"All I do, is sit down at the typewriter, and start hittin' the keys. Getting them in the right order, that's the trick. That's the trick." -- Garth Marenghi.
Isn't it funny how sometimes, the person you wanted to be when you grew up is actually what you end up being?
When I was little, I went through several future occupations; librarian (so I could read books all day), writer (so I could read and write books all day), fashion designer (my Beverly Hills 90210 dress was the toast of the season), marine biologist (so I could read books with dolphins), filmmaker (so I could read books with Leonardo DiCaprio), and now I'm back to writer.
After three years of pretending to myself that I like performing risk assessments, struggling with trying to make a budget, ringing actors and trying in vain to keep crew members from killing each other, I realised something: being a producer sucks balls. To quote Mr Dylan, 'it ain't me, babe.'
And so, I want to pay tribute to one of my idols. F. Scott Fitzgerald? Well, yes, but that's not who I mean. Oscar Wilde? Lovely, but no. Hunter S Thompson? Well, of course, but no. I'm referring to a man who has essentially defined for me the art of genre analysis (it could be Daniel Chandler, but again, wrong. You suck at this.).
Of course I mean Simon Pegg. And let me count the ways:
He wanted to write a sketch about a man named Peter Parker who thought he was Spider-man.
Each and every project he makes with Edgar Wright shows such as detailed knowledge of genre and proves time and time again that they are aware of exactly what a set of conventions are; a game played between the producer and the consumer of a text.
This article about zombies: http://www.guardian.co.uk/media/2008/nov/04/television-simon-pegg-dead-set
He introduced us to Tyres O' Flaherty, and gave him pearls of wisdom like the following:
"Last Night was an A1, tip-top, clubbing, jam fair. It was a sandwich of fun, on ecstasy bread, wrapped up in a big bag of disco fudge. It doesn't get much better than that. I just wish that I could control these fucking mood swings!"
He managed to make David Schwimmer's dumbed-down version of British comedy fun.
The scar on his forehead, left forever unexplained...sigh.
Wednesday, June 10, 2009
Friday, June 5, 2009
On The Buses
A couple of years ago in a creative writing class, one of my classmates wrote a short piece about a collection of interesting strangers on a bus, observed by an unnamed protagonist. Discussion arose over who the unnamed narrator might be. I suggested that it was the bus driver.
But of course, Salad! That's what you're thinking. You obviously weren't in that class. And you're intelligent. And I think I love you because you recognise my brilliance. The author looked at me as though I was the most intellectually-deficient person and said, "yeah, but he's the driver. If he was watching people he would crash."
Never mind the term artistic licence (but he only has his bus licence), or the fact that there is such a thing as a rear-view mirror or that the bus driver has contact with everyone who gets on the bus. The thing is, the public transport system is a fertile ground to be farmed by even the most inept of writers.
Every day I witness a new narrative. A man finding God through music (possible drug addict raving about Jesus to an elderly lady), a mother and daughter bonding (they sat together every morning until the daughter's school friends started taking the same bus, but now the daughter's at uni they sit together every time), teenage boys becoming men (bunch of idiots texting their friend about a movie). It's all there!
The guy I like the most is a man who gets on the bus and reads from what looks like a diary. Yes, a diary. Not only that, but it looks like a girl's diary. It's pink, with a picture of flowers on the front. I see his lips move as he reads the diary and he always seems totally engrossed.
It is his diary? Has his teenage daughter run away and this is the only explanation, the key to unlocking the mystery of young women? Is he a creepo?
I prefer not to know, because the guessing is what makes it interesting. But the other day it was almost ruined by a woman desperate to bring down the walls of art, reveal the artifice of narrative like the Brechtian swine that she is. How did she almost achieve this coup for the realists?
She leaned over and asked him what he was reading. And he answered. But fear not, patrons of the arts! I didn't hear his response. What a relief.
Today a girl got on the bus with her baby. I've seen her twice before. Beautiful girl with clear skin, lovely hair, shining eyes. Every time before now I haven't heard her talking, just watched her playing with her adorable little girl. Well, tonight for the first time I heard her speak. And was disappointed. She is a total bogan. Oh well. That one was ruined but there will always be strange, beautiful people on the bus.
I wonder what they think of me in my corporate getup, white earphones jammed in my ears, my wayfarers concealing from no one that I'm asleep? Actually, I don't care. I'd rather just wonder about them.
But of course, Salad! That's what you're thinking. You obviously weren't in that class. And you're intelligent. And I think I love you because you recognise my brilliance. The author looked at me as though I was the most intellectually-deficient person and said, "yeah, but he's the driver. If he was watching people he would crash."
Never mind the term artistic licence (but he only has his bus licence), or the fact that there is such a thing as a rear-view mirror or that the bus driver has contact with everyone who gets on the bus. The thing is, the public transport system is a fertile ground to be farmed by even the most inept of writers.
Every day I witness a new narrative. A man finding God through music (possible drug addict raving about Jesus to an elderly lady), a mother and daughter bonding (they sat together every morning until the daughter's school friends started taking the same bus, but now the daughter's at uni they sit together every time), teenage boys becoming men (bunch of idiots texting their friend about a movie). It's all there!
The guy I like the most is a man who gets on the bus and reads from what looks like a diary. Yes, a diary. Not only that, but it looks like a girl's diary. It's pink, with a picture of flowers on the front. I see his lips move as he reads the diary and he always seems totally engrossed.
It is his diary? Has his teenage daughter run away and this is the only explanation, the key to unlocking the mystery of young women? Is he a creepo?
I prefer not to know, because the guessing is what makes it interesting. But the other day it was almost ruined by a woman desperate to bring down the walls of art, reveal the artifice of narrative like the Brechtian swine that she is. How did she almost achieve this coup for the realists?
She leaned over and asked him what he was reading. And he answered. But fear not, patrons of the arts! I didn't hear his response. What a relief.
Today a girl got on the bus with her baby. I've seen her twice before. Beautiful girl with clear skin, lovely hair, shining eyes. Every time before now I haven't heard her talking, just watched her playing with her adorable little girl. Well, tonight for the first time I heard her speak. And was disappointed. She is a total bogan. Oh well. That one was ruined but there will always be strange, beautiful people on the bus.
