Oh, erm, hello! This is just a quick message to say that I will one day soon write an essay that will blow your mind and it will appear right here on this very blog.
This is more of a to-do note for myself, but I would rather like to explore the following idea:
A lecturer once said in a class that some guy (can't remember - this always happens to me when I try to tell stories. I suck)once said that in the end, all classical Hollywood films are a romance.
I think I've mentioned previously that this is something that is becoming evident in the emergence of films that are now being identified as 'the bromance' (I prefer Bromantic Comedy, or Brom-Com), but I do believe I've found a filmmaker whose work perfectly sums up the idea that all films are a romance.
I'm not talking about the emergence of films focusing on the relationship between two guys (but I will one day), I'm talking about the idea that each film in some way follows the generic conventions of the romance genre. And Edgar Wright's work represents the clearest evidence that this statement that every Hollywood film is a romance is correct.
Even on the surface, it's pretty obvious; Shaun of the Dead was promoted as a romantic zombie comedy (or rom-zom-com) about a guy fighting off zombies to show his girlfriend he's capable of following through on his promises and is willing to embrace change. Scott Pilgrim Vs The World is about a slacker musician who defeats 7 evil exes in order to be with the girl of his dreams.
The two that are perfect examples of Wright's interest in the romance genre and may not be so obvious are the tv series Spaced and Hot Fuzz.
So that's what I want to talk about, and hopefully find out exactly who said the thing about all films being a romance, a bit of genre analysis and some research on the generic conventions of the romance genre. Then apply it all to Wright's work and proving why once again I win at being a film geek.
Catch ya on da flippidy.
Thursday, August 26, 2010
Wednesday, August 11, 2010
Adoxography: Skilled writing on an unimportant subject
In keeping with the theme of last week, I feel that sometimes, the title of this particular post could easily apply to me. I often wonder what the term is for skilled speaking on an unimportant subject.
I've been pulled into the world of buzzwords, procedures, processes, customer service, etc, and I find myself dabbling in adoxography less and less. And it pains me. Because my writing on those subjects isn't that skilled.
After reading interviews with Eli Roth and thinking he was going to reinvent the horror film because he's a filmmaker who really knows his generic conventions and therefore his films will be awesome, and being subsequently disappointed (you know I love you, Roth. Right?) I realised that perhaps it's true: critics talk better than they film. The exception to that rule is of course the critics of Cahiers du Cinema who would go on to create the Nouvelle Vague. But apart from them, who else? Scorsese is a film historian - does that count, I wonder?
My directorial debut (student of course) required me to go into detail about my infleunces and what I wanted the film to communicate and I think that what I wrote about the film promised something I ultimately couldn't deliver. And I remembered that my last project for my degree in Australia was much the same - my exegesis (document of creative practice and creative process in regard to a particular work) was about genre and genre transformation and if you hadn't seen the film you'd probably think it was some amazing work. The term 'new Simon Pegg' might be thrown around (a gal can dream, can't she?). But it wasn't. We saved it from being a complete disaster but in the end I was still embarrassed to show it to my peers in Manchester. Which brings me back to the subject: is my own analysis of my work simply a form of adoxography?
I've started reading yet another book and hopefully I'll finish this one (and then finish Brideshead Revisited, Nausea, The Age of Reason, The Brothers Karazmazov, Tess of the D'Urbervilles, and Mrs Dalloway). It's called Scoop, by Evelyn Waugh. As a lover of fiction and hence buying it in its most accessible and economic form (cheapskate) - it's a Popular Penguin edition (you know, the orange and white one you can pick up for a tenner while lamenting the fact the prettier edition next to it in Borders is almost three times the price?) and it had a little bio of Waugh. The thing that caught my attention was a quote from Mr Waugh himself, which is the following:
"I regard writing not as an investigation of character but as an exercise in the use of language, and with this I am obsessed. I have no technical psychological interest. It is drama, speech and events that interest me."
What I think he was saying here is not that character is of no consequence to him in his writing, but more that he writes as someone with an interest in the structure of how we communicate - that is, it is the structure of the novel that primarily moves him; language, words, sentences, chapters. Psychology and motivation are secondary, but nonetheless important.
Which made me happier about the way in which I approach my own work. I'm often inspired by the language of film before characters. I like to place my characters in a particular film world and the filmmakers I admire all use their films primarily as an invetigation of the structure of film just as much as the stories and the characters who inhabit that world; Hitchcock, Tarantino, Scorsese, and Wright in particular.
And it is rather nice to be able to say to people, 'well, my approach to my work is in much the same vein as the likes of Evelyn Waugh.' Because I'm white.
Waugh has given some delicious delicacies for thought, but the advice I think I always come back to came not from a famous novellist or groundbreaking filmmaker (yet!) but from a friend of mine in Manchester,a fellow writer who helped make me realise that writing is my passion. Whenever I told her I was stuck on a scene she would say what do you want it to say?
Anyone who knows me will say I have too much to say - maybe that's my problem and I always wonder if what I'm saying is actually of any value in this world, but I'll say it anyway. And I figure that if I'm speaking the language of film, which is primarily visual, at least I'll be saying it without opening my great big trap of a mouth.
I've been pulled into the world of buzzwords, procedures, processes, customer service, etc, and I find myself dabbling in adoxography less and less. And it pains me. Because my writing on those subjects isn't that skilled.
After reading interviews with Eli Roth and thinking he was going to reinvent the horror film because he's a filmmaker who really knows his generic conventions and therefore his films will be awesome, and being subsequently disappointed (you know I love you, Roth. Right?) I realised that perhaps it's true: critics talk better than they film. The exception to that rule is of course the critics of Cahiers du Cinema who would go on to create the Nouvelle Vague. But apart from them, who else? Scorsese is a film historian - does that count, I wonder?
My directorial debut (student of course) required me to go into detail about my infleunces and what I wanted the film to communicate and I think that what I wrote about the film promised something I ultimately couldn't deliver. And I remembered that my last project for my degree in Australia was much the same - my exegesis (document of creative practice and creative process in regard to a particular work) was about genre and genre transformation and if you hadn't seen the film you'd probably think it was some amazing work. The term 'new Simon Pegg' might be thrown around (a gal can dream, can't she?). But it wasn't. We saved it from being a complete disaster but in the end I was still embarrassed to show it to my peers in Manchester. Which brings me back to the subject: is my own analysis of my work simply a form of adoxography?
I've started reading yet another book and hopefully I'll finish this one (and then finish Brideshead Revisited, Nausea, The Age of Reason, The Brothers Karazmazov, Tess of the D'Urbervilles, and Mrs Dalloway). It's called Scoop, by Evelyn Waugh. As a lover of fiction and hence buying it in its most accessible and economic form (cheapskate) - it's a Popular Penguin edition (you know, the orange and white one you can pick up for a tenner while lamenting the fact the prettier edition next to it in Borders is almost three times the price?) and it had a little bio of Waugh. The thing that caught my attention was a quote from Mr Waugh himself, which is the following:
"I regard writing not as an investigation of character but as an exercise in the use of language, and with this I am obsessed. I have no technical psychological interest. It is drama, speech and events that interest me."
What I think he was saying here is not that character is of no consequence to him in his writing, but more that he writes as someone with an interest in the structure of how we communicate - that is, it is the structure of the novel that primarily moves him; language, words, sentences, chapters. Psychology and motivation are secondary, but nonetheless important.
