A wonderful little video clip on the last day of 2008 (courtesy of Interview Magazine‘s archives). A very young Rob Lowe talks about why making films is such a great thing, and uses a Francis Ford Coppola anecdote to illustrate this. Magnificent. And the point he makes is quite true indeed. Take a look here.

I love the winter here in Norway.

Yeah, this is not directly related to cinema – but winter has arrived with freezing force here in Norway; and this image from my friends at Upstruct just… well, struck a chord in my winter-loving heart. Welcome to the Mountains!

And in that regard; I’ve seen two web videos this week that I have to share. Both of them transported me to London; one of my favorite cities in the world (and somewhat a second home to me). This first clip is created by graphic designer and animator David Hubert. It is a short, exciting visual journey around the city – captured in still frames and edited together (to a Daft Punk song) in a breathtaking manner. After seeing this, I wanted to get on a plane as fast as possible (see it in HD here – and check out the comments thread):

And the second clip that made my heart jump for London, is something completely different; but just as delightful:

Design Classics was  a series of programs broadcasted on BBC between 1987-1990. The clip I’m recommending you to watch, is an episode of this program – titled The London Underground Map. (It was apparently produced some time in 1987.) The whole 25 minute episode is online at Guba.com, and this little film tells a wonderful story about Henry Beck, the unlikely designer behind London’s timeless underground map.

(Click image to see the film.)

A maze of tunnels, stations and lines in different directions becomes quite logical and understandable using this map. At least I’ve always found my way around London. Yet I’ve never actually thought about the design being so brilliant before – because when a map like this works; it works. You don’t think much about it.

But this film makes you understand how and why this map has become what it is: A timeless, unimprovable design every other underground system in the world has adapted. A fascinating story well told.

(Click image to see the film.)

So, London… I’m dying to go back to London! Soon.

This is the music video for “F-Word“, a song by Norwegian band Yoyoyo Acapulco. Short, and fun!

Director Julie Taymor

The idiograph

“The first thing I do when I’m creating, either for stage or for cinema, is to find the idiograph of the story. Which is; the one, simple expression that can tell everything. And at the same time be recognizable for the audience. It’s like in old Japanese paintings – if you were to paint a bamboo forest, you should be able to find its essence with only three strokes,” says American stage and film director Julie Taymor with coruscating eyes and gesticulating hands. We’re sitting in a café in Gothenburg, Sweden (and I note to myself that I’ve learned a new word: idiograph.).

“Subsequently, I lift up a mirror, with which I’m showing [the idiograph] from here, there, behind and in front,” – she moves her hands around her head – “like a cubist painter, I want to open up the image and give you a fresh perspective. That is my job. And cinema makes it possible.”

A young man, Jude, sits on a wet, windswept beach with his gaze towards the sea and the horizon. He lifts up his coat around his neck, and his scruffy hair hangs down by his face. With a sad expression he looks directly at us, and sings a song we know so well:

Is there anybody going to listen to my story, all about the girl who came to stay. She’s the kind of girl you want so much it makes you sorry, still you won’t regret a single day. Oh, girl… girl…

Jim Sturgess as Jude

A memory brings a smile to his face. Then, we’re thrown into the waves that pound the beach, to the sound of “Helter skelter”, and images flicker past fast in the water – his memories – and the story we’re about to be told. This is the opening scene of Across the Universe, Julie Taymor’s movie musical (or ‘rock opera’ as she herself defines it), which is built on the music and lyrics of The Beatles.

Experimental background

Like the opening scene described above, Gothenburg is also a windswept, rainy place when we meet Taymor there in connection to the city’s annual film festival. More than for her three feature films, Taymor is known as a prominent American stage artist within physical theater, musicals and opera. Her innovative interpretation of Lion King from 1997 became her great commercial breakthrough. ‘Variation’ is the key word to describe her three cinematic endeavours: Shakespeare adaptation Titus (1999), biographical artist portrait Frida (2002) and most recently Beatles rock opera Across the Universe (2007). All films has in common that they share the fruits of Taymor’s visual creativity and inventive use of film language.

“Already when I was 11 years old I knew that I wanted to work in theater, and when I was 15 years old I joined a professional troupe. The year after I went to Paris and begun studies at L’École Internationale de Théâtre Jacques Lecoq, where I was made aware of pantomime and a kind of theater that focus more on the images than the words. We eliminated the playwright altogether,” she smiles. Taymor is born in 1952, and went through her artistic formation in between the 1960s and 70s. She talks about an inspiring period of upheaval where she moved into experimental physical theater, inspired by [British theater legend] Peter Brook. She also spent a period as part of the ensemble of Herbert Blau.

Following these experiences, she spent four years in Asia, mainly in Indonesia. There she had close encounters with the theater of the indigenous people, and obtained an interest in masks and dolls. “These deeply traditional forms of doll- and shadow plays go back to the source of all entertainment, to the shamans. When I returned to the US and started my career in theater, it was both as a mask creator, an actress and a director. The bridge to cinema came twenty years later,” she explains.