I wonder what they think of me in my corporate getup, white earphones jammed in my ears, my wayfarers concealing from no one that I'm asleep? Actually, I don't care. I'd rather just wonder about them.
Friday, May 29, 2009
Secret diary of a film nerd
Things I've learned this week:
I've learned that not many people know how to pronounce synecdoche. Boy will they have trouble with Charlie Kaufman's directorial debut. For those of you playing at home, it's like this: see-neck-dough-key. There we are. Now if only we could all remember what it means when we walk out of class.
I've learned I can actually make my incredibly boring essay about international media and cultural imperialism a 2000 word ode to Michel Foucault's analysis of the subject and power.
And that if Michel Foucault could be reincarnated as Robert Pattinson I would marry him in an instant.
I've learned from finally reading The Intimate Adventures of a London Call Girl that deep down, men just want the same thing; to come in a high-class hooker's mouth.
I've learned that my office can seem a lot like the panopticon. Foucault is the gift that keeps on giving. Sigh.
I've learned that once Safety Dance gets stuck in your head, not even New York Telephone Conversation can absorb it.
I've learned that if I want to be a fan of the Kills I have to listen to Alison Mosshart coughing up her lungs on at least one track of each album. Ah, but it seems such a very small price to pay...
I've learned that the extent to which I am impulsive refers solely to impulse purchases.
I've learned that not many people know how to pronounce synecdoche. Boy will they have trouble with Charlie Kaufman's directorial debut. For those of you playing at home, it's like this: see-neck-dough-key. There we are. Now if only we could all remember what it means when we walk out of class.
I've learned I can actually make my incredibly boring essay about international media and cultural imperialism a 2000 word ode to Michel Foucault's analysis of the subject and power.
And that if Michel Foucault could be reincarnated as Robert Pattinson I would marry him in an instant.
I've learned from finally reading The Intimate Adventures of a London Call Girl that deep down, men just want the same thing; to come in a high-class hooker's mouth.
I've learned that my office can seem a lot like the panopticon. Foucault is the gift that keeps on giving. Sigh.
I've learned that once Safety Dance gets stuck in your head, not even New York Telephone Conversation can absorb it.
I've learned that if I want to be a fan of the Kills I have to listen to Alison Mosshart coughing up her lungs on at least one track of each album. Ah, but it seems such a very small price to pay...
I've learned that the extent to which I am impulsive refers solely to impulse purchases.
Wednesday, May 27, 2009
3 times!
They say that in the classical Hollywood cinema everything is said three times; you'll see it onscreen, you'll have people looking at it, and you'll have people talking about it.
In writing, you shouldn't have to tell people anything. Show, don't tell! Scriptwriting coaches will tell you. Graham Linehan thinks that Smoke and Mirrors (IT Crowd, series 2 episode 5) suffers for talking about Moss's AbracadaBra without showing it enough.
I think show don't tell is preposterous in real life. We all think we're smarter than the classical Hollywood but the truth is, I don't think we are. Or maybe that's just me.
Today marked the third time I have had a ridiculous argument with a bus driver. What do these people want? This one called me dear in a patronising tone and I was so close to telling him to fuck off. I'm not a confrontational person. In confrontation I clam up, shake and go red, then think about all the cutting remarks I could have made. This time, I needed the bus driver to get me to work. And I couldn't think of a civilised substitute for cunt.
I also think that I'm such a whinger. Instead of being active and making my own opportunities, I choose to whine.
(when I was a full time student) Why am I broke? Because you refuse to get a crappy job to support your shoe fetish.
(allll the time) Why can't I lose weight? Because your food pyramid consists of chocolate, tea, diet coke, chicken schnitzel and brie.
(frequently) Why can't I get that fabulous job in media production? Because you're too used to having a fantastic income to beg for unpaid work experience.
My trip overseas was supposed to change my whining, procrastinating ways, but instead I've succumbed to it. Waiting for other people to tell me what to do, I sit around and whinge instead of planning. Well, that's it: I'm just going to book my flights and that will be that.
At lunch the other day, a colleague suggested that the rest of us watch too much television, and urged us to look outside at the blue sky and the clouds. I remarked that I'd seen them on tv, which earned me high-five (I believe it was well-deserved). Following lunch, I went to a class in which we talk about the increasing prominence of the screen within our daily life, and that we are constantly interacting with the world through a screen. Maybe my stupid remark reveals a knowledge that within culture we need a screen between ourselves and the outside world. As if I'm that intelligent.
I'm going to watch The Night Porter instead of finishing my essay. Who cares about cultural imperialism when Charlotte Rampling's around?
In writing, you shouldn't have to tell people anything. Show, don't tell! Scriptwriting coaches will tell you. Graham Linehan thinks that Smoke and Mirrors (IT Crowd, series 2 episode 5) suffers for talking about Moss's AbracadaBra without showing it enough.
I think show don't tell is preposterous in real life. We all think we're smarter than the classical Hollywood but the truth is, I don't think we are. Or maybe that's just me.
Today marked the third time I have had a ridiculous argument with a bus driver. What do these people want? This one called me dear in a patronising tone and I was so close to telling him to fuck off. I'm not a confrontational person. In confrontation I clam up, shake and go red, then think about all the cutting remarks I could have made. This time, I needed the bus driver to get me to work. And I couldn't think of a civilised substitute for cunt.
I also think that I'm such a whinger. Instead of being active and making my own opportunities, I choose to whine.
(when I was a full time student) Why am I broke? Because you refuse to get a crappy job to support your shoe fetish.
(allll the time) Why can't I lose weight? Because your food pyramid consists of chocolate, tea, diet coke, chicken schnitzel and brie.
(frequently) Why can't I get that fabulous job in media production? Because you're too used to having a fantastic income to beg for unpaid work experience.
My trip overseas was supposed to change my whining, procrastinating ways, but instead I've succumbed to it. Waiting for other people to tell me what to do, I sit around and whinge instead of planning. Well, that's it: I'm just going to book my flights and that will be that.
