27 November 2008

Grand Hotel (1932)

Since I have an assingment to write something about possible connections between films and hotels it was rather obvious that I need to evoke my memories on Edmund Goulding's classic Grand Hotel. If a movie has a protagonist called Greta Garbo it is always a pleasure..

But – as the last time I used to do – I'll focus only one scene again, which is the first from the film. It's its first "chapter", a perfect exposition (notice the nice fade in and fade out), a clear-out way of introduce the main characters (Senf, Kringelein, Preysing, Suzette, the Baron and the Doctor). This is Classic Hollywood cinema: informative, economic, progressive (using the new possibilities of the sound), goal-oriented, functional, consistent and continuous (Kringelein mentions Preysing who appears immediately in the phone booth). Every bit of information serve the fast and economic introduction of the hotel guests: How? What are you doing when you call somebody? Normally you introduce yourself...
(More about the rules of the exposition in David Howard's classic on screenwriting: "Exposition is a cousin of backstory. (...) exposition is information the audience needs in order to participate in and understand the events and relationships in the story." (p.158.))

Talking about speed. Bordwell's thoughts about the intensified continuity (The Way Hollywood Tells It) and his revisited ideas on the topic could fit here, but better take a look on the rules of an exposition. Basically there are two ways: it comes right at the beginning communicatively sharing concentrated information on characters or on the following situation, OR it might come late to delay information in order to maintain and uphold suspense. Goulding's film obviously choose the communicative way.

If we draw simultaneous consequences from Bordwell's idea on raising speed and the first example of a classic exposition, we might see the real differences between the classic style and its new Hollywoodian (or European) followers. The rules of exposition didn't change at all, only the original conventions altered by the style.

Exposition nr. 1: Grand Hotel (1932):



Exposition nr. 2: Trainspotting (Danny Boyle, 1996):



(One more funny thing. Be aware of Preysing's English (3rd and 8th speaker in Grand Hotel's scene), who – since he plays a German entrepreneur – curiously imitates German language. "Is that you papa? Ja?! Ja!" :)

9/10

23 November 2008

Szalontüdő / Tripe and Onions (2006)

Dear reader,
in this snowstormy dark Sunday afternoon let me introduce a short film, actually an almost seven minutes movie which was chosen as the best Hungarian short film in 2007. A typical one-timer gag which – at its twisty end – definitely pays your attention off.



Directed by Márton Szirmai (directorial debut),
D.O.P. Gergely Pohárnok (remember his name since he is one of the best Hungarian cinematographer)
Screenplay by András Nagy Bandó, a well known Hungarian humorist (he isn't a comedian anymore – sank too deep into Hung. politics (became a mayor of a small town), and probably lost his sense of humour...)
16mm / K.V.B.

The film, and other Hungarian short movies are available at the ambitious Daazo website. Good luck guys!

7/10

19 November 2008

Play Time (1967)

During reading a perfectly detailed review on Jacques Tati's excessive cinematic masterwork, a small, but absolutely talkative example came into my mind what I'd like to share with you this time.

The mentioned and other reviews on the film are approaching from Tati's critical point of view on modernity, more precisely on modern architecture's and modern cities' sterile, alienating, dehumanising contexts (Le Corbusier: "the machines for living"). These contributions are sharing valuable investigations on the co-operation of the visible and audible (Tati's films have little audible dialogue, but carefully integrated sound effects which are participating in the creation of his jokes), on the attributes of Monsieur Hulot's character and its relation to the early silent comedy-stars (eg. Chaplin's physical attributes and moralizing character), on the unbelievable (expensive) sets of the film (he fabricated a huge set called Tativille, based on Paris' recently built (not existing anymore: 1963-1993) Esso-Tower), on the modern technologies, billed as conveniences, which are actually complicate interferences to natural human interaction (my favorite example is the completely silent door, which can't express what the characters feel during shutting it furiously:), in general on criticism about homogenity, standardization, functionality, automatization, ephemerality, unbearability.

All the above are true, but the question is still open: HOW the film's comedic practice is able to deliver all these critical platforms on modernity? The chosen scene tries to exemplify it: the short scene looks like a simple, very-very basic joke, but if we look closer how Tati built up the situation, we'll see that nothing else but the strict environmental shapes become the real protagonist, the real source of the joke.



