neverhappened

Van Diemen's Land

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In 1824, eight convicts escaped from servitude in Van Diemen's Land and made a break for freedom. But surviving in unmapped, inhospitable Tasmanian wilderness turned out not to be the walk in the park that they had in mind. After days of wandering in hunger they ended up, quite literally, eating themselves to death.

Van Diemen's Land, expanding on a stage production and a short involving the same team, gives us a feature film Based On True Events. This is actually less gruesome and drawn-out than the lone survivor's version, and there's a reason for that. This is a marvel of economical filmmaking: a story kept deliberately to the necessary minimum, for the most part successfully. It's a film that looks absolutely superb, but can only have been made on a threadbare budget, spent in all the right places by Jonathan auf der Heide (director) and Maggie Miles (producer), both recent film-school grads. I applaud the savvy that went into this accomplished, if somewhat monotonous and limited, colonial horror epic.

vandiemensland-themovie.com

Posted by Ian S. on July 30, 2009 at 12:46 AM in Film | Permalink | Comments (0)

The Cove

allcreatures.org: Taiji Map, Dolphin-p-029

Every year, off the coastal village of Taiji (太地), Japan, dolphins are captured and sold to marine parks all over the world.  But there is another place in Taiji where many more dolphins are herded and disappear: a place called The Cove. Few outside eyes have ever seen what happens in The Cove, and a ban on filming and photography is zealously enforced. Retired dolphin-trainer turned activist Ric O'Barry, who suspects mass slaughter, becomes the catalyst for an undercover operation to film the dark deeds done at The Cove.

The Cove belongs to the higher ranks of documentary filmmaking. It has a great story to tell, and tells it well; it is a witness to the main events; its heart is in the right place. The interviews and statistics are interesting, yet the pictures have a way of speaking for themselves. And the bonus is that it stimulates on many levels. As much a hi-tech thriller and "clash of civilizations" piece as nature documentary, at the same time it manages to be a moving character study, a challenge to apathy, and a chronicler of official absurdity.

The protagonists and interviewees repeatedly face the question: why does Japan need to target and kill over 20,000 dolphins every year? We get the usual excuses, in increasing order of credibility: it's something to do with 'research'; it's something to do with 'tradition'; it's something to do with people feeding themselves. (Haven't you heard? Dolphins, not people, are behind the global collapse in fish stocks.) All of these are put up and seen for the sham that they are. But the activists are savvy enough to know that although the facts are on their side, animal rights isn't the headline issue that it used to be. So they frame the argument solely in terms of self-preservation. And when Japanese dolphin meat is shown to be saturated with mercury, far in excess of any level allowable for humans, they finally find what they are looking for.

To see The Cove is to have the increasingly rare experience of a couple of hours well-spent at the cinema. (I wouldn't have changed a thing — although surely, with all the surfies on screen, there was room for a few bars of the Dead Kennedys' Kepone Factory in the segment on Minamata.)

The Cove provokes reflection on areas beyond its stated focus: on the loss of privacy and the ease of subversion in an era of hi-tech convenience, and on the workings, or lack of them, in today's political institutions. There is a compelling structure here, too: as the film builds to its horrific climax, an interviewee throws out a line that puts it all in sobering perspective. Japan's massacre of cetaceans has nothing to do with science, tradition, or food; it's only about keeping and flexing power in the international arena. At a time when nationalism counts for less and less every year, why sacrifice people to keep those parochial feelings alive, when other higher mammals will do just as well?

thecovemovie.com

Posted by Ian S. on July 27, 2009 at 01:42 AM in Film | Permalink | Comments (5)

Star Trek

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Star Trek is a state-of-the art VFX spectacular that retains all the street cred and sophistication of the original series. You could say that it's a film with layers, and lots of them. So many layers, in fact, that the number of "digital artists" listed in the credits seems to outnumber the other crew and cast put together. Like most blockbusters these days, it's not so much filmed as render-farmed.

