Education

richardfleming In Education, Film Theory, Storytelling

“Bird Box” is Typical, Lazy, Trope-filled Garbage

Bird Box

I don’t know why I expect films that set up a difficult “Why” premise to ever answer it. It never happens. Why did aliens from Close Encounters of the Third Kind (1977) arrive, and what did they look like? Why did the hitmen in Pulp Fiction (1994) feel so adamant about protecting the briefcase? What was in it? And while these two examples use this restrictive technique to great effect, Bird Box (2018) fails to achieve the same impact. And miserably so. This film is a lazy piece of shit that caters to people with the fucking IQ of a baked potato.

Follow Sandra Bullock in a discount A Quiet Place (2018) scenario mixed with a Tarkovsky premise. This film is a pinata filled with manure. You expect that after beating a dead horse for the eternal length of a kid’s birthday party that there’d be some candy payoff, but you’d be wrong. It’s just more shit. There are some natural dialogue moments that I appreciated, but the obvious and overused tropes were so goddamned tiresome that I eye-rolled myself into an altered state. You have the casual mythology expert for no fucking reason explaining aspects of a doomsday scenario that, ultimately, is never resolved for the viewer. Trim the fat, you pieces of shit. Stop ramming square pegs into round holes. Did they have an obligatory news broadcast montage explaining an end-of-the-world phenomenon? You bet your ass they did!

I genuinely thought there would be some interesting, symbolic purpose for a creature (originating in Russia for some obscure reason) affecting you because of what you SAW. But it doesn’t. And not because it’s esoteric, but because it’s fucking LAZY!

I think about Tarkovsky’s Stalker (1979), which had a similar premise (and the book is even more similar). But Tarkovsky positioned the arrival of the aliens in a way that was entirely plausible, so you didn’t bother asking questions about their motivation. They just showed up and that was that; the real questions were about the familiar, human reactions to their arrival (and immediate, subsequent departure). It didn’t require further explanation.

By contrast, I constantly found myself asking questions during this film that resulted from their laziness. “So I guess we’re just assuming they made it back from the blind drive without issue? Have any of the writers ever canoed? Do they know the impossibility of blindly rafting? So the creature affects anything visible, but isn’t allowed indoors – except through those it’s touched? Why are these rules important to know and do I give a shit…no…I don’t.”

It started off well enough, even though the obvious comedic relief was obvious, with the mom giving this emphatic, serious speech which we ALL knew was going to be revealed as directed at children. But as the film went on, it’s obvious twists got lazier still (not even sure how that was possible), with minor stressors injected into an already trite plot: kids doing stupid kid shit that’s inherently stressful. The little girl leaving the boat to find the surrogate mother…fucking stressful. But I’ll tell you: watching that little shit eating spaghetti over a white carpet would’ve been MORE stressful.

Kids are naturally stressful, and act as overused dramatic devices.

For the scale and budget of this movie, their lack of effort is inexcusable. This film was a waste of my time and I am going to file a class-action lawsuit against Sandra Bullock for this bollocking film. See what I did there? No worries, I’m going to have an obligatory black character explain the fucking joke to you before he unnecessarily sacrifices himself to serve my agenda….

richardfleming In Education, Storytelling

“The Peregrine” is a Masterclass in Writing

The Peregrine

Sublime and beautiful, violently poetic and gently observant, J. A. Baker weaves an unsettlingly fervent non-narrative account of the deadliest and fastest hunters of the sky. His almost stoic language stands as the absolute greatest nonfiction prose I’ve ever read. The Peregrine isn’t about birdwatching or nature; it’s about the shame and disgust of what it means to be human in a world full of beauty that we ignore and violate and disseminate; it’s about a grotesque evolution of our species compared to the refined, inimitable grace achieved by predators. It’s an account of a man so intolerant of his own existence that he actually wishes he could will himself into becoming a hawk.

A little research into the author suggests that he was suffering from some terminal illness, possibly with mental deficiencies as well. Who knows if this motivated him to spend more than 10 years observing these creatures, then to write an account over the course of 7 months (from autumn to spring); yet his obsession with this diminishing species of bird helped to reinvent language and the way stories are told.