Notice that the scene starts with a conversation between two characters in the foreground. Their role is to attract our attention, moreover to distract our attention from the glass window behind them (they completely block the view of the doorhandle). They make the way (and our view) free at the very last moment, just before the poor guy runs against the glass. Not only the unlucky character but the viewer can't see either where exactly the glass is. For safety, Tati incases an extra visual trick, namely the overlap between the shapes of the glass door and the building further in the background (plus: the very end a black car arrives to make the door's outline completely visible). See how:


8/10

16 November 2008

Whirlpool (1949)

"All the sounds have faded away."

In a hot Summer night of 2007 I've seen first time Otto Preminger's Laura (1944) in a friendly open-air cinema in Vienna. Even if I've found out the trick of its twisty plot, I had to realize that in 1944 its way to mislead the audience was quite unique among the more and more complicated noir films' languages (Bordwell constant argument ("Nothing comes from nothing" – in. The Way Hollywood Tells it, p.75.) on the continuity of the classical film language exeplifies from the '40s the origins of contemporary films' obligatory twisted stories).

But the choosen (and uploaded for you) scene isn't from Laura, but selected from a less known Preminger-noir, Whirlpool (1949). The film's story is rather silly (a quack hypnotist exploits a psychoanalyst's wife to commit a crime...), so let's focus only on the well tempered hypnotic situation and its cinematic execution. The sequence shows the charlatan's first hypnotic try on Ann (after Laura's role we have again Preminger's – and my – favorite Gene Tierney). The shifting states and the differences between the film's reality, the moments of the hypnosis, the hypnotic act, and the coming-back-to-the-reality are told very moderate (almost as undefined way as it was in Laura – remember the misleading moment when Dana Andrews is falling asleep with a booze in his hand...).

Anyway, here the case is more simple: according to the above, there are 4 indistinguished different states within one sequence: 

1. before the hypnosis
2. during the hypnosis
3. under the spell of the hypnosis
4. after the hypnosis

The shifts are visually almost invisible (small changes with the light and the focus), but are well divided with the help of the sound! See how:

1. before the hypnosis: diegetic music (the party's live music)
2. during the hypnosis: silence
3. under the spell of the hypnosis: extra-diegetic music
4. after the hypnosis: the diegetic music fades back.



Preminger's ability to change character objectivity and subjectivity back and forth makes him one of the most exciting directors of his age (it would deserve another post how Tierney's acting supports this tricky shifts: Tierney is as mechanical that sometimes you are not able to recognize the difference between her normal behave (with her guilty kleptomania she is sick anyhow) and her actions under the spell of the hypnosis...). About other examples (without Preminger) of this cinematic shift you can read here.

9/10

13 November 2008

Ali (2001)

There shouldn't be any doubt about the fact that Michael Mann is one of the best directors in contemporary film business. I won't argue here, if you don't believe me, maybe you're reading a wrong blog.

He is one of the best, even if his sportfilm, Ali from 2001 induced many contradictory critics (especially in connection with Will Smith's role as Ali, who isn't my favorite actor at all, but I have to admit that in this film he made his transformation into Cassius Clay terrifyingly perfect).

The selected and uploaded scene elevates boxing to artistic registers (Ali's first fight against Sonny Liston, 25th of February, 1964, Miami Beach Florida). How else you could visualize Ali's airy, fluent boxing technique than with an almost invisible cinematic trick. Around 2:59 there is a "flying" leg-movement which is balancing at the border of the fight's raw realism, an exceptional boxer's supernatural ability, and an (almost) unrecognizable stylism of a feature film.



This perfect movement tells more about Ali's famous "swift feet" technics than any biographical documentary.

8/10

10 November 2008

Film quiz #2

Let's play! I'll show you one picture and ask three questions (the first gives possible key for the rest / the second is the easiest / about the third I'm the most curious).


1. Which movie is this still from?
2. Who (whose cut out poster?) is on the right??
3. What is he (his cut out poster?) doing in this film???

Please write your answers to the comment section.

My only help is my rate:)

10/10

09 November 2008

The Red Shoes (1948)

Michael Powell's and Emerich Pressburger's beautiful story based on Hans Christian Andersen's identical tale is a perfect example of an adaptation. Even more than that: they created a movie which is not only a film but a theatre, more precise a ballet. To be clear The Red Shoes is a film which adapts and incorporates a tale (by H.C.A. – adapts, because the film shows Andersen's tale through a ballet; incorporates, because it repeats its story within the film's own plot) about a ballet dancer who is fighting between her emotions, talent, love and ambition. I won't tell more, you absolutely shouldn't miss this beautiful Technicolor romance (if it helps in your decision, I confess: "I hate ballet, period.").