At lunch the other day, a colleague suggested that the rest of us watch too much television, and urged us to look outside at the blue sky and the clouds. I remarked that I'd seen them on tv, which earned me high-five (I believe it was well-deserved). Following lunch, I went to a class in which we talk about the increasing prominence of the screen within our daily life, and that we are constantly interacting with the world through a screen. Maybe my stupid remark reveals a knowledge that within culture we need a screen between ourselves and the outside world. As if I'm that intelligent.
I'm going to watch The Night Porter instead of finishing my essay. Who cares about cultural imperialism when Charlotte Rampling's around?
Tuesday, May 26, 2009
The language of film
Since I started making films instead of talking about them, I've had a hole in my heart. A hole that could only be filled by the artful examination of distance in film, the articulate appreciation of the zombie film, and the proper use of cinematic language.
A film lecturer I had once said that film critics could go on to make good films. He was referring, of course, to the Cahiers boys; Rohmer, Chabrol, Godard, Truffaut, but I'm holding out hope it can refer to me too. So far, hmm. Doubtful.
But upon the woeful absence of film studies as a requirement within my current studies, I feel that you cannot be a good filmmaker without being a film critic. And I'm not simply justifying my own existence, here. The amount of times we have been told that in order to communicate effectively in the workplace you need to be able to follow the discourse of the particular workplace, and I would still be reading shot lists that look like they've been prepared by Noah's wife in Wayne's World - I'm not in the film industry, but I watch a lot of films. Here's a list of your key terms, and trust me, you'll find them in any first-year textbook (it's actually the only one we have to buy):
Pan: this is where the camera moves from left to right, imitating a panorama. You do not pan up. You do not pan down. You do not pan forward or backward.
Tilt: Ah, now this is where the camera moves up, often referring to the way in which the camera moves when affixed to the tripod.
Crane: This is when the camera moves, often on, what is this? A crane. It's when you want to shoot something high up in the air. Wow!
Tracking: Oh, now see this is when the camera moves forward and backwards. On a series of tracks. Hence, the term tracking shot. It can move around too! Genius!
Why do I care about this shit so much? Because I just do. And everyone I know has gotten quite tired of hearing me rail on the subject. So now it goes into the Happy Spider Web, otherwise known as the world wide web.
If you can't speak the language of film, how will you ever communicate in the film world? We argue that every shot, every movement, every word of dialogue is a conscious creative decision, yet if we don't know why, isn't that sad? Or is it truly Csikszentmihalyi's utopia, in which we are so well trained in our culture that we do not have to make any conscious creative decisions at all? Is the entire point of learning in order to be completely unaware of having learned anything? Or is that the excuse I can use next time I can't articulate the meaning of the word Subjugation? And now, I'm thinking; do we use the institution of education to make verbs think they are inferior to us when we subjugate them?
This from a girl who has been preparing for her overseas trip by planning her haircut and colour.
But the thing that I missed most in my practical study of film is that no one really discusses film. Genre, conventions, the function of the music video as a means of synaesthesia, this all seems to fall by the wayside. Or maybe I'm just doing it wrong. Do filmmakers hate critics so much that they recoil from studying film for fear of simply uttering the words that will be used to heap scorn upon their masterpiece? Martin Scorsese was a film lecturer, for fuck's sake. And look at the magnificent dialectic of masculinity and violence he has been engaging in for thirty years!
Maybe we do just have an inherent understanding of some of these crucial concepts in films. All I ask is that you never direct me to pan backwards ever again. Ever.
A film lecturer I had once said that film critics could go on to make good films. He was referring, of course, to the Cahiers boys; Rohmer, Chabrol, Godard, Truffaut, but I'm holding out hope it can refer to me too. So far, hmm. Doubtful.
But upon the woeful absence of film studies as a requirement within my current studies, I feel that you cannot be a good filmmaker without being a film critic. And I'm not simply justifying my own existence, here. The amount of times we have been told that in order to communicate effectively in the workplace you need to be able to follow the discourse of the particular workplace, and I would still be reading shot lists that look like they've been prepared by Noah's wife in Wayne's World - I'm not in the film industry, but I watch a lot of films. Here's a list of your key terms, and trust me, you'll find them in any first-year textbook (it's actually the only one we have to buy):
Pan: this is where the camera moves from left to right, imitating a panorama. You do not pan up. You do not pan down. You do not pan forward or backward.
Tilt: Ah, now this is where the camera moves up, often referring to the way in which the camera moves when affixed to the tripod.
Crane: This is when the camera moves, often on, what is this? A crane. It's when you want to shoot something high up in the air. Wow!
Tracking: Oh, now see this is when the camera moves forward and backwards. On a series of tracks. Hence, the term tracking shot. It can move around too! Genius!
Why do I care about this shit so much? Because I just do. And everyone I know has gotten quite tired of hearing me rail on the subject. So now it goes into the Happy Spider Web, otherwise known as the world wide web.
If you can't speak the language of film, how will you ever communicate in the film world? We argue that every shot, every movement, every word of dialogue is a conscious creative decision, yet if we don't know why, isn't that sad? Or is it truly Csikszentmihalyi's utopia, in which we are so well trained in our culture that we do not have to make any conscious creative decisions at all? Is the entire point of learning in order to be completely unaware of having learned anything? Or is that the excuse I can use next time I can't articulate the meaning of the word Subjugation? And now, I'm thinking; do we use the institution of education to make verbs think they are inferior to us when we subjugate them?
This from a girl who has been preparing for her overseas trip by planning her haircut and colour.
But the thing that I missed most in my practical study of film is that no one really discusses film. Genre, conventions, the function of the music video as a means of synaesthesia, this all seems to fall by the wayside. Or maybe I'm just doing it wrong. Do filmmakers hate critics so much that they recoil from studying film for fear of simply uttering the words that will be used to heap scorn upon their masterpiece? Martin Scorsese was a film lecturer, for fuck's sake. And look at the magnificent dialectic of masculinity and violence he has been engaging in for thirty years!
Maybe we do just have an inherent understanding of some of these crucial concepts in films. All I ask is that you never direct me to pan backwards ever again. Ever.
