FILMIC October 2015 Issue

O C T. 2 015

FILMIC Reel 2 // Scene 1

Expanded Universe Cannes 2015 Report Scott Pilgrim Analysis Hip Hop in Cinema Lars von Trier’s Depression Trilogy

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Editor’s Note

After the success of Filmic’s launch in the spring, there were many questions about what would come next. The concerns had turned from “How do we get this started?” to “How do we keep this going?” That first step is a struggle, for sure, but the real test of legitimacy would be the follow up. Our early planning could only get us so far, though, for the key ingredient was the continued dedication of our staff of writers as well as the enthusiasm of a new wave of members we had yet to meet. And there was no guarantee that this wave would ever come in.

To our immense joy, that wave did arrive, and it was much stronger than expected. At this September’s student organization fair, Filmic more than doubled its membership and at the first group meeting, ideas were flooding in nonstop. The decision was made to run two issues this semester, with the next move being a plan to run three in the spring.

And here is where we derive our second issue’s title “Expanded Universe” from. Just like Marvel and the numerous other studios currently following the trend of building massive cinematic universes composed of ever-broadening storylines and character lineups, we too are experiencing exponential growth.

This means more content—both within the issues and outside of them, with standalone web pieces. This means new sections, such as “Analyze This!”—which can be found in this issue—and a “Soundtrack Corner”—which is planned for December. And this also means a greater multitude of voices expressing a variety of interests. In this issue alone, you can find the Bellas of Pitch Perfect cozying next to Mad Max and the War Boys of the Wasteland; Arnold Schwarzenegger sharing space with Lars von Trier; and a quirky ’80s Tim Curry picture set side-by-side with an example of late, experimental Kurosawa.

I hope you enjoy this issue and continue to vibe with us throughout the school year.

Byron Bixler

Editor’s Note

Table of Contents

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Film Editorial It Takes a Nation of Millions to Hold Us Back

5

Analyze This!

Scott Pilgrim vs. the World

7

Cannes You Dig It? For the Love of Film

11 19 33

I II III

12

Head to Head

13 14

Discourse Versus

20

Criticism

21 24 28 29

Contemporary Reviews Throwback Reviews Capsule Review: Lars von Trier Hidden Gems

34

Semantics

35 39

Essays Poetry

Table of Contents

It Takes a Nation of Millions to Hold Us Back

by Justin Madore

Courtesy of Universal Pictures

In 2015, there’s no denying the impact of hip hop on American and even international culture. And while it’s now a cultural juggernaut, affecting aspects of our lives such as the syntax and makeup of our language, (see Drake’s 2011 hit “The Motto”) our fashion choices, or inspiring political movements (as can be seen in the YouTube video of protesters chanting the chorus from Kendrick Lamar’s “Alright”), it wasn’t always so present in the public consciousness. While the music certainly speaks for itself, its integration with film over the years has helped as well. Because of landmark films like Wild Style and 8 Mile, hip hop has become more mainstream than ever. The movement reached a climax this year with the release of Rick Famuyiwa’s Dope and F. Gary Gray’s smash hit N.W.A biopic, Straight Outta Compton. These films and the films before them have had a significant role in pushing it to the forefront of the cultural zeitgeist and having the genre be perceived as artistically valid.

The inception of hip hop goes back much farther than you might think. While it didn’t really come into its own until the second half of the ‘80s, its roots go way back to the ‘60s with a pair of James Brown songs, “Funky Drummer” and “Sex Machine”, the former of which becoming one of the most sampled songs in the history of rap for its famous drum break.

Listening to them now you can retroactively hear a huge influence on the sounds of hip hop in the ‘80s and ‘90s; however, the big break for hip hop in mainstream music came in the late ‘70s with The Sugarhill Gang’s seminal classic “Rapper’s Delight,” which became the highest charting hip hop song to date, peaking at #36 on Billboard. Around this time, Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five began recording as well, helping to popularize the genre. Soon after came Ice-T, Run-DMC, Public Enemy and the Beastie Boys.

With these artists paving the way, room was made in

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the music industry for hip-hop’s first true super-group.

Six men from Compton came together to fill that void.

DJ Yella, Arabian Prince, MC Ren, Ice Cube, Dr. Dre and Eazy-E became known as N.W.A. Their songs were an instant success, selling millions of copies to rabid fans across the globe. But as Straight Outta Compton exposed, they stirred up quite a bit of controversy as well, sparking the debate of whether or not hip hop glamorizes violence and promotes drug use. The song “Fuck tha Police” became one of the most controversial songs of the 20th century, sparking political and social unrest.

The group made its members famous, and with fame came celebrity, particularly for member O’Shea Jackson, better known as Ice Cube. With this celebrity, Ice Cube took a turn towards Hollywood, starting out with the ‘90s hood classic, Boyz n the Hood. While Wild Style was the first “hip hop film,” the performance Cube gave as a key cast member in Boyz n the Hood brought him into the acting world for good, and established him as a money making star, as the film grossed over $55 million dollars on a shoestring budget of only $6 million. Ice Cube, a hip hop star, had proved that he had mainstream appeal, thus bringing hip hop as a whole closer to its current cultural domination.

While Boyz n the Hood kicked off the acting career of Ice Cube, it was also a landmark film for black people. Director John Singleton became both the youngest person and the first African-American man to be nominated for a Best Director Academy Award (Adaso). He was also nominated for Best Original Screenplay. While he won neither award, a nomination by the Academy for a movie with an all-black cast was a pivotal moment for people of color in the industry. The lack of diversity in the voting members of the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences is not a secret, and it was certainly less diverse in the early ‘90s.

Film Ed

The nomination of a film featuring an all-black cast by a mostly white voting board for mainstream awards was not only a win for hip hop in film was also a landmark victory for the black community in media.

The ‘90s continued with other mainstream hits like Juice, starring Tupac Shakur; Friday, starring Ice Cube; and Chris Rock’s CB4, which satirized the hip hop culture of the time. And while satire is meant to make fun of a certain topic, the fact that hip hop was the subject was a significant development. The rap genre had reached beyond a cult following in music and in Hollywood. Hip hop had gotten big enough to draw substantial criticism.

The early ‘90s were huge for hip hop, with the explosion of popularity in both the music and films dealing with related subject matter. With this massive influx of popularity, the genre of hip hop started to attract an increasing amount of negative criticism from the media. Accusations of misogyny, the promotion of violence and the negative influence hiphop could have on your children were leveled at industry leaders, such as Tupac Shakur, Biggie Smalls, and later Eminem and 50 Cent, well up through the 2000s. Was hip hop poisoning the minds of the next generation of children? Was hip-hop even art?

The answers to those questions came sooner rather than later. In 2002, 8 Mile was released to widespread critical acclaim. Eminem played a fictionalized version of himself in the biopic. The film was a smash success, grossing $242 million worldwide, proving yet again that hip hop had mainstream appeal. The film also spawned a little song called “Lose Yourself”, which seemed to definitively respond to that all too important question with the answer: Hip hop is art. The song has sold more than 6 million units to date, and became the first hip hop song to be nominated for an Oscar. It won, and Marshall Mathers (Eminem) entered film history.

It wasn’t the last hip-hop song to win an Oscar, though. Three years later, another critical darling came along called Hustle & Flow, which got star Terrence Howard an Oscar nomination. Three 6 Mafia became the second hip hop act to win an Oscar for their song on the soundtrack, “It’s Hard out Here for a Pimp”. In addition, just last year, rapper Common and singer John Legend won an Oscar for their collaboration on Selma’s theme song, “Glory” (Adaso).

2015 has been an excellent year from hip hop both in music and in film. Drake’s “If You’re Reading This It’s Too Late” is on track to become one of the most successful albums of the decade, and Kendrick Lamar’s “To Pimp a Butterfly” seems to be a lock for a Best Album win at the Grammys, but two memorable hip hop films have been released as well. Dope premiered at the Sundance Film Festival to critical acclaim, and seven months later, one of the biggest films of the year, Straight Outta Compton, released and became a cultural phenomenon.

Having grossed close to $200 million at the box

Courtesy of Universal Pictures

office since it’s release in August, Straight Outta Compton is the first hip hop film to become a bonafide hit since 8 Mile. It also garnered a significant amount of acclaim from critics and audiences. More than that though, it’s injected hip hop into the mainstream in ways that other films have failed. The brilliant marketing campaign (built partly on the “Straight Outta Somewhere” picture generator) got all types of people talking about the film in positive ways early. N.W.A and Ice Cube’s record sales spiked, putting them in the iTunes charts for weeks on end (MaGee). The public, and not just hip hop fans, were paying attention for the first time in a major way to a part of the genre’s history. The film has led to the rediscovery of classic albums like “Straight Outta Compton” and “The Chronic” by those inspired to listen by the film.

Drawing from decades of inspiration, Straight Outta Compton is a landmark film that has set a new bar for what hip hop movies should be. It illuminated a crucial time in the genres culture for the public, spoke on current issues of police violence and inspired a new wave of hip hop fans. More than that though, it’s the latest in a series of films to greatly improve the legitimacy of the genre in a big way. For a long time, hip hop has struggled to overcome its critics because of its sometimes violent or crude expression of rough urban environments. It’s sometimes been a voice for the voiceless and a very powerful voice at that. Like Jazz and Rock ‘n’ Roll before it, hip hop has proved itself not only to be a legitimate genre, but an integral part in global culture. Without films like Boyz n The Hood, 8 Mile and Straight Outta Compton bringing the movement to the big screen, this may not have been the case.

Sources Adaso, Henry. “Hip-Hop at the Oscars.” About.com.

N.p., n.d. Web. 29 Sept. 2015.

Adaso, Henry. “The History of Hip-Hop: The Early Years.” About.com. N.p., n.d. Web. 29 Sept. 2015.

MaGee, Ny. “‘Straight Outta Compton’ Boosts Album Sales of Dr. Dre, N.W.A.” EURweb. N.p., 22 Aug. 2015.

Web. 29 Sept. 2015.

Film Ed

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Analyze This!: Scott Pilgrim vs. the World

by Luke Harbur

Scott Pilgrim vs. the World: a perfectly cast, fast-paced, colorful, relatable and respectable film deserving praise for each shot. Criticism for this film also deserves recognition, but it serves to be trite in the grand scheme of the film as a whole.

Scott Pilgrim is one of the most underrated films of the last few years. The movie’s director, Edgar Wright, literally clasped a chalice of success with this novel-to-screen adaptation. The characters, the editing and even the script (often accused of being poorly written) justify the sheer genius of why this film is worthy of close analysis.

Let’s first examine the main cast members. Michael Cera portrays Scott Pilgrim, the film’s main protagonist. Cera is known for being widely typecast as an underdog whose awkward social skills ironically grant him his desires. Examples of this particular portrayal include his roles of George-Michael Bluth in Arrested Development, Paulie Bleeker in Juno and Evan in Superbad. Though Cera takes on his usual image as the passive hero within Scott Pilgrim vs. the World, Wright’s decision to cast Cera compliments his typical performance. He is able to passively kick ass with his words and the different side you’ll see from Cera involves his aggressive nature within the film. In the comic books, Pilgrim brings out an unexpected set of kung fu fighting skills that dominate Ramona Flowers’ seven evil exes. Other than his stereotyped self in This Is the End and his double casting in Youth in Revolt, Cera’s performances do not usually involve bois-

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Courtesy of Universal Pictures

terousness and confrontation. Through watching Scott Pilgrim vs. the World, a viewer will be able to see an angry Cera through his bass grooves in Sex Bob-omb, epic punches in fast-paced fights and unrestricted rage towards anyone who gets in the way of his friends.

On the other hand, Jason Schwartzman shows off the diversity of his talent through a role unlike anything he’s ever played. His portrayal of Gideon Graves contains no lackluster skill. Schwartzman had just finished Fantastic Mr. Fox, where he played Ash, a negative-minded protagonist who underwent a change-ofheart by the end of the film. But the character Gideon Graves uses a sly, deceptive and manipulative personality to leech off Pilgrim’s aspirations. With a cool, collected approach, Schwartzman watches Cera’s character suffer by using little to no dialogue. In fact, a great metaphor for Schwartzman’s excellent performance is how he chews his gum throughout the film. Whenever Schwartzman feels comfortable about his circumstances within the film, the gum is loosely chewed or barely moved by his mouth; however, whenever he becomes irritated or enraged, you’ll see those lips smacking hard. Pay attention to the end of the film; you’ll then see why the gum becomes one of the most important aspects of Schwartzman’s character.

Lastly, two female actresses complete the Scott Pilgrim picture. After only a couple minutes into the film, you meet Ellen Wong as the obsessive Sexbob-omb fangirl, Knives Chau. Her passive persona, combined with

Analyze This!

into an assertive superstar. As the obsessive character watches Pilgrim level up in confidence from defeating Flowers’ exes, we’re watching her slowly drift away from Pilgrim. At the beginning of the film, Chau is almost no more than two or three feet away from Pilgrim’s side. She holds his hand, only plays a knock off version of Dance Dance Revolution with Pilgrim, and is the only one screaming for his band, Sexbobomb, at the Battle of the Bands competition. As Pilgrim defeats each of the exes, we watch her experience separation, depression and a lack of belonging.

But through her low points came her own journey to confidence. Near the climax of the film, Chau enters the final battle with utmost confidence in her methods of defeating Gideon Graves. At the resolution, Chau is effectively depicted as the real hero of the movie.

