Sunday, May 21, 2006
Mission: Impossible III - 2006 - Film
Friday, May 19, 2006
"Where the hell have you been for the past ten years?" my friend Alberto asked when I told him I had not seen the first two installments of Mission: Impossible. So I accepted his invitation to watch the second sequel, Mission: Impossible III, with no expectations other than to be distracted by blurry action shots and Tom Cruise's tight t-shirts. After all, I had no connection with either of the first M:I's, so this was simply an excuse to get me out of the apartment on Friday night. But let me start here: I. Love. This. Movie.
Now I have to see the first two of the M:I series, and I will, but I feel confident after seeing this one first that I didn't necessarily misunderstand the film as a part of the trilogy. Though the three are connected in terms of character and premise, each one stands on its own--this we can see on the surface knowing the disparity among each of M:I's directors, Brian De Palma (Mission: Impossible (1996)) and John Woo (Mission: Impossible II (2000)), both of whom were also working in a pre-9/11 world.
This is the first post-9/11 action movie that seems contemplative of those terrorist events. Action sequences look different here. You can see the movement unfolding and can make out the subtle actions of objects and people as they fly through the air and crash and burn. On 9/11 we saw planes crash into buildings and people hurdle through the air to the ground without the aid of editing and camera movement. A steady camera held those images in the frame as they acted. Mirroring that, Mission: Impossible III shows its characters move within the frame as if we are watching them in real time. The camera holds still, there is a tension in the duration of shots that force us to see the characters act; people, cars, and everything in the space around them perform; the unmoderated frame is where the dynamism of action lies, not of that which exists in the editing.
For instance, there is a scene on a highway where cars crash and explode from the oncoming fire from a plane above. A helicopter swoops and chases Ethan (Tom Cruise) as he maneuvers between overturned cars and twisted metal bonfires. In the foreground we see him in close-up, his movements are blurry and disorienting; in the background a car flips over and crashes to the ground in its final resting place. Part of what 9/11 taught us is how to see action unfold, how to visually conceptualize what a catastrophe looks like as it occurs. Time is stretched and seconds seem longer when you are forced to see terror and destruction before your eyes, unmediated by effects and editing. In this respect, Mission: Impossible III is revolutionary.
"Where the hell have you been for the past ten years?" my friend Alberto asked when I told him I had not seen the first two installments of Mission: Impossible. So I accepted his invitation to watch the second sequel, Mission: Impossible III, with no expectations other than to be distracted by blurry action shots and Tom Cruise's tight t-shirts. After all, I had no connection with either of the first M:I's, so this was simply an excuse to get me out of the apartment on Friday night. But let me start here: I. Love. This. Movie.
Now I have to see the first two of the M:I series, and I will, but I feel confident after seeing this one first that I didn't necessarily misunderstand the film as a part of the trilogy. Though the three are connected in terms of character and premise, each one stands on its own--this we can see on the surface knowing the disparity among each of M:I's directors, Brian De Palma (Mission: Impossible (1996)) and John Woo (Mission: Impossible II (2000)), both of whom were also working in a pre-9/11 world.
This is the first post-9/11 action movie that seems contemplative of those terrorist events. Action sequences look different here. You can see the movement unfolding and can make out the subtle actions of objects and people as they fly through the air and crash and burn. On 9/11 we saw planes crash into buildings and people hurdle through the air to the ground without the aid of editing and camera movement. A steady camera held those images in the frame as they acted. Mirroring that, Mission: Impossible III shows its characters move within the frame as if we are watching them in real time. The camera holds still, there is a tension in the duration of shots that force us to see the characters act; people, cars, and everything in the space around them perform; the unmoderated frame is where the dynamism of action lies, not of that which exists in the editing.
