interesting. And don't shoot in black and white when you can use a filter in Final Cut, just in case it looks a bit rubbish (how could it? But I'm sure it's possible). As someone whose photos were largely responsible for Joy Division's legendary status (one of the few times NME were right), who better to chronicle the life of lead singer Ian Curtis than someone who not only helped create his image but loved his music? Control is a studied, personal, visually stunning insight into five years in the life of Ian Curtis and Joy Division. Joy Division and Tony Wilson's involvement in their career had already been touched on in Michael Winterbottom's 24 Hour Party People, but Corbijn chose to include it in his film, at times more as a comic subplot than as a central plot point. His source material is intimate: Touching From a Distance: Ian Curtis and Joy Division by Deborah Curtis, Ian Curtis' wife, and I guess the film is much more sympathetic to Curtis than even its source material, and yet it feels like Curtis' personality has been accurately portrayed, even if there is a certain amount of dramatic license (there has to be, it's a narrative film, not a documentary or a rock profile). It's Corbijn's dominant photographic style and execution of live performances (much like Joaquin Phoenix and Reese Witherspoon in Walk The Line, the actors performed the songs themselves) that set this film apart.
tip: become as obssessed with Joy Division as I am. Then I'll have someone to talk to about them. Oh, and watch 24 Hour Party People. Then lend it to me.
I guess the tip I have for anyone making a biopic that I'll actually want to watch is not to try to throw away film narrative for the sake of accuracy. Because film can bring your subject to life in such a wonderful way. Use your subject as the inspiration for the kind of vision you have for the film. Make the film you want to make, and don't lose your style in the process.
Wednesday, December 12, 2007
Control (Anton Corbijn, 2007)
Photographer Anton Corbijn has photographed, and directed videos for, many high profile bands such as The Killers and U2, and one of the bands he photographed early in his career was Joy Divsion. For his first feature film, Control, Corbijn has beautifully portrayed the life and tragic suicide of lead singer Ian Curtis.
Based on the book Touching From a Distance: Ian Curtis and Joy Division, the film feels like an intimate glimpse at the private life of the singer. Curtis committed suicide at the age of 23 on the eve of the band's US tour in 1980 and the film explores, but never passes judgement on, some of the contributing factors to his death. These include his troubled relationship with his wife, his affair with Annik Honore and his battles with epilepsy and depression. The film portrays Curtis as talented and unpredictable: he's a sympathetic character but at the same time, Corbijn doesn't shy away from revealing his faults.
His background in music video is apparent in his use of rhythm and pace in the film, and also in the performance scenes of Joy Division. It was said that the audience often didn't know whether Curtis was taking a seizure or if it were simply a part of his performance, and Corbijn handles this confusion brilliantly in one note-perfect sequence. Also of note is the band's first television performance ('Transmission' in the film, but in actual fact the band performed 'Shadowplay'). While it's not the band's first performance in the film, it's where we first see Curtis' distinctive performance style and the band's recognisable image as post-punk icons.
A friend told me that she read that the title didn't just refer to Curtis, but that it also summed up Corbijn's direction of the film and after having viewed it, I think she's right. Corbijn shows excellent control not only in the narrative but also in his framing and composition. Curtis is often framed off-centre and in corners of the screen as though he is struggling to break out, which is the perfect visual representaton of his stated wish to Annik that he wants to get away from Macclesfield, his hometown. The film was shot in colour and printed to black and white, according to trusted friend Wikipedia, and again this shows Corbijn's complete control of the film. Not only that, it creates a beautiful play with light and shadow. Not a single shot in the film fails to contain some sort of beauty, even in the face of what can be very heavy material.
The performances strengthen the breathtaking photography. Newcomer Sam Riley is heart-breakingly beautiful as Ian Curtis. His portayal of the singer's erratic performance style, his epilepsy and his mood swings are impressive. His voice, while similar, is not quite the same as that of Curtis, but his musical performances are admirable, as is the rest of the cast portraying the band. Samantha Morton is an incredibly talented and versatile actress (I highly recommend Morvern Callar), and her performance as Deborah Curtis is amazing. Tony Kebbell is also fantastic comic relief as the band's manager Rob Gretton.
I have read a few criticisms of the film and while I don't disagree with them, I feel they are a little unfair. A biopic is a visual balancing act: it must juggle the subject's public persona, their personal life, historical fact, the demands of film narrative, and often a secondary source material such as a written biography. Personally, I think that very few biopics get that balance right, but Corbijn's film is definitely one them. Again, control is the key, and I look forward to Corbijn's next project.
If you like this film, then you should:
* Immediately purchase Unknown Pleasures, Closer and Still.
* Buy the Control soundtrack.
* Listen to Lou Reed and David Bowie
* Rent 24 Hour Party People.
* Look up the video for 'All These Things That I've Done', by the Killers
Based on the book Touching From a Distance: Ian Curtis and Joy Division, the film feels like an intimate glimpse at the private life of the singer. Curtis committed suicide at the age of 23 on the eve of the band's US tour in 1980 and the film explores, but never passes judgement on, some of the contributing factors to his death. These include his troubled relationship with his wife, his affair with Annik Honore and his battles with epilepsy and depression. The film portrays Curtis as talented and unpredictable: he's a sympathetic character but at the same time, Corbijn doesn't shy away from revealing his faults.
His background in music video is apparent in his use of rhythm and pace in the film, and also in the performance scenes of Joy Division. It was said that the audience often didn't know whether Curtis was taking a seizure or if it were simply a part of his performance, and Corbijn handles this confusion brilliantly in one note-perfect sequence. Also of note is the band's first television performance ('Transmission' in the film, but in actual fact the band performed 'Shadowplay'). While it's not the band's first performance in the film, it's where we first see Curtis' distinctive performance style and the band's recognisable image as post-punk icons.
A friend told me that she read that the title didn't just refer to Curtis, but that it also summed up Corbijn's direction of the film and after having viewed it, I think she's right. Corbijn shows excellent control not only in the narrative but also in his framing and composition. Curtis is often framed off-centre and in corners of the screen as though he is struggling to break out, which is the perfect visual representaton of his stated wish to Annik that he wants to get away from Macclesfield, his hometown. The film was shot in colour and printed to black and white, according to trusted friend Wikipedia, and again this shows Corbijn's complete control of the film. Not only that, it creates a beautiful play with light and shadow. Not a single shot in the film fails to contain some sort of beauty, even in the face of what can be very heavy material.
The performances strengthen the breathtaking photography. Newcomer Sam Riley is heart-breakingly beautiful as Ian Curtis. His portayal of the singer's erratic performance style, his epilepsy and his mood swings are impressive. His voice, while similar, is not quite the same as that of Curtis, but his musical performances are admirable, as is the rest of the cast portraying the band. Samantha Morton is an incredibly talented and versatile actress (I highly recommend Morvern Callar), and her performance as Deborah Curtis is amazing. Tony Kebbell is also fantastic comic relief as the band's manager Rob Gretton.
I have read a few criticisms of the film and while I don't disagree with them, I feel they are a little unfair. A biopic is a visual balancing act: it must juggle the subject's public persona, their personal life, historical fact, the demands of film narrative, and often a secondary source material such as a written biography. Personally, I think that very few biopics get that balance right, but Corbijn's film is definitely one them. Again, control is the key, and I look forward to Corbijn's next project.
If you like this film, then you should:
* Immediately purchase Unknown Pleasures, Closer and Still.
* Buy the Control soundtrack.
* Listen to Lou Reed and David Bowie
* Rent 24 Hour Party People.
* Look up the video for 'All These Things That I've Done', by the Killers
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