And of course we cannot forget Scott Pilgrim’s muse, Ramona Flowers. Mary Elizabeth Winstead portrays Flowers as a somewhat private, somewhat sassy, character. With the comic books showing minimal details of Flowers’s backstory, Winstead does a great job keeping a veil on Flowers inner thoughts and opinions in a situation. As a viewer, we are only able to see the frustration and consistent mental battles Flowers puts herself in. When she initially meets Scott Pilgrim, her first impression reflects skepticism; however, within that same scene, Pilgrim’s persistence interests her, and she casually hands over her number. This is how most of her interactions with other people happen: we can never gain a sense of all her thoughts and feelings. Flowers only displays full vulnerability at the end of the film, making Winstead’s performance spot on.

Now let’s briefly talk about the film’s editing.

As mentioned at the beginning, the film revolves around a quick pace. Although the runtime sits a little over two hours, there is almost no shot that lasts more than a few seconds. This matches the pace of reading the comic books almost effortlessly. If you take the time to read the comic books, most of the speech bubbles are only a few sentences long. That leads the comic book series to focus more on the visual aspects of the story. The director, Edgar Wright, emphasized the visuals over the words. An example of this phenomenon can be seen in our introduction to Wallace, Scott’s roommate. Within the comic book, there is a layout of Scott and Wallace’s home in which labels of who owns what pop up beside each piece of furniture. Displaying this layout takes up at least twothirds of a page within the comic book. Wright inserts this same layout by using a tracking shot across Scott and Wallace’s room. The viewer, like in the comic books, can read each piece of furniture’s ownership label from left to right.

Another editing compli-

ment goes toward the large number of video game references. According to the Scott Pilgrim Wiki, there are at least 40 video game references made within the film. A few examples include: any time Scott obtains a coin, the sound comes from Super Smash Bros; when Scott defeats someone in a battle, the “K.O.” sound comes from Street Fighter Alpha 3; and when Ramona Flowers dyes her hair pink, blue and green, that refers to the colors of all the Goddesses in The Legend of Zelda: Ocarina of Time.

Each reference lends itself to the story and tone in order to best capture the original intention of the comic books.

They serve to cater toward the generation who may enjoy the film: the people who played consoles in order to escape their normal lives. This movie, in that sense, serves as a great escape to a videogame-like adventure.

Most critics slammed this film for its poorly written script; however, for any movie-goer who read the graphic novels, the writing in the movie fits exactly how the source material depicted the characters: they are not very smart and they are either underdogs, jocks, house partiers, or couch-potatoes.

Also, the text within the movie fits the scripts found in 8-bit video games: anti-climatic, simple, yet relatable.

The conclusion of the story is stereotypical in the sense of the guy getting to date a girl and the two of them living happily ever after. The way the two love birds come together is like a videogame in itself. At the end of video games, usually the heroine rejoices with his or her allies for overcoming such intense obstacles. In the case of Scott Pilgrim, the ending moment of Ramona and Scott holding hands symbolizes their success. They’ve defeated multiple villains and restarted their friendship, and ultimately, their care for and cautiousness around each other’s feelings brought them together.

Please, do yourself a favor and rent these graphic novels from the library and stream this movie as soon as you can. It’s engaging, it’s different, and it’s a fun tale for the video-gamers, editing fanatics and casting enthusiasts of our generation.

Analyze This!

Courtesy of Universal Pictures

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Cannes You Dig It?

by Eli Hayes

One IC student’s report on the 2015 Cannes Film Festival

The Cannes International Film Festival, one of the biggest film festivals in the world and arguably the most prestigious, is in constant, gorgeous chaos. It’s a goliath of an event set along the Mediterranean sea in the city of Cannes, France. Rest assured, the location and the atmosphere are a sight and feeling to behold, the scope and grandiosity of which cannot be properly described in words. But it’s also an exhausting experience, both physically and mentally—and understandably so. Cannes is a two week fusion of market and festival, despite only the latter aspect receiving mention in the event’s title. Thus, it’s open to industry professionals of all kinds, but beyond residents of the city of Cannes, it isn’t open to the public; one must receive accreditation (e.g. by being a member of the press or a participating filmmaker) in order to attend. The grounds themselves are a spectacle: from the array of vendors spreading the fresh aroma of baked dough through the air; to the beach drinkers, the collage of tuxedos and gowns; the famed Lumière Theatre’s seemingly endless red carpet and an abundance of white, flag-marked “pavilions,” always filled to the brim with at-

tendees, each tent representative of a country with films included in the festival lineup.

It’s never an environment that one gets used to. For the past two years I’ve attended with a film in the Short Film Corner (one of the variety of ways in which a festival-goer can receive accreditation) and essentially stood there like a fool for the entirety of the two weeks with my jaw pressed hard into the sand. There were accomplished actresses like Emily Blunt and Jessica Chastain to my left; brilliant cinematographers like Roger Deakins and Benoît Debie to my right; and I wasn’t supposed to be there—no way was I supposed to be there with all of them. Yet I was. Maybe not in my most sound-of-mind state, but there, amongst a sea of faces which had minutes prior merely been names. And beyond the I’m in Europe factor, the celebrity sightings, the flashing lights, the escargot and the free cocktails, the true spirit of the event is in the films. Though I didn’t have the opportunity to see them all, or even a minuscule fraction of the thousands that debut at Cannes, the following six were, at least for me, some of the most memorable.

The Lobster - Yorgos Lanthimos If you were forced to be transformed into an animal, but could choose the type of animal you’d be turned into, what sort of creature would you select? Based on the title of Yorgos Lanthimos’ Jury Prize winning film alone, it shouldn’t be difficult to tell what its protagonist’s answer to that question would be. The Lobster tells the story of David (Colin Farrell), a man who has recently been left by his partner and decides to check into “The Hotel,” where he has 45 days to meet a new, satisfactory life companion or face the consequence of being changed into a small, Courtesy of Alchemy marine crustacean. Lanthimos’ film is primarily a comedy, albeit an extraordinarily absurdist one—and that’s not to say it doesn’t contain its fair share of drama and conflict.

One particular event about halfway through the film acts as a catalyst for a change in both tone and setting, in effect dividing all of the characters into distinct, opposing sides and the film itself into two remarkably dissimilar halves.

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Feature // Cannes You Dig It?

Dheepan - Jacques Audiard At the 2015 Cannes International Film Festival, the Palme d’Or—the festival’s top prize—was awarded to Jacques Audiard’s social-realist drama turned hyperviolent thriller, Dheepan. The film tells the story of its titular character’s attempt to reconstruct a life for himself after his wife and children are killed in Sri Lanka. In the aftermath of tragedy, Dheepan forms a pseudo-family with a woman he meets at random and an abandoned nine-year-old girl in an attempt to escape the Sri Lankan civil war for a better life in France. Unfortunately, the area of France that they move into is infested with criminals who use the territory for narcotics distribuCourtesy of Sundance Selects tion and other illegal activities. Dheepan is forced to sit back and watch as the environment he has brought his makeshift family into becomes higher and higher risk; that is, until he reaches his breaking point. Ultimately, Audiard’s film is most notable for its focus on ideas such as how the family unit can both disintegrate and unify in the face of traumatic circumstances, the notion of essentially escaping one war-zone for another and also the way in which post-traumatic stress can be potentiated by a lifestyle of poverty. The third act presents a drastic tonal shift that will undoubtedly polarize viewers—leaving some exiting the theater shaking, while others shrug their shoulders in bafflement—but the overall experience is worth having no matter what your reaction to the ending is.

Son of Saul - László Nemes László Nemes’ Grand Prix winning directorial debut, Son of Saul, was one of the most critically well received films of those in competition at the 2015 Cannes International Film Festival. It’s understandable why, for its one of the most respectful and harrowing depictions of the Holocaust that has been committed to celluloid in decades. It follows Saul (portrayed with great subtlety and facial acting skill from first time actor Géza Röhrig), over the course of two chaotic days in Auschwitz as the camp nears its liberation. He is a “SonderkomCourtesy of Sony Picture Classics mando,” a prisoner marked with a red X on their back to signify that they’re responsible for assisting in the disposal of Jewish bodies—those who have been murdered in the gas chambers. Saul’s true motivation in the film comes into play when he spots the body of a young boy who he takes to be his son and spends the remainder of the film in search of a rabbi that can help him, via prayer and blessing, in providing the boy with a proper burial. Stunningly shot in no more than two dozens long takes and designed, both visually and aurally, to capture its audience in the claustrophobic environment of its desperate protagonist, Son of Saul is without question one of the strongest works screened at this year’s festival.

Green Room - Jeremy Saulnier

Jeremy Saulnier’s Green Room is a hideous, frightening beast of genre cinema. It follows a punk band’s descent into a dark chasm of madness and brutality after they accidentally witness a homicide committed at a remote concert venue. Their neo-nazi hosts, however, don’t want to leave any witnesses and after the punks lock themselves in the titular greencolored room, all hell breaks loose. Unbearable tension—which there were certainly several moments of in Saulnier’s previous feature, Blue Ruin—spreads across the entirety of his newest output’s runtime.

Courtesy of A24 There was no other film at the 2015 Cannes International Film Festival, in competition or otherwise, that provoked such visceral, audible reactions from crowds. Green Room is a perfect exemplification of practical effects done

Feature // Cannes You Dig It?

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well, albeit disgustingly, in the realm of contemporary independent cinema. The horror is complemented by a darkly funny script containing several intelligent and genuinely likable characters; stark realism (which makes the imminent violence all the more unendurable); enormous blades; vicious canines; and very, very little hope.

Love - Gaspar Noé Cinematic madman Gaspar Noé’s most recent exercise in transgression, Love, is without a doubt a visual wonder, as well as one of the most sexually explicit films ever made. Of its lengthy 135-minute runtime, at least seventy minutes are devoted to extended displays of graphic sex. The opening scene of the film, for instance, is a long-lasting static shot of the film’s protagonist, Murphy, and his girlfriend-at-the-time, Electra, engaged in an unsimulated sexual act. This directorial decision, which paves the way for the remainder of the film’s imagery, Courtesy of Alchemy was met with immense excitement and anxiety from the audience of its midnight Cannes premiere. Love is sparse in plot, but its chief concentration is Murphy’s state of mind as the now married father reflects on the most passionate love affair of his life with his French ex. It’s apparent that Noé’s goal here was to expose his audience to such an enormous degree of sexual imagery that it would begin to feel like a common and acceptable thing to view in a non-pornographic film. Unfortunately, it has the opposite effect, eventually desensitizing viewers to the sex being presented, exhausting them beyond the point of enjoyment and disallowing them from becoming fully absorbed in the more dramatic and human moments it has to offer.

Youth - Paolo Sorrentino Academy Award winning director, Paolo Sorrentino, returns with a poignant and melancholic symphony of cinematic emotion. As a master of tonal shifts, he pulls the rug out from under his audience on several occasions throughout the duration of the film, dragging them down into states of heartache only to just as suddenly raise them back up into the heights of pure laughter and joy. Watching Youth is like being trapped in a game of pinball, with Sorrentino playing and his audience the ball he’s whacking in every which direction without the slightest bit of delicacy. And nonetheless, though his directorial style means to manipulate greatly, it also means well. The narrative, though there hardly is one, centers Courtesy of Fox Searchlight Pictures in on retired composer Fred Ballinger (Michael Caine), during his stay at a spa resort in the Alps with his daughter, Lena (Rachel Weisz), as well as his longtime friend and confidant, eminent film director Mick Boyle (Harvey Keitel). Much like in The Great Beauty (the movie which earned Sorrentino his Oscar), cinematographer Luca Bigazzi’s camera rarely stops moving, gliding throughout the world that has been crafted and plastering images in viewers minds that won’t be easily forgotten. Its minor flaws, such as a slightly overlong runtime, can be easily forgiven by the intricately crafted visual aesthetic of each and every scene.

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Feature // Cannes You Dig It?

For the Love of Film

My journey into the celluloid world began with a puddle of blood on Valentine’s Day. A fourth concussion got me stitches, a scar, an ambulance ride, and two years of bondage. I was a prisoner in my own home; a bird with a broken head, unable to leave its cage. My education and my social life shrunk to fit on my new little planet.

With post-concussion syndrome silencing my words, my movements, and my mind, I reached for flecks of film. In movies, I found a portal out of my pain and desolation. Cinema was the perfect lover, giving me all the pleasure and beauty that I desired, replacing my grey vision with its Technicolor graces. Like a starving man, I devoured this visual artistry. Watching movies became my new purpose, teacher, and devotion.

Film noir, 80’s John Hughes, bloody Quentin Tarantino films and suspenseful Hitchcock pictures. Small scale indies, silent Chaplins, short films and anime. Humphrey Bogart, Rock Hudson and Doris Day. French films, Hollywood favorites and Bollywood musicals. I swallowed everything with religious fervor.

As a writer unable to remember how to write a single letter, I listened for the scriptwriter’s signature, the director’s prose, the editor’s mark and the actor’s tone and I started to grasp the full complexity that laced a film into a cohesive piece.

My desires to one day contribute morphed into the fuel I needed to heal.

Every precious piece of cinema made me grow stronger, both in my convictions and my resolve. With every tear-jerking drama and cute comedy, I could bear the migraines and the loneliness.

A mantra chanted daily in my head: “When I get better, I’m going to make a movie like that.”

“When I get better, I’m going to write an amazing script.”

“I’m going to get better, so that I can change the way that character is depicted on film.”

“I will get better, and when I am, I’m going to write movies.”

I do not know if I will indeed write the scripts I intended in those sickly days, but since that dark time in my life, I treasured movies. I would have never found the courage to get through my illness if great cinematic masterpieces had not been there to dress my wounds.

Mikayla Mislak ‘17 // Contributing Writer

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For the Love of Film

Head to Head Combative criticism Courtesy of Warner Bros

Discourse: Batman Begins

by Will Erickson & Casey Simonson

Courtesy of Warner Bros.