Thursday, January 1, 2009
Twilight
Picture it: A bored housewife sits at home listening to Muse and thinking to herself; how do I teach the kids the important values of faith and saving yourself for marriage without them laughing in my face or ignoring me?
The answer is the Twilight saga. And the values have become dressed up as vampire fiction, prompting vampires to become cool again (my friend Kass knew this months ago, but whatever). I don't know if that's actually how Stephenie Meyer's creative process got kickstarted, but I can see it in the books loud and clear, and it's very annoying to me.
But the kids love it, and I must say I took a week to read the entire series, so unable was I to put the books down. And so with everyone else I was excited to see the film adaptation of the first book in the series, Twilight. Not least because the kid who played Cedric Diggory in Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire was playing Edward Cullen.
I have some very serious problems with the books. Other than being preachy, it seems to support a very oppressive position for young girls to put themselves in; namely, find a boy to look after you. On a literary level, I find Twilight incredibly frustrating. I know the kids like long books now (good old J.K.!), but seriously, you don't need three hundred pages to get to the point.
And while it's supposed to be a love story essentially, it's annoying that nothing of note happens until right at the very end, and that when it does happen, it's a huge anticlimax (hey, just because Bella and Edward aren't allowed to have any kind of climax until they're married, doesn't mean the reader can't have a good one, right?). Every time Bella is in danger, it just sort of, goes away. Alllll the time.
I wondered how the film would handle that and decided they would handle it well. Some film adaptations thrive with flawed source material. Kubrick did with A Clockwork Orange. Not that Twilight is anywhere near as good as that book. It's not hard to see what needs to be cut; mostly Bella's annoying lack of self-esteem, the introduction of real conflict earlier in the piece, and the endless descriptions of how hot Edward and his vampire family is.
Which, for the most part, the film does pretty skillfully. There are problems that can't be avoided - the apparent insistence by Meyer that we see what Edward's skin looks like in the sun (terribly fiddly special effects required, and it doesn't work very well, either), the fact that the danger at the end couldn't be sexed up enough without straying from the book (which I think they should've done), the insistence on hand-held camera work to give the film a 'realistic grounding' (totally pointless because it doesn't really suit the rest of the visual style, but if you're going to pursue it, at least make it good handheld camera work), and some dodgy casting (Nikki Reed is very pretty, but with her olive skin and dark brown hair she was always going to look awful as Rosalie Hale. She scrubs up ok but she's totally wrong for the part - Rosalie is described as being incredibly beautiful, beautiful as a human and even more so as a vampire. And the girl who played Alice was ok, but come on, did no one consider Nora Zehetner? She would've been awesome!). However, there is much that is good about the film.
The film looks beautiful, capturing the feel of the books perfectly. Everything is awash in muted blue and grey tones, contrasting with the green of the forest. Bella might hate it but the Forks of the film is incredibly pretty to look at. And so are the vampires. Well, mostly. They are exactly as they are described in the books, which must be a relief for fans and Meyer alike. And while the camera work can be dodgy, there are some really interesting moments (who knew pulling focus could look so cool?), and some nice subjective pov shots that remind you that this is Bella's story. Which is good, because Kristen Stewart portrays Bella as a smart, interesting, introverted character who is easily identified with.
The scenes of Bella with her school friends are probably the best, because director Catherine Hardwicke has experience realistically portraying teenagers. It provides a strong foundation with which to introduce the fantastic elements. Essentially, the story is about two teenagers experiencing their first love, and it's that element of the story that is done perfectly.
The vampire stuff is still pretty good, but I find those parts to be the weakest in the book, so perhaps it was always going to be the case. It's not that the film fails on this point, it's just that there's not much to work with.
The soundtrack is pretty good too. I expected much emo nonsense, but it is actually pretty decent. As an actor, Robert Pattinson is, well, a great musician. His contributions to the soundtrack are perfectly placed, hardly looking like shameless promotion at all. But the best part of the film, musically speaking, is the end. I heard 15 Step by Radiohead was a late inclusion, but it works beautifully. The first time I saw the film (yes, I've seen it twice. I am that lame), I was a little disappointed until the end credits. The end credits are really cool. It may not be a good thing that the best part about the film is the end credits, but they are really good.
I'm a bit worried about the rest of the series, but Twilight is good enough to keep the fans happy at least. Except for this douche bag who sat behind me and loudly exclaimed at the start that she'd been waiting to see the film for ages because she'd read all the books (you and every other 13 year old girl and her mum, honey)and then proceeded to explain the story to the kids she brough with her (to see a film about vampires. But the worst part really is that she talked during the film), only to say, again very loudly, that the film was disappointing. Maybe because you ruined it with your talking, bitch!
And Robert Pattinson is going to need a lot of help fighting off adolescent girls and finding one his own age after this, because he may just be the new Orlando Bloom.
The answer is the Twilight saga. And the values have become dressed up as vampire fiction, prompting vampires to become cool again (my friend Kass knew this months ago, but whatever). I don't know if that's actually how Stephenie Meyer's creative process got kickstarted, but I can see it in the books loud and clear, and it's very annoying to me.
But the kids love it, and I must say I took a week to read the entire series, so unable was I to put the books down. And so with everyone else I was excited to see the film adaptation of the first book in the series, Twilight. Not least because the kid who played Cedric Diggory in Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire was playing Edward Cullen.
I have some very serious problems with the books. Other than being preachy, it seems to support a very oppressive position for young girls to put themselves in; namely, find a boy to look after you. On a literary level, I find Twilight incredibly frustrating. I know the kids like long books now (good old J.K.!), but seriously, you don't need three hundred pages to get to the point.
And while it's supposed to be a love story essentially, it's annoying that nothing of note happens until right at the very end, and that when it does happen, it's a huge anticlimax (hey, just because Bella and Edward aren't allowed to have any kind of climax until they're married, doesn't mean the reader can't have a good one, right?). Every time Bella is in danger, it just sort of, goes away. Alllll the time.