Which made me happier about the way in which I approach my own work. I'm often inspired by the language of film before characters. I like to place my characters in a particular film world and the filmmakers I admire all use their films primarily as an invetigation of the structure of film just as much as the stories and the characters who inhabit that world; Hitchcock, Tarantino, Scorsese, and Wright in particular.
And it is rather nice to be able to say to people, 'well, my approach to my work is in much the same vein as the likes of Evelyn Waugh.' Because I'm white.
Waugh has given some delicious delicacies for thought, but the advice I think I always come back to came not from a famous novellist or groundbreaking filmmaker (yet!) but from a friend of mine in Manchester,a fellow writer who helped make me realise that writing is my passion. Whenever I told her I was stuck on a scene she would say what do you want it to say?
Anyone who knows me will say I have too much to say - maybe that's my problem and I always wonder if what I'm saying is actually of any value in this world, but I'll say it anyway. And I figure that if I'm speaking the language of film, which is primarily visual, at least I'll be saying it without opening my great big trap of a mouth.
Tuesday, July 20, 2010
They shoot film critics, don't they?
I was reading the latest issue of Vanity Fair and in it was an article about film critics and their deteriorating status in the arts and media community. Many high profile critics have found themselves unemployed, such as Andrew Sarris (I have quoted this gent in a few essays and was shocked - though if I recall I was disagreeing with him. Ahem.). The article discussed a debate these firings had raised regarding whether or not film critics are even necessary.
It's an interesting point if you think film criticism is merely a matter of deciding if a film sucks or if it's totally flipping sweet. Some people for a long time have probably resented the idea of someone telling them what movie to see. Others need to be told. I must say I have stopped listening to my beloved David Stratton regarding which new release to see - but I would go to one of his classes in a heart beat.
And it did make me wonder when I've spent most of my time recently watching films that you may argue are hardly the stuff of serious or high art; films like Sex and the City 2 and The Twilight Saga: Eclipse. Or even my beloved Step-Brothers or The Hangover...but these films are not without interest to the earnest film critic. Ahem. I would like to say that I am neither Team Edward nor Team Jacob. I am staunchly Team Bella's Dad, for the record.
I wonder if this same argument is turned upon art criticism or theatre criticism. Is it the same hierarchy of art forms all over again? Literature with a capital L as opposed to literature? Does a Global Financial Crisis mean that we suddenly start deciding what is necessary and what is a luxury and we've decided that since film and television isn't really art the practice of analysing it is also now redudant? I protest loudly, because the last time there was a similar economic depression, the movies did a roaring trade. And if you want a perfect summation of why something considered 'escapist' is not a bad thing but a wonderful thing, please read the Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Clay.
What we're talking about is taking art and attempting to find meaning within it, or to translate the images in terms of what they are expressing about our culture and society. Sure, I'm trying to justify one of my chosen careers (well, a future career necessitates that the career still exists in the future). If we think there is no value in film criticism, we may as well pack up half of the humanities department of every university in the world. Why don't we all do a Commerce degree and talk about the economy for the rest of our lives? Dear lord, take me now.
My field's endangered existence got me thinking about my goals and what I would like to do in this area both right now and in the future.
So here it is:
Some sort of superhero exploration - I find Watchmen such a fascinating superhero film and I have an article about it bookmarked and ready to read. But I found myself thinking that superheroes tend be quite an American phenomenon. Or rather, the Hollywood superhero expresses something quintessentially American. It would be ridiculously easy to say it's a fantasy designed to perpetrate the myth of America's control over the world. And I think it would be wrong. I think there's something more to be gleaned from the likes of Iron Man and their context in contemporary society and contemporary warfare. So I'm a gonna research this and try to write something meaningful.
The masculinity thing - I wrote a post about all this stuff I was researching and subsequently lost it all and being too lazy to write it over again, I did some bullet points and included pictures of boys holding hands. Would like to explore that and make it more intelligent.
Blog combining fashion and film - Russh magazine did a fashion spread based on Badlands and I wrote a post a while back about how my style influences are usually movie characters, not models or trends. I want to combine that and style looks from films, hopefully using clothing that is both affordable and available now. My friend was thinking of almost exactly the same thing so we need to put our heads together and write that shit!
Film and television scripts - I'm working on several ideas for television series with friends and a feature film that's a cross between gossip girl and sartre's nausea. Read more about one of the television projects, The Innocents, over at Hell Is Other People.
PhD - yes, for a while now the plan has been to do the old doctor of philosophy business. I'm interested solely in the relationship between the screen and the viewer and how that relationship has developed. Completely afraid that it has all been done and I am completely irrelevant. And a lecturer suggested in a seminar (not directly at me but I still felt the sting) that it was shortsighted. Fuck you! Says I. Maybe. Not really.
Teach in Uni - so I probably need to achieve the goal above first before I do this but I would dearly love to teach film studies at university. I've already designed two courses in my head, one of course on spectatorship (I don't think it's been taught as a subject in its own right very much) and one on music in film that is more about music as mood, genre convention and so on. I also would love to teach a course about horror - of course that's been done but I'd love the chance to make it my own.
So there you haves it! I think I'll achieve at least one of the things on this sucker before I die. I am an optimist, after all!
A word to all those naysayers re: film critcs: Cahiers Du Cinema (well, that's three, but you get my drift). And Wikipedia tells me Martin Scorsese is a film historian. So, go die.
It's an interesting point if you think film criticism is merely a matter of deciding if a film sucks or if it's totally flipping sweet. Some people for a long time have probably resented the idea of someone telling them what movie to see. Others need to be told. I must say I have stopped listening to my beloved David Stratton regarding which new release to see - but I would go to one of his classes in a heart beat.
And it did make me wonder when I've spent most of my time recently watching films that you may argue are hardly the stuff of serious or high art; films like Sex and the City 2 and The Twilight Saga: Eclipse. Or even my beloved Step-Brothers or The Hangover...but these films are not without interest to the earnest film critic. Ahem. I would like to say that I am neither Team Edward nor Team Jacob. I am staunchly Team Bella's Dad, for the record.
I wonder if this same argument is turned upon art criticism or theatre criticism. Is it the same hierarchy of art forms all over again? Literature with a capital L as opposed to literature? Does a Global Financial Crisis mean that we suddenly start deciding what is necessary and what is a luxury and we've decided that since film and television isn't really art the practice of analysing it is also now redudant? I protest loudly, because the last time there was a similar economic depression, the movies did a roaring trade. And if you want a perfect summation of why something considered 'escapist' is not a bad thing but a wonderful thing, please read the Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Clay.
What we're talking about is taking art and attempting to find meaning within it, or to translate the images in terms of what they are expressing about our culture and society. Sure, I'm trying to justify one of my chosen careers (well, a future career necessitates that the career still exists in the future). If we think there is no value in film criticism, we may as well pack up half of the humanities department of every university in the world. Why don't we all do a Commerce degree and talk about the economy for the rest of our lives? Dear lord, take me now.
My field's endangered existence got me thinking about my goals and what I would like to do in this area both right now and in the future.