Casey Simonson: With Zack Snyder’s Batman v. Superman on the way in just a few months, I found it fitting to revisit one of my least favorite superhero movies of recent years - Christopher Nolan’s Batman Begins - hoping that perhaps I wouldn’t hate it nearly as much as I did in my first viewing. All of my friends know that Begins is one of two films I’ve fallen asleep during while actively trying to watch. (The other being the Denzel Washington vehicle Safe House, which I recommend you avoid at all costs.)

Regardless, while Begins was not as much of a snoozefest upon revisit as I remember it being, I still find it to be a pretty bland film. Primarily, Begins suffers from a problem that I will here call Spider-Man 3 syndrome, named as such because Spider-Man 3 is packed full of as many Spider-Man characters and references from the comics, as if seeing Venom, Gwen Stacy, Sandman, and some version of the Green Goblin on screen at once was really fan service. Unlike Spider-Man 3, however, Begins seemed to get away with this overstuffing of characters, at least critically, with the late Roger Ebert giving it four stars. But I’m not entirely convinced that Nolan pulls it off, or that Batman Begins is even a good film.

It largely comes off like two separate films that are only vaguely related, and with a runtime of nearly 2 and a half hours, neither of the two sections seem fleshed out enough, feeling mashed together and entirely too long. The first prominent segment of the film comes with the origin of both Bruce Wayne and his Batman persona. While I am a massive proponent of eliminating origin stories in films for well-known superheroes, I’ll let this one slide for the sake of argument. The tone established by Nolan in this particular section resembles that of a martial arts film; the color palette brown, the cinematography heavily influenced by Asian cinema. Liam Neeson’s Ra’s al Ghul seems to be set up as the villain here; a man who once trained Bruce Wayne, but will eventually fall out with him. However, this tease at something different is not what we ultimately end up getting once Christian Bale dons the Batsuit.

Instead, it’s an overly dark, overly serious Batman movie where the antagonist is the Scarecrow, despite not showing up until the film is nearly at its halfway point. In addition to the Scarecrow, we get Falcone and some other guy who makes an attempt to take control of Wayne enterprises, bringing the “primary” antagonist count to roughly four. It’s jumbled, it’s confusing as hell, and eventually - though it waits until a mostly boring climactic sequence to explain the connection between all of these villains in the first place - it does connect.

Begins tries to juggle a thousand different plotlines, but can’t seem to get the important ones in place. I never fully figured out what Scarecrow’s motives were, or why even the League of Shadows thinks that destroying the whole city of Gotham is the proper solution to controlling the excess of modern society (Ra’s al Ghul says it, I swear). For a film that was lauded for its realism and truthful Batman origin story, it comes off as gritty for the sake of being gritty and different, as if taking a billionaire running around in a muscle-tight kevlar body suit seriously was something we ever really wanted.

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Head to Head // Discourse

Will Erickson:

It’s difficult for me to talk about Batman Begins without reflecting on the 11-year-old boy that saw it for the first time in theaters in 2005. I had grown up watching weathered VHS recordings of the campy 1960s Adam West Batman, and Tim Burton’s chilling interpretation of the concept had managed to both terrify and enchant me. As much as I adored these versions, thethe ultimate adaptation for me was Batman: The Animated Series, which managed to capture the terror, drama, and fun of the concept without ever feeling tonally inconsistent.

These were all the things informing my idea of a cinematic Batman as I rode my bike across town with my older brother to see my first adaptation in theaters. Even with such high expectations, I ended up loving the film and I’ve revisited it often since.

I don’t think it’s quite fair to compare Begins to Spider-Man 3, although I do see how a connection could be made. While Begins does have many antagonistic characters, I feel that each one holds thematic importance and has a valid place in the story. Spider-Man 3 feels like the visions of multiple different people forced into a compromise, but Begins feels cohesive and deliberate. It’s clear throughout the second act that Scarecrow and Falcone are simply pawns in a much larger plan, and every scene involving them does a good job of pointing to a mysterious higher power that is influencing these powerful men. This buildup allows for a satisfying final act that focuses around Ra’s al Ghul.

I must emphasize that Liam Neeson is only revealed as the mastermind at the end, as he was initially introduced as a mentor figure, with a very similar mentality and motivation as Batman. Up to this point, Ra’s was believed to be an ultimately evil and foreign entity, who is cold and quick to anger, forcing Batman to destroy him. Revealing this villain as someone more relatable and integral to Batman’s origins and struggle represents a temptation that Batman faces: the draw towards brutality and revenge. This helps us better understand why Ra’s must destroy all of Gotham in the climax. Beyond the story justifications, Ra’s shows how the brutality of anger and revenge seeks ultimate destruction without redemption or forgiveness. Ra’s sees the environment of crime and greed that creates Batman and views it as being beyond redemption, thus seeking to destroy it for that reason.

This reframing also gives more thematic weight to other antagonists. Falcone is an important villain because he represents those who would do crime and hurt others within Gotham. Our Wayne Enterprises CEO, William Earle, represents the other side of that coin. He is the selfishness and greed that exploits Gotham and endangers the world (it was, of course, his dealings that create many different weapon designs including the microwave emitter that factors so heavily into the finale). We are meant to despise these characters and their actions because in doing so, we are tempted to desire their destruction, a temptation we share with our masked protagonist.

The reason that Batman is better than Ra’s, is that he can see beyond these “monsters” of excess to find the good of Gotham. The best aspects of the city are also represented through characters, like Gordon, the pillar of justice, Rachel, the fighter for the law, and the unnamed boy, a symbol of innocence.

Our final villain is perhaps the most important symbolic character, as the Scarecrow represents using fear as a weapon. His presence is important because Batman learns to turn this weapon against the villains who so often use it. He would use fear to protect the good rather than hurt them, and that makes his character fascinating. I feel these characters are all essential to make the audience connect with Batman as a real human, rather than just a comic illustration in a cowl and a cape.

Courtesy of Warner Bros.

Head to Head // Discourse

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Casey: I will not disagree that each character is representative of some aspect of both Batman’s maturity into Batman and his love for Gotham, but my problem more stems from how necessary all these characters are. Part of what makes The Dark Knight a far superior film is how much we get to see of the antagonists and how they really feel like fleshed out characters. While obviously some of this one-dimensional-ness can be attributed to performances, particularly that of Katie Holmes and Cillian Murphy as the Scarecrow, some of these characters are just lacking depth.

Let’s take the Scarecrow for an example. His motivation, which is largely explained in one line, ends up being revealed to be money. This is fine for a comic book movie, but not when the claim was that this was going to be a human story with realistic characters. His only character trait after this reveal seems to be that he is doing this for money, or maybe just to scare the pants off of some mentally ill people. But there’s never any human depth to it. This problem is obvious in the source material too, but I come to expect more when trying to adapt comic-book characters into a world that more resembles our own.

Aside from the story element of the film, I find the pacing atrocious. As I kind of got to before, it really feels like two different films, all mixed together with Nolan’s trademark editing style. But the slow, drawn-out scenes with long takes that encapsulate the opening third of the film don’t really ramp up into anything by the time we’ve made the switch to Gotham and are faced with the fast-paced, quick cutting we’ve come to expect.

Realistically, on the spectrum of superhero films, especially for the time, Batman Begins is pretty good.

But it’s not great, it’s not a masterpiece, and I doubt it will go down as a classic. That’s not to say some of it isn’t spectacular. Gary Oldman, as always, feels like he’s giving a performance of a lifetime, and the majority of the practical effects are dazzling. But despite its successes, it doesn’t live up to the promises made by Nolan that we would see a realistic and human portrayal of the Batman story. Admittedly, my expectations are a primary reason for my distaste for the film. But, I will say: my dislike is somewhat dulled by the existence of The Dark Knight, which still stands as my favorite superhero film.

Will: Some characters are lacking, that can’t be denied, but this is hard to avoid in any film that has such a large and varied cast. However, with every character that is lacking like Rachel or Scarecrow, there are two characters that are perfectly cast and implemented.

It is pretty widely believed that Michael Caine perfectly inhabits the role of the servant/father-figure Alfred, and his role is completely essential in helping the audience believe that Batman is more than just an insane man in a rubber suit. Morgan Freeman also slips perfectly into his role of Lucius Fox, managing to make a character that feels justified in giving out such advanced tech (which forms the backbone of a successful Batman). Of course, you already covered the incomparable Gary Oldman (his name be praised), who is so adorably endearing that he can make blowing up a train’s railway feel pleasant and satisfying. While there may be some weaknesses in the cast, I feel that these pillars more than manage to hold up the final product.

In terms of the pace, while I think certain stellar scenes in the beginning definitely emulate the asian cinema style you refer to, I feel as though the editing rarely escapes the deliberate and quick Nolan style. Certain scenes, like the final test of the League of Shadows (perhaps my favorite scene in the whole film) display a much slower and more eerie pace, but I feel that is repeated for many scenes, like the steady stalking leading up to Batman’s first big reveal. At the same time, some scenes in the beginning, such as Batman’s introduction to stealth, distraction, and theatricality, have the quickest acceleration of any scene in the film. I feel that the pacing only works because of the thematic center of the film: the Gotham Monorail. Everything about this film emulates this element, from the pacing, to the editing, and even to the film’s soundtrack. For me, this is what keeps the film from becoming boring. The whole thing feels like a constantly accelerating disaster waiting to happen, and I didn’t feel like Nolan got lost in the woods of his own universe until The Dark Knight Rises decided to throw every last idea Nolan had into one big pile.

Batman Begins is certainly not a perfect film, or even a perfect Batman film (we both know that’s The Dark Knight), but I truly believe it’s one of the great superhero films that’s worth revisiting. Even with its flaws, there are scenes that so perfectly encapsulate the feeling and concept of Batman, such as the terrifying scene where Batman interrogates a dirty cop by hanging him upside-down from a building, that it’s essential viewing for any fan of the character or superheroes in general.

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Head to Head // Discourse

Mad Max 2: The Road Warrior vs Mad Max: Fury Road

by Jacob Sullivan

Courtesy of Warner Bros.

Courtesy of Warner Bros.

Mad Max 2: The Road Warrior offers exactly what should be expected from any entry in the Mad Max series.

Hot off the success of the first film, Director George Miller ramps up the violence, mayhem, and speed to unprecedented levels. But while The Road Warrior is a film containing S&M barbarians, head explosions, and car crashes, the story never loses focus on Max and his journey.

The most memorable aspect of any Mad Max film is the action. On Max’s second outing, Miller sets the template that the following films in the series would have to follow. What makes the action in The Road Warrior so different from conventional action films is its chaotic approach to cause and effect. Instead of focusing on the immediate goals and consequences of each action, the film shows the audience the collateral damage. When Max shoots a man in the head, the car continues forward, flipping a dune buggy before getting hit by two speeding motorcyclists. All this isn’t necessary to the plot or to Max within the moment, but Miller shows it to increase the sense of disorder and inescapable violence. There are sizable breaks from the action, but not from the violence, which even finds its way into the most comedic scenes in the film.

Through all this chaos, Mel Gibson cements himself as the definitive Max, expressing his character’s entire backstory with minimum dialogue. Max is a tragic figure and Miller and Gibson relay this tragedy visually, with symbolic shots and subtle body language.

There is a clear connection between Max in the first film and how he has since changed. The significant rests between action scenes play into this, allowing us to connect with Max in a far more personal manner.

Unfortunately, most things outside of Max fail to be as nuanced in their visual presentation. The opening voiceover/montage is a solid three minutes of exposition which hardly sets the violent, anarchic tone for the rest of the film. In addition, secondary characters are barely touched upon and are sadly reduced to mere meat bags in the action scenes.

Mad Max: Fury Road, the fourth film in the series, takes very bold chances for a movie with a $150 million budget. Within the 2-hour runtime, there is no exposition; no rests to explain everyone’s motives, backstory, or character. Instead, all this is told either visually or through its chaotic action. Miller establishes the social structure of The Citadel, the religion of the War Boys and each character’s motivation, traits, and personality with little to no dialogue. On top of this daring form of storytelling, Fury Road is astoundingly violent, outlandish, and weirdest of all, emotional.

Fury Road perfectly delivers on the action.

Each set piece plays out on an operatically large scale, Miller using his techniques of cinematic chaos to full effect as he did with past films in the series. The expanded budget allows for the most ambitious entry in the Mad Max series yet, with as close to nonstop action as a film can get. The film’s violence is over the top, kinetic, and far from realistic, yet the emotions within the film are relatable and grounded.

Miller succeeds in keeping focus on the characters and gives each one time with the audience. Charlize Theron’s Furiosa takes center stage. Not only do her actions drive the plot, but her story is the most emotionally compelling. Every hero has a story and personality that gives the audience something to care about.

Furiosa and Max are both looking for redemption while the sympathetic War Boy, Nux, is trying to find his place in this world. Ultimately each character wants to regain what the wasteland has taken: their humanity.

Punctuating almost every inch of the film is Junkie XL’s phenomenal score; a mix of heavy metal guitar, tribal drumming, and more traditionally orchestrated moments. It drives the action, at times giving it a ballet-like nature, and when the film slows down (a rare event) the music switches to fit the scene perfectly.

Fury Road’s only mistake is that it forgets it is a Mad Max film. The character of Max is given little attention, and storylines from past films are barely touched upon.

Head to Head // Versus

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Road Warrior vs Fury Road conclusion: While Fury Road borrows heavily from the techniques and story elements that made The Road Warrior such a great film, Fury Road improves upon its predecessor in almost every element. The characters are balanced better and the film plays out completely visually, with no exposition to pause the nonstop action. There may be no Fury Road without The Road Warrior, but Fury Road is just larger, crazier and more fun. Miller has created one of the best action series in film history, and while both of these entries are near-perfect, Miller has only gotten better with age. What a day! What a lovely day!