Improvising the planned

At the Masterclass she gives in Gothenburg the same day as our conversation, she shows a scene from Across the Universe which references clearly to her rich artistic background from theater. The sequence shows the inner and outer experiences of a character, Max, when he’s at the examination of men liable for military service at a conscription office in New York. The Beatles’ song “I Want You” is the carrying element of the scene, and during the scant four minutes it lasts Taymor uses the verses as both dialogue and songs, and she employs both surrealistic spaces, masks and animations.

“I could never do that scene on a stage. With “I Want You” I found two idiographs; Uncle Sam and the Statue of Liberty. Both tell everything about America’s military operations abroad, and what the servicemen sacrifice. The soldiers in the scene got masks that made them all look alike,” Taymor says with enthusiasm. “We turned the meaning of Beatles’ lyrics from being an expression of love to becoming a patriotic demand. And the verse continues: “She’s so heavy,” – and while they sing it, the soldiers carry the Statue of Liberty into Vietnam. With these images I didn’t need to show the whole draft process and all those elements that we know from before. Hopefully, with this scene, you’ll be into Max’s psyche before he’s sent to Vietnam.” I concur to her that, yes, it worked. At least for this member of the audience.

Strawberry Fields Forever - excerpt from a scene in Across the Universe

Back at the coffee table, our talk with Taymor moves to cinema, and more specificly: editing. We ask how she got comfortable with film language, after all those years working on the stage. And we ask about her collaboration with legendary film editor Françoise Bonnot (Z, Army of Shadows, The Tenant), who has edited all of Taymor’s films. Instantly, the director breaks into a big smile:

“Oh, I love Françoise! We met on my first film, Titus, and I immediately understood that working with her would be invaluable. In addition to her immense experience, she has musicality. And on Across the Universe we finally got to make a musical together. All the possibilities to create transitions and juxtapose images through visible cuts, we employed very consciously. I’m drawn to surreal as well as realistic storytelling devices, and eventhough our scenes were carefully planned we improvised with our images many times a long the way. For example, a sequence like “Strawberry Fields Forever” arose to a large degree from experimentation during editing.

The Art of Limitation

To this writer, one of the most striking things about Across the Universe is how it brings forward new aspects of the old, well-known Beatles songs and makes them inseperable from the characters in the movie. Taymor talks about how the film and the songs have inspired each other: “Songs were chosen for scenes, but scenes also formed out of songs. We had the complete Beatles catalogue to choose from, so we worked thoroughly before deciding on the 33 songs that best could tell the story,” she says with poorly hidden pride over the unique opportunity to use The Beatles’ material this unhibited. Yet she talks with fondness about limitations:

“Cinema attracts me because it gives me the opportunity to express something that isn’t possible on a stage. At the same time, I’ve had a restricted budget on all my films. But that have only been positive for the creative process. For instance, on a film like Frida, my work on finding an idiograph for every scene became useful also in regards to production,” Taymor explains. “Since we couldn’t shoot Frida’s travels to New York and Paris in the actual cities, we solved those scenes by recreating small parts of those places that expressed Frida’s mood; New York became cold, tight and art deco – Paris became romantic and art nouveau. Same with the color palettes. If we would’ve had access to the actual places, we would’ve had too much to choose from. Limitations force you to find the essence of what you want to say, which is one of the most important things to know for an artist,” she concludes convincingly.

Julie Taymor and Salma Hayek shooting Frida.

Julie Taymor puts a lot of words into every sentence she utters, and has an unusually well-articulated relation to her own process. But after having talked with her, I realized that, paradoxically, I had a problem with boiling it down to an essence. Yet after giving it some thought, I think what she is saying is this: All art is about telling one thing. At least one thing at a time, and knowing what that is. Taymor appears to still be exploring what film language can offer her as an artist. So to me there’s something contradictory to the fact that she’s involved in cinema to “do what you can’t do on stage” when, at the same time, her next project is a stage musical of Spider-Man (!) – check out the video of Taymor talking about it.

The last thing she tells me, is that she plans to make the famous web slinger fly on stage. “I think I’ve figured it out, and my version of the Spider-Man myth will deviate from the movies. It will be something of its own.” Maybe she plans to give Peter Parker a new mask and suit? Suddenly she’s surrounded by Swedish fans, asking for her autograph. “Any advice for young filmmakers?” a person in the crowd asks, and she smiles. “Find your own voice. Use the camera consciously. Don’t get technical for the sake of technicalities.”

And then, she’s off. I wanted to ask about the idiograph she’s creating for Spider-Man. But I guess we’ll find out. Soon.

I must say, as a Spider-Man fan, that I’m curious about why we need a musical about the web slinging hero, and how it actually can be realized – with all the dancing, singing and flying, you know. But I believe Taymor is a great film director – and I’m sure her stage work is even more impressive, that being her original arena and all.

Yesterday, I finally watched François Truffaut’s La Peau douce. The film is a revelation; cynical and warm at the same time. Theme is adultery and love – also a natural contradiction. Direction of the actors is so good it is invisible, but superb skills are evident in Françoise Dorléac’s performance. (Sadly, this French actress died way too young.) I’m surprised this specific film in Truffaut’s body of work isn’t even more recognized and talked about – not to mention seen. I loved it, and wholeheartedly recommend it. (DVD available at Play.)

