Chain Screening at MoMA

I just returned from a screening of Jem Cohen’s 2004 film Chain at the Museum of Modern Art. Brooklyn-based Cohen braved the long trip across the river and was on hand to present the film. He offered a modest introduction, warning that his piece was somewhat difficult and encouraging the audience to “be strong.” He promised it would all be worthwhile in the end.

Cohen’s piece opened with a long succession of shots depicting the homogenous wasteland that is the new American landscape. Set to a somewhat unsettling score by indie darlings Godspeed You Black Emperor, Cohen starkly contrasted images of gleaming facade with bleak shots of the filth and destruction which consumer capitalism inherently leaves in its wake. Dead birds, seductive corporate logos, piles of trash, shining skyscrapers, bland faces, urban sprawl. Seemingly unconnected images formed a cohesive and frightening portrait in Cohen’s deft hand.

His “semi-documentary” follows the strange path of an eager young Japanese woman on an international business trip. She works for a noticeably absent corporate entity she refers to only as “The Company,” a floundering Japanese steel exporter that in a last-ditch effort to diversify has determined to transform one of it’s failed factories into a Disney-esque theme park. She has come to America on a sort of reconnaissance mission to seek corporate partnership and to learn about the distinctive ability of Americans to inextricably weave consumerism with entertainment.

The other subject of Cohen’s film is a homeless, young former “shop-oholic” who subsists on unattended french fries in a New Jersey shopping mall. Having run away from home to escape massive debt and a dead-and job, she ekes out an existence by exploiting the unpatrolled margins of her consumeristic society.

Cohen delicately allows these stories to unfold, revealing not only their differences, but also unexpected parallels. Through these unlikely subjects Cohen subtly traces the slow and systematic death of American culture and history as it is carefully wiped out by corporate interests.

Cohen- writer, director, camera, location scout, editor, etc- is first a photographer, a fact made strikingly evident by the film’s exquisite cinematography. He tells his story largely through a slow and plodding succession of long shots which highlight the American landscape, made to appear almost apocalyptic through his lens. Indeed his camera rarely moves, save for the occasional slow tracking shot. His techniques create a very distinct aesthetic that at times more closely resembles a demented vacationer’s slide show than a film. His every shot is perfectly framed to highlight both the beauty and the ugliness of his subjects.

Cohen was amiable and quite generous in the Q and A session which followed the screening, answering each question enthusiastically and greatly deepening my (and, presumably, the rest of the audience’s) appreciation of his work. He related that he had filmed several “city portraits” over the years, but had always carefully chosen his locations so as to avoid the strip mall and chain restaurant aesthetic that now characterizes the country. He decided to make Chain when he realized that he could no longer afford to avoid this reality. As he began to film the piece, he says, he came to the conclusion that “the only way to convey the real truth was to inject elements of fiction.” He further explained that he had culled the narrative from elements handpicked from interviews, newspaper articles, and stories from the lives of his actors (the majority of which had no acting experience and “more or less played themselves”)

Cohen claimed his intention was to reveal “both the beauty and the danger of the world we inhabit” and discussed the difficulty of attempting to walk the “tightrope of objectivity” while controlling his passionate views on the subject. Though Cohen carefully evaded any concrete answers about the film’s intended message, he ended by simply saying: “I don’t know where we’re going, I just want people to think about where we are. I firmly believe that every once in a while people actually can affect things.”

Reflections on the Course

I truly enjoyed my time in FilmP 150. The course managed to make interesting a number of things I had expected to be too boring for me to ever successfully learn. The hands-on experience offered in the labs made things considerably more engaging.

The course was well-structured and I felt that all of the important information was covered thoroughly. I don't know why we had two professors, but I appreciated the exposure to a different perspective.

Although the first quiz was a little tricky, I felt that the expectations for the midterm were made perfectly clear (hopefully this will prove true of the final as well).

I am a media studies major, but my focus is on the theoretical aspect of the discipline. Though I have no intention of going into any sort of technical production career, I feel I learned many skills that will help me in my work.

I enjoyed the opportunity to learn photoshop and have continued to experiment with it at home now that we've finished the section. I also particularly appreciated the film/still camera unit. I had been in the market for a camera for some time, but knew too little to choose one. I was later able to make a (relatively) informed decision and even to feign a degree of expertise, which felt pretty good.

I felt that a few of the more technical explorations were a bit tedious, but I suppose that is an intrinsic facet and that I should probably stop complaining. At any rate, I found these subjects considerably more compelling than I have in past encounters.

In summary: Even I, who admittedly enjoy most of my courses, was surprised by how much I enjoyed the course.

Design I Like

For his 2007 piece, Junk Food Deterrent Poster, Stephen Smith makes a strong, simple statement concerning the dangers of our junk food culture.