Pitch Perfect vs Pitch Perfect 2

by Tori Adams

Courtesy of Universal Pictures

By 2012, we had all just begun to cover up our unexplainable obsession with the a capella drama that became a sensation on Glee. Then Pitch Perfect debuted. It was a college centered comedy about an a capella group forced to leave their old traditions behind to battle their male rivals.

Jason Moore may have been a first-time feature director when he started working on Pitch Perfect, but he could not have been more suitable for the role. Prior to this, he had directed the musical, Avenue Q on Broadway and episodes of Everwood, Dawson’s Creek and One Tree Hill, giving him plenty of experience with the music world as well as that of awkward teenagers trying to navigate social cues. The movie starts off with the queen bee of the group spilling her guts all over the competition’s stage. Choosing such a blunt opening scene to kick off a movie that was marketed as a feel-good comedy is a risky, yet memorable decision that makes Moore truly stand out.

However, it’s the characters in the film that drive the side-splitting comedy. Fat Amy (Rebel Wilson) delivers pure awkward truths that make us wish we had come up with hysterical gags such as “horizontal running” ourselves. Furthermore, the film’s controversial judges, Gail (Elizabeth Banks) and John (John Michael Higgins), spew blatantly offensive comments that make it hard to hold back laughter.

The film is full of catchy musical performances such as the audition scene where potential members belt the emotional lyrics to “Since U Been Gone” by Kelly Clarkson, all while looking hilariously dramatic

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Courtesy of Universal Pictures

Pitch Perfect 2 begins with The Barden Bellas (the main group from the first film) now three-year reigning national a cappella champs. Things go awry, however, when Fat Amy accidently flashes President Obama while performing the iconic “Wrecking Ball” by Miley Cyrus. This forces the hosts to replace the group with the Das Sound Machine, sending the Bellas on a mission to use their style and a new recruit (Hailee Steinfeld) to outperform them at the World Championship.

From the beginning, the theme of female empowerment amongst the sorority-sister-like members marks a change from the original movie’s epic battle of the sexes. This time around, the women are calling the shots and the male characters are only used to fulfil romantic subplots.

The writing is undoubtedly quick, satirical and chock-full of the same dry humor we enjoyed during the first movie. Nevertheless, the number of politically incorrect, racial and sexist comments has skyrocketed. Instead of using quirky character traits to drive the comedy, the characters are now reduced to props for reworked jokes. A new member, a Guatemalan exchange student named Flo, serves as inspiration for the Bellas by reminding everyone that things could be worse, like the time her brother once tried to sell her for a chicken. Jokes are made at her expense, hinting at her illegal immigrant status and even making light-hearted threats of sending her back to Mexico, even though she clearly states she’s from Guatemala.

After Pitch Perfect made Anna Kendrick’s “Cups” a hit, expectations for the music were set high. While the

Head to Head // Versus

and questionably talented. The most fun musical scene is the riff-off, a social event where the a capella groups effortlessly sing pieces from hit songs such as, “Hey Mickey,” “Feels Like The First Time” and “No Diggity,” making for an entertaining yet unexpected combination.

Pitch Perfect joins the ranks of other impressionable, over-dramatic commentaries on teenagers such as Mean Girls and The Breakfast Club. The film’s quirky characters and sarcastic dialogue make this film a hit, especially with its female young-adult following.

tracks in the sequel aren’t as contagious, there’s something to be said about the pressure of producing a film where the music almost speaks more than the script does.

All in all, Pitch Perfect 2 successfully maintained the comical elements and sense of college culture that made the first film so great while strengthening the theme of female empowerment; however, the added aspects of stereotypical humor have had controversial and possibly damaging effects on the film.

Pitch Perfect vs Pitch Perfect 2 conclusion:

Pitch Perfect grossed $65 million at the domestic box office due to its sarcastic tone that has become popular in today’s comedies. Pitch Perfect 2 recreated the same social concepts with grace, allowing us to relive our favorite moments, such as the riff-off. Although the concepts of college culture were accurately recreated and the sequel was a bigger box office hit, the writing was distasteful. The slight implications of racial and sexist humor from the first movie were amplified in the second and although sometimes amusing, the backhanded comments made Pitch Perfect 2 to be a controversial and degrading film in comparison.

Courtesy of Universal Pictures

Head to Head // Versus

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For the Love of Film

It is the duty of the filmmaker to be the assembler and captain of a boat of sorts. Once the ship is built and an audience has climbed aboard, it is up to the filmmaker—a lantern in one hand and an oar in the other—to bring the ship to new places and illuminate the unperceived truths to be found along the way.

All those captains share one common goal: to somehow make the whole of that ocean visible. Each great filmmaker—by setting off in his or her unique direction—is bringing light to the unexplored territories that their films explore; by doing so, they hope to let us see where otherwise we would have swam blindly through inky waters.

Undoubtedly it is the experiences in our own lives that decide the quality of the images we will share with the world—but there is, of course, much to be learned from becoming a member of the audience from time to time. I think first of my experience watching Werner Herzog’s Fitzcarraldo, a film set in the early 1900’s that follows an eccentric visionary struggling to fulfill his dream of building an opera house in the jungles of Peru. There is one particularly unforgettable scene in which Fitzcarraldo orchestrates the tugging of a hulking steamboat up a mountainside. As I watched the ship disappearing into the fog, I knew instantly what Herzog was trying to show me: that the fruition of my dreams too, would be no easy task.

Ironically, I happened to watch Fitzcarraldo only hours before the scheduled last day of shooting for a short project I was making at the time. We needed one shot in particular, which took place on a precipice overlooking the entirety of my small town. Unfortunately for everyone involved, I had decided it would be best to shoot in the middle of January; there were not yet paths shoveled along the hiking trail, and the freezing wind was unbearable. As we trudged through the knee-high snow, I attempted to inspirit the crew by recounting to them Fitzcarraldo’s plot and the significance of its central image. They remained mostly unamused…and terribly cold. One thing was made clear to me that day: This duty to make films was undoubtedly a labor of love. Fun as it can be, the construction and coordination of a cinematic ship is never a walk in the park.

Whether I am sitting amongst the other passengers, staring intensely out at the things that only great films can display, or attempting to take the commanding role myself, I always remain locked in an intense infatuation with film.

When I watch great works like Fitzcarraldo, my love for film is reaffirmed as I feel that familiar tug at my soul. It’s as if Herzog is far out in that sea of expression, grasping a rope tied to my heart. As he and the other filmmakers I adore push further out, I feel myself drawn from land into the water. Locked in the purgatory that is film school, I wade in the shallows, dreaming to set off toward some unexplored stretch of ocean that I, God willing, will reveal to the world in my own way.

Tyler Macri ‘18 // Contributing Writer

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For the Love of FIlm

Criticism Critical analysis of work from past to present Courtesy of Walt Disney Pictures

The Look of Silence (Oppenheimer, 2015)

by Francesca Hodge & Tyler Macri

Joshua Oppenheimer’s documentary, The Look of Silence follows an Indonesian optician, Adi Rukun, as he confronts the men responsible for his brother’s murder. The audience quickly learns the facts surrounding the anti-communist genocide that swept across Indonesia nearly fifty years earlier and the failed military coup that sparked it all. Oppenheimer utilizes hauntingly stylized interior shots of Adi sitting in a darkened room, illuminated only by the glow of a television set that plays an interview with a pair of killers who were there the night his brother died. As these men recount the killing in disturbing detail, the aura of grief and painful reflection that fills Adi’s world sweeps across the audience—a feeling that rightfully sets the tone for the rest of the film.

The Look of Silence addresses many of the same tragedies detailed in Oppenheimer’s 2012 documentary, The Act of Killing, a film that chooses to view the genocide from the perspective of Anwar Congo, an executioner responsible for the deaths of hundreds of accused communists. In The Act of Killing, Oppenheimer looks to astound his audience by giving Congo and other killers the freedom to reenact the murders they committed—an absurd spectacle that leaves us appalled not only by what the killers did in 1965, but also by the fact that they remain free men in the present.

Picking up where The Act of Killing leaves off, The Look of Silence solidifies the horrific tales of genocide detailed in the first film by addressing the long-standing agonies of those whose family members were killed.

The film’s main character, Adi looks to answer the question “Why?” as he and Oppenheimer attempt to answer these questions while basking in the atrocity, a feeling captured perfectly in one scene where Adi and an aging survivor of the genocide walk a path down to the riverbank where his brother was partially disemboweled and castrated. As the film unravels and history is studied, explanations for these horrific events remain murky.

Adi carries around a strange mechanism throughout the film—a pair of red glasses surrounded by dials and levers that he uses to determine the necessary strength of his patient’s glasses. It is this instrument that defines the effect of Adi’s interviews: before speaking to many of the men responsible for his brother’s murder (both inadvertently and directly), he places the mechanism upon the subject’s face, and the conversation begins. An interview with the man whose commands determined Adi’s brother’s

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Courtesy of Drafthouse Films

fate begin in this way—he approaches first as an optician, but as he turns the dials attached to the glasses, gently probing the irritable old man with increasingly difficult questions—things are still left out of focus. In each case, no matter how gruesome these men’s actions may have been, they ultimately seem incapable of defining that which lies upon the horizon. The root cause of what happened in 1965 is always blurry and responsibility is frequently thrown to the higher authorities. Concluding one of his interviews with a killer in one scene, Adi speaks plainly of this denial to the man before him, “Every killer I meet, they don’t feel responsible. They don’t even feel regret. I don’t mean to offend you, but I think you’re avoiding your moral responsibility. You’re trying to wash your hands of it.”

In many of these cases, the murderer’s testaments bear revelations that might be shocking to Western audiences (one intimating that the American and British government had extensive contact with the Indonesian perpetrators of these mass killings). In another scene, a death squad leader reflecting upon his actions arrives at a disturbing conclusion, stating that his crimes are the result of America “Teaching us to hate communists.” The CIA denies involvement with the genocide despite the economic assistance the U.S military provided to Indonesian paramilitaries during the Red Scare of the 1960’s. Although the scope of the documentary is perhaps too narrow to include more information regarding these facts, the exclusion of them further vilifies the Indonesian government and makes the Untied States seem like a distant and uninterested supporter.

In the final scene of the film, Adi’s mother holds a pair of Mexican jumping beans in the palm of her hand. The closeness of the camera creates a sprawling vista of her tanned, wrinkling skin. As the beans twitch, her face descends gently from above to watch them.

Criticism // Contemporary Reviews

Shortly before cutting to black, she whispers to the larvae soon to emerge—“Where are you? I don’t see you. I know you’re there.” These things, like the peace that Adi and his family have sought for so long, fail to emerge before our eyes. Scenes like these are what define The Look Of Silence’s greatness. It is a film that skillfully calls our attention to the silent tragedy of a little known event, while maintaining a beautiful poeticism throughout.

As the credits scroll, a sprawling list of “Anonymous” titles reminds us that the tragedies presented

to us are far from dormant, and that many of the Indonesians involved have good reason to fear speaking out about the subject. After all, this is not a film of justice—those whose actions are so horrifically described are still free, some even empowered. For the first time in my life, I sat with the rest of the audience in muted reflection for the entirety of the credits. Later, as I made my way silently from the theatre to the moonlit bus station, I was overwhelmed by a sudden urge to weep.

Black Mass (Cooper, 2015)

by Justin Madore

duration. They don’t get extremely expressive until the second half of their respective films, thus making the impact of their full acting range that much more potent. Depp does wonderfully as the alternatingly polite, menacing, loyal, and psychopathic crime lord without any of the heightened dialogue or weird accents audiences have come to expect from a Depp performance.

The actors playing those surrounding Bulger and Connolly do a convincing job of making the setting come to life. The Boston accents are pretty great, with everyone in the ensemble from Adam Scott to Benedict Cumberbatch doing a wicked job with their voice Courtesy of Warner Bros. work. The look and feel of the city is strictly

Black Mass is such a frustrating way to begin Boston as well. There are some nice shots showcasing the fall movie slate. All the trappings of a great film are landmarks, the grime of the city and the chill of the air.

However, while these characters sport believable there. Interesting premise? Check. Great cast? Check. accents, the characters themselves are also a detriment Great director? Check. While completely competent to the overall narrative. Connolly, who is introduced in its own right, it simultaneously struggles to be anyinitially as the protagonist, never feels like one. There’s thing more than that. While Johnny Depp turns in his very little charisma to him, and although Edgerton is best performance of this past half decade, Black Mass not a bad actor, the dialogue written for him simply screams average at almost every turn. Infuriatingly, doesn’t do him any favors.

The remainder of the bureau it’s a film that fails to be as great as we want it to be. comes off as very uninteresting and not particularly That’s not to say it fails to be interesting. Based valiant as well.

Without a clear protagonist to root for, on the book, Black Mass: The True Story of an Unholy the movie becomes a bit off-putting at certain points.

Alliance Between the FBI and the Irish Mob by Dick Lehr

Director Scott Cooper does an adequate job and Gerard O’Neill, it follows in the same vein of many matching the quality of his previous films.