A post to point you towards an important discussion: The idiosyncratic film blogger/indie distributor Filmbrain raised a legitimate worry this past Friday, in the post “Brains Not Required (Or: Whither Subtlety?)“, leded by an Antonioni-quote:

“I want the audience to work. I ask them to see the film from the beginning and devote their full attention to it, treating it with the same respect they would give a painting, a symphony or any other work of art. I treat them with the same respect by inviting them to search for their own meanings instead of insulting their intelligence with obvious explanations.”
— Michelangelo Antonioni

Are today’s filmmakers spoon-feeding their audiences? Mainstream Hollywood fare most certainly is, but are independent films and foreign specialty fare also more and more letting their audience off the hook too easily? Filmbrain reflects on the negative response from critics in 1961 to Antonioni’s masterpiece L’Avventura, and uses two recently released feature films in US theatres to illustrate his point:

Today all but the shabbiest of critics are unafraid to confront the “obscure”, and you’re more likely to find passionate defenses of a challenging work rather than flippant dismissals such as Crowther’s. Yet how often are today’s critics (and filmgoers for that matter) given the opportunity to use their noggins once the lights go down? Are filmmakers living up to their half of the bargain, treating us with respect as expressed in the second half of Antonioni’s statement?

I recommend you to read all of Filmbrain’s musings, and do not quit reading until you’re through the comments. That is where the discussion is to be found.

My previous post here dates back to October 19th 2007; in a time when the world looked much more different than now. A bomb went off in Karachi, but Benazir Bhutto was still breathing. Somewhere a small child put their first foot forward, and an old man went blind. I can’t remember anything from that day. Except! I wrote here on Subtitles that Jim Emerson had created a montage that expressed his love for cinema. Since then, I’ve not been writing, as I wanted to write. Yet now, I have returned. Why?

This is my tree. My return to writing in this space began after reading a piece titled “On Blogging“, in which Mr. Girish Shambu poses a simple, difficult question with more explanation than this: “Why do you blog?”. I remember answering, without answering: “I don’t – anymore. So lets move on to the next item in my feed reader.” Yet, just minutes later, a comment in the thread, by Mr. Michael Guillen of The Evening Class, played to me like a grandfather’s wise words to his grandchild.

He tells a great story, a personal one, as an answer to Girish’s question. I’ll just quote the conclusion: “I blog to retain creative integrity and to keep pace and to make friends with others in the blogosphere. And to dance against death.” It wasn’t a particular familiar element in this that set me off, pondering my return to writing here at Subtitles. It was simply the sheer value of a good story, well told – combined with the obvious relation Girish’s question had to my own reluctancy.

This, in turn, reminded me that my distance to writing was a hoax. Damn sure I’ve got the time to think, to write. I’ve got the words. The fingers. The pixellated ink. And now… the spark:

So, I’m back in this space. And I plan to both write the long, and the short of it.

It has to be an indication that Ang Lee’s The Ice Storm is being given the Criterion treatment in the near future. And nothing makes me happier. The Ice Storm is everything American Beauty isn’t, and personally I rank it among Lee’s finest. I read somewhere that Rick Moody, author of the novel the film is adapted from, even said the film improved upon his own book. So, much kudos also to producer/screenwriter James Schamus. I expect the supplemental material on Criterion’s edition to be exquisite!

(Related bonus link: A touching anecdote about Ang Lee’s spiritual meeting with Ingmar Bergman, on Criterion’s blog.)

UPDATE: Now it is confirmed; Criterion is even writing about Ang Lee and the color correction process at their blog.

What I really appreciate in this well-composed film, is that the comical essence of the situation is not exploited into cheap laughs and slapstick [sic]. Instead, Tandberg gives room for a subtle tristesse and creates two vulnerable, slightly tragic characters. I love how the simply cut drawings tells us so much about who these men are. Also, the film is a great example of how dialogue can be replaced by clear actions, and also in this case; very expressive music and sound. I felt every tap of the umbrella against the man’s head. Having seen this wonderful short many times now, both in festivals and online, I can also assure you that it holds very well upon repeat viewings.

A side note; I discovered on YouTube that quite a few individuals have used the same Sorrentino short story as basis for their short films (not animated). They’re without the same success as Ms. Tandberg, but for the curious ones it makes for an interesting comparison. You can find them here, here and here. (Btw, it’s a shame that some of them fails to credit the author.)

It is released by Norway’s most cherished art cinema distributor, Arthaus, a non-profit organization owned by the Norwegian Association of Cinematheques. Arthaus has a long-running collaboration for their film posters with celebrated graphic designer Egil Haraldsen of Exil design, and eventhough he’s been doing this for over 10 years, his Inland Empire poster is one of his finest.

I present the Norwegian theatrical poster for Inland Empire here with a certain pride; I find it to be the most striking poster for this film anywhere. To me, it captures all the intensity of the film, the lynchness in the tone, the horror of Laura Dern’s character’s journey and the pixellated visuals (that I really loved). Kudos to Mr. Haraldsen and Arthaus for this one.

(Check out this Inland Empire poster collection. The German one is most alike the Norwegian)