You know the setup, at least in general terms. A starship and its crew go boldly where no English-speaker has gone before. Trek, being the icon of American culture that it is, posed a challenge for the filmmakers: how do you freshen up something that is familiar to everyone? The answer lies in the solution of the moment: a "reboot". In the lingo of Hollywood entertainment manufacturers, a reboot is what you do when you are done flogging a dead horse; you bring out a new horse tarted up to look like the old one. So get some hip young actors, slap on the snazziest visual effects that money can buy, and hey presto! A franchise is reborn, snagging new customers, opening new revenue streams.

The mentality which reduces storytelling to commodified "franchises" and "reboots" is as right for Star Trek as for anything else. Trek's intergalactic missionizing was a concept that had enough legs to produce a Next Generation; why not The Generation Before The Next? The ideals that shaped Trek were no less enduring than those of America itself. Captain James Kirk was reimagined as everything that Captain James Cook should have been: on the right side, armed to the teeth with hi-tech weapons, and trigger-happy enough to not get speared by savages. Kirk works not for some eccentric, reluctant colonial enterprise, but for a benevolent World Order that lets you crush the rebels without offending your conscience. "We come in peace, shoot to kill" — it's a formula that popcorn-munchers of our time can accept without a second thought.

Then what does the director, J. J. Abrams, bring to the reboot apart from the necessary minimum? Abrams imposes lashings of a visual style drawn from Michael Bay, with its jittery camera, accelerated cutting, and incoherent action substituting more often than not for proper staging. He leans on ILM and a handful of small houses to help create a world which, it must be said, is convincing on a level far above anything churned out for Lucas lately. But to say that the pictures and performances are more engaging than what we've seen before merely confirms that the filmmakers did what they set out to do: take flogging a dead horse to the next level.

So much about this film is predictable, pre-determined by its mission to be a progenitor of sequels. For a moment, it looked like there could be some surprises, when a bunch of Federation fratboys fly unwittingly into a death trap set by Eric Bana's Romulan bad guy. But, as sure as new Starfleet ships get christened, the good guys will prevail; what else do you expect? It's Star Trek; it's Hollywood. That will be enough to get many of us through the door.

For me, too, it was just what I wanted. Once or twice a year, I go see a blockbuster fully knowing that it will suck. I do it knowing that my admission fee will feed Hollywood studios' ambitions to make films which are bigger, louder, stupider and ever more insulting to human dignity and intelligence. And if that's what you want, you should see Star Trek too.

Posted by Ian S. on May 07, 2009 at 07:54 PM in Film | Permalink | Comments (2)

Keith Loutit

Metal Heart from Keith Loutit on Vimeo.  Tiltshift time lapse of a monster truck thingy.

http://vimeo.com/2317118

or the download link:

http://helios5.sjc1.bitgravity.com/vimeo/videos/86/30/53/86305366/86305366_31_29039baa7b.flv?e=1231389318&h=8c92df2b1af71b054f544191e0669220

Posted by Barnaby Bretton on January 08, 2009 at 11:50 AM in Film | Permalink | Comments (0)

Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull

Indyroswell1

This a cheap film without cheap thrills; and when I say cheap film, I mean poor on every level except the business level (budget: ~$185 mil). Indiana Jones 4 is churned out by people who pride themselves on high production values, yet is ridden with poor cinematography, poor VFX, poor acting, and above all, poor writing.

For a project years in development, the story is bafflingly wafer-thin. Indiana Jones is taken by his bastard son to find a crystal skull and return it to its "final resting place" somewhere in the Amazon. They are racing against the Soviets, who plan to use the skull in evil ways. They want to bombard the USA with false and misleading images! Of course the media of the Free World could never allow that to happen. Not until they get their cut, anyway.

What a god-awful piece of work this is. The Steven Spielberg from the 70s and 80s has absented himself, save for a few scenes of nostalgic Americana where we sense a flicker of interest. That drive and passion which infused Raiders with its holy fury are gone. Godless communism lacks the special pizazz of Nazi idolatry which has been so important for Spielberg's career. Nor for that matter is there any trace of the consummate professional who made Kate Capshaw sing "Anything Goes" in Shanghainese, that guy who could do snappy choreography and evoke wonder. Here it's all phoned in. As for Lucas, we should all know what he wants by now: to flog to death every last horse in his stable of franchises.