So here it is:
Some sort of superhero exploration - I find Watchmen such a fascinating superhero film and I have an article about it bookmarked and ready to read. But I found myself thinking that superheroes tend be quite an American phenomenon. Or rather, the Hollywood superhero expresses something quintessentially American. It would be ridiculously easy to say it's a fantasy designed to perpetrate the myth of America's control over the world. And I think it would be wrong. I think there's something more to be gleaned from the likes of Iron Man and their context in contemporary society and contemporary warfare. So I'm a gonna research this and try to write something meaningful.
The masculinity thing - I wrote a post about all this stuff I was researching and subsequently lost it all and being too lazy to write it over again, I did some bullet points and included pictures of boys holding hands. Would like to explore that and make it more intelligent.
Blog combining fashion and film - Russh magazine did a fashion spread based on Badlands and I wrote a post a while back about how my style influences are usually movie characters, not models or trends. I want to combine that and style looks from films, hopefully using clothing that is both affordable and available now. My friend was thinking of almost exactly the same thing so we need to put our heads together and write that shit!
Film and television scripts - I'm working on several ideas for television series with friends and a feature film that's a cross between gossip girl and sartre's nausea. Read more about one of the television projects, The Innocents, over at Hell Is Other People.
PhD - yes, for a while now the plan has been to do the old doctor of philosophy business. I'm interested solely in the relationship between the screen and the viewer and how that relationship has developed. Completely afraid that it has all been done and I am completely irrelevant. And a lecturer suggested in a seminar (not directly at me but I still felt the sting) that it was shortsighted. Fuck you! Says I. Maybe. Not really.
Teach in Uni - so I probably need to achieve the goal above first before I do this but I would dearly love to teach film studies at university. I've already designed two courses in my head, one of course on spectatorship (I don't think it's been taught as a subject in its own right very much) and one on music in film that is more about music as mood, genre convention and so on. I also would love to teach a course about horror - of course that's been done but I'd love the chance to make it my own.
So there you haves it! I think I'll achieve at least one of the things on this sucker before I die. I am an optimist, after all!
A word to all those naysayers re: film critcs: Cahiers Du Cinema (well, that's three, but you get my drift). And Wikipedia tells me Martin Scorsese is a film historian. So, go die.
Wednesday, June 2, 2010
Songs with your name in them are awesome
My mum's name was Barbara Anne. So whenever we had the opportunity to do so, we would sing Barbara Anne, by the Beach Boys, to her really loud. And of course she loved it. Actually, she hated it.
And in the tradition of hating songs with your name in them, so I hate Mustang Sally. I can say it's not my name, because it's spelled differently, but it all sounds the same when your family's yelling 'RIDE, SALLY, RIDE' at you.
But then something happened. Songs that I actually like started to have my name in them. The first is Long Tall Sally (I am neither long nor tall. Nor is my name spelled Sally - but I digress)- by a lot of people but the versions I love are by the Beatles and the Kinks.
The second is Don't Look Back in Anger by Oasis. And lately it's been one of those songs that I've written about before - songs that inspire scenes for projects I'm turning over in my little brain.
The song has this pervading sense of weariness, and it fits in perfectly with this feeling I want to create in one of my projects. I've written about a story I want to write that's sort of an exploration of the idle rich, or about people who live in a world of no consequence, and whether that's really true. It's certainly not original - the idea's been covered in a lot of texts and films that I admire. Actually, it's mostly in novels that this idea has been examined. And Gossip Girl. Ahem.
At the moment, my idea is about a group of young, rich, Sydney socialites who do nothing but be seen. One of them wakes up one morning, and something feels different. She wonders if she doesn't care about anything. I guess it's sort of an analysis of societal expectations and how we construct meaning - at the moment it feels like a hybrid of Less Than Zero and Nausea. I've thought of a line that I think sums up the entire feeling of the film, and that is, "I don't know. I just can't feel thinking that the party's over."
Which is why Don't Look Back in Anger has been so inspiring. That world weariness seems so perfect for this project. But it has also inspired a scene. I want a character to die, and see how this affects the group. I had an idea that it could be the result of a drug overdose or suicide, but I feel like that suggests that the character's actions have lead them to this - that they are being punished, in effect, and that's not the point. It's really about testing Liriope's ability to connect with her world, I think.
I was listening to this song on the bus, and what it originally inspired was Liriope's reunion with a character outside of her social scene, but to me that was too much like Gossip Girl, or insulting. Why must the problems of her inner self be solved by something external, and by a boy no less! And again, it would be another way in society enforces meaning on her life by dictating what she should care about. Lame.
Lately it's given me a scene in which Liriope, after witnessing the death of one of the people in her circle, is walking in a daze along a motorway, her white lace minidress stained with blood.
That's all I have for that at the moment. I'm listening to Leonard Cohen, Lou Reed and Tom Waits at the moment, so I'm sure they'll give me even more material. And of course, Morrissey and the Smiths are a constant source of inspiration for comments on the meaning of life and how people, on the whole, suck.
But cheer up and watch this. Your life will be better for it.
And in the tradition of hating songs with your name in them, so I hate Mustang Sally. I can say it's not my name, because it's spelled differently, but it all sounds the same when your family's yelling 'RIDE, SALLY, RIDE' at you.
But then something happened. Songs that I actually like started to have my name in them. The first is Long Tall Sally (I am neither long nor tall. Nor is my name spelled Sally - but I digress)- by a lot of people but the versions I love are by the Beatles and the Kinks.
The second is Don't Look Back in Anger by Oasis. And lately it's been one of those songs that I've written about before - songs that inspire scenes for projects I'm turning over in my little brain.
The song has this pervading sense of weariness, and it fits in perfectly with this feeling I want to create in one of my projects. I've written about a story I want to write that's sort of an exploration of the idle rich, or about people who live in a world of no consequence, and whether that's really true. It's certainly not original - the idea's been covered in a lot of texts and films that I admire. Actually, it's mostly in novels that this idea has been examined. And Gossip Girl. Ahem.
At the moment, my idea is about a group of young, rich, Sydney socialites who do nothing but be seen. One of them wakes up one morning, and something feels different. She wonders if she doesn't care about anything. I guess it's sort of an analysis of societal expectations and how we construct meaning - at the moment it feels like a hybrid of Less Than Zero and Nausea. I've thought of a line that I think sums up the entire feeling of the film, and that is, "I don't know. I just can't feel thinking that the party's over."
Which is why Don't Look Back in Anger has been so inspiring. That world weariness seems so perfect for this project. But it has also inspired a scene. I want a character to die, and see how this affects the group. I had an idea that it could be the result of a drug overdose or suicide, but I feel like that suggests that the character's actions have lead them to this - that they are being punished, in effect, and that's not the point. It's really about testing Liriope's ability to connect with her world, I think.
I was listening to this song on the bus, and what it originally inspired was Liriope's reunion with a character outside of her social scene, but to me that was too much like Gossip Girl, or insulting. Why must the problems of her inner self be solved by something external, and by a boy no less! And again, it would be another way in society enforces meaning on her life by dictating what she should care about. Lame.
Lately it's given me a scene in which Liriope, after witnessing the death of one of the people in her circle, is walking in a daze along a motorway, her white lace minidress stained with blood.
That's all I have for that at the moment. I'm listening to Leonard Cohen, Lou Reed and Tom Waits at the moment, so I'm sure they'll give me even more material. And of course, Morrissey and the Smiths are a constant source of inspiration for comments on the meaning of life and how people, on the whole, suck.
But cheer up and watch this. Your life will be better for it.