I wondered how the film would handle that and decided they would handle it well. Some film adaptations thrive with flawed source material. Kubrick did with A Clockwork Orange. Not that Twilight is anywhere near as good as that book. It's not hard to see what needs to be cut; mostly Bella's annoying lack of self-esteem, the introduction of real conflict earlier in the piece, and the endless descriptions of how hot Edward and his vampire family is.
Which, for the most part, the film does pretty skillfully. There are problems that can't be avoided - the apparent insistence by Meyer that we see what Edward's skin looks like in the sun (terribly fiddly special effects required, and it doesn't work very well, either), the fact that the danger at the end couldn't be sexed up enough without straying from the book (which I think they should've done), the insistence on hand-held camera work to give the film a 'realistic grounding' (totally pointless because it doesn't really suit the rest of the visual style, but if you're going to pursue it, at least make it good handheld camera work), and some dodgy casting (Nikki Reed is very pretty, but with her olive skin and dark brown hair she was always going to look awful as Rosalie Hale. She scrubs up ok but she's totally wrong for the part - Rosalie is described as being incredibly beautiful, beautiful as a human and even more so as a vampire. And the girl who played Alice was ok, but come on, did no one consider Nora Zehetner? She would've been awesome!). However, there is much that is good about the film.
The film looks beautiful, capturing the feel of the books perfectly. Everything is awash in muted blue and grey tones, contrasting with the green of the forest. Bella might hate it but the Forks of the film is incredibly pretty to look at. And so are the vampires. Well, mostly. They are exactly as they are described in the books, which must be a relief for fans and Meyer alike. And while the camera work can be dodgy, there are some really interesting moments (who knew pulling focus could look so cool?), and some nice subjective pov shots that remind you that this is Bella's story. Which is good, because Kristen Stewart portrays Bella as a smart, interesting, introverted character who is easily identified with.
The scenes of Bella with her school friends are probably the best, because director Catherine Hardwicke has experience realistically portraying teenagers. It provides a strong foundation with which to introduce the fantastic elements. Essentially, the story is about two teenagers experiencing their first love, and it's that element of the story that is done perfectly.
The vampire stuff is still pretty good, but I find those parts to be the weakest in the book, so perhaps it was always going to be the case. It's not that the film fails on this point, it's just that there's not much to work with.
The soundtrack is pretty good too. I expected much emo nonsense, but it is actually pretty decent. As an actor, Robert Pattinson is, well, a great musician. His contributions to the soundtrack are perfectly placed, hardly looking like shameless promotion at all. But the best part of the film, musically speaking, is the end. I heard 15 Step by Radiohead was a late inclusion, but it works beautifully. The first time I saw the film (yes, I've seen it twice. I am that lame), I was a little disappointed until the end credits. The end credits are really cool. It may not be a good thing that the best part about the film is the end credits, but they are really good.
I'm a bit worried about the rest of the series, but Twilight is good enough to keep the fans happy at least. Except for this douche bag who sat behind me and loudly exclaimed at the start that she'd been waiting to see the film for ages because she'd read all the books (you and every other 13 year old girl and her mum, honey)and then proceeded to explain the story to the kids she brough with her (to see a film about vampires. But the worst part really is that she talked during the film), only to say, again very loudly, that the film was disappointing. Maybe because you ruined it with your talking, bitch!
And Robert Pattinson is going to need a lot of help fighting off adolescent girls and finding one his own age after this, because he may just be the new Orlando Bloom.
Wednesday, September 10, 2008
The Geezer with the Fabulous Hair: Masculinity in The Mighty Boosh
According to Steve Neale, 'heterosexual masculinity has been identified as a structuring norm in relation to both images of women and gay men. It has to that extent been profoundly problematised, rendered visible' (Neale in Cohan and Hark 1993, p.9). This reveals a problem in discussing masculinity; such analysis has sought to define itself in opposition to masculinity without defining masculinity. How then do we analyse the proliferation of these ideas within popular culture? This question may be answered in part by different ways of thinking about masculinity and femininity. Maurice Berger, Brian Wallis and Simon Watson ask; 'can the univalent notion of masculinity be replaced by the idea of multiple masculinities in which rigid boundaries of sexual and gender representation are blurred and even redrawn?' (Berger, Wallis and Watson 1995, p.3). Judith Butler sees gender not as an innate idea but rather a performance of certain cultural notions (Butler, cited in Berger, Wallis and Watson 1995, p.5). If we think of masculinity and femininity as a performance, one of the most obvious ways to view this performance of gender within popular culture is within film and television. To what extent can a television series like The Mighty Boosh provide an insight into masculinity? Can The Mighty Boosh be seen as a new or emerging representation of masculinity, or does it have a firm place in the historical, social and cultural representations of masculinity and if so, in what way?
The Mighty Boosh (BBC Three, 2004- ) is a British television series based on the stand-up comedy written and performed by comedians Julian Barratt and Noel Fielding. The series draws on surreal comedy and imagery, combining rear projection techniques with computer-generated effects and two-dimensional animation. Throughout the series, the protagonists Howard T.J. Moon (Barratt) and Vince Noir (Fielding) have failed in their attempts to become boxers, novelists, adventurers, and musicians. The protagonists make for an odd couple: Howard is from Leeds, loves jazz and considers himself to be incredibly intelligent, while Vince is from South London, loves electro and is a dedicated follower of fashion.
Vince is obsessed with his hair, and is often seen wearing make-up and a combination of men and women's clothing. His ambiguous status is constantly referred to within the show. He is often mistaken for a woman and is either the object of unwanted affection or assumed to be Howard's wife or girlfriend. He is continually assaulted with derogatory female terms, such as bitch, 'tramp with a fringe' and 'futuristic prostitute', or with labels meant to undermine his masculinity, such as 'French Duke', 'cockney bitch', 'rock ponce', 'electro ponce', and 'trendy modern wanker'. Vince himself makes mention of his confusing sexual identity. At Howard's birthday party, Howard tells Vince that after his continual failures with women he will 'go gay', assuring Vince that he does not fancy him. Vince responds with:
"Of course you do! All men do! I'm The Confuser. 'Is it a man, is it a woman, oh, I'm not sure I mind!' ('Party' 2007)."