Yet despite it being all about the money, with its immense budget and the benefit of the best VFX expertise in town, it just looks cheap. The shots in South America, making up over half the running time, were so obviously filmed on someone's backlot, so obviously palmed off to junior compositors or people working to misanthropic deadlines. With matte edges routinely smothered in all-purpose Glow, nothing gels visually and viewers, increasingly savvy about this stuff, are never transported. In a film that promises escapism, it's a fatal flaw. Doesn't anyone want to make things look more real than they did 25 years ago? Do they even know how? Those poor drones at ILM are forced to confect elements of escalating ludicrousness: vexed gophers, characters swinging on vines Tarzan-style, rubber snakes, and finally a giant UFO that will have some portion of the audience demanding their money back on the spot. I'd hate to tell these guys that the VFX being done in Russia these days (viz. Ночной дозор) is as good as anything they've done lately.

Pity too the actors, working with such thin material. Only Cate Blanchett manages to transcend her underwritten part and exude the pulpy charm that the other films in the series attained. Watching Cate's Spalko is almost fun, at least up to the moment where her character is vaporized by a Space Alien for "wanting to know". Disappointing as it has been up to this point, the whole exercise is now revealed as a sham, a house of cards where nothing stands up. There are no cinematic just desserts. What exactly is wrong with wanting to know things? Is that a problem?

What if, say, we end up learning that those higher forces we're told to trust in aren't on our side? Or aren't there at all? Who knows what will happen to you if you go to that dark place? For one thing, you might just stop handing money to the Hollywood schmaltz factory, and buying into worthless junk like this film.

Posted by Ian S. on May 28, 2008 at 11:21 PM in Film | Permalink | Comments (3)

Chocolade Haas

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Not for the squeamish chocolate lover...

Download chocoladehaastitels.mov

Posted by Barnaby Bretton on November 28, 2007 at 06:15 PM in Art, Film, Food and Drink | Permalink | Comments (0)

Jarhead

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As American director and screenwriter Paul Haggis explained when presenting his new feature In the Valley of Elah, the first film to address the devastating consequences of the war in Iraq , making a film in the context of modern war is necessarily a political act. By choosing whether to talk about the subject or not, the filmmaker sends a definite message to the public. English director Sam Mendes therefore made a clear statement when he decided to direct Jarhead (2005).

Adapted from the eponymous book by former marine Anthony Swofford, Jarhead depicts the soldiers’ experience in the desert during the Gulf War, waiting to fight a battle which took place miles away, in the planes launching missiles on an enemy they never met, or from the camp’s computers targeting bombs on far away adversaries.

When analysing a recent piece of work in its social, political, and economic contexts, lacking hindsight on the events implies great risks. But therein lies the film’s strength: analysing in depth the first Gulf War to understand and criticise today’s conflict in the Middle-East. Understanding the film in the prism of Baudrillard’s The Gulf War did not take place helps pointing out the issues of today’s conflict in Iraq, and therefore puts Jarhead in the wider context of current questioning of the American myth of supremacy.


The Gulf War did not take place

Baudrillard’s analysis of the Gulf War led him to conclude, after a series of three articles published in Liberation that the conflict, in the end, never happened. Based on his theory of hyperrealism, his book explains how everything was set up to create the impression of a war, when in fact it was lacking the essence of a true fight. The French philosopher accurately describes it as a “war stripped of its passions, its phantasms, its finery, its veils, its violence, its images” , and this is exactly the atmosphere Sam Mendes reproduced in his film.

Sam Mendes’ work follows the same intellectual pattern: he recreates the perfect war atmosphere, as an experimental aquarium, and at the same time he subtly shows the flaws of this fake historical event, leading us to question ourselves about the true existence of this conflict. He introduces the spectator to men dressed up as soldiers, training in an ordinary military camp with a harsh sergeant yelling at them, placed in a desert which could be anywhere in the world (not one single scene was shot in the Middle East but instead in Southern California and Mexico ), and he provides them with guns and other military equipment. The hyperrealist world of war is set up in the first third of the feature, and then slowly torn apart.
The soldiers are kept in a camp far from an allegedly existing battlefield, they never get to apply what they were taught, or fight the enemy they are here to eradicate. The sole figures of the opposite side they meet is a troop of Bedouins searching for their camel, in an impersonal, distantly filmed sequence, or burned corpses of Iraqis who tried to escape. In both cases, they do not have faces, as if they didn’t exist.