Tuesday, May 11, 2010
Post-Script, Post-Haste!
So I was intending on explaining how I separated the films I believed were the best and the films I love the most. But...erm, I forgot. But I like, and I'ma gonna let you finish, but first I gotta tell you why these films are so good.
So, the basic idea were films that moved me emotionally, or used the medium of film in a particular way.
So - Here's the list again, including explanations:
Citizen Kane - This film is proof of the almost indefinable perfection of the Classical Hollywood Cinema, because it looks like it's breaking all of the rules. Yet if you're watching very closely, you will see that it glides effortlessly from convention, to experimentation with convention. Not only that, but this is Welles' first film - there are so many techniques he carried over from his experience in radio and theatre that seem so wonderfully suited to cinema that forever after people would be saying to themselves 'why didn't we think of this before?' Oh, and the score by Bernard Herrmann? EXQUISITE.
Vertigo - I'm not even sure where to start on this one. Is it that breathtaking opening by Saul Bass? Is it those 20 minutes in which our protagonist's character and his relationship to Madeleine is slowly revealed in perfect silence? Maybe it's the subtle subversion of Jimmy Stewart's persona? Or is it the romantic treatment of a man's obsession with an image that makes for some wonderfully creepy viewing? It could even be the amazing costumes by Edith Head or the haunting score by Bernard Herrmann. But I believe it just might be one scene after all. It's the scene in which Scottie's makeover of Judy into Madeleine is complete. She walks out of the hotel room, the glow of the green hotel light giving her the appearance of a ghost becoming corporeal as she moves from the bathroom to Scottie. They embrace, and we, like Scottie, no longer care that this is sick and twisted, and that he is crushing a young girl's personality and spirit for his own ends. Because we want the image too. We want Madeleine just as much as he does. And that is why Hitchcock is a fucking genius.
Wild Strawberries - I actually haven't seen this is in a while, and I think it's a testament to Bergman that even though I haven't watched it for ages, I still feel its power as a film. What is so amazing about this film is its story, and the way Bergman portrays the unfolding of a man's character through experimentation with genre, and particular film movements. What I also like is that it's a story about a man and his daughter-in-law - not a relationship you see explored in film very often.
Pulp Fiction - One thing I love about Tarantino is that he's a film geek to the core. Every single film he makes is merely an excuse to admire his favourite filmmakers. The man is also about homage, self-reflexivity, and genre. People may see that as irritating, that he's just assembling his films by taking other more talented filmmakers' work and pretending he thought of it first. Not true at all. What they fail to see is that Tarantino's films are partly a game - it's the cinematic equivalent of putting obscure song lyrics as your Facebook status and waiting to see who recognises them and comments with another line from the song - the effect is twofold; people know you're clever, and you find out which of their friends are awesome like you. So why is Pulp Fiction in particular so good? Well, it's the game. But more than that, it's to Non-Linear Narrative what Citizen Kane and the Classical Hollywood Cinema. What looks like a very celebrated example of a non-linear narrative is actually a perfect example of the three-act structure, and a classical structuring of temporal relations. If you want proof, read 'Breaking, Making, and Killing Time in Pulp Fiction', by Kevin Howley. He translated my thoughts into this article just in time for me to cite him in an essay about Citizen Kane and Pulp Fiction and the Classical Hollywood Cinema.
Breathless - Perhaps translated a little roughly, A Bout de Souffle (out of breath, more than Breathless) was one of the first films that changed French cinema in the late 1950s and changed the way critics thought about film as art. Not only were Godard and Co. filmmakers - they were film critics first. Their understanding of film as art allowed them to explore the medium fully. Fascinated by Hollywood cinema, and the work of Hitchcock in particular, Godard, Truffaut, Chabrol, and Rohmer sought to make the kinds of films they wanted to see, and elevate Hollywood cinema to the status of art. Breathless is Godard's exploration of the Film Noir genre. Where Welles' exploration was one that stayed within the conventions of the classical Hollywood cinema, Godard's seems to stay firmly outside it, taking a conventional plot and story and subverting it - while the classical Hollywood cinema privileges character motivation in service of the narrative, Godard removes it almost entirely. But the brilliance is that he doesn't entirely removes it but merely makes the cinema itself the character motivation. His anti-hero, Poiccard, acts like a character in a Film Noir. Patricia acts as the femme fatale, because she is the femme fatale and this is how they act. The other reason I love this film is because Patricia and Poiccard escape to a cinema and watch a film - the film is merely two actors reciting lines from a Voltaire poem, another clear statement from Godard that the cinema is pure art.
Taxi Driver - some have suggested that Scorsese hasn't made any films recently that have surpassed his former glory, and while that's probably true, I find many of his films seem to be a sort of history of masculinity and violence in America. And on that level you can't dismiss the power of films like Gangs of New York and The Departed, films that are most definitely a part of this cycle, even if you don't like them. I hate the former and like the latter, by the way. What I love about Taxi Driver is that it is an exercise in unease. Nothing much happens until the end, but the film is all about the climax. And that's true of every film, or should be, but the beauty of Taxi Driver is following a young man as he slowly unravels. In his mind, he is becoming a hero. The audience can only see a man becoming incredibly dangerous. And at the end, you're not sure if he's going to kill the girl he is trying to save, or rescue her. And if that storyline sounds familiar, then you've seen John Ford's The Searchers. Scorsese takes this idea of a flawed hero and turns the entire film into a character study. Not only that, but it also belongs to a series of films exploring the Vietnam War's effect on the men who returned home. Mean Streets is also an interesting take on this idea of the Vietam Vet and his capacity for violence. So is First Blood...yes, I'm referring to Rambo.
Crimes and Misdemeanors - I've devoted an entire blog to why this film is legen - wait for it - dary in the past, but if you can't be bothered reading that post, then I shall sum it up here. Essentially, the film is a study in morality and faith. What if everything we believed about acting in a moral way was wrong? If we are never punished for our misdeeds, either by the law or by what we refer to as our conscience or soul, how then do we derive meaning from the world? Is it proof that God cannot exist if a man can commit a terrible crime and never feel the effects of what he has done? Yes, a Woody Allen films explores all of these questions. And I was so tempted to put Manhattan in this list but thought it would be strange to have two Allen films in this list. I'll talk about it in the other section.
Rashomon - I've heard it said that Kurosawa's Rashomon has no English title because the word Rashomon is actually a kind of Japanese onomatopoeia - a word describing the sound a moving train makes. I've been too scared to Google it, because I really hope that's true. The film uses the perspective of multiple witnesses to portray one event, which was pretty pioneer type stuff when the film was made. The story is this: a nobleman is murdered, his wife raped, and a local bandit has been put on trial for the crime. A witness to some of the events relays the court proceedings to a monk while seeking refuge in a monastery during a rainstorm. The bandit gives his account, the noblewoman, and even the nobleman, through the use of a...erm, like Whoopi Goldberg in Ghost. Only no one gets to make out with the noblewoman. Anyway. Their accounts of the event are all different - the bandit portrays himself as the victim, as does the noblewoman. The nobleman portrays himself as a fallen hero. However, the witness has seen more than they realise, and reveals them all to be selfish cowards. But the film's true message, and this is why it kicks serious arse, is that the concept of objective reality may be nonexistent at worst and problematic at best. Memory is subjective, and our perspective will always be coloured by our personal investment in situations. And you thought Kurosawa was awesome because he inspired Lucas in writing Star Wars. Oh, and Toshiro Mifune is a one-man masterclass in acting as the Bandit.