In her brief analysis of 'the unruly woman' in the television sitcom, Jane Feuer makes note of the power of characters within a particular programme to transcend the constraints placed upon them by the narrative:
"If we merely look at the sitcom's 'narrative architecture', no sitcom can be transgressive because the episodic format forces us to return to the familiar status quo with which this week's episode began. In order to perceive subversion, we must look at something besides narrative closure...these are the moments that one remembers (Feuer in Creeber 2001, p.68)."
At the generic and narrative level, The Mighty Boosh has a firm place within the realm of the sitcom. Despite its storylines filled with surreal adventures and even stranger characters (mutant animals, demon grandmothers, half-man half-fish kidnappers, cockney monsters), the series still follows the 'narrative architecture' of 'familiar status quo, ritual error made, ritual lesson learned, familiar status quo' (Feuer in Creeber 2001, p.69), with each episode beginning and ending in one location, Howard and Vince's position in their world the same position as before. To find moments of subversion within the formulaic world of the sitcom we must look beyond the ways in which these elements are contained and constrained within the text.
Though many characters within the world of The Mighty Boosh present many interesting insights into the masculine (and feminine) world, it is the character of Vince Noir that appears to present a clear subversion masculinity, which presents a man characterised by his activity, strength and aggression. Film theories such as that of Laura Mulvey conceive masculinity as being aligned with the active subject who propels and directs the narrative (Mulvey in Thornham 1999, p.62), and femininity as being aligned with the passive object of male desire.
Vince's positioning as an object, as spectacle, within the series gives some voice to this notion mentioned above. Male characters within the show mistake him for a woman, with more than one viewing him as a sexual object. Vince continually places himself in a position to be looked at. In the episode 'Call of the Yeti', he parades the outfits he is taking on holiday for Bollo's approval. In 'The Priest and the Beast' he draws attention to himself and his body with a skintight jumpsuit which he calls 'the mirror-ball suit'. He wears this again in subsequent episodes, along with even more revealing suits. In 'Party', he declares the purpose of the party is for the crowd to 'bask in the glory of my outfit'. Vince himself is obsessed with his own image, confusing a man frozen under the ice with his own reflection ('Tundra' 2004), reflecting that it would not be a bad thing to be trapped in a world of mirrors ('Bollo' 2004), and becomes depressed when he discovers someone else is copying his style ('The Power of the Crimp' 2007).
To characterise Vince and indeed women in film and television in this way is problematic. Firstly, it negates the power of the woman or the feminine character to direct the male gaze, which Vince does on several occasions. In 'Bollo', as Howard begins his soliloquy from Shakespeare's Hamlet, Vince directs the camera to him, assuring the audience that if the viewer tires of Howard's thoughts on life and death they can press the red button on their remote control to see Vince dancing to Bollywood music, dressed as a hedgehog. In 'Eels', Vince addresses the camera to reveal a plot device yet to be revealed to Howard. Secondly, it suggests that Vince is passive, which is not the case. He is often the masculine active subject, moving the narrative forward. On several occasions he must rescue Howard, making reference to this when he tells Byran Ferry he will probably have to go and save Howard, because 'pretty much every week he gets in danger, and I have to go and sort it out. that's how the show works' ('The Hitcher' 2004).
We can see that these binary conceptions of masculinity and femininity are limiting as they do not account for a multitude of representations of masculinity. A closer examination of the character of Vince Noir reveals his place within particular representations of masculinity. At various points within the series, Vince takes on the characteristics of subcultures that have historically emerged as a challenge to popular conceptions of masculinity, such as Mods, Goths and Punks. The representation he is most recognisably aligned with, however, is that of glam rock.
Glam rock, according to Jon Stratton, was a period in which ' music was the site of performance, the moment of interaction between image and the individual, fantasy and the reality of everyday life' (Stratton, viewed 01 September 2008, http://humanities.curtin.edu.au/schools/MCCA/ccs/AJCS_journal/J4V1/J4V1Why%20doesn,). Stratton goes on to note that glam rock's emphasis on performance and image became a site for the questioning of gender:
"...The assumed determination of the social and the sexual by gender was being called into question for males in a number of different ways. Roles were increasingly being recognised as socially constituted images and the male image and its associated sexuality were reciprocally being called into question. Glam rock condensed the problem of reality as image with the problem of sexual identity as image. It enabled to be acted out, as I have remarked before, a set of problems which were not class-based but were embodied in a more general cultural context. Glam rock was the first British subculture to be concerned principally with the problem of sexuality (Stratton, viewed 01 September ,http://humanities.curtin.edu.au/schools/MCCA/ccs/AJCS_journal/J4V1/J4V1Why%20doesn)."
It can be argued, then, that glam rock allowed for a new representation of masculinity to emerge from a particular moment in society. The role of women was changing, forcing men to question masculinity and what it means to be male. Vince's allegiance to the world of glam rock can be seen in his appearance, his interest in fashion and his ambiguous sexual identity. Glam rock's focus on performance reveals the performative nature of masculinity and gender. That this representation is again taken up in the twenty-first century in the character of Vince Noir may reflect Western culture's awareness of the blurring of gender and its functions in contemporary society.
Andrew Spicer suggests that particular cultural types have meanings which change over time to suit the vision of 'masculinity that is most desirable or widely acceptable. To achieve hegemony, types need to readjust ceaselessly to changing conditions' (Spicer 2001, p.3). Spicer sees these cultural types as 'the staple representation of gender in popular fiction because they are easily recognisable and condense a range of important attitudes and values' (Spicer 2001, p.1):
[They] allow us to understand gender in Foucauldian terms, as a cultural 'performance', which does not reflect 'reality' but is a discursive construction, the product of variable and historically specific sets of relations within particular contexts, and with a complex relationship to social change (Spicer 2001, p.2).
These representations of masculinity can arise out of a dissatisfaction with previous representations as well as responding to a societal need. If contemporary Western culture is again unsure of the role of men in society, one answer may be to look to a representation of masculinity that has previously attempted to assuage this confusion. It may be working, as Vince's adoption of the glam rock aesthetic has earned his creator Noel Fielding the title of 'Sexiest Male' and 'Best Dressed' at the recent New Musical Express (NME) awards (NME, viewed 31 August 2008, http://www.nme.com/news/nme/34784).