It's better to dig down for a detail again! I've chosen and uploaded a scene where the ballet is shown first time at the theatre (Let's make it obvious: the film isn't a ballet-film, it is a film which mainly provides an insight behind the scenes of the cruel and delightful world of a dance theatre (see Bob Fosse's 10/10 All That Jazz (1979))). What I find interesting here is the way how the film stops to be realistic, moreover how the visual freedom of a film wins over the strict point of view of the theatrical representation. 

Consider the differences between playing a ballet for a "real" audience at the theatre, and for a film viewer: different gestures (obviously the film – with the help of the camera's wandering frames and focuses – needs to be less artistic, or – such a nice expression here – less theatrical), different possibilities in visualisation (jumping into the shoes, the dissolves, slow motions, and other kinds of cinematic practices), the problematics of the directions on the stage (the theatre has less freedom: normally some movements shown in a film would be hidden for the audience in the theatre (the wandering between the sets the theatre can't afford)), the gaze of the dancers (playing for the individual (embodied by the camera) VS. playing for the mass audience).
[if you can't see all the listed topics in the scene you will when you'll watch the entire film..]



In sum, these are the differences in possibilities, which actually force the theatre directors to be more and more creative, and which makes differences between films which are translating other forms of arts into their cinematic language.

9/10

07 November 2008

Greed (1924)

It seems nowadays I dedicate myself for the small details. The web is full with complete reviews of films which – according to the limited extense of an average analysis – are overlooking their attention on the details which in fact are the cinematic building blocks of a given movie.

Yesterday I decided to pay off an old debt and watched Erich von Stroheim's masterwork from 1924, Greed (1999 restored version, 239 min, where the missing parts are substituted with stills (very likely that the film remains as a torso forever since the original parts were destroyed (the footage have been rendered down for the silver nitrate) during the studio's (MGM) unmerciful recut)). Frank Norris's bitter story about McTeague, the simple fellow driven by his even humble instincts becomes extremely grim in the film...

But let's see an example on the silent film's naive, innocent try to identify one of his characters. The scene what I uploaded yesterday shows an argument between two former friends, McTeague and a greedy Marcus. The latter – drinking too much – can't stand anymore McTeague's sudden wealth (his wife, Trina, a previous girlfriend of Marcus won $5.000 on the lotto), and unexpectedly attacks him in the pub. He grabs a knife...

Yes, he grabs the knife, but how we see that? How we realize that Marcus is the one who opens a penknife? The interesting solution of identifying Marcus is coming around the 19th second in the video where a close up shows the penknife. Seconds later we see who opens it, but at the very moment of the close up (which unfolds itself as an analytical shot on Marcus) we can't be sure who is who. And then comes the solution with the help of a small dark ribbon...



If you liked Gance's Napoleon or you are an immersive reader of a long novel, I can assure that you won't be disappointed to watch this truly milestone of the cinematic history.

9/10

05 November 2008

North by Northwest (1959)

Yesterday I decided to rewatch one of my favorite films – it seems nowadays I spend more attention on movies which I've seen before. This tendency might have different reasons, for example my disappointment in contemporary films (recently: Tropic Thunder, 2008 (ok, I searched the problem for myself...)), or simply because I'm getting old:)

Anyway, just as yesterday, since you know everything about Hitch's masterpiece already (there are far better articles about it than the one I could provide here), I won't offer you a boring review, but a funny goof.

Please note the small boy in the scene's background:



The simple story goes like the scene required many reshooting, so the boy might have been scared/fedup with the coming gunshot's loudness. But don't blame the director: in 1959 nobody predicted the technical development of the future where crazy cinephiles have a chance to watch every details in slow motion (see the truck's explosion and Cary Grant's puppet under the vehicle:) Even more mostly minor goofs on NbNW are here).

10/10

04 November 2008

Touch of Evil (1958)

I don't want to bother you with the 3212405th review of Welles' unbelievable perfect classic noir – here I'd like to talk only about the famous opening scene, the illustrious long take (I had to watch it again after it was honourly mentioned in the even more precisely planned opening (...long) scene of Altman's The Player).