No Country For Old Men - The Coen Brother have made some seriously awesome films - Fargo and Blood Simple spring immediately to mind, but this may be their masterpiece. It's almost flawless. The acting is incredible, particularly Brolin and Bardem. The editing perfectly elicits tension at all moments. The cinematography is breathtaking. And the much talked-about ending is absolutely spot on. I've also been told that it is almost completely faithful to Cormac McCarthy's novel. I'll just bet it is. Never stop making films, Ethan and Joel. Please.
Mystic River - Clint Eastwood is the king of making films that in anyone else's hands could be cliche-laden. Gran Torino is the story of an old racist learning a valuable life lesson from an Asian teen and his family. That just sounds ready for sentimentality and heavy-handed moralising. But it's Eastwood so it's an touching examination of the ways in which violence separates people. Mystic River's spot in my list is earned in its end: When Sean Penn's character seeks vengeance for his daughter's murder and enacts it, we the audience see that he has the wrong man. And it's utterly devastating.
Und now, for my most loved films and why.
Singin' In The Rain - I could list all of its cinematic virtues, but that's not why it's top of my list of most-loved films of all time. The reason is simple. My mum loved it. My mum died when I was 15, and I don't think I will ever quite move on, some 12 years later. It's so horrible to lose a parent, especially when they're the parent you get along with best. The first time I watched Singin' In the Rain was with Mum, on the ABC one Friday night. I think she was making me comb her hair at the time. But we stopped and just sat and enjoyed the film, and honestly, I think it was the most fun film I'd ever seen - and Gene Kelly, what a fox! People often ask; what's your favourite film of all time? And knowing study film, they're expecting something pretentious and/or foreign and/or obscure. So they're always surprised when I say Singin' In The Rain. But the only criteria for favourite film is: does it remind you of someone? Does it make you happy? Is it fun to watch? Three definite yay's to those.
The Philadelphia Story - The ABC really did change my life. Daria and I Love Lucy after school, Rage and Recovery Saturday and Sunday mornings, The Late Show on Saturday nights. And all Aunty's done for me since then. It bought this little gem to me. I had always admired Katharine Hepburn, but this movie made me love her. It's clever and funny and the cast is champagne cinema: Ms. Hepburn, Cary Grant, and James Stewart. It's about a very stubborn socialite, Tracey. She's kicked her ex-husband out, and is remarrying. Meanwhile, she and the rest of her family have shut her father out of the house for the impending nuptials for his infidelity. Add to this two tabloid journalists sent in to get as much dirt on Tracey as they can, under the guise of wanting to cover the wedding for a lifestyle magazine. I haven't seen a lot of Cukor films, but if they're all as expertly handled as this one, then the man was a genius. And hey, he did make The Women and It's a Wonderful Life. There are some pretty choice lines, such as Cary Grant's observation that all writers are alcoholics, and proceeding to wish that he was a writer. But I think the best part is when Hepburn and Stewart get drunk and flirt with one another - some of the best drunk acting I've ever seen in my life. The message of the film is a little ambivalent (there's a hint of the need to put a strong woman in her place),but in the end, as intellectual equals, we all know Hepburn and Grant belong together. And it's all the sweeter when they realise this too.
Ferris Bueller's Day Off - So many things to love, I think my brain will explode if I think about them too much. For some reason, I love films set over a short period of time - like The Breakfast Club, which takes place entirely during a Saturday detention, or Dazed and Confused, which takes place on the last day of school before summer break. And the idea that you can live a lifetime in one day of wagging school is an appealing one. Oh, and young Matthew Broderick - BABE.
Pulp Fiction - I love the way the story unfolds, I love the colour of it, and I love the dialogue and the music. And deep down, the reasons I think it's amazing are the same reasons why I love it. I am a film critic, after all.
Vertigo - It's the romantic cinematography that allows for that feeling of unease to spread through your bones throughout the film, it's the score, but mostly...it's Kim Novak as Madeleine Elster and Edith Head's costume design.
Manhattan - It was so close between this and Annie Hall, but this won out. I love that the lighting is so dark that you can often only make out one character at a time. I love that Allen uses the frame to suggest Isaac's almost subconscious attempts to sabotage all of his relationships - there's a scene in which Isaac, his teenage girlfriend Tracy, his friend Yale and his mistress Mary are walking down the street talking. Mary's control of the conversation and Isaac's unconscious attraction to her is executed perfectly as Isaac is literally pushing Tracy out of the frame and allowing Mary to move into his onscreen space. But what made it pip Annie Hall to the post? The line, 'the winner of the Zelda Fitzgerald Emotional Maturity award.'
The Royal Tenenbaums - what I love about all of Wes Anderson's film is that they're about family. And how awkward they can make you feel. And I love that his films really are dramas about incredibly serious people who have no idea they're hilarious. Not only that, but I love the almost cartoonish treatment of the characters. But they don't feel one or two-dimensional at all, which is why I love Anderson so much as a director. His films at times are almost tableaux - the most powerful moments are nearly always these static shots. Oh, and Pagoda. I love Pagoda.
The 40 Year Old Virgin - Underneath this story of a guy who has perhaps gone way too long without getting some of the good stuff, and all the crass jokes, is a story about a man who seems to know more about women without physical contact with them than the men who've been physically intimate them. I think Judd Apatow has realised as long as you write at least one joke about porn, you can sneak a message into a film. Sort of the way mum would sneak tomatoes into our rissoles when we were kids. But I still hate most tomatoes. Similarly, I didn't think Knocked Up was that successful at this.
Hot Fuzz - I have loved Edgar Wright and Simon Pegg for a long, long, long time. It's their love of film and their examination of genre that make me love them. That, and their babe status. Why is this on the list rather than Shaun of the Dead? That's like asking why The Empire Strikes Back is better than A New Hope. Or why Terminator 2: Judgment Day is a more superior film. You still love the fun of the original, but the second is more layered, emotionally complex and darker. And has the line, 'you want to be a big copper in a small town? Fuck off up the model village!'
Amelie - When I first watched this film, I couldn't help but be infuriated by Amelie's whimsy - I thought that if she smiled that special needs child smile one more time, I would scream. But then I was introduced to all of the other wonderful characters in the film, and I appreciated Amelie's strength and independence, I learned to love it. And that scene where she rides the Ghost Train looking for the boy of her dreams? Dear me. Best scene committed to film.
And there you have it. I am a pretentious wanker who would appear to favour almost any cinema over her national one. And loves American film more than any other. Damn.
So, the basic idea were films that moved me emotionally, or used the medium of film in a particular way.
So - Here's the list again, including explanations:
Citizen Kane - This film is proof of the almost indefinable perfection of the Classical Hollywood Cinema, because it looks like it's breaking all of the rules. Yet if you're watching very closely, you will see that it glides effortlessly from convention, to experimentation with convention. Not only that, but this is Welles' first film - there are so many techniques he carried over from his experience in radio and theatre that seem so wonderfully suited to cinema that forever after people would be saying to themselves 'why didn't we think of this before?' Oh, and the score by Bernard Herrmann? EXQUISITE.