The direca famous gangster flick, drawing inspiration from The Departed, The Town, and Goodfellas. The plot closely tion is solid, but not mind-blowing. There isn’t a lot follows James “Whitey” Bulger’s (Depp) relationship of tricky camerawork or very effective cinematograwith the FBI and his moves to outflank and outmaneu- phy; the soundtrack is present, but not mindblowing; ver his enemies. When his childhood friend and now and the dialogue is realistic, but not particularly inFBI agent, John Connolly (Joel Edgerton) comes to him teresting. Are you noticing a trend here? While I acwith a deal he can’t refuse, he does a deed considered knowledge that the 80’s gangster flick genre is pretty dirty within his criminal field: he partners with the feds. played out at this point, it is so frustrating as a movie The focus of the story is his relationship with Connolly fan to see such great material not handled in the best and how the partnership affects both their lives. Depp’s way possible. The film brings absolutely nothing new portrayal of the iconic gangster (oddly the second one to the table in terms of narrative structure, charache’s played in the last ten years, following his turn as ter writing, editing, or cinematography. Aside from John Dillinger in Public Enemies) reminds me a lot of Depp’s performance, Black Mass feels like a meal at Steve Carell’s performance in last year’s Foxcatcher by Applebee’s. It’s not a four star meal, but it sure is betBennett Miller, and not just because they both use a ter than having the leftover meatloaf in the fridge. distracting amount of make-up. Both are very subdued, very straight performances for the majority of the film’s

Criticism // Contemporary Reviews

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Queen of the Earth (Perry, 2015)

by Susan Brancaccio

Catherine (Elisabeth Moss), seeking emotional exile after experiencing an unpleasant breakup as well as the traumatic loss of her father, agrees to go on a oneweek getaway at her friend Virginia’s (Katherine Waterston) lake house. What should be a relaxing break from reality instead only deepens Catherine’s feelings of loss and inadequacy. Specifically, Virginia’s disposition toward Catherine, which ranges from vaguely supportive to simply cruel, can be seen as possibly pushing Catherine further and further toward madness. As memories of the two friends’ week at the lake house one year prior are woven into the film, we begin to see that a role reversal has taken place between the two women. Last year, Virginia was the one dealing with an emotional trauma — the loss of an unborn child. And it was Catherine who seemed impatient with her friend’s grieving process; ignorant of her timeline of recovery and recuperation.

As days pass at the lake house and the parallel situations play out before us, animosity and distrust begin to permeate the tranquil location. While the cinematography captures a peaceful lakefront and soothing landscape, an overwhelming feeling of claustrophobia seems to take hold in and around the lake house. Catherine becomes paranoid and fearful of Virginia’s presence and Virginia indulges in moments of watching her friend slowly fall apart. This is no longer a relaxing place for either woman and it begins to feel that way for the audience as well. The whimsical, yet compelling score lingering in the background of the film adds to this almost twisted atmosphere. Although Queen of Earth would not be classified as a horror film, the nature of Catherine and Virginia’s friendship is terrifying in its own right. Not only do the two seem to approach one another in a passive-aggressive manner, they revel in one another’s misery and flaws.

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All in all, the film’s study of the two female characters makes for a suspenseful, eerie, and tense viewing experience. Their friendship, with each passing minute, seems more and more like it is heading towards the same inevitable fate of an ocean front property — perched on a cliff, its foundation slowly eroding, waiting for a hurricane to come and violently disassemble it. Throughout the film you find yourself waiting and Courtesy of IFC Films waiting for this tumultuous end — and it is through this slow build up of tension, through each passing wave, that Perry creates such an intriguing story. This film not only raises questions about who we choose to keep close to us, but also critiques the way in which people tend to build themselves up by tearing other people down. Additionally, through Catherine’s relationship with her boyfriend, her father, and most especially Virginia, we begin to understand how codependence plays an important (but also devastating) role in someone’s life.

While the story, script and overall mood of the film are executed very well, the acting and cinematography are just as phenomenal, if not more so. Elisabeth Moss, and Katherine Waterston deliver realized performances that capture the callous and emotional attitudes of their characters. Moss in particular delivers one of the best performances of the year. Between the breakup scene that the film opens with and the passionate monologue towards the end of the film, Moss seems to leave everything on the table so much so that it’s nearly impossible to separate the actor from the character.

Likewise, Sean Price Williams’ cinematography not only fills the film with interesting scenery, but also manages to use the mundane (such as a shot of a bedroom or a living room) to promote the overall uncomfortable atmosphere of the film. Ultimately, Queen of Earth is not only a visual marvel, but a fascinating exploration of interpersonal relationships that establishes Alex Ross Perry as one of the great, young American filmmakers.

Criticism // Contemporary Reviews

Spirited Away (Miyazaki, 2001)

by Erica Noboa

Hayao Miyazaki is a seasoned veteran when it comes to creating visual masterpieces that explore the innocence and flourishing imagination that only children can posses. Those fortunate enough to grow up watching Studio Ghibli films, ranging from the lighthearted Kiki’s Delivery Service (1989) to the war-ridden Princess Mononoke (1997), were encouraged to stimulate their young minds and developed a newfound appreciation for foreign cultures. Miyazaki never fails to transport his audience into unique fantasy worlds using his mastery of storytelling. Even though almost all of Miyazaki’s films are universally cherished, one in particular left active filmgoers awe-inspired and continues to remind them how precious a child’s imagination can be. With such stunning visual and sensory delights, compelling characters, and an artful balance between terror and joy, Spirited Away is a remarkable film that leaves its viewers intoxicated in wonder.

Our story follows a young girl named Chihiro, an utterly miserable child who is reluctant to move away from her old friends. While attempting to take a shortcut to their new home, Chihiro’s father leads his family to a seemingly abandoned theme park. While her parents indulge themselves at the local unattended eateries, Chihiro is becomes curious about her surroundings and wanders off on her own. She encounters a spirit who urges her to flee with her family before the sun sets, warning her of a mysterious looming danger. As she rushes back to her parents, she finds they’ve been turned into gluttonous pigs, hypnotized by the food in front of them. In a breathtakingly eerie sequence, Chihiro finds herself stranded in the spirit world, becoming a human fugitive in a divine bathhouse catering to gods. The head honcho of this establishment is revealed to be Yubaba, a cruel sorceress who stands to be the obstacle Chihiro must overcome in order to restore her parents to their original forms. Yubaba hires the child to work in the bathhouse where she is made to do grueling work and is ostracized by fellow workers. In all this, Chihiro receives help from her only friend, a boy named Haku, who is said to not be trusted.

This film is packed with subplots that are beautifully intertwined with one another, allowing for a tranquil balance instead of a feeling of suffocation, something not easily done. I was captivated from the get-go, following a young girl’s journey as she learns to gains confidence in herself and finds that their is a little bit of good in everyone, whether that be spirit or human. Miyazaki’s gorgeously animated world is aimed for children’s viewing pleasure, covering simple themes such as “good always triumphs over evil” and “love conquers

Courtesy of Walt Disney Pictures

all.” Despite this, it draws attention to aspects such as blood, pain and death, bringing the audience in on a sense of realism. This is something other animated films, especially those in America, wouldn’t dare trifle with.

Studio Ghibli’s unique art style lends itself to generate and build the flow of the story. During an interview, Miyazaki explained that there never was a script for Spirited Away. He would simply start drawing storyboards not knowing where the plot was going, allowing the story to progress naturally. This film was created using an organic, non-computer generated animation, meaning that every scene was hand-drawn before being digitalized. This mind-boggling process adds to the dimension of hallucinatory fantasy, and each time I am astonished by how well the animators were able to pull it off.

Following Chihiro’s transformation from a sulky, fearful child into a loving and respectful individual is one of the best examples of character development I have ever witnessed. The moment that turned this movie on its heel comes when she embraces Haku’s immoral side. Instead of abandoning him, she aids him in finding his true identity. This is what makes this movie so remarkable. Spirited Away embraces the dark side in everyone and asks us to accept the faults, not fear them. I find this film to be a marriage between the dark and gritty Princess Mononoke and the carefree Kiki’s Delivery Service, where there are no real villains, just obstacles to overcome. It maintains a sense that the road to understanding lessons is very frightening and arduous, but that’s life. But through an element of love, humor and forgiveness, it is shown that these lessons are all the more worth experiencing.

Criticism // Throwback Reviews

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The Evil Dead (Raimi, 1981)

by Kevin Fermini

October 31st marks an important date in the lives of horror movie buffs, as Ash vs. Evil Dead — Sam Raimi’s long-awaited fourth installment in the Evil Dead series — finally hits television screens. Raimi’s cult classic trilogy, The Evil Dead, Evil Dead II and Army of Darkness have carved a sadistic hole in the history of cinema as three of the zaniest, most brutally inventive horror films of all time. Known for their mix of horrific gore, snarky one-liners, episodes of surrealism, and unmistakable Three Stooges influence, the films have been championed for over thirty years by their ravenous cult following. The premise is well known by now: five friends vacation at a cabin in the woods, where demonic spirits possess them, leaving a single hero to defend and dismember for himself. Bruce Campbell will never truly be able to outlive his character of Ashley J. Williams, the chainsaw-handed, dimwitted hero of the series. But before he was a cult star hacking up demons while spouting lines like “groovy,” Bruce Campbell was a twenty-year-old kid who loved movies, venturing out to the backwoods of Tennessee with his childhood friend, Sam Raimi, to unintentionally create a landmark in cinematic history called The Evil Dead.

The twenty-year-old Raimi had just dropped out of film school along with Campbell and their producer, Robert Tapert, to try their hands at feature filmmaking. With a microscopic budget, a skeleton crew and a cast of five barely competent actors, the trio aimed to make a cheap horror film to sell to drive-ins, hopefully making a small profit and learning a thing or two in the

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Courtesy of New Line Cinema

process. Their can-do spirit quickly devolved into desperation, as shooting dragged on, actors left, and sleeping and eating were excised from shooting schedules.

Incredibly, whatever madness occurred in those weeks of shooting created one unforgettable film experience.

The Evil Dead is remarkable for its success against all odds; somehow Raimi and his crew created a work of unparalleled imaginative power out of a microbudget and an abandoned cabin. One gets the feeling upon watching the film that Raimi believed he would never make a film again, and dumped every trick in his book into an eighty-five minute explosive flash of raw, horrific artistry. The Evil Dead transcends the drive-in.

It transcends horror cinema. It stands alone as a work of pure, uninhibited creative savagery. Raimi’s camera moves with a fierceness which gives it a remarkable presence; his frequent use of subjective point-of-view shots rip the viewer into the action. In particular, Raimi uses his camera as a symbol of otherworldly, unseen evil which pursues dizzyingly through the film’s landscape.

The camera watches the characters with a malevolent evil, peering through windows, relentlessly following, or gazing from a distance. In one particularly memorable sequence, Ash emerges from the cabin’s basement, frantically searching for his demonically possessed sister. Raimi’s staging of the scene is simple yet brilliant; tilting the camera at a forty-five degree angle.

The skewed perspective creates a surreal atmosphere symbolizing both Ash’s impending mental breakdown

Criticism // Throwback Reviews

and the sinister, twisted gaze of the spirits toying with him. The camera zips through the cabin, around Ash’s head, along the ceiling and under the floorboards, a visual embodiment of two gnarled points of view.

Furthermore, Raimi cleverly paints his lowbudget creation with a blood-soaked rainbow of sickening colors. The film is awash in dirty greens, blues, and reds. The skin of the possessed demons alternates between stark white, pop-art blue and distorted porcelain-doll primary colors. And the blood: bright orange-red, milky white and thick opaque black. Over the course of the film’s runtime, the characters transform from mild-mannered college students to gore-soaked Jackson Pollock paintings.

Raimi’s decision to push his aesthetic to such extremes serves as a great benefit to the film, pushing it into surreal boundaries which enhances the film’s offfiltered atmosphere. Even the obvious technical flaws which would ordinarily distract a viewer seem to add to the film’s power: the evil spirit haunting the characters is able to bend reality in such extreme ways that even a poorly matted full moon becomes a part of the film’s other-worldly quality. This very mindset is perfectly represented in the film’s dreamlike, splattery climax.

After destroying the Book of the Dead which has summoned the evil spirits, Ash watches his two possessed friends decay before his eyes. In a startling move, Raimi uses claymation to portray the meltdown in explosive details. The characters ooze green, spit out snakes and

bugs, and giant demonic claws tear out from inside them. Raimi even incorporates a technical error into the climax to further push the surreality: a minor continuity error in the claymation, rather than being cut out, is instead accentuated through sound design. When the camera accidentally shifts positions mid-animation, Raimi incorporates ghostly sound effects to suggest that the very frame of reality, rather than the frame of the camera, is being shifted. It is this sort of aggressive ingenuity which makes Raimi’s debut so memorable, and transcends it far above its initial exploitation roots.

Upon this startling groundwork Raimi took his series further in the following sequels, incorporating slapstick humor and cartoonish violence into Ash’s demented adventures. While these sequels stand out to some fans as the series’ true high points, the power of Raimi’s original feature eclipses them all in its startling creative vision. And so, horror fans await the debut of Ash vs. Evil Dead with every passing second.

Will it live up to the film’s high caliber? If any ounce of creative energy shines through as strongly as it did in 1981, anything is possible in Raimi’s twisted reality.

Pumping Iron (Butler & Fiore, 1977)

by Byron Bixler

Courtesy of HBO Studios

Criticism // Throwback Reviews

As someone who generally finds bodybuilding to be kind of repulsive, I’m pleasantly surprised to say that I found Pumping Iron to be an enthralling documentary on the subject. The film brings attention to the many personalities training at Gold’s Gym in California and beyond as they prepare for the 1975 Mr. Olympia and Mr. Universe contests.

What we get from this is a straightforward look at the nature of the sport, an insider’s view of the workout sessions, and the mentoring and mental conditioning that goes into an exercise that I previously saw as mere exhibitionism a novelty and nothing more.