An example of the lyrical gift of his writing:

“[The Peregrine] mounted like a rocket, curved over in splendid parabola, dived down through cumulus of pigeons. One bird fell back, gashed dead, looking astonished, like a man falling out of a tree. The ground came up and crushed it.”

And another passage:

“East of my home, the long ridge lies across the skyline like the low hull of a submarine. Above it, the eastern sky is bright with reflections of distant water, and there is a feeling of sails behind land. Hill trees mass together in a dark-spired forest, but when I move towards them they slowly fan apart, the sky descends between, and they are solitary oaks and elms, each with its own wide territory of winter shadow.”

Finally, because it’s too beautiful not to share:

“And for the partridge there was the sun suddenly shut out, the foul flailing blackness spreading wings above, the roar ceasing, the blazing knives driving in, the terrible white face descending – hooked and masked and horned and staring-eyed. And then the back-breaking agony beginning, and snow scattering from scuffling feet, and snow filling the bill’s wide silent scream, till the merciful needle of the hawk’s beak notched in the straining neck and jerked the shuddering life away. And for the hawk, resting now on the soft flaccid bulk of his prey, there was a rip and tear of choking feathers, and hot blood dripping from the hook of the beak, and rage dying slowly to a small hard core within.”

I could cite this entire book it’s so beautifully crafted and visual. Even the preface carries a wonderful milieu in singing its praises. As a filmmaker, I feel reading it has helped me write my own stories in more vibrantly colourful language. As a reader, I felt I went on the journey with Mr. Baker – felt the cold, crisp air burning hot in his lungs as he trudged through deep snow, panting to keep up with his idol-hunter.

Although some people may find the non-narrative structure difficult to follow, I would suggest reading this like as you would view the scenery on a pastoral stroll: there isn’t an objective or goal to reach; it is all for your enjoyment.

richardfleming In Education, Film Theory

“The Secret Language of Film” – How Carrière’s Theories Still Hold Up Today

Beautifully crafted essays by French film theorist Jean-Claude Carrière, who was himself a highly prolific and successful screenwriter – working for the likes of Buñuel and Volker Schlöndorff. And the man has a certain command of language that is equal parts moving, inspiring, clear, and devastating. This book not only covers the vast distance of the evolution of visual linguistics behind the ever-evolving cinematic language, but it reinvigourates your imaginative “muscles.” He calls out your shit – the stuff that ruins your creativity – and he gets you to work through it.

Movies have forever changed the human landscape, both internal and external – especially when considering how we view each other and how we view ourselves, compared to…say…the old Master Thinkers and Philosophers of ancient Greece, for example. And yet, with all this technological development and our constant, ever-increasing exposure to new media, the question still remains: is cinema young or old? There is no clear answer.

Carrière masterfully interweaves timeless observations with research that was contemporary in the 90s, and bundles the proof neatly with intriguing, insightful stories that delight you as you read. Even if you’re not a film buff, there’s much to appreciate about this title – especially the way he writes and his humour.

One particularly moving passage recounted how, after being imprisoned a decade without access to media, ex-convicts would be completely confused by modern films and could not follow the sequence of events within the plot. Just like language, film techniques and meanings evolve, are filled with mistakes and misunderstandings, become trite and vapid, and circle back to new meaning. As the Indian proverb says, “God is only interested in beginnings….”

I wanted to cite the following passage, which pertains to the manipulation of news stories for dramatic effect, because it holds prevalent meaning for me:

“Sometimes it is enough to be forewarned, to have a lucid grasp of the language of film, for every TV news program to become an interesting decoding exercise. We can then look with new eyes at the images that bombard us (nobody ever wholly escapes them), anticipating blind alleys, technical tricks, omissions. Our habitual passivity can give way to wakefulness, to curiosity, to a critical eye. A necessary, salutary attitude and – doubtless for that very reason – a perpetually threatened one. But how many people will take the trouble, or are informed enough, to open their eyes, to see differently? Most of the time we stare supine and dull-witted at the image we are shown and the sound we are made to hear: dull and unreacting. Sometimes we hear that these are ‘exclusive’ pictures – meaning that they have been acquired as a result of sub rosa deals and fees higher than the competition could afford. We are being tempted with promises of horror. After one railroad disaster I even heard a reporter say, ‘With luck, we will be able to show you the footage of this horrible accident later on in the program.’ Every professional announcer is to some degree an actor.”