Vertigo - I'm not even sure where to start on this one. Is it that breathtaking opening by Saul Bass? Is it those 20 minutes in which our protagonist's character and his relationship to Madeleine is slowly revealed in perfect silence? Maybe it's the subtle subversion of Jimmy Stewart's persona? Or is it the romantic treatment of a man's obsession with an image that makes for some wonderfully creepy viewing? It could even be the amazing costumes by Edith Head or the haunting score by Bernard Herrmann. But I believe it just might be one scene after all. It's the scene in which Scottie's makeover of Judy into Madeleine is complete. She walks out of the hotel room, the glow of the green hotel light giving her the appearance of a ghost becoming corporeal as she moves from the bathroom to Scottie. They embrace, and we, like Scottie, no longer care that this is sick and twisted, and that he is crushing a young girl's personality and spirit for his own ends. Because we want the image too. We want Madeleine just as much as he does. And that is why Hitchcock is a fucking genius.
Wild Strawberries - I actually haven't seen this is in a while, and I think it's a testament to Bergman that even though I haven't watched it for ages, I still feel its power as a film. What is so amazing about this film is its story, and the way Bergman portrays the unfolding of a man's character through experimentation with genre, and particular film movements. What I also like is that it's a story about a man and his daughter-in-law - not a relationship you see explored in film very often.
Pulp Fiction - One thing I love about Tarantino is that he's a film geek to the core. Every single film he makes is merely an excuse to admire his favourite filmmakers. The man is also about homage, self-reflexivity, and genre. People may see that as irritating, that he's just assembling his films by taking other more talented filmmakers' work and pretending he thought of it first. Not true at all. What they fail to see is that Tarantino's films are partly a game - it's the cinematic equivalent of putting obscure song lyrics as your Facebook status and waiting to see who recognises them and comments with another line from the song - the effect is twofold; people know you're clever, and you find out which of their friends are awesome like you. So why is Pulp Fiction in particular so good? Well, it's the game. But more than that, it's to Non-Linear Narrative what Citizen Kane and the Classical Hollywood Cinema. What looks like a very celebrated example of a non-linear narrative is actually a perfect example of the three-act structure, and a classical structuring of temporal relations. If you want proof, read 'Breaking, Making, and Killing Time in Pulp Fiction', by Kevin Howley. He translated my thoughts into this article just in time for me to cite him in an essay about Citizen Kane and Pulp Fiction and the Classical Hollywood Cinema.
Breathless - Perhaps translated a little roughly, A Bout de Souffle (out of breath, more than Breathless) was one of the first films that changed French cinema in the late 1950s and changed the way critics thought about film as art. Not only were Godard and Co. filmmakers - they were film critics first. Their understanding of film as art allowed them to explore the medium fully. Fascinated by Hollywood cinema, and the work of Hitchcock in particular, Godard, Truffaut, Chabrol, and Rohmer sought to make the kinds of films they wanted to see, and elevate Hollywood cinema to the status of art. Breathless is Godard's exploration of the Film Noir genre. Where Welles' exploration was one that stayed within the conventions of the classical Hollywood cinema, Godard's seems to stay firmly outside it, taking a conventional plot and story and subverting it - while the classical Hollywood cinema privileges character motivation in service of the narrative, Godard removes it almost entirely. But the brilliance is that he doesn't entirely removes it but merely makes the cinema itself the character motivation. His anti-hero, Poiccard, acts like a character in a Film Noir. Patricia acts as the femme fatale, because she is the femme fatale and this is how they act. The other reason I love this film is because Patricia and Poiccard escape to a cinema and watch a film - the film is merely two actors reciting lines from a Voltaire poem, another clear statement from Godard that the cinema is pure art.
Taxi Driver - some have suggested that Scorsese hasn't made any films recently that have surpassed his former glory, and while that's probably true, I find many of his films seem to be a sort of history of masculinity and violence in America. And on that level you can't dismiss the power of films like Gangs of New York and The Departed, films that are most definitely a part of this cycle, even if you don't like them. I hate the former and like the latter, by the way. What I love about Taxi Driver is that it is an exercise in unease. Nothing much happens until the end, but the film is all about the climax. And that's true of every film, or should be, but the beauty of Taxi Driver is following a young man as he slowly unravels. In his mind, he is becoming a hero. The audience can only see a man becoming incredibly dangerous. And at the end, you're not sure if he's going to kill the girl he is trying to save, or rescue her. And if that storyline sounds familiar, then you've seen John Ford's The Searchers. Scorsese takes this idea of a flawed hero and turns the entire film into a character study. Not only that, but it also belongs to a series of films exploring the Vietnam War's effect on the men who returned home. Mean Streets is also an interesting take on this idea of the Vietam Vet and his capacity for violence. So is First Blood...yes, I'm referring to Rambo.
Crimes and Misdemeanors - I've devoted an entire blog to why this film is legen - wait for it - dary in the past, but if you can't be bothered reading that post, then I shall sum it up here. Essentially, the film is a study in morality and faith. What if everything we believed about acting in a moral way was wrong? If we are never punished for our misdeeds, either by the law or by what we refer to as our conscience or soul, how then do we derive meaning from the world? Is it proof that God cannot exist if a man can commit a terrible crime and never feel the effects of what he has done? Yes, a Woody Allen films explores all of these questions. And I was so tempted to put Manhattan in this list but thought it would be strange to have two Allen films in this list. I'll talk about it in the other section.
Rashomon - I've heard it said that Kurosawa's Rashomon has no English title because the word Rashomon is actually a kind of Japanese onomatopoeia - a word describing the sound a moving train makes. I've been too scared to Google it, because I really hope that's true. The film uses the perspective of multiple witnesses to portray one event, which was pretty pioneer type stuff when the film was made. The story is this: a nobleman is murdered, his wife raped, and a local bandit has been put on trial for the crime. A witness to some of the events relays the court proceedings to a monk while seeking refuge in a monastery during a rainstorm. The bandit gives his account, the noblewoman, and even the nobleman, through the use of a...erm, like Whoopi Goldberg in Ghost. Only no one gets to make out with the noblewoman. Anyway. Their accounts of the event are all different - the bandit portrays himself as the victim, as does the noblewoman. The nobleman portrays himself as a fallen hero. However, the witness has seen more than they realise, and reveals them all to be selfish cowards. But the film's true message, and this is why it kicks serious arse, is that the concept of objective reality may be nonexistent at worst and problematic at best. Memory is subjective, and our perspective will always be coloured by our personal investment in situations. And you thought Kurosawa was awesome because he inspired Lucas in writing Star Wars. Oh, and Toshiro Mifune is a one-man masterclass in acting as the Bandit.
No Country For Old Men - The Coen Brother have made some seriously awesome films - Fargo and Blood Simple spring immediately to mind, but this may be their masterpiece. It's almost flawless. The acting is incredible, particularly Brolin and Bardem. The editing perfectly elicits tension at all moments. The cinematography is breathtaking. And the much talked-about ending is absolutely spot on. I've also been told that it is almost completely faithful to Cormac McCarthy's novel. I'll just bet it is. Never stop making films, Ethan and Joel. Please.
Mystic River - Clint Eastwood is the king of making films that in anyone else's hands could be cliche-laden. Gran Torino is the story of an old racist learning a valuable life lesson from an Asian teen and his family. That just sounds ready for sentimentality and heavy-handed moralising. But it's Eastwood so it's an touching examination of the ways in which violence separates people. Mystic River's spot in my list is earned in its end: When Sean Penn's character seeks vengeance for his daughter's murder and enacts it, we the audience see that he has the wrong man. And it's utterly devastating.