For instance, there is a scene on a highway where cars crash and explode from the oncoming fire from a plane above. A helicopter swoops and chases Ethan (Tom Cruise) as he maneuvers between overturned cars and twisted metal bonfires. In the foreground we see him in close-up, his movements are blurry and disorienting; in the background a car flips over and crashes to the ground in its final resting place. Part of what 9/11 taught us is how to see action unfold, how to visually conceptualize what a catastrophe looks like as it occurs. Time is stretched and seconds seem longer when you are forced to see terror and destruction before your eyes, unmediated by effects and editing. In this respect, Mission: Impossible III is revolutionary.
Sunday, May 14, 2006
Sunday, May 7, 2006
Bright Lights, Big City - 1988 - DVD
Saturday, May 6, 2006
Bright Lights, Big City opened on Friday, April 1, 1988 and I wanted to see it right bad. Problem was, I was 7-going-on-8 years old and Mom made it clear that I was NOT ALLOWED to watch this movie. It was rated R, a far cry from the much coveted PG-13 rated movies that themselves were a half-decade away from my reach. Michael J. Fox, better known as "Alex P. Keaton," was the reason why I had to see this movie. Mom had to be wrong. Wholesome Alex P. betraying his scholarly roots for downtown debauchery? When would she get it?
For the past eighteen years I have thought about this movie. I vowed when I was 7 that I'd find a way to get to it. The years wore on, film school priorities took over, with folks like Godard or Ozu, Hawks, Ford or Capra pushing Bright Lights, Big City out of sight--but not out of mind. The fleeting thought of this movie filled me with intrigue. Michael J. Fox embodied so much of what I remembered the 80s being about. No one can throw a jacket over his shoulder while pirouetting across the room and out the door like 'J. Fox. The jacket was tweed with a shirt and tie underneath, and he wore it with jeans. The ultimate in contemporary cool, corporate meets casual. A wardrobe that goes from the office to the cocaine-filled clubs as if the two places were the same. This is what I have mythologized the 80s to be, a blur of money and drugs gone glam.
Though, at its core this movie does not glamorize this era. Jaime's (Michael J. Fox) wife left him, and he is fired from his job. In the opening sequence he is abandoned on the gritty morning-after streets, with no money to get home. His character is emotionally bankrupt because his mom died a year earlier, and the only companion he has is his cocaine-wielding friend, Tad (Kiefer Sutherland). All of this is presented as subtly as I have just relayed, and its style is defined by over-acting and symbolism more superficial than the Spielberg variety.
The pleasure of this film for me, however, was in its presentation of material objects and the spectacle of the New York skyline. In a scene towards the end of the film Jaime is inside a bathroom staring in the mirror, and right next to him is a tube of the old Aqua Fresh toothpaste. I'm talking about the stand-up cylinder tube with the alternating stripes of paste, green/white/red/white, etc. (I wanted this brand of toothpaste so badly. Mom strikes again: It was only original paste Crest for us!) In another scene there is a can of Pepsi on his pantry shelf--the old white can with the blue and red moon printed flatly on the front. The cranberry juice in his fridge is in a glass Ocean Spray bottle that has that picture of real cranberries in a cup on its label. These are the things I remember about the 80s: Michael J. Fox, and brand-named edibles and medicinals, which I was not allowed to have.
I guess seeing this movie in retrospect made it better. It let me revisit my childhood as an adult, continuing to live vicariously through the character I adored most, as he consumed the all the things I wanted most. One scene in the movie is shot at Bryant Park, on the north end that is paved with flat gray stone. Today I purposely walked along that path to see if it was the same. Almost. The only thing missing was the bench Michael J. Fox sat on. Now there are green metal patio chairs scattered about in its place. I liked the idea of going back to the park because I knew it was one of the few things I could access from the film (i.e. the 80s) that would roughly be the same. I doubt that'll ever happen to me with the toothpaste. Cranberry juice, too. That only comes in plastic bottles now.
Bright Lights, Big City opened on Friday, April 1, 1988 and I wanted to see it right bad. Problem was, I was 7-going-on-8 years old and Mom made it clear that I was NOT ALLOWED to watch this movie. It was rated R, a far cry from the much coveted PG-13 rated movies that themselves were a half-decade away from my reach. Michael J. Fox, better known as "Alex P. Keaton," was the reason why I had to see this movie. Mom had to be wrong. Wholesome Alex P. betraying his scholarly roots for downtown debauchery? When would she get it?