Several titans of the bodybuilding game share the screen in the film, but it’s Arnold Schwarzenegger who

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ultimately gets the spotlight. This is Arnold way before the Hollywood fame, long before his iconic roles in The Terminator, Predator, Total Recall, and even the Conan films. I’ve never seen so much candid footage of the man, and watching him here, it isn’t shocking that he came to be the star we know him as now. His grin lights up the room and in between the intense, vein-pulsing weight work, he displays an effortless natural charm in his exchanges with fellow bodybuilders. He’s repeatedly touted as “the best” and “the one and only”. When other muscle-men speak about competition, “Arnold” is the hottest name on their tongues. Dethroning the champ is their great aspiration and making Schwarzenegger the documentary’s centerpiece was a good move.

It’s important to note that the film is not about Arnold, though. There’s a rich tapestry of similarly hardworking athletes in this film and although I think the exploration of each one could have been more thorough, their time on screen is nothing less than captivating. I use the word “athlete” because after seeing the amount of work these men put into honing their bodies, I can’t think of a more fitting term. What they do and how they appear is perplexing at first, but after spending ten minutes with a few of them in the gym, you really begin to admire the dedication and the results. It’s all very specific, as the men strive for both definition and symmetry. As they mold each muscle with a sculptor’s precision, the sport begins to closely resemble an art form and the film helped me discover a newfound respect for the artists.

The most fascinating element of Pumping Iron, beyond the immediate impressiveness of the bodies on display, is the psychology of the bodybuilders. Their good-natured camaraderie is highly enjoyable to watch. There is a certain friendliness in their interactions, but a definite undercurrent of competitive energy as well. Beneath the pleasantries and kind advice, one can unmistakably hear the faint whisperings of an athlete saying to his opponent “I’m going to crush you.” Some speak of sabotage through big grins and as we see in one case, the talk is more than a joke.

However, beyond the intricacies of interpersonal relationships is the question of motivation when

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it comes to taking up bodybuilding in the first place. It sounds as though most of these men grew up scrawny and had a mixture of childhood experiences, but they had a proclivity for self-improvement that brought them to the point where we see them in the film. The sport isn’t a frivolous hobby for them. You can discern a sense of seriousness and pride in their faces as they pose before screaming crowds and in their moments of triumph, you can’t help but smile with them.

Although relegated to the status of a background element, the one thing I wanted Pumping Iron to really dive into was the fandom of the sport. With each competition we see, there are hundreds of wide-eyed spectators shrieking and voraciously applauding the men on stage. For half the time, the camera lingers on the muscles, but for the other half, there are varied shots of audience members, some even singled out for their memorable reactions. These moments of breaking from the “stars” led me to believe that an exploration of the fans would be included, serving to round out this look at the sport as a whole; however, what must be understood is that the film acts more as a document of the bodybuilders and the culture they exist in rather than a two-sided critique of body-perception/worship. Nothing is being critiqued in Pumping Iron - there is only observation.

The filmmakers’ approach to this observation comes off as a bit lackadaisical at times. Sequences of lifting and last minute pumps in the gym can become repetitive and there are moments when the film doesn’t seem to have a clear direction or purpose. It comes together in the end and a singular event is indeed built towards over the course of the documentary, but some parts felt too loose to not be cut out.

The film does what the great documentaries do and that is: endear you to a subject that you previously had no connection to. If I can go into a film viewing excessive muscle mass as disgusting and come out of it admiring the intricate structures and the men who built them, the film has done its job. Pumping Iron comes recommended as a raw slice of mid-70’s bodybuilding culture featuring a couple young, familiar faces surrounded by equally intriguing personalities.

Criticism // Throwback Reviews

Capsule Review: Lars von Trier’s Depression Trilogy

by Sam Paulson

Antichrist (2009)

Antichrist is the first film in the trilogy and plays like Trier’s version of a torture porn movie. It deals with the pain of depression, both in an emotional and physical sense. While the film shares many similar visual motifs with the Saw franchise, it is very clearly still a Lars von Trier film. Despite the grittiness of the content, it is visually beautiful; wielding the power to make you pause the movie to admire the cinemaCourtesy of Criterion Collection tography and lighting in one scene, only to have you look away in disgust in the next. This is by far the most stunning of the three films, capturing the beauty and fear of being alone in the middle of the woods; however, these visuals come at a cost to the story. Plot-wise, this one is the weakest entry in the trilogy, with a very loose storyline that only really presents itself near the end of the film.

Melancholia (2011)

Courtesy of Magnolia Pictures

While Antichrist dealt with the pain of depression, Melancholia presents depression as a numbing agent, even in the face of a horrible disaster. The film is divided into two parts: The first deals with a wedding and the second deals with the impending collision between earth and the rogue planet, “Melancholia.” While both halves share the same cast of characters, they are nearly polar opposites when it comes to tone and emotion. The first portion shows a marriage dissolve on the night of the wedding and the proceedings are accented by subtle black comedy. Witnessing a bride deciding to abandon her groom, her job, and most of her friends, I found myself laughing as everyone’s evening was ruined by this sudden change of mind. The humor is not present in the second half of the film, which takes a far more somber tone. We see the aftermath of the decision, as well as how the family deals with the impending destruction of the world. In this drawn out moment of finality, as time winds down, we see the numbness of depression, as the previously married sister feels no sadness at the end of the world. This is contrasted with the other sister who is frantically trying to save her family. Overall a little slow, but as with all of Lars von Trier’s works, it is truly breathtaking.

Nymphomaniac (2013)

Nymphomaniac covers the life of a woman through her many sexual encounters and adventures. This film has the strongest and most straightforward story of three by far. It’s an epic, running about four hours (in the theatrical version), both parts combined. You can feel the sense of scope watching it, as we see the growth of the character from her childhood to the present—a story that lasts nearly 50 years. While the previous two films in the trilogy focused on small casts, this film has a huge cast of characters. The movement of events is smooth, but it still manages to drag at certain points. In addition to there being more of a focus on the story, Courtesy of Magnolia Pictures it feels like there are fewer breathtaking shots than there were in the other films. Don’t get me wrong, this is still a beautiful film and it’s really interesting to see Trier’s signature style used in a far more narratively-driven film. As a whole, it’s a good end to the trilogy, giving us a captivating story presented with intelligence and grace.

Criticism // Capsule Reviews

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House (Obayashi, 1977)

by Kevin Fermini

radically re-shape their image. And thus, House faded into obscurity until 2010, when it was unearthed and redistributed by The Criterion Collection.

But even by modern standards, critics and audiences struggle to comprehend House. Reactions have stayed surprisingly similar since 1977; the film is an absolute joy to watch and never has a boring moment, yet critics still seem to find little “deeper meaning.”

Detractors all seem to revolve around the same subjects: the characters are flat, the editing makes no sense, the visuals are ethereal, but lack artistic merit. These critics simply do not Courtesy of The Criterion Collection understand Obayashi’s subversive inWords cannot properly represent a visual metentions.

In the dawn of the blockbuster, Obayashi dium, and nowhere is this more true than in Nobuhiko used House as a nightmarish deconstruction of the Obayashi’s bizarrely realized, perfectly executed feaphoniness of studio fi lmmaking and a surreal exture film debut, House. Behind its title’s unassumamination of how fi lms manipulate their audiences. ing exterior, House lies on a foundation of surrealism, The characters making up the cast are indeed inpsychedelia, absurd humor, childhood nightmares credibly shallow, and purposefully so.

Each one is named and Scooby-Doo cartoons (if the main cast were reafter their single defi ning traits: Melody is a musician, placed by Japanese schoolgirls). Such a melting pot Gorgeous is the lovely damsel in distress and Kung Fu of elements creates a film difficult to comprehend, but is a martial artist.

The characters are shamelessly made incredibly fun to watch, even as it manages to subone-dimensional in an attempt to illustrate the lack of tly deconstruct cinema itself before your very eyes. characterization spit out in studio horror fi lms in which The plot: seven young schoolgirls, led by the aptly-named Gorgeous, travel to the remote countryside to characters exist almost exclusively to be subjugated visit Gorgeous’s aunt in her titular house. There, the aunt to violence. Obayashi’s flat characters are thus meant is revealed to be a ghost who eats unmarried girls as she to be symbols of hollowness, rather than victims of it.

The editing, which upon a first viewing seems picks off the characters one by one. Though the film random and incomprehensible, is actually a careful hangs on a conventional haunted house framework, the deconstruction of conventional editing practices. In director exploits the simple premise to construct a vast an early scene establishing Gorgeous and Fantasy’s canvas on which to splash color, horror, experimental friendship, the editing makes their connection alediting and cheesy special effects. A piano flashes blue, most sickeningly clear. As the two hug, the camera red and gold as it devours a girl. A watermelon becomes spins 360 degrees around them, the film is slowed a severed head. And, in a move which pre-dates Youdown as their childish giggling echoes through the Tube, an auto-tuned cat sings along to the film’s title soundtrack, the frame irises-in on their smiling factheme. The tone alternates between haunting and hies, and they suddenly become surrounded by a comlarious at the drop of a hat and good lord, is it bizarre! posite image of sunlight shining through trees. The These brief descriptions come nowhere near editing makes the emotions felt by the characters eedescribing the hypnotic, hallucinatory power of rily artifi cial, so heavily constructed and manipulaHouse. The film is so odd, so unique, it begs the question: Where did it come from? And perhaps most im- tive that it makes the audience feel uncomfortable. No portantly: What does it all mean? First, some context: surprise, as Obayashi’s background in commercials it was 1975 and Toho Studios was looking to create a required him to manipulate audiences in seconds.

The film’s overall appearance, with its schlock horror movie to equal Jaws, the film that kick-started special effects and frequent image manipulation, furblockbusters. Contacting a variety of up-and-comers, ther serves to cement this notion. Composited matte the studio reached out to Obayashi, who was directing paintings often come into play, placing all-too-perfect wildly inventive television ads at the time. Two years sunsets and landscapes into the mise-en-scène. In one later, House hit theaters, where it was panned by critics, hilarious image, the characters arrive in the countrybut adored by audiences. Despite successful box-office side, represented by an obviously fake matte painting. returns, Toho pulled the film from theaters early, afraid The camera focuses its view wider to reveal that the the success of such such an audacious creation would

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Criticism // Hidden Gems

background is actually a billboard on a country road, which itself also happens to be one enormous matte painting. Obayashi uses falseness as an eerie aesthetic, giving the film an other-worldly quality which is difficult to describe in words.

Obayashi’s deconstruction of filmmaking is written completely between the lines and does not make itself clear upon a first viewing, but unrav-

els as you allow yourself to absorb the film’s breakneck pace and satire. The fact that a film like House exists at all is a small miracle; an experimental film with a studio budget which will induce fits of confused laughter, moments of uneasy fear, and an hour and a half of unforgettable cinematic energy and biting genius. It simply must be seen to be believed.

A Simple Plan (Raimi, 1998)

by Byron Bixler

Two brothers and a friend take a drive on New Year’s Eve. Run down truck. Dog in the back. It’s around midday when they reach a nature preserve. Woods to the left. Farm to the right. One narrow, snow-covered road splitting them up. A fox emerges, fresh out of the henhouse, prey in its mouth. The truck swerves and crashes; the dog jumps out to chase the critter into the woods and the men follow. An inconvenience, a disagreement, a snowball toss and a discovery; a grand discovery and a morbid one. The plane wreckage is iced over and the pilot is dead, but the duffel bag is untouched. Its contents are toxic: $4.4 million. Grins, laughter, disbelief. The scene is pure fantasy, the wildest dream come true. The sack lies flat and the men look on while nearby crows linger, whispering of ruin and consequence. A strategy is arranged, as the money will be kept. The procedure is good. Clean.

Practical. And it’s all quite simple. So very, very simple.

A Simple Plan is a morality play of the sort where things go from bad to worse to irreversibly horrible. The escalation is slow and the stakes are high. We are placed amongst a small number of characters in a middle-ofnowhere town dealing with an extraordinarily delicate situation and the tension could hardly be tighter. Many elements are at play here. The secrecy of the main plot device lies at the heart of all things, but just on the periphery is a compelling story about a relationship between two siblings and one about their long dead father, whose shortcomings and aspirations weigh heavily on the minds of his children. “Evil” and “goodness” are questioned: misgivings turn to firm convictions without a moment’s notice and loyalties are in constant flux. As the web gets wider and the potential traps become more complicated, core characters become something we no longer recognize and the gradual manner in which this transformation proceeds is completely riveting.

I’ve never seen Sam Raimi make a film like this and I never would have thought that he could pull off such a balanced work of subtlety and suspense. Best known for his goofy and highly energetic Evil Dead trilogy, his directorial hand here is steady throughout—subdued, but expressive in select moments. The material is bleak, but he presents it in a way that avoids both the oppressively pessimistic and the sensationally pulpy. In other words, his job

Courtesy of Paramount Pictures

is mainly to resist the urge that most directors might have to impose heavy-handed flourishes and just control the tone of what is otherwise a writer’s picture.

Scott B. Smith pens a beautifully layered script.

The topic of greed, its vice-like hold and the crippling guilt of the actions it spurs, is confronted with startling clarity. None of the main players are easy to read in their handling of the circumstances. They waver, jump to conclusions and become eerily cool-headed when you’d most expect mental chaos. One brother re-discovers his priorities while the other one redefines his own. The introduction of an ideal, wealthier reality causes people to suddenly degrade the relatively modest conditions they’ve lived under for years and to watch that shift occur is extremely fascinating. Also effective are suggested backstories and the haunting visual motif of an abandoned house, which enrich the melodrama and invigorate the emotional stakes of the film’s tragic climax.