Und now, for my most loved films and why.
Singin' In The Rain - I could list all of its cinematic virtues, but that's not why it's top of my list of most-loved films of all time. The reason is simple. My mum loved it. My mum died when I was 15, and I don't think I will ever quite move on, some 12 years later. It's so horrible to lose a parent, especially when they're the parent you get along with best. The first time I watched Singin' In the Rain was with Mum, on the ABC one Friday night. I think she was making me comb her hair at the time. But we stopped and just sat and enjoyed the film, and honestly, I think it was the most fun film I'd ever seen - and Gene Kelly, what a fox! People often ask; what's your favourite film of all time? And knowing study film, they're expecting something pretentious and/or foreign and/or obscure. So they're always surprised when I say Singin' In The Rain. But the only criteria for favourite film is: does it remind you of someone? Does it make you happy? Is it fun to watch? Three definite yay's to those.
The Philadelphia Story - The ABC really did change my life. Daria and I Love Lucy after school, Rage and Recovery Saturday and Sunday mornings, The Late Show on Saturday nights. And all Aunty's done for me since then. It bought this little gem to me. I had always admired Katharine Hepburn, but this movie made me love her. It's clever and funny and the cast is champagne cinema: Ms. Hepburn, Cary Grant, and James Stewart. It's about a very stubborn socialite, Tracey. She's kicked her ex-husband out, and is remarrying. Meanwhile, she and the rest of her family have shut her father out of the house for the impending nuptials for his infidelity. Add to this two tabloid journalists sent in to get as much dirt on Tracey as they can, under the guise of wanting to cover the wedding for a lifestyle magazine. I haven't seen a lot of Cukor films, but if they're all as expertly handled as this one, then the man was a genius. And hey, he did make The Women and It's a Wonderful Life. There are some pretty choice lines, such as Cary Grant's observation that all writers are alcoholics, and proceeding to wish that he was a writer. But I think the best part is when Hepburn and Stewart get drunk and flirt with one another - some of the best drunk acting I've ever seen in my life. The message of the film is a little ambivalent (there's a hint of the need to put a strong woman in her place),but in the end, as intellectual equals, we all know Hepburn and Grant belong together. And it's all the sweeter when they realise this too.
Ferris Bueller's Day Off - So many things to love, I think my brain will explode if I think about them too much. For some reason, I love films set over a short period of time - like The Breakfast Club, which takes place entirely during a Saturday detention, or Dazed and Confused, which takes place on the last day of school before summer break. And the idea that you can live a lifetime in one day of wagging school is an appealing one. Oh, and young Matthew Broderick - BABE.
Pulp Fiction - I love the way the story unfolds, I love the colour of it, and I love the dialogue and the music. And deep down, the reasons I think it's amazing are the same reasons why I love it. I am a film critic, after all.
Vertigo - It's the romantic cinematography that allows for that feeling of unease to spread through your bones throughout the film, it's the score, but mostly...it's Kim Novak as Madeleine Elster and Edith Head's costume design.
Manhattan - It was so close between this and Annie Hall, but this won out. I love that the lighting is so dark that you can often only make out one character at a time. I love that Allen uses the frame to suggest Isaac's almost subconscious attempts to sabotage all of his relationships - there's a scene in which Isaac, his teenage girlfriend Tracy, his friend Yale and his mistress Mary are walking down the street talking. Mary's control of the conversation and Isaac's unconscious attraction to her is executed perfectly as Isaac is literally pushing Tracy out of the frame and allowing Mary to move into his onscreen space. But what made it pip Annie Hall to the post? The line, 'the winner of the Zelda Fitzgerald Emotional Maturity award.'
The Royal Tenenbaums - what I love about all of Wes Anderson's film is that they're about family. And how awkward they can make you feel. And I love that his films really are dramas about incredibly serious people who have no idea they're hilarious. Not only that, but I love the almost cartoonish treatment of the characters. But they don't feel one or two-dimensional at all, which is why I love Anderson so much as a director. His films at times are almost tableaux - the most powerful moments are nearly always these static shots. Oh, and Pagoda. I love Pagoda.
The 40 Year Old Virgin - Underneath this story of a guy who has perhaps gone way too long without getting some of the good stuff, and all the crass jokes, is a story about a man who seems to know more about women without physical contact with them than the men who've been physically intimate them. I think Judd Apatow has realised as long as you write at least one joke about porn, you can sneak a message into a film. Sort of the way mum would sneak tomatoes into our rissoles when we were kids. But I still hate most tomatoes. Similarly, I didn't think Knocked Up was that successful at this.
Hot Fuzz - I have loved Edgar Wright and Simon Pegg for a long, long, long time. It's their love of film and their examination of genre that make me love them. That, and their babe status. Why is this on the list rather than Shaun of the Dead? That's like asking why The Empire Strikes Back is better than A New Hope. Or why Terminator 2: Judgment Day is a more superior film. You still love the fun of the original, but the second is more layered, emotionally complex and darker. And has the line, 'you want to be a big copper in a small town? Fuck off up the model village!'
Amelie - When I first watched this film, I couldn't help but be infuriated by Amelie's whimsy - I thought that if she smiled that special needs child smile one more time, I would scream. But then I was introduced to all of the other wonderful characters in the film, and I appreciated Amelie's strength and independence, I learned to love it. And that scene where she rides the Ghost Train looking for the boy of her dreams? Dear me. Best scene committed to film.
And there you have it. I am a pretentious wanker who would appear to favour almost any cinema over her national one. And loves American film more than any other. Damn.
Pretentious Top Tens
So I came across an insanely pretentious Top Ten on a scenester's blog, and it made me think about the films I think are amazing, and I wonder if they're not just as pretentious?
I personally didn't think someone could actually watch a lot of the films on the list more than once, but I think sometimes the films you think are the best films aren't necessarily the ones that you love and watch all the time. For me, these top tens would be very different.
To demonstrate this, I will give you the list of my top ten best films, and my favourite films.
Top Ten Best Films
Citizen Kane (Welles, 1941)
Vertigo (Hitchcock, 1958)
Wild Strawberries (Bergman, 1957)
Pulp Fiction (Tarantino, 1994)
Breathless (Godard, 1960)
Taxi Driver (Scorsese, 1976)
Crimes and Misdemeanors (Allen, 1989)
Rashomon (Kurosawa, 1950)
No Country For Old Men (Coen Brothers, 2007)
Mystic River (Eastwood, 2003)
11th on the list (Hottest 100 does it, so why can't I?)
Chungking Express (Wong, 1994)
Badlands (Malick, 1973)
They're tied - couldn't decide.
Very almost unashamedly American. Almost.
Top Ten Loved Films
Singin' In The Rain (Donen, 1952)
The Philadelphia Story (Cukor, 1940)
Ferris Bueller's Day Off (Hughes, 1986)
Pulp Fiction (Tarantino, 1994)
Vertigo (Hitchcock, 1958)
Manhattan (Allen, 1979)
The Royal Tenenbaums (Anderson, 2001)
The 40 Year Old Virgin (Apatow, 2005)
Hot Fuzz (Wright, 2007)
Amelie (Jeunet, 2001)
11th
The Hangover (Phillips, 2009)
Forgetting Sarah Marshall (Stoller, 2008)
I'm as surprised by you probably are to find that there are common films on both lists. What is interesting, though not that surprising to me, is that the films I think are incredibly powerful either contain violence or carry a threat of implicit violence, or a story of flawed men - or both. Meanwhile, the films I love are mostly comedies, but they too are mostly about deeply flawed men, or contain violence, or both. Luckily, three of them are predominantly about strong, independent, eccentric women.