Nothing's new with it, what happened is that yesterday I checked how long is exactly the run of the camera. But first let me give immediately a remark with the help of David Bordwell: ""long take" is not the same as "long shot"; the latter term refers to the apparent distance between camera and object. (...) a take is one run of the camera that records a single shot" (Bordwell: Film Art: An Introduction, 1997, 259). Flaherty's Nanook of the North (1922), Welles' Citizen Kane (1941), more recently Joe Wright's Atonement's Dunkirk scene (2007), or the often cited, visually tricky last scene of Antonioni's Professione: reporter (The Passenger, 1975) are the classic examples for the use of the long take without montage. You know them very well. (Here I don't want to mention the difference between the long shot and the tracking shot – which is rather obvious.. On the other hand I believe it's unnecessary to know all the existing cinematographic terms – since they vary in different books, it's much better to understand only how they cue emotions...)

So how Touch of Evil's first long take looks like? Fact: the camera follows the ride of a bomb from its detonator's set until its explosion, so it rolls 3 minutes and 20 seconds without a single cut. It's definitely not a world record, which is more interesting is that the villain who starts the bomb ticking (notice Henry Mancini's bomb-ticking score!) sets the detonator around 3:20 too (as far as we can see that clearly).


And here is the entire scene:



One could argue about the difference between its felt and real time – I would say with the Hitchcockian planted suspense (see below ) I felt the situation much longer than 3:20 (The same happens – without any suspense at all – during Béla Tarr's uunnbbeelliieevvaabbllee ssslllooowww opening take in Sátántangó (Satan's Tango, 1994)). No more words on this since this post is not about the psychological-cognitive differences of the perceived time.

More important is to watch Uncle Joe Grandi's (and Hank Quinlan's, whose "intentions", "hunches" are just painfully, even suspiciously right...) plan which is – as the film's ad says "one of the strangest vengeance ever", but which is the darkest noir for me.

"A real sweet setup."

10/10

 “There is a distinct difference between “suspense” and “surprise”, and yet many pictures continually confuse the two. I’ll explain what I mean. We are now having a very innocent little chat. Let us suppose that there is a bomb underneath this table between us. Nothing happens, and then all of a sudden, »Boom!« There is an explosion. The public is surprised, but prior to this surprise, it has seen an absolutely ordinary scene, of no special consequence. Now, let us take a suspense situation. The bomb is underneath the table and the public knows it, probably because they have seen the anarchist place it there. The public is aware that the bomb is going to explode at one o’clock and there is a clock in the decor. The public can see that it is a quarter to one. In these conditions this same innocuous conversation becomes fascinating because the public is participating in the scene. The audience is longing to warn the characters on the screen: »You shouldn’t be talking about such trivial matters. There’s a bomb beneath you and it’s about to explode!« In the first case we have given the public fifteen seconds of surprise at the moment of the explosion. In the second we have provided them with fifteen minutes of suspense. The conclusion is that whenever possible the public must be informed. Except when the surprise is a twist, that is, when the unexpected ending is, in itself, the highlight of the story” (Truffaut's interview with Hitchcock, 1984, 73).

02 November 2008

Rear Window (1954)

Instead of writing a traditional review about one of the best movies ever, here is a 5 (and a half) minutes long summary of Alfred Hitchcock's amazing cinematic classic from 1954 (the voiceover comes partly from the Wikipedia's plot summary). 
I hope you'll enjoy as much as I did during compiling it.




If the last weekend was a lazy one what should I say about this one? I mean maybe I've found a new way to ruin the whole weekend. At least I've got to know the very basics of a Final Cut Express 4 editing software.

Ok, a small amount of "brightness" at the end: Hopefully you recognized the moving images among the stills (not about the ones with the Ken Burns effect, but the "real" moving images). I didn't plan to edit them at the beginning, but since I realized how statically constructed even the moving ones, I decided to use them. I believe that this aspect of the statical viewpoints is less researched in line of the film's analyses. At least in the reviews this wise cinematic feature owes less attention than the POV's, alias Jeffries' dramaturgical staticality accompanied by the camera.

(Let's not start sentences with an 'if', so involve it to your sentences like) if I could restart my cinema-interested career, I would definitely study editing!

10/10
(but what is your grade?)

01 November 2008

mini Halloween

Happy Halloween by Argento's (mini) Suspiria!




29 seconds – my first try with the Final Cut Express:)