In light of the examination of the changing nature of masculinity and its representation within popular culture, the character of Vince Noir can be viewed as much more than either a challenge or a reinforcement of normative notions of masculinity. Rather, he can be seen as an embodiment of the evolution of masculinity and the way in which representations within the culture, and cultural texts such as film and television, are readjusted according to a particular historical, social and cultural context. This can be seen in the relationship of Vince Noir to the subculture of glam rock, in which masculinity and sexual identity is questioned through performance. Vince can be seen to some extent as embodying Spicer's Rogue, a cultural type who is 'best placed to adjust to rapidly changing social conditions and 'get away with it' against various regulations, restrictions authoritarian institutions' (Spicer 2001, p.102). It may be Vince's role as the Rogue that allows him to get away with performing several masculine roles. This allows him to play the role of traditional hero, rescuing his 'damsel in distress' while indulging in the performance of an androgynous masculinity. It is this embodiment of multiple representations of masculinity that may allow Vince Noir to become a new representation, one which allows for an open interpretation of cultural expectations.
Stratton, J 1986, 'Why doesn't anybody write anything about Glam Rock?', Australian Journal of Cultural Studies, Vol. 4 no. 1, viewed 01 September 2008, http://humanities.curtin.edu.au/schools/MCCA/ccs/AJCS_journal/J4V1/J4V1Why%20doesn.
The Mighty Boosh (BBC Three, 2004- ) is a British television series based on the stand-up comedy written and performed by comedians Julian Barratt and Noel Fielding. The series draws on surreal comedy and imagery, combining rear projection techniques with computer-generated effects and two-dimensional animation. Throughout the series, the protagonists Howard T.J. Moon (Barratt) and Vince Noir (Fielding) have failed in their attempts to become boxers, novelists, adventurers, and musicians. The protagonists make for an odd couple: Howard is from Leeds, loves jazz and considers himself to be incredibly intelligent, while Vince is from South London, loves electro and is a dedicated follower of fashion.
Vince is obsessed with his hair, and is often seen wearing make-up and a combination of men and women's clothing. His ambiguous status is constantly referred to within the show. He is often mistaken for a woman and is either the object of unwanted affection or assumed to be Howard's wife or girlfriend. He is continually assaulted with derogatory female terms, such as bitch, 'tramp with a fringe' and 'futuristic prostitute', or with labels meant to undermine his masculinity, such as 'French Duke', 'cockney bitch', 'rock ponce', 'electro ponce', and 'trendy modern wanker'. Vince himself makes mention of his confusing sexual identity. At Howard's birthday party, Howard tells Vince that after his continual failures with women he will 'go gay', assuring Vince that he does not fancy him. Vince responds with:
"Of course you do! All men do! I'm The Confuser. 'Is it a man, is it a woman, oh, I'm not sure I mind!' ('Party' 2007)."
In her brief analysis of 'the unruly woman' in the television sitcom, Jane Feuer makes note of the power of characters within a particular programme to transcend the constraints placed upon them by the narrative:
"If we merely look at the sitcom's 'narrative architecture', no sitcom can be transgressive because the episodic format forces us to return to the familiar status quo with which this week's episode began. In order to perceive subversion, we must look at something besides narrative closure...these are the moments that one remembers (Feuer in Creeber 2001, p.68)."
At the generic and narrative level, The Mighty Boosh has a firm place within the realm of the sitcom. Despite its storylines filled with surreal adventures and even stranger characters (mutant animals, demon grandmothers, half-man half-fish kidnappers, cockney monsters), the series still follows the 'narrative architecture' of 'familiar status quo, ritual error made, ritual lesson learned, familiar status quo' (Feuer in Creeber 2001, p.69), with each episode beginning and ending in one location, Howard and Vince's position in their world the same position as before. To find moments of subversion within the formulaic world of the sitcom we must look beyond the ways in which these elements are contained and constrained within the text.
Though many characters within the world of The Mighty Boosh present many interesting insights into the masculine (and feminine) world, it is the character of Vince Noir that appears to present a clear subversion masculinity, which presents a man characterised by his activity, strength and aggression. Film theories such as that of Laura Mulvey conceive masculinity as being aligned with the active subject who propels and directs the narrative (Mulvey in Thornham 1999, p.62), and femininity as being aligned with the passive object of male desire.
Vince's positioning as an object, as spectacle, within the series gives some voice to this notion mentioned above. Male characters within the show mistake him for a woman, with more than one viewing him as a sexual object. Vince continually places himself in a position to be looked at. In the episode 'Call of the Yeti', he parades the outfits he is taking on holiday for Bollo's approval. In 'The Priest and the Beast' he draws attention to himself and his body with a skintight jumpsuit which he calls 'the mirror-ball suit'. He wears this again in subsequent episodes, along with even more revealing suits. In 'Party', he declares the purpose of the party is for the crowd to 'bask in the glory of my outfit'. Vince himself is obsessed with his own image, confusing a man frozen under the ice with his own reflection ('Tundra' 2004), reflecting that it would not be a bad thing to be trapped in a world of mirrors ('Bollo' 2004), and becomes depressed when he discovers someone else is copying his style ('The Power of the Crimp' 2007).
To characterise Vince and indeed women in film and television in this way is problematic. Firstly, it negates the power of the woman or the feminine character to direct the male gaze, which Vince does on several occasions. In 'Bollo', as Howard begins his soliloquy from Shakespeare's Hamlet, Vince directs the camera to him, assuring the audience that if the viewer tires of Howard's thoughts on life and death they can press the red button on their remote control to see Vince dancing to Bollywood music, dressed as a hedgehog. In 'Eels', Vince addresses the camera to reveal a plot device yet to be revealed to Howard. Secondly, it suggests that Vince is passive, which is not the case. He is often the masculine active subject, moving the narrative forward. On several occasions he must rescue Howard, making reference to this when he tells Byran Ferry he will probably have to go and save Howard, because 'pretty much every week he gets in danger, and I have to go and sort it out. that's how the show works' ('The Hitcher' 2004).