I really must explore my fascination with representations of masculinity. Which reminds me - Bad Education (Almodovar, 2004) should really be on these lists.
I personally didn't think someone could actually watch a lot of the films on the list more than once, but I think sometimes the films you think are the best films aren't necessarily the ones that you love and watch all the time. For me, these top tens would be very different.
To demonstrate this, I will give you the list of my top ten best films, and my favourite films.
Top Ten Best Films
Citizen Kane (Welles, 1941)
Vertigo (Hitchcock, 1958)
Wild Strawberries (Bergman, 1957)
Pulp Fiction (Tarantino, 1994)
Breathless (Godard, 1960)
Taxi Driver (Scorsese, 1976)
Crimes and Misdemeanors (Allen, 1989)
Rashomon (Kurosawa, 1950)
No Country For Old Men (Coen Brothers, 2007)
Mystic River (Eastwood, 2003)
11th on the list (Hottest 100 does it, so why can't I?)
Chungking Express (Wong, 1994)
Badlands (Malick, 1973)
They're tied - couldn't decide.
Very almost unashamedly American. Almost.
Top Ten Loved Films
Singin' In The Rain (Donen, 1952)
The Philadelphia Story (Cukor, 1940)
Ferris Bueller's Day Off (Hughes, 1986)
Pulp Fiction (Tarantino, 1994)
Vertigo (Hitchcock, 1958)
Manhattan (Allen, 1979)
The Royal Tenenbaums (Anderson, 2001)
The 40 Year Old Virgin (Apatow, 2005)
Hot Fuzz (Wright, 2007)
Amelie (Jeunet, 2001)
11th
The Hangover (Phillips, 2009)
Forgetting Sarah Marshall (Stoller, 2008)
I'm as surprised by you probably are to find that there are common films on both lists. What is interesting, though not that surprising to me, is that the films I think are incredibly powerful either contain violence or carry a threat of implicit violence, or a story of flawed men - or both. Meanwhile, the films I love are mostly comedies, but they too are mostly about deeply flawed men, or contain violence, or both. Luckily, three of them are predominantly about strong, independent, eccentric women.
I really must explore my fascination with representations of masculinity. Which reminds me - Bad Education (Almodovar, 2004) should really be on these lists.
Monday, April 12, 2010
Face of Narcissus feels Nauseated about her apathy.
So I'm almost finished the first of the fiction I've been referring to as 'research' (God, I hope that means I can claim them on tax or something), Emile Zola's The Kill, and the characters are performing a tableaux of the story of Narcissus and Echo. Mention is made of the Liriope, mother of Narcissus. And I had, not brain-freeze, but brainwave.
I was inspired by the Swell Season in my story of the cost of indulgence and the ways in which we use fiction to console ourselves about our life choices, and I've been searching for a protagonist - as I stood on the balcony of the Concert Hall of the Sydney Opera House, overlooking the Harbour surrounded by Sydney's cultural elite, sipping red wine and boutique beer, I felt like I needed a female voice - mostly because I am one, and because so many films have a very dominant male voice (the hangover, etc). I always played Sonia in Mortal Kombat, and I feel this is merely the logical development of my early feminist gaming tendencies.
But I am definitely not setting out to make an Australian Gossip Girl - I can't keep up with the Oedipal drama and high fashion. And I don't want to simply retell the stories I've been reading.
Advice I received last week was figure out what story you want to tell. Extremely good advice. But I also need to know my characters or at the very least, my main character.
I want to explore these ideas of the pursuit of hedonism at all costs, the idle rich, morality, and the way we use fiction to try and balance out the inequaliy we all face in society.
But I forgot someone I really shouldn't have. Jean Paul Sartre. I began reading Nausea and put it down ages ago. Mistake. Because I think I'm feeling this existential nausea. I wanted to explore my apathy toward the world and my interest in, well, mostly my hair. Do I really not care? Is my own life meaningless? What if a person was to suddenly realise that their life is devoid of anything more than an obssession with images. Would it make them feel ill?
And just by seeing that name, Liriope, I knew I had my heroine and a story to tell. Liriope Clifton, socialite, obssessed with nothing but the new, suddenly wonders if her life without meaning? Why can't she bring herself to care about things that other people care about, things that are apparently of substance? Global warming, poverty, inequality, homelessness, etc. Does she belong to a world entirely without a moral compass?
Is she simply worried about an arbitrary societal construct? What does it mean to have a meaningful life? What does it mean if it is all arbitrary?
Perhaps I am just retelling Nausea. But it's fine if I'm reinterpreting it and placing it in a different societal and cultural context?
Meanwhile, can anybody tell me how to find a black wool or felt cloche hat for Autumn/Winter? I'm feeling a roaring 20s look, but with an edge. And by edge I mean wearing jeans.
I was inspired by the Swell Season in my story of the cost of indulgence and the ways in which we use fiction to console ourselves about our life choices, and I've been searching for a protagonist - as I stood on the balcony of the Concert Hall of the Sydney Opera House, overlooking the Harbour surrounded by Sydney's cultural elite, sipping red wine and boutique beer, I felt like I needed a female voice - mostly because I am one, and because so many films have a very dominant male voice (the hangover, etc). I always played Sonia in Mortal Kombat, and I feel this is merely the logical development of my early feminist gaming tendencies.
But I am definitely not setting out to make an Australian Gossip Girl - I can't keep up with the Oedipal drama and high fashion. And I don't want to simply retell the stories I've been reading.
Advice I received last week was figure out what story you want to tell. Extremely good advice. But I also need to know my characters or at the very least, my main character.
I want to explore these ideas of the pursuit of hedonism at all costs, the idle rich, morality, and the way we use fiction to try and balance out the inequaliy we all face in society.
But I forgot someone I really shouldn't have. Jean Paul Sartre. I began reading Nausea and put it down ages ago. Mistake. Because I think I'm feeling this existential nausea. I wanted to explore my apathy toward the world and my interest in, well, mostly my hair. Do I really not care? Is my own life meaningless? What if a person was to suddenly realise that their life is devoid of anything more than an obssession with images. Would it make them feel ill?
And just by seeing that name, Liriope, I knew I had my heroine and a story to tell. Liriope Clifton, socialite, obssessed with nothing but the new, suddenly wonders if her life without meaning? Why can't she bring herself to care about things that other people care about, things that are apparently of substance? Global warming, poverty, inequality, homelessness, etc. Does she belong to a world entirely without a moral compass?
Is she simply worried about an arbitrary societal construct? What does it mean to have a meaningful life? What does it mean if it is all arbitrary?
Perhaps I am just retelling Nausea. But it's fine if I'm reinterpreting it and placing it in a different societal and cultural context?
Meanwhile, can anybody tell me how to find a black wool or felt cloche hat for Autumn/Winter? I'm feeling a roaring 20s look, but with an edge. And by edge I mean wearing jeans.
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