Americans are fat and they know it. From advertisements for Diet Coke to diet pills to liposuction, we are surrounded by constant (and often conflicting) information about how we should treat our bodies. Such messages have become so pervasive as to be ignored by the average consumer. Smith offers a unique approach to appealing to disenchanted Americans already inundated with similar messages.

Here Smith offers us a new take on a universally recognized symbol. It is a design that speaks more clearly without words. His juxtaposition of the bright, cheerful colors and the stark warning offered by the skull and crossbones creates an unsettling composition.

Although Smith’s piece is somewhat playful and amusing, he offers far more than a sugarcoated warning, he posits a straightforward cause-and-effect relationship: eat these foods and die.

Rather than employing vague or obscure language, Smith appeals through direct visual representations of the “poisons” in questions. It is a message the viewer finds far more difficult to dismiss.

Out of context and partially consumed, Smith’s images lose the seductive sheen so often afforded by advertising’s careful staging. Recast here in their new role, they take on a grotesque element.

Smith’s design is assymetrical and appears somewhat haggard and worn, these characteristics furthering the sense of unease and disgust. This is a message far different than we are accustomed to.

The piece is immediately appealing. At first glance it appears a simple, lighthearted image, perhaps invoking pleasant memories of childhood. Only upon closer inspection does the viewer glean the true meaning of the piece. This tactic draws the audience in. By not explicitly stating its aims, the viewer is forced to reach their own conclusions and interpretations.

http://design.sva.edu/site/projects/show/57

Methods of Gilliam

In The Imaginarium of Dr. Parnassus, Terry Gilliam utilizes his broad pallet of unusual visual techniques to create a stunning and surreal universe. This is not a film of subtleties and Gilliam’s tactics are appropriately extreme. His colors are fantastic, his lighting severe. Everything is vivid and intense. The power of the film is largely contingent on his sharply contrasting visual elements.

As is his wont, Gilliam frequently employs wide angle lenses to distort the features of his subjects. This technique is particularly striking in his opening scene where it adds a loose, and almost nauseating effect to his scene of drunken debauchery and indiscretion. The resulting grotesque appearance of his characters make the film immediately recognizable as Gilliam's.

Gilliam tells his story primarily through low angle shots, which further convey the bizarre and epic tones of his film. The camera is highly mobile, often twisting and turning in unfamiliar ways. His extensive use of handheld shots make the film feel free and unpredictable.

Gilliam’s lighting is stunning and sharp. With the exception of his leading lady, who is lit softly and evenly, his characters are often harshly lit, an unflattering approach that furthers the film’s already intense, surreal appearance. The film is split between the filthy, dirty and often underlit scenes of reality and his bright, sometimes overexposed depiction of the fantasy world. His careful and calculated interplay of light and dark tells much of the story.

Indeed, distortion seems the central tenet of the film and each shot is carefully twisted in Gilliam’s hands. The film presents a simple dichotomy; the familiar struggle of good against evil, and each method he employs meticulously underscores this theme.

Museum of the Moving Image

The Museum of the Moving Image was fascinating and informative in ways I had never expected. It was especially helpful to see physical representations of the many inventions that led to the development of film, such as the zoetrope and Muybridge’s Zoophraxiscope. The wide array of hands-on exhibits helped to demystify the otherwise inscrutable methods of film production. Through the depiction of the work of the droves employed in such productions, the process became clear and tangible to me for the first time. From set designers to special effects to foley artists, the exhibits shed light on the specific roles of these careful and skilled specialists.

I was particularly impressed by the Automatic Dialog Replacement exhibit, which allowed visitors to step into Ms. Garland’s shoes to record their own voices over a few of Dorothy’s lines from a classic scene from the Wizard of Oz. I had given little previous thought to the difficulties and inconsistencies which must inevitably arise in sound recording on set and was surprised to learn that this was the method used to replace substandard or imperfect audio tracks. I found myself imagining my favorite actors struggling to sync their lines precisely with a loop of themselves on a screen somewhere in Hollywood.

I was also impressed by the incredible detail evidenced by the museum’s collection of scale models, many of them from films I have watched countless times. I understood for the first time how it is that such massive and imposing environs as the Death Star were brought to the screen. The complexity of these models was stunning.

It is especially interesting to see the development of new methods and technology and the impact these developments have had on production. These revelations are made more powerful in that the visitor is able to weigh each in the appropriate chronological context. The museum helped me to understand and appreciate many processes I’d long ascribed to simple “movie magic.”

Howdy

Hi, and welcome to my blog. I am a Media Studies and Psychology student at Hunter College and am currently taking Media 150, an intro-level Film and Media Production course. This blog will chronicle my progress in the class and document my acquisition (and mastery, no doubt) of different skills related to the techniques and methods of media production. Though at times it will likely seem a little esoteric, I’ll do my best to keep things engaging.

I hope you enjoy.