We can see that these binary conceptions of masculinity and femininity are limiting as they do not account for a multitude of representations of masculinity. A closer examination of the character of Vince Noir reveals his place within particular representations of masculinity. At various points within the series, Vince takes on the characteristics of subcultures that have historically emerged as a challenge to popular conceptions of masculinity, such as Mods, Goths and Punks. The representation he is most recognisably aligned with, however, is that of glam rock.
Glam rock, according to Jon Stratton, was a period in which ' music was the site of performance, the moment of interaction between image and the individual, fantasy and the reality of everyday life' (Stratton, viewed 01 September 2008, http://humanities.curtin.edu.au/schools/MCCA/ccs/AJCS_journal/J4V1/J4V1Why%20doesn,). Stratton goes on to note that glam rock's emphasis on performance and image became a site for the questioning of gender:
"...The assumed determination of the social and the sexual by gender was being called into question for males in a number of different ways. Roles were increasingly being recognised as socially constituted images and the male image and its associated sexuality were reciprocally being called into question. Glam rock condensed the problem of reality as image with the problem of sexual identity as image. It enabled to be acted out, as I have remarked before, a set of problems which were not class-based but were embodied in a more general cultural context. Glam rock was the first British subculture to be concerned principally with the problem of sexuality (Stratton, viewed 01 September ,http://humanities.curtin.edu.au/schools/MCCA/ccs/AJCS_journal/J4V1/J4V1Why%20doesn)."
It can be argued, then, that glam rock allowed for a new representation of masculinity to emerge from a particular moment in society. The role of women was changing, forcing men to question masculinity and what it means to be male. Vince's allegiance to the world of glam rock can be seen in his appearance, his interest in fashion and his ambiguous sexual identity. Glam rock's focus on performance reveals the performative nature of masculinity and gender. That this representation is again taken up in the twenty-first century in the character of Vince Noir may reflect Western culture's awareness of the blurring of gender and its functions in contemporary society.
Andrew Spicer suggests that particular cultural types have meanings which change over time to suit the vision of 'masculinity that is most desirable or widely acceptable. To achieve hegemony, types need to readjust ceaselessly to changing conditions' (Spicer 2001, p.3). Spicer sees these cultural types as 'the staple representation of gender in popular fiction because they are easily recognisable and condense a range of important attitudes and values' (Spicer 2001, p.1):
[They] allow us to understand gender in Foucauldian terms, as a cultural 'performance', which does not reflect 'reality' but is a discursive construction, the product of variable and historically specific sets of relations within particular contexts, and with a complex relationship to social change (Spicer 2001, p.2).
These representations of masculinity can arise out of a dissatisfaction with previous representations as well as responding to a societal need. If contemporary Western culture is again unsure of the role of men in society, one answer may be to look to a representation of masculinity that has previously attempted to assuage this confusion. It may be working, as Vince's adoption of the glam rock aesthetic has earned his creator Noel Fielding the title of 'Sexiest Male' and 'Best Dressed' at the recent New Musical Express (NME) awards (NME, viewed 31 August 2008, http://www.nme.com/news/nme/34784).
In light of the examination of the changing nature of masculinity and its representation within popular culture, the character of Vince Noir can be viewed as much more than either a challenge or a reinforcement of normative notions of masculinity. Rather, he can be seen as an embodiment of the evolution of masculinity and the way in which representations within the culture, and cultural texts such as film and television, are readjusted according to a particular historical, social and cultural context. This can be seen in the relationship of Vince Noir to the subculture of glam rock, in which masculinity and sexual identity is questioned through performance. Vince can be seen to some extent as embodying Spicer's Rogue, a cultural type who is 'best placed to adjust to rapidly changing social conditions and 'get away with it' against various regulations, restrictions authoritarian institutions' (Spicer 2001, p.102). It may be Vince's role as the Rogue that allows him to get away with performing several masculine roles. This allows him to play the role of traditional hero, rescuing his 'damsel in distress' while indulging in the performance of an androgynous masculinity. It is this embodiment of multiple representations of masculinity that may allow Vince Noir to become a new representation, one which allows for an open interpretation of cultural expectations.
Bibliography
Books
Berger, M, Wallis, B & Watson, S (Eds) 1995, Constructing Masculinity, Routledge, New York.
Berger, M, Wallis, B & Watson, S (Eds) 1995, Constructing Masculinity, Routledge, New York.
Bennett, T, Boyd-Bowman, S, Mercer, C & Woollacott, J (Eds) 1981, Popular Television and Film, British Film Institute, London.
Cohan, S & Hark, IR (Eds) 1993, Screening the Male: Exploring Masculinities in Hollywood Cinema, Routledge, London.
Creeber, G (Ed) 2001, The Television Genre Book, British Film Institute, London.
Hartley, J 1992, Tele-ology: Studies In Television, Routledge, London.
Horrocks, R 1994, Masculinity in Crisis, The Macmillan Press, London.
Online sources
New Musical Express, 'Shockwaves NME Awards 2008: Noel Fielding voted Sexiest Man', NME, viewed 01 September 2008, http://www.nme.com/news/nme/34784.
Spicer, A 2001, 'Fools and Rogues', Typical Men: The Representation of Masculinity in Popular British Cinema, I.B. Tauris, viewed 31 August 2008, http://books.google.com.au/books?id=oOw0xU-1rNcC.
Stratton, J 1986, 'Why doesn't anybody write anything about Glam Rock?', Australian Journal of Cultural Studies, Vol. 4 no. 1, viewed 01 September 2008, http://humanities.curtin.edu.au/schools/MCCA/ccs/AJCS_journal/J4V1/J4V1Why%20doesn.
Mills, B 2008, ' 'Paranoia, paranoia, everybody's coming to get me': Peep Show, sitcom, and the surveillance society', Screen, vol. 49, No. 1, pp.51-64, viewed 31 August 2008, Oxford Journals.
Television
The Mighty Boosh 2004-2007, television, British Broadcasting Company, London.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