Analysing Jarhead in the context of the second gulf war therefore takes all its meaning: to what extent was this procedure used again in nowadays conflict? Is today’s war just the sequel of a fake battle, a hyperrealist historical event?
Still, a main characteristic differs in this second war, which may be the reason why the film suffered weak numbers at the box office in the United States (but not in Europe): the soldiers have indeed met the Iraqis, and there has been some severe casualties. Therefore, telling the Americans who daily endure the losses’ numbers that there is no true enemy, and that their sons, brothers, husbands are dying for a useless conflict, surely must not appeal to them.

By the time Jarhead was released, the American administration was realising the costs of the war were higher than expected , the Congress was asked to withdraw the troops, and some called the conflict the “new Vietnam”, in regard to the situation becoming a “quagmire”.
Hence, picturing the first gulf war, “the new war” as it has been named, where the soldiers stay in their camp and send bombs miles away from their adversary, in the context of the second war at its most critical time, shows in a much subtler way, and stronger, how today’s conflict is a failure. It tells the spectator that invading Iraq should have transpired as it did the first time, with no casualties and no risks, in a few months, yet it ended up lasting years and looses more and more soldiers and civilians each day.

Mendes’ comparison technique reaches its highest point when approaching the subject of the media coverage. After depicting the boredom and the frustration of the soldiers, when the characters have finally understood nothing will happen in the desert, the director decides to demonstrate, from the battlefield’s point of view, how media manipulated the international audience, contributing to the hyperrealism of the event (the “war in images” as it has been called, in reference to the journalists arriving before the soldiers to be able to film their disembarking). When journalists come to the camp to relate what the fighter’s everyday lives in Iraq are like, the marines are asked (ordered) to lie about their condition, in order to maintain a feeling of safety back home, an image of a war how people want it to be. For the second time, Sam Mendes chooses not to show the journalists’ faces, in order to only focus on the soldiers’ point of view. Once again, he uses the past war to denounce the unscrupulous ways of the media in today’s context regarding Iraq, from the reverse angle.

Yet, Jarhead was accused of not taking part enough in today’s intellectual movement in cinema, the independent filmmakers rising against Bush’s policy, or America’s policies throughout the recent years in general. At the very time it was released, other films such as Lord of War or The Constant Gardener were explicitly pointing fingers at the administration’s policy in international relations or health, in the manner of Michael Moore’s Fahrenheit 9/11. Jarhead appeared too light in comparison. Mendes confesses himself “I’ve a feeling Jarhead is going to be «the film that I most like but was misunderstood by the critics»” . He admits himself the mistake his crew made by trying to sell the film to everybody, using a polished advertising campaign and therefore being labelled a conformist film . When it is absolutely not.

Jarhead and the questioning of the American myth

By the sole nature of its content, Jarhead fits in the “American independent cinema” category, the nonconformist alternative to Hollywood’s well-established codes. Quentin Tarantino explains its birth by the public’s need for change in the late 80’s . But with the help of Robert Redford’s Sundance Film Festival, and Miramax’s Weinstein brothers, the movement became one of its own, responding to precise criteria: the financing of the film, how the plot is set up, and the way it is directed .

The financing requirement has gradually become obsolete, but Jarhead illustrates the duality between the need for the big studios’ money and the director’s will to keep the film its own, as it is financed partly by Universal Pictures, and partly by Sam Mendes’ production company, Neal Street, amongst others.
The second criteria is also completed. As Harmony Korine, one of today’s new figures of independent filmmaking, has summed up: “I do not believe in plot. Things just don’t happen like that in life” . Indeed, Jarhead is all about nothing happening. The film starts directly in the military camp, with no further detail on the protagonists’ previous lives, and then focuses on the waiting, the lack of combat in the desert. Sight & Sound’s review was largely based on this issue of narration, as the journalist established her opinion rather on the film itself than on the historical context it was taken from, and therefore stated that “boredom and disappointment are the key notes here” .
Direction is the last key element of an American independent movie, and in Jarhead’s case, Sam Mendes made sure director of photography Roger Deakins was in charge of the shooting, as he wanted his whole movie handled. As the latter relates it, the director wanted to solely focus on the characters, their minds, and not burden the image with impressive sequences, lacking realism for a true observer .