The cast is game with a collection of mostly solid performances, but only one deserves special mention and that is Billy Bob Thornton’s turn as the dimwitted—but not dumb—cagey— but not entirely— reclusive brother to Bill Paxton’s protagonist. Thornton has a very complicated character to play. He has the capacity to be entirely lost and require the guidance to find reason, but he also has moments of wry manipulation and clearheaded forethought. He’s frustrating and awkward, but ultimately sympathetic, as Thornton imbues him with a genuine sense of humanity.

Entertainingly twisty without sacrificing intellect, A Simple Plan offers nail-biting revelations right along-

Criticism // Hidden Gems

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side thought-provoking scenes of long gestating angst and evaluations of self-worth. A cosmic curve and a parable-like structure ensures that no wrongdoing goes unchecked, no sin unanswered for. It’s a familiar

story, but masterfully told. While the impulse may be to call it a lightweight mixture of Fargo and Affliction, such a dismissal would be overly simple and the film, like its characters’ increasingly intricate plan, is anything but.

Times Square (Moyle, 1980)

by Joel Kalow

such, it would just be an oversimplification.

The real heart of the film lies with the character of Nicki Marotta, played with the raspy wisdom of Robin Johnson, whose husky voice captures everything that is so special about Times Square: the vulgarity, the coarseness, but most of all, the acceptance.

Nicki embodies punk (the ethos, not the music, although that too) more so than any other character I can think of. She busts a pimp’s car because she was told not to lean on it; pioneers a movement built around dropping TV’s from skyscrapers; and breaks into Tim Curry’s radio office and throws a phone through his glass divider. And while Courtesy of Anchor Bay Entertainment she is clearly struggling with complex interAbout twenty-five minutes into Times Square, nal issues of abandonment, she never manthe two leads break out of a mental institute, steal an ages to feel totally unhinged. In this sense, probably the ambulance, and take an abandoned warehouse as most analogous fictional character to Nicki is Peter Pan— their new home. Few films have ever so gleefully thrust except instead of Disney, you get scuzzy Times Square viewers into the cesspool that forms the setting of and instead of Captain Hook, you get gentrification.

Times Square: the cheap neon red lights that dimly ilIt’s not until halfway through the film that you luminate derelict strip clubs; sketchy streets enveloped realize Times Square is in fact a musical. Not in the in broken glass; Tim Curry’s teeth. But the film does classic Gene Kelly/Judy Garland/Fred Astaire way, not set out to exploit these settings or use them as the where characters break reality to sing and dance for basis for some kind of Reefer Madness-esque morality you, but in the sense that through music—and specifiplay. It is instead presented as a patchwork of people cally through punk music—Nicki and Pamela are able of all kinds, from pimps, prostitutes and crackheads to express themselves in earnest. Nicki coerces Pamela to seedy club owners to transvestite dancers. Further- out of the mental hospital by standing in the exit, holdmore, Times Square does not shy away from some of ing a stereo blaring The Ramones’ “I Wanna Be Sedatthe more dubious aspects of its environment or ro- ed.” The two communicate purely through expression, manticize any of the shady elements. It simply looks all of which is filtered by the song in the background. out at every character, from a bit player on the street Later on, persuaded by Pamela to try, Nicki reto the central antagonists, with an empathetic eye. cites a poem she has written. Nicki’s personality is so Giving Times Square a plot synopsis only does infectious and charismatic that it can be easy to overthe film a disservice, but here’s one anyways: Pamela look her obvious self-destructive tendencies and the Pearl and Nicki Marotta, two teenage girls from the op- demons she hides in order to prop up the myth that is posite sides of the social and class strata, meet in a mental “Nicki Marotta.” But in this moment, we gaze at this hurt, institution. Nicki, the brash one who as far as we know self-loathing girl be honest in the only way she knows doesn’t have a family, breaks out and convinces Pamela how. The poem is called “Damn Dog,” as in, “I’m a Damn to join her. Pamela, being the daughter of a politician Dog.” Pamela, proud of her best friend, can only say “It trying to “clean up” Times Square, ends up throwing her sounds like a song.” In the very next scene, we are infather’s campaign into disarray as he realizes he doesn’t troduced to Nicki’s band The Sleez Sisters, and through really know his daughter at all. The two girls open up to the band and her music, Nicki is finally able to turn her each other and change for the better. Tim Curry shows repressed feelings into art, into change, into revoluup now and then as a radio DJ, taunting Pamela’s fa- tion. It’s easy to see why: Nicki is essentially expressther and praising the girls for their rebellious attitudes. ing the pent-up anxieties and fears that afflict all outThis description makes the film sound like your generic siders, using herself as a mirror to the countless many John Hughes rip-off: just another story of two teenag- that feel the same way but lack an outlet to articulate it. ers going out on their own to better understand themEverything comes together at the end of selves. It wouldn’t be wrong to classify Times Square as the film, with Nicki and the Sleeze Sisters perform-

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Criticism // Hidden Gems

ing “Damn Dog” one last time in front of a crowd of the marginalized, of the left-behind. And we’re there too, watching this fucked-up woman share her fucked-up feelings about this fucked-up world, and it’s hard not to smile, tap your foot and wish you were there, swaying along with the crowd.

Times Square is many things, but at its core it is a rallying call to the rejected and forgotten, to the ones who were left behind, who never fit in. Behind the grimy veneer of Times Square is a heart that beats truer than any John Hughes film. After all, we are all Damn Dogs, smashing TV’s, getting into trouble and singing the same song.

Dreams (Kurosawa, 1990)

by Francesca Hodge

The foxes emerge gradually out of the thick pearly fog, flat circular hats balanced on their heads.

They dance slowly and cautiously across the screen, crouching and gazing keenly into the redwood grove for any sign of intruders. A young boy watches this procession from behind a wide tree trunk, gentle rain pattering on his starched jinbei. A soft flute intertwines with an irregular drumbeat as they continue on their way. This is Akira Kurosawa’s dream—slow and balanced and tinged with a strange fear that nature will be vengeful before the end of all things.

Dreams has no linear storyline, but instead skips around to differing ideas contained within a surreal sleepscape. Overall, it seems more like an exercise in experimental art that delves deeply into the unconscious desires and fears of humanity. It’s a work that demands the participation of viewers in a different way than any other narrative film—through the subconscious. The film itself is unlike anything Kurosawa had done previously. It’s strange and whimsical Technicolor visions are interlaced with dark shorts that focus on death and destruction. Themes of environmentalism seep through and drench the shorts with arresting metaphors. His primary focus (at least in the beginning) is on the dreams of children. Kurosawa seems to speak directly to children with his work—validating their fears and wild imaginations—exaggerating shapes and colors to create a bizarre setting for his characters to interact in. The little boy who appears in a few of the shorts is actually a reflection of Kurosawa himself, as the anxiety dreams described are ones that he had as a child. Each encounter with a creature or situation offers a larger symbol (often pulled from Japanese folktales).

Kurosawa is able to tap into subconscious ideas and transport them to a medium that can speak to a larger audience. The experiences in each of the short films are familiar and sometimes terrifying—but never seem too cliché in their themes. It would be easy for Kurosawa to make a short film about the sensation of flying or a nightmare about some gruesome creature, but he refrains and instead chooses the subtler nuances of dreaming.

The first dream, “Sunshine Through the Rain,” touches on children’s curiosity and the consequences that come from a lack of obedience. Foxes dance through the rain, a mother hands a child a long sheathed dagger, and a rainbow stretches across a vast colorful plain, leaving the rest of the story to interpretation.

“The Peach Orchard” focuses on more envi-

ronmental themes. A young boy is devastated when he discovers that his favorite peach orchard has been cut down entirely. The spirits of the peach trees dance for him, showing him the magnificence of their blooming leaves. The sequence is long and elaborate, and urges a reevaluation of our connection to nature.

The third dream, “The Blizzard,” follows the journey of four mountain climbers battling through a seemingly endless ravine. A spirit in the form of a woman looms over the leader of the group, urging him to give in to his exhaustion and sleep in the thickets of snow. The wintry spirit symbolizes the temptations one must face on a difficult journey.

The fourth and (in my opinion) the most powerful dream, titled “The Tunnel,” is about an army commander returning home from a devastating battle. He passes through an underpass and is followed by the ghosts of his annihilated platoon, their marching footsteps echoing eerily in the pitch-black tunnel. The commander is overcome with guilt and agony over his misconduct and curses the “stupidity of war.” This segment shows Kurosawa’s anti-war attitude and spotlights the guilt held by many commanding officers.

“Crows” features Martin Scorsese as Vincent van Gogh—a tortured artist contemplating his painting in the middle of a vivid ochre field. A fan of van Gogh has climbed into one of his paintings to find the artist and meet him. The whole encounter is surreal and touching.

The next two dreams, “Mount Fuji in Red” and “The Weeping Demons,” promote quite a similar message. Kurosawa heavily criticizes nuclear power—focusing on the vile effects it has on humanity and the landscape around us. He examines human greed and comes to the conclusion that our worst enemy is ourselves.

The final piece is titled “Village of the Watermills.” In this fantasy, humanity is free of consumerism and technology. People value both life and celebrate death. This dream is quite literal and ends the series on an optimistic note of tranquility and utopia.

Akira Kurosawa is most well known for his action dramas like Seven Samurai and Rashomon, and this experimental collection of short films is often unfortunately overlooked. In a way, Dreams abstractly asks the viewer to evaluate their own subconscious and search for a meaning far greater than its surface imagery, and that’s what makes it a hidden gem.

Criticism // Hidden Gems

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For the Love of Film I first realized that film would be important to me when I was shown my favorite movie to date, August Rush, for the first time. The story captured me, and considering my heavy involvement in music, the intertwining of music and life left a feeling of poignancy I haven’t forgotten. This began a long, cinematic journey in which I would fall in love with movies, repeatedly ranking my favorites in each category and changing the rankings as new movies came out and replaced old ones. Some titles would vie in my mind for first place, bouncing back and forth.

I collected DVDs like other people collect coins, and before I knew it, instead of just appreciating the plots behind films, I started obsessing over the dynamics of how they’re made. I started by downloading movie scores and soundtracks and studying how they were weaved into the story. I became so good at it that I could play the music and know exactly what scene it matched with. I feel like people use movies to relax, where they all but do the opposite for me. When I’m watching a movie, I’m analyzing, thinking: “Why did the director make that decision?” or “Were the actors properly cast?” Guillermo del Toro was a big reason why I was compelled to pay more attention to what goes on behind the scenes. I fell in love with his directing prowess starting with Pan’s Labyrinth; the first movie with subtitles I ever found worthy of watching.

My self-education in film extends into the awards season. I make it a point to anticipate which movies will be nominated for which Oscars every year, and then when the nominations are released, I watch every single film nominated in each category. That way, when the awards ceremony comes around, I am prepared and informed; ready with an opinion that I can rightfully defend.

To be a film critic has long been a dream of mine, mostly because I feel film reviews are too harsh. I find the positives in every film, taking pains to acknowledge the effort, while most critics I’ve read just like to tear films down in order to stake their claim on their opinion. I don’t like arguing unless it’s about why a movie is relevant. To me, all movies are relevant.

When applying for college, I considered Cinema Production as a major, but I am unfortunately inept at dealing with various technologies, so I decided to find other outlets to express my love for film, and here I’ve found it. A section in Filmic Magazine entirely devoted to why one loves film is basically what I’ve been searching for, and here I am. Hopefully, I will be in some way involved with film in the future, whether it’s writing or something else. I have a deep respect for filmmakers and all that it takes to bring a film together. Not only that, but to have people like your final product must be an incredible payoff.

I aim to find that out someday.

Courtney Ravelo ‘18 // Contributing Writer

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For the Love of Film

Semantics Opinion & Abstraction Courtesy of Paramount Pictures

Hollywood: A Mirror with No Reflection

by Sophia Conger

Picture this: The summer of 2015 has just arrived. The sun is shining, birds are chirping, and kids are playing.

More importantly, everyone is excited to frequent the local movie theater to watch the newest blockbuster films.

But as you search the Internet for the list of upcoming features, you cannot help but feel a bit disappointed.

Pitch Perfect 2? Jurassic World? Ted 2?

Magic Mike XXL? Really? You were hoping to see something more innovative, captivating, and emotionally stimulating. But you keep looking, in hopes that there may be other films worth watching: Ant-Man? Fantastic Four? Mission: Impossible - Rogue Nation?

It becomes clear that all the features in the theaters are either remakes, sequels or comic book adaptations. Desperately, you ask yourself: What is there for a 19-year-old female to watch that isn’t Paper Towns?

For years I have heard people say that film is a dying industry. And I have tried my best to object to that statement. Surely, film isn’t dying if studios still make billions of dollars a year, and students, like myself, are attending film school across the nation (and globe) in the hopes of becoming the next Kathryn Bigelow. But as I get older and my interests and perception become more complex, I find myself less likely to frequent my local movie theater. Why? Because I am no longer attracted to commercial cinema, and apparently, a large part of America isn’t either. This summer was historically bad for the box office and the Fourth of July weekend sales were down over 40% (Gonzales, 2014). Cinema has been alive for around 125 years - long enough for American audiences to be able to draw a distinction between a film and a movie. And what is out there in the theaters is exactly that—movies. This is a controversial statement, I know; however, you cannot deny that a sizable portion of the films produced in the past decade have been remakes of previously successful films. Once viewed as a beacon of light and creativity, Hollywood has now become an industry of repeats.

From 2003 to 2012, 122 remakes were made, with an average critic score on Rotten Tomatoes of 46% (Desta, 2014). While critics do not seem too pleased, the execu-

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Courtesy of 20th Century Fox

tives surely must be, with box office grosses totalling $12 billion over that ten-year period (Desta, 2014). What does this say about our once beloved film industry?

Studios always have one goal in mind: reeling in profit.