For the past eighteen years I have thought about this movie. I vowed when I was 7 that I'd find a way to get to it. The years wore on, film school priorities took over, with folks like Godard or Ozu, Hawks, Ford or Capra pushing Bright Lights, Big City out of sight--but not out of mind. The fleeting thought of this movie filled me with intrigue. Michael J. Fox embodied so much of what I remembered the 80s being about. No one can throw a jacket over his shoulder while pirouetting across the room and out the door like 'J. Fox. The jacket was tweed with a shirt and tie underneath, and he wore it with jeans. The ultimate in contemporary cool, corporate meets casual. A wardrobe that goes from the office to the cocaine-filled clubs as if the two places were the same. This is what I have mythologized the 80s to be, a blur of money and drugs gone glam.
Though, at its core this movie does not glamorize this era. Jaime's (Michael J. Fox) wife left him, and he is fired from his job. In the opening sequence he is abandoned on the gritty morning-after streets, with no money to get home. His character is emotionally bankrupt because his mom died a year earlier, and the only companion he has is his cocaine-wielding friend, Tad (Kiefer Sutherland). All of this is presented as subtly as I have just relayed, and its style is defined by over-acting and symbolism more superficial than the Spielberg variety.
The pleasure of this film for me, however, was in its presentation of material objects and the spectacle of the New York skyline. In a scene towards the end of the film Jaime is inside a bathroom staring in the mirror, and right next to him is a tube of the old Aqua Fresh toothpaste. I'm talking about the stand-up cylinder tube with the alternating stripes of paste, green/white/red/white, etc. (I wanted this brand of toothpaste so badly. Mom strikes again: It was only original paste Crest for us!) In another scene there is a can of Pepsi on his pantry shelf--the old white can with the blue and red moon printed flatly on the front. The cranberry juice in his fridge is in a glass Ocean Spray bottle that has that picture of real cranberries in a cup on its label. These are the things I remember about the 80s: Michael J. Fox, and brand-named edibles and medicinals, which I was not allowed to have.
I guess seeing this movie in retrospect made it better. It let me revisit my childhood as an adult, continuing to live vicariously through the character I adored most, as he consumed the all the things I wanted most. One scene in the movie is shot at Bryant Park, on the north end that is paved with flat gray stone. Today I purposely walked along that path to see if it was the same. Almost. The only thing missing was the bench Michael J. Fox sat on. Now there are green metal patio chairs scattered about in its place. I liked the idea of going back to the park because I knew it was one of the few things I could access from the film (i.e. the 80s) that would roughly be the same. I doubt that'll ever happen to me with the toothpaste. Cranberry juice, too. That only comes in plastic bottles now.
Sky Captain and the World of Tomorrow - 2004 - DVD
Friday, April 14, 2006
Back in 2004 I was on a flight from Denver to New York, and in the back of the plane were about five fresh copies of American Cinematographer. Outside of what an 8mm film production course taught me in my sophomore year of college I have basically no understanding of technical film production jargon, but I was bored on the flight and decided that this was the best time to punish myself with such foreign details. Perhaps I would pick up an cool fact that would expand my dialogue in film history and theory. Perhaps?
Well, one of the lead stories was on Sky Captain and the World of Tomorrow, a film which I had originally no interest in seeing. But after shrinking into myself on the cramped three-plus hour flight, I stepped off the plane tall and free thinking, "I should see this technological wonder!" So, two years hence, I did. And as per the American Cinematographer article, this movie is all about effects. It was shot entirely behind a blue screen with almost no set or props. The actors had to act within a space that was empty save the elaborate lighting schemes illuminating the set. The narrative is as sophisticated as a eighth-grader; there is no story to substantiate the sleekness of the images, but then again, there probably was not meant to be. This movie was about showing off a technology that combines noir elements and the gritty photographic quality of underexposed film in contrast with bright over-exposed hues, all with a glossy sheen painted over it. It looks rather amazing. If only there was a story to match.