There is so much covered in this tiny book that I can’t really do justice to any review of it. He talks about damn-near everything: relationship in art, the tricks the mind plays on itself, the frustration of trying to find creative balance between exploration and reflexion, and the list goes on. And they aren’t necessarily neatly compiled (in the most positive way, it ties all the elements together, even though it may be at the cost of convenience). I would recommend taking notes; but don’t be off-put: this is a remarkable read.

I had written a longer review, but had ended up quoting so many passages that it was like I was rewriting his book. I think that exercise could be useful, if for no other reason than to sort the immense volume of data packed into those narrow bindings. I didn’t even choose the best quotes! But I do find value in some particular phrases, such as this one – that could really use some context that is not here: “The filmmaker is the heir of the great storytellers of the past, and the keeper of their tradition.”

When Carrière met up with Oliver Sacks, he asked him “What is a normal man?” After some time, Sacks replied that he thought a normal man was one with whom understood his own story (to its full capacity). I think the deeper joke – or the sad tragedy – is that who we are is defined by our stories. Without them, we are aimless – evanescent ghosts without substance that whisper our sad ideologies to those that, even if they could hear, wouldn’t care. Knowing where we come from and where we are going is a profound aspect of our character, and it was refreshing to read from someone who not only understood these nuanced aspects to media – but also someone who cared so deeply about movies that it ends up reminding you of your own occupational divinity…your reason for pursuing this craft. We should all try to find teachers that can help transform our lives. I’ve been fortunate to experience so many of them remotely or from beyond the grave, but nothing beats the real thing of a teacher beating sense into you.. If your heroes still happen to be alive, you should set down to write them a letter immediately. You’ll only regret it if you don’t follow through….

richardfleming In Education, Film Theory

My All-Time Favourite Film – Andrei Tarkovsky’s “Stalker”

Stalker

A particularly difficult review because this film is, academically and in my own opinion, one of the greatest ever made – if not THE greatest. It is a perfect harmony of directorial vision against all odds, perfectly balancing every production element at the creator’s disposal into a masterpiece of visual storytelling. The film is nuanced, yet forceful; thoughtfully logical in its philosophical themes, yet borne of magic and intuition; and it evolved over time – much like the Zone shapeshifts the longer you stay in it – as the story was rewritten between lengthy shooting delays, taking on new form. This is one of those select films I regularly rewatch over and over again, and it moves me with new knowledge and new feeling each time.

The 2K restoration is phenomenal; it makes the movie look like it was filmed a year ago. It still holds a contemporary, timeless feel. And despite older prints holding up very well to the physical demands of time, the enhanced quality reveals subtle details within the frame. The art direction, for which Tarkovskij was responsible, pops out with greater clarity than I remember.

I know only a few people who can watch this movie through without deep, psychological disturbance. I don’t know what it is about the pace and the atmosphere, but it brings up intense feelings – like a grossly vivid dream that you remember for years. And although I find the movie inspiring and uplifting for the artistic soul, it is not a film I would start with if you’re not already familiar with Tarkovskij’s filmography. If you are interested in seeing his films, I would recommend starting with his final film, “Offret” (“The Sacrifice”).

“Stalker” is a science fiction story based on the Russian novel “Roadside Picnic,” and the script was crafted by the two brothers who wrote the original book (which is a class of incredible science fiction all its own, with a totally different temperament). In fact, the word “stalker” (ста́лкер) did not exist in the Russian language prior to the release of the novel and later became popularlised by the movie; the term refers to those who engage in illegal activity and, in the context of the story, would enter the restricted “Zone” in order to extract alien technology and relics to sell on the black market.