So, in order to ensure a film’s bankability, studios now make features with the lowest factor of risk possible.

Audiences are more inclined to see (and like) a film that was once a success, and now there is the added draw of high-definition visuals and captivating computer-generated imagery. But can Hollywood really recreate success by putting a modern spin on these films? Most of the time, audiences are immersed in a world that isn’t real.

Entire sequences are shot on a green screen and props or backdrops are filled in with a computer. This is not to say that these processes require little talent or lack merit, but it appears that original storytelling takes a backseat when the goal is to create cutting edge visuals. The heart of the original film is missing and audiences are noticing it as they sit through their 90-minute movie.

One cannot help but think who makes and watches these movies? Studies show that men directed 93.7% of films in 2013 and less than 20% of these films were directed by men of color (Hunt, 2015). The competition is even tougher for women, who directed only 6% of films in 2013. Studio executives were 94% white and 100% male for that same year. These statistics might play out nicely if Hollywood’s main demographic was assumed to be white males, ages 19 to 25; however, it appears the tables have turned. Hispanic women over the age of 25 are most likely to be visiting movie theatres and lining up to see blockbusters (Dockterman, 2014). What does this say about our film culture and our tendencies to focus on the male perspective when the demographic is clearly on the opposite side of the spec-

Semantics // Essays

trum? Studio executives should keep in mind who their real audience is. Hispanics are one of the fastest growing ethnic groups in America. Although they comprise only 17% of the population, the group alone bought over 25% of movie tickets sold in 2013 (Dockterman, 2014).

To many, the value of art, or film more specifically, is that it carries a certain amount of truth, acting as a mirror to society and life itself. What I see in the reflection of these Hollywood blockbusters is that there is a large demographic that is not being reflected: the voices of minorities and women. Diversity is more prevalent in screenings at festivals and art house theaters, most of which are located in urban, densely populated areas—where most Americans do not reside. Therefore, a majority of Americans do not have access to these diverse works. So, the question ultimately becomes: why are we not seeing this diversity in mainstream theaters across the nation?

is a way of reaching an audience without requiring a theatrical platform. But major cinemas still struggle with the concept of “day and date releases,” where films are released in theaters, DVD and VOD simultaneously.

Worried that this practice will undercut their profits, theaters are not showing important independent cinema— a lot of which contain the voices of underrepresented groups. In other words, if you live in Akron, Ohio, your chances of seeing Dear White People are zero to none.

Skepticism aside, I believe there is hope for the future of cinema and that the “art” of film is more alive than ever. But in order for film to truly thrive, we need to hear the silenced voices and cut back on remakes of the films that we have already seen. Rather than produce blockbusters that insist minorities just familiarize themselves with the perspective of the white man, let’s diversify the casts and crews of the films. Let’s encourage studio executives to see the value in reaching a broad demographic. Let’s offer creative support for underrepresented filmmakers—they’re out there and they’re hungry to capture the developing and dynamic culture of America. If we do not start now, I am afraid that film will take a turn for the worse. Rather than provide reflection, cinema will remain a shadow of a seemingly undying past.

Courtesy of Cinedigm

When looking more closely at the state of American independent cinema, one may observe that indie films are well received—but only by a specific audience.

Independent cinema has reached a high point in terms of sophisticated filmmaking and developed story ideas and characters. Environmental pieces such as Kelly Reichardt’s Night Moves to horror features like David Robert Mitchell’s It Follows demonstrate how the art of cinema has truly come alive in the past decade. With technology becoming increasingly more available, films can be shared with the simple click of a mouse. More importantly, filmmakers are able to make their artistic visions come to life on staggeringly low budgets. However, due to a lack of funding, distribution, or interest, independent films struggle to reach a mass audience.

Filmmaker James Gray claims that even if the independent theaters were opened in more cities, there would still be limited viewership: “The number of people who want to see movies that aren’t franchise-type spectacles is very small. The movies might be there, but where are the distributors and where is the audience?” (The New York Times, 2014). Films like It Follows are available on VOD (video on demand), a new distribution model that

Sources Desta, Yohana. “Why Hollywood Is Producing So Many Damn Remakes.”Mashable. N.p., 09 Oct. 2014. Web. 22 Sept. 2015.

Dockterman, Eliana. “The Surprising Demographic That Sees the Most Summer Movies.” Time. Time, 15 July 2014. Web. 22 Sept. 2015.

Gonzales, Dave. “Hollywood Loves White Guys, But Its Real Superhero Audience Will Surprise You.” The Guardian. N.p., 29 July 2014. Web. 22 Sept. 2015.

Hunt, Darnell, and Ana-Christina Ramon. 2015: Hollywood Diversity Report: Flipping the Script. Rep. Los Angeles: Ralph J. Bunche Center for African American Studies at UCLA, 2015. Print.

“So Many Indie Films, So Many Reasons.” The New York Times. N.p., 09 Jan. 2014. Web. 22 Sept. 2015.

Semantics // Essays

36

A Smoke and Mirrors Game: Deceptions and Relevations of the Modern Movie Trailer

by Justin Bertolero

Everyone loves going to the movies. Some people have strange rituals when it comes time to take a seat at their local cinema, but there is one thing that many agree on: you can’t miss the previews. This classic staple of the big screen is an often overlooked pleasure, but these advertisements have been around for a long time. Like most aspects of the entertainment industry, the execution and purpose of movie trailers has changed over the years. Unlike its modern use, the word “trailer” comes from its original placement at the end of the film reel, “trailing” behind the feature. Originally referred to as an “epilogue” in 1913 at Coney Island, the first trailer was shown to promote the broadway show The Pleasure Seekers (Fear, 2013). As time went on, the movie trailer became a more consistent form of advertising, gracing the screen before most theatrical films. Moving into the modern era, the golden-voiced Don Lafontaine could often be heard uttering the words “In a world”, describing the next big action spectacle or romantic comedy to his viewers. This format of trailer became a staple of cinema, showing up on VHS tapes, commercials, and eventually DVDs, which in turn created the standard for film advertising.

Next came the instant gratification of YouTube and web sources, which allowed trailers like Star Wars: The Force Awakens to gain tens of millions of views in one day.

Along with the introduction of teaser campaigns, the shift in structure and role of the movie trailer changed the way audiences got excited for upcoming films.

The main goal of a movie trailer, or any advertise-

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Courtesy of Universal Pictures

ment for a film, is to increase a viewer’s desire to see a movie without giving away enough to make one feel they don’t need to see the movie. There are key elements that work together to create a successful trailer. A prime example of one of the best movie trailers of all time is 1993’s Jurassic Park. It’s no secret that the key to the film’s massive success was its use of revolutionary technology to bring the terrifyingly real dinosaurs to life; however, looking back at the marketing, one might be surprised to realize that not one single dinosaur is completely shown to the audience. Using John William’s score and selective shots from the film, the audience is given just enough of a feel for tone and plot to make them go see the movie. When the film was released, audiences around the world felt the full effect of the visuals because they were seeing the dinosaurs truly for the first time on the big screen.

Movie trailers, however, can often be completely misleading. It is important for one to keep in mind that beyond all else: Hollywood’s number one concern is to make as much money as possible. Much of this responsibility lies on the shoulders of a studio’s marketing department. Consequently, when given a straightforward drama film starring Jim Carrey, the best business strategy would be to capitalize on the actor’s fame to its fullest potential. When The Truman Show was marketed, audiences were given the idea of a film that was first and foremost a comedy, which was simply not the case.

A similar situation was that of Lost In Translation, Sofia

Semantics // Essays

Coppola’s dreamy 2003 drama. Bill Murray is regarded as one of the best comedic actors of all time, which was reflected in the trailer for this film. Backed by a cheerful Elvis Costello song, the moody, often dreary film is unabashedly pitched as a feel good romantic comedy.

What little amount of comedy there is in the film was exploited to the furthest possible extent, which left audiences with confused reactions leaving the theatre.

While critically praised, many were disappointed by the film’s artistic aspects, hoping for the more traditional comedy they were promised. This trend does not only apply to comedy, though. As any fan of the Evil Dead franchise would know, Sam Raimi is a master of the horror/comedy genre. His recent film Drag Me to Hell was put through the mismarketing treatment, being pushed as a straight horror film. Again, despite critical praise, the majority of audiences were not given what they expected and left the cinema unhappy.

Those who enjoy blockbuster “tentpole” films might mock the independent film world for being too artistic or pretentious. On the other hand, independent film fans often accuse the mainstream studio system of unoriginality and weak structure. Despite the fact that these two systems are actually codependent, thriving off one another’s success, their ever raging battle is often fueled by marketing problems. Again, the idea of money infiltrates most aspects of a film’s marketing, and as the entire structure of indie cinema is based on limited budgets, these economic concerns fuel their decisions even more directly. This creates tension between film fans and filmmakers alike, as independent cinema is repeatedly misconstrued as mainstream popular film. The 2011 indie darling, Drive, directed

by Nicolas Winding Refn was a stylish art house action film. Again utilizing the star power of Ryan Gosling, the film was marketed as a popcorn action film.

Despite the critical appeal, many casual fans were left unsettled by the film’s hyper-realistic blend of violence and somber story arc. One can argue that this tactic is meant to open the work up to a broader audience, filled with filmgoers who wouldn’t necessarily seek out this type of movie. While the marketing team for this film might claim this method was used to bring more attention to their limited release film, the misrepresentation of Drive, and indie movies as a whole, often hurts the overall reception by general audiences. Many claim that a film should remain limited to its smaller, more highbrow audience rather than pander to those who don’t truly appreciate its intended value.

And then there is the issue of spoilers. All too often, a friend will accidentally share too much about what happened at the end of the latest Marvel movie.

These spoilers don’t always have to be huge plot points, but just hearing a retelling of the best joke or a specific scene in the movie can be enough to ruin things. Such a thing has been seen in movie trailers specifically in recent years. The famous example of this is the 2000 Tom Hanks vehicle, Cast Away, in which Hanks’ character is marooned on an island for approximately 85

percent of the movie. The resolution of the film (spoiler alert) in which he is saved, is given away in the theatrical trailer. With this information revealed, any tension or sense of danger is significantly lessened. This is a trend that has only increased since that example in 2000.

The modern marketing of blockbuster films has not only significantly extended the runtime of each trailer, but has also released more trailers in each campaign. 2015’s Jurassic World even released a teaser trailer teasing the release of an actual teaser trailer. According to Sony, the marketing budget for The Amazing Spiderman 2 was a reported $180 million. Sony released three trailers, each with at least a three minute runtime. Many critics claimed that every single action set piece in the film was completely shown in the trailer.

This was also the case for Terminator Genisys, in which (spoiler alert) John Connor is revealed to actually be a terminator. Was this plot point really necessary to share in the trailer? In addition to spoiling most of the film’s major action set pieces, Paramount decided to reveal the crux of the conflict before the film was even released, and for what purpose? Surely audiences would have much rather realized the twist when viewing the film in its entirety. The trailer was definitely filled with enough Arnold Schwarzenegger nostalgia to draw audiences in. Even the director of the film, Alan Taylor, is quoted as saying “I certainly directed those scenes with the intention that no one would know” (Bartyzel, 2015).

Once again, it is imperative to view this situation through the lense of a Hollywood executive, one who believes the true value of a film lies within its monetary returns. Clearly, the marketing team for a tentpole feature such as The Amazing Spiderman 2 or Terminator Genysis are not going to make any decisions without first conducting extensive research. This would indicate that the data they collect reflects audience’s desire to be given bulks of the film in advance. The two biggest blockbusters of the summer, Jurassic World and Avengers: Age of Ultron, were given very revealing marketing campaigns and saw massive returns in box office receipts.

These trends are a clear indication that this form of marketing isn’t keeping viewers away from the movies and that perhaps they don’t really care about being spoiled. With the ever increasing volume of mainstream cinema released each year, it is understandable that studios feel the need to make their films stand out amongst the rest. Blasting audiences with spectacle and revealing plot points in their marketing appears to be the most successful way of attracting viewers, so we can probably expect to see these tendencies continue.

Sources Bartyzel, Monika. “Movie Marketing: The Great Mess Hollywood Can’t Quit.” Forbes. Forbes Magazine, 30 June 2015. Web. 23 Sept. 2015.

Fear, David. “Becoming Attractions: A Brief History of Film Trailers.” The Dissolve. N.p., 28 Oct. 2013. Web. 23 Sept. 2015.

Semantics // Essays

38

Eyes Under A Spell Mikayla Mislak

In a place, between fairytale and real, she finds you, the one with the hands bleeding of smoke.

Take a drink from her saintly palms.

She prays to your unrested soul, which lays somewhere between rose bushes and the forced servitude of human furniture.

Although anchored by jewels and misgivings, she traipses upon the airs of your undoing. Eyes of bondage, follow her every sideways motion.

Spellbound is your love and cursed is hers, she will never kiss your honest fangs.

Intimacy is reserved only for the beautiful.

Inspired by Jean Cocteau’s Beauty and the Beast

Buried

Paige Conley I buried you.

I buried an empty casket.

Your body rained down lumps of flesh splashing into the sea eaten by sharks.

You did it.

If I say I’m not crazy, Well that hardly helps my case.

From the middle of my forehead through the left side of my face, I have a scar.

You did it.

I buried you.

I buried a casket full of ash.

It was the smoke that got you; not the match.

That’s what’s important.

The tombstone read, “for we too have lived, loved, and laughed.”

To live as a monster or to die a good man.

They can be our living dolls, baby.

Why are you all wet, baby?

Set me free, baby.

I murdered my wife in the spring of ’52.

You buried me and I buried you.

Inspired by Martin Scorsese’s Shutter Island

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Semantics // Creative Lit

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