Hence, by its sole form and even regardless of its content, the film is without question a part of today’s American movement which uses art as a way of questioning society and especially Bush’s administration. As Sam Mendes put it, “the very act of making this film in this climate is political” .
Furthermore, having this film directed by this filmmaker is political. Not only because the English director has never hidden his opposition to the war in Iraq, but because of his first work, the masterpiece American Beauty (1999). The latter having become a symbol of the deriding of America’s hyperrealist perfect world in the suburbs, its director has automatically reached the emblematic title of alternative personality in Hollywood’s small world.

At a time where America needs proof of its superiority, of its ability to win its battles and of the legitimacy of this invasion, Mendes chose to make an anti heroic film, or even an anti war film. Indeed it lacks all the elements of a classic war movie as anyone can expect it: the soldiers are far from being heroes, there is no gun shot, no impressive bombs exploding, no mean enemy the spectator wants to die horribly, no battle.
It doesn’t take long before private Troy realises “this war is gonna move too fast for us”, and that their presence in the desert might appear more useless than expected.

Jarhead pictures in an almost suffocating way the waiting, the frustration of the soldiers. Mendes wants us to endure the same disappointment than the marines.
During two hours, the demanding soldiers are kept in a state of constant tumescence, being promised a heroic confrontation, and kept aroused by Coppola’s Apocalypse Now, without ever being allowed a final release. “Throughout these seven months, the war has unfolded like a long striptease, following the calculated escalation of undressing and approaching the incandescent point of explosion (like that of erotic effusion) but at the same time withdrawing from it and maintaining a deceptive suspense (teasing), such that when the naked body finally appears, it is no longer naked, desire no longer exists and the orgasm is cut short” .
The film therefore uncovers the long process of emasculation of these soldiers, how they were prevented from fulfilling their mission, emptying it from all its purpose: Swofford can no longer masturbate, and his team partner Troy cries his frustration when stopped from finally killing, and begs his superior to let him mean something.
And when the war is finally over, there has been no battle, and Swofford’s rifle has not even been used. Freud would certainly agree on the symbolism of the last scene when the soldiers finally release their guns of their useless bullets, but in the end come back home without ever having had an intercourse.

Mendes’ choice to adapt a book written from a soldier’s point of view allowed him to avoid the particular genre of the political accusatory film such as today’s Lions for Lambs or Rendition, and solely focus on the men whose lives truly suffer the consequences of the war.
It is followed today by Paul Haggis’ In the valley of Elah which deals with the devastating matter of PTSD (Post Traumatic Stress Disorder), this time from one of the marine’s father’s point of view.
Indeed Jarhead depicts with great finesse the difficult subject of the soldiers’ psychological experience, it addresses their disappointment, and how the war becomes part of them forever: “We are still in the desert” marine Swofford concludes.


Posted by Margaux Dourdin on November 07, 2007 at 10:12 AM in Film | Permalink | Comments (6)

Breathing Room

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A collective of young artists known as Studio Smack were commissioned to put together a video reflecting the enormous amount of visuals that plague us every day. They stripped away everything in our path but commercial and graphical messages leaving us with a very dark and sad truth.

LINK<

Posted by sdcmasterpieces l> on July 26, 2007 at 05:33 PM in Film, Motion Design | Permalink | Comments (0)

Hot Fuzz

Hot_fuzz

Here's another spasm of counter-reaction to the Bruckheimer/Bay phenomenon. Hot Fuzz tests the universality of Hollywood factory filmmaking by forcing the action-movie template to fit an unlikely setting: a sleepy Gloucestershire village. Over-achieving London cop Nicholas Angel (Simon Pegg), posted to a country backwater for outshining his colleagues, gets suspicious about a spate of 'accidental' deaths. But the village's plot turns out to be much bigger than anyone, especially Angel, could have guessed, so cut to the chases, gunfights, and propane explosions.