The Zone is an isolated area that was radically altered into an unearthly state by an alien visitation. In the book, you could be walking along and, all of a sudden, the very laws of physics would change: you’d be crushed to death by 9000 times the gravitation force of earth or instantly incinerate. Stalkers were the only ones qualified, and daring enough, to navigate the treacherous terrain.

While the novel recounts the adventures of several characters, the film focusses on the perspective of one Stalker and his two travel guests, Writer and Professor. They both hope to enter into the Room, whereby they will encounter a relic that will grant their innermost desire and make it a reality. There is a caveat, however, that makes the “gift” difficult to readily accept – representing one of the most profound “twist” of any movie, ever.

I have had people compare the relationships here as similar to severe drug addiction, whereby the Room represents the “high” you keep revisiting in an effort to match the initial level of ecstasy from your first trip; some read it as the plight of the artist; some view the relationship as a reaffirmation of religion; some compare it to the misery and isolation of the Gulag; others still see the map of our existence and identity – that somehow we possess the truth within us but would not or cannot look directly at our innermost selves, as though the knowledge would destroy us…that we would be witness to God Herself. Many still see the movie as a prophetic telling of what was to occur at Chernobyl (to the extent that later cleanup crews would refer to themselves as “stalkers” and to the disaster area as the “Zone of alienation”).

My most recent viewing revealed something new about the characters: that maybe Tarkovskij is the Stalker leading both artistic and scientific minds to accept the truth that the lens of cinema reflects back onto us. In the film, Stalkers are never allowed to enter the room; perhaps that is analogous to Tarkovskij never being allowed to witness cinema the way others view it, the way audiences consume the stories that unfold in front of them: before we are writers, we are readers; but after becoming a writer, can one then travel backward and forfeit that new knowledge? The beauty of this picture is that it operates on many levels, simultaneously.

While I do not believe great works of art must suffer harrowing obstacles as part of their gestation process, the production of “Stalker” was riddled with nearly insurmountable trials. Half of the movie had already been filmed; but because of either an error in how the cinematographer handled the experimental Kodak stock or due to ineptitude or malice on the part of the lab, the film was deemed unusable. Nearly out of money, and following an incredible delay, Tarkovskij resumed his masterpiece with a newly penned script and renewed energy.

I love the interviews of the crew; the way they talk about working with Tarkovskij sounds like a joy. He was on edge, but never angry. He was an inspiration to them, “always talking about the important stuff,” a production designer recounts. They knew they were making something big and they gave everything they had to the film. I admire artists that can commit fully to an idea they believe in; the effort is cumulative and it shows in the end product.

This movie would ultimately kill Tarkovskij, who would pass away in 1986 from a rare form of lung cancer believed to be caused by runoff out of an abandoned chemical factory upstream from their location in Tallinn. Tarkovskij’s wife, Larisa Tarkovskaya, and the actor playing the Writer, Tolya Solonitsyn, would also die from the same disease. It is difficult to imagine how much he would have contributed to art had he more time to create – as well as a system that catered to his working process.

What remains is a potent collection of movies, photographs, and writings on the subject of film as an artform as powerful as the typical “classical” forms – i.e., writing, painting, sculpting, and composing. His book “Sculpting in Time” is a lucid assertion of the power of moviemaking, as well as his personal journey into this nascent craft.

I’ve seen this movie become increasingly popular, and I’m glad. With the newfound exposure, however, comes a lot of ill-founded critique that “nothing happens.” I liken this feedback to those that approach the Grand Canyon, shrug their shoulders, and murmur a low “meh, it’s just a big ditch” before returning to their vehicle. This movie is worth your time, more than any other I’ve witness in my life and my career. It will yield bountiful fruit, should you apply ample seed. Give it time and your full attention and will literally change your life. Is that not something we want from great art? But I guess that’s the question: when you approach the Room, with its promise to deliver your deepest desire, will you cross the threshold and enter?