Back in 2004 I was on a flight from Denver to New York, and in the back of the plane were about five fresh copies of American Cinematographer. Outside of what an 8mm film production course taught me in my sophomore year of college I have basically no understanding of technical film production jargon, but I was bored on the flight and decided that this was the best time to punish myself with such foreign details. Perhaps I would pick up an cool fact that would expand my dialogue in film history and theory. Perhaps?
Well, one of the lead stories was on Sky Captain and the World of Tomorrow, a film which I had originally no interest in seeing. But after shrinking into myself on the cramped three-plus hour flight, I stepped off the plane tall and free thinking, "I should see this technological wonder!" So, two years hence, I did. And as per the American Cinematographer article, this movie is all about effects. It was shot entirely behind a blue screen with almost no set or props. The actors had to act within a space that was empty save the elaborate lighting schemes illuminating the set. The narrative is as sophisticated as a eighth-grader; there is no story to substantiate the sleekness of the images, but then again, there probably was not meant to be. This movie was about showing off a technology that combines noir elements and the gritty photographic quality of underexposed film in contrast with bright over-exposed hues, all with a glossy sheen painted over it. It looks rather amazing. If only there was a story to match.
All The President's Men - 1976 - (TV broadcast)
Saturday, April 8, 2006
I don't know if this movie warrants an entry because I've seen it about two fistfulls of times, but it happened to be broadcast on WNET-13 for their Saturday night movie line-up, and I couldn't not watch. Call it perfect timing, because it came on at the same time I began writing an essay on it, which is due out in print, on pages, in a book in 2007. Look for it.
And what a nice segueway to explain my absence for the past three weeks: I was writing said essay, and thus not entries on this insightful blog!
A few observations on the film:
The placement of Woodward and Bernstein among the D.C. structures: The official government buildings are in plain view as Woodstein jot back and forth through the city in their pursuit of story leads and interviews, they are an integral part of the mise-en-scene, and reappear so often that we take their presence for granted. (The Watergate building even appears in a few shots, but only for a second or two before it's gone.)
These are some of the most gradiose buildings in the country, that represent integrity and the foundations of our government, yet they fade into a normal part of APM's atmosphere by virtue of their frequent appearance.
Woodward and Bernstein are the only two characters who actively slough through the dormancy of the city's political purity, and the undistinguished cityscape is a metaphor for the reporters' faceless antagonist. In the film, they are the ones who find flaws in the Presidency and the larger political system at a time when no one else questioned them. Woodstein's presence in the filmed space draws attention to this, emphasizing the their investigative role in the overall narrative.
I don't know if this movie warrants an entry because I've seen it about two fistfulls of times, but it happened to be broadcast on WNET-13 for their Saturday night movie line-up, and I couldn't not watch. Call it perfect timing, because it came on at the same time I began writing an essay on it, which is due out in print, on pages, in a book in 2007. Look for it.
And what a nice segueway to explain my absence for the past three weeks: I was writing said essay, and thus not entries on this insightful blog!
A few observations on the film:
The placement of Woodward and Bernstein among the D.C. structures: The official government buildings are in plain view as Woodstein jot back and forth through the city in their pursuit of story leads and interviews, they are an integral part of the mise-en-scene, and reappear so often that we take their presence for granted. (The Watergate building even appears in a few shots, but only for a second or two before it's gone.)
These are some of the most gradiose buildings in the country, that represent integrity and the foundations of our government, yet they fade into a normal part of APM's atmosphere by virtue of their frequent appearance.
Woodward and Bernstein are the only two characters who actively slough through the dormancy of the city's political purity, and the undistinguished cityscape is a metaphor for the reporters' faceless antagonist. In the film, they are the ones who find flaws in the Presidency and the larger political system at a time when no one else questioned them. Woodstein's presence in the filmed space draws attention to this, emphasizing the their investigative role in the overall narrative.
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