The genial Pegg, co-star Nick Frost and director Edgar Wright reunited to make this after their cult success with Shaun of the Dead, a superbly conceived and executed reworking of a well-known genre. Shaun was a welcome surprise in so many ways: snappily shot, yet intent on building drama; English, yet crowd-pleasing; gory, funny and sometimes even moving, all at once. And while Hot Fuzz delivers all this in spades — an achievement, to be sure — some key ingredient is missing. We've lost that wistful insight and sense of humanity; in Shaun, a zombie could be a metaphor for a soulless existence, or a spur to seize the day, but in Fuzz a shootout is just another shootout.

This is still superior filmmaking, and Edgar Wright's directing talent is evident even when it is misapplied. A strange thing about Hot Fuzz is that humdrum scenes shudder with energy, while the gunfights are curiously routine. Wright's modus operandi is akin to Tarantino's; not that this is anything like Tarantino's films, but there are similar forces at work: the uninhibited cherry-picking of idolized genres and works, the desire to see normality violated, and an insensitivity that sees suffering played for laughs as often as possible. Wright's editing gift micro-tunes certain sequences with great finesse, but leaves the film too long on the whole. Yet it's some feat to approach the technical proficiency of a Tony Scott or Michael Bay while sidestepping the impersonality and insincerity (or over-sincerity) of their mega-budget duds. Even Peter Jackson, who used to make films a lot like this, must wish that he could return to crafting such simple pleasures.

Posted by Ian S. on March 13, 2007 at 05:15 PM in Film | Permalink | Comments (1)

硫黄島からの手紙

Ioujima2

How do we act in the face of our impending demise? In Letters from Iwo Jima Clint Eastwood explores this difficult question once again. Here we follow Japanese soldiers defending a desolate island, the last stepping stone to Japan proper, from an overwhelming assault by US forces.

To fight against the inevitable isn't always heroic; it is can also be tragic, if not downright stupid. This is the kind of war experience that Eastwood shows us. Slim hopes for victory evaporate under withering fire; scenes of 'honourable' suicide shock with their pointlessness (and messiness). Even the option of surrender, for those desperate enough to contemplate the culturally unthinkable, quickly vanishes.

Although Spielberg gets a producer's credit, this is an un-Spielbergian film in many ways. It's not just that it's slow, with its 1940s-style look and pace, or that the CG is often unconvincing, or that the action lacks excitement and grandeur. Where Spielberg's Saving Private Ryan seeks truth and a higher purpose amid the carnage of war, Letters finds only doubt and disruption of normality. Spielberg never questions the uniform evil of his German enemy; in Letters the 'enemy' are actually the protagonists, and every one responds differently. Compare the Ryan scene where GIs gun down surrendering Germans, impelled by the heat of their righteous battle, and the audience moves on without a thought. The Japanese who surrender in Letters are killed for being unwanted burdens, cold-bloodedly; for Eastwood, no side can maintain honour under war's ruthless logic.

It's only natural to sense a change in mood here. For Americans to relate to people who start wars of aggression, and lose them, isn't nearly as hard as it used to be. While Letters from Iwo Jima is not a political film, it gives plenty of opportunity to reflect on the wisdom of political solutions. For the soldiers who were painted into a corner at Iwo Jima peace would have been the only way out. Scenes in which the Japanese realise that their foes are not the pushover they were led to believe drip with contemporary relevance.

Yet it would be wrong to reduce this film to a mere analogy. This is a much more existential piece than a study of any particular time or setting. Hence the somewhat jarringly un-Imperial Japanese thinking of a couple of main characters, which would have been quite out of place in World War II; but this does help to make them accessible to a modern audience. Perhaps Eastwood did shoot a great movie, yet it failed to come together in post. The edit isn't tight enough (a common problem with 'epic' films), the music fails to inspire, and when battle scenes are drained of thrills they lose their sense of urgency as well. On the other hand, the Japanese actors acquit themselves well, all things considered, and what we see is undoubtedly the film that Eastwood had in mind — something that few directors get to achieve.

Posted by Ian S. on March 02, 2007 at 03:38 PM in Film | Permalink | Comments (6)

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