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Saul Bass: The Master of the Title

justin@rule29.com (Justin Ahrens) — Tue, 22 May 2012 16:44:18 +0000

Ask a graphic designer for a definition of the type of work they do, and the answer will most likely be logo developer, website creation, or clever package design. Very seldom would the answer include film credits, title sequences, or the trend-setting imagination in film we have become used to experiencing.

Legendary designer Saul Bass (1920 –1996) not only created some of the most recognizable corporate logos (think United Airlines, Kleenex, United Way, and the Girl Scouts – and that’s just a small sampling of his work), he also pioneered a style and process of type and design for the modern movie experience. So much so that current sequences are heavily influenced by Bass: Think the Intro to Mad Men or the opening title sequence to 2002's Catch Me If You Can.

Saul Bass represents one of those moments of being first. He brought his use of design thinking and type to the theatrical experience. His career was legendary from the classical design career sense, but also for the movies and posters he designed and the directors he worked with, a list that includes Alfred Hitchcock, Otto Preminger, Billy Wilder, Stanley Kubrick, and Martin Scorsese.

His opening title for The Man with the Golden Arm pioneered the possibility that the credits could set the stage; they could be more than just static type. Anatomy of a Murder, North by Northwest, and the complete work for Vertigo (titles and poster) showcase the beginnings of a brilliant career that spanned some forty years.

So what was so incredible about Bass? It was the way he was able to shift the norm into something experiential. His ability to look at something viewed as perfunctory and make it part of the story. His way of finding beauty and potential in the mundane, his gift for raising an otherwise banal experience to one of anticipation, expectation, and wonder.

It’s difficult to identify the best of his body of work, but I found a little documentary that shows a glimpse of him and his influence: SAUL BASS: TITLE CHAMP.

And for an exhaustive history of his work, this is a great edition to your coffee table book collection.

The Thin Blue Line of Justice

samantha.curley@gmail.com (Samantha Curley) — Thu, 17 May 2012 16:00:56 +0000

What really happened?

Robert Wood was a Dallas police officer who was shot and killed during a routine traffic stop in November of 1976. One month later, with no leads and little hope of making an arrest, 16-year-old David Harris came forward claiming to have been in the car when another man, Randall Adams, killed officer Woods. Harris’s testimony lead to Adam's hasty conviction and life-sentence.

Fast forward eleven years and Errol Morris accidentally happens upon this story. Unsettled by the details of the case, Morris begins his own interview investigation. The Thin Blue Line is what happens when a game of Clue meets an episode of Law and Order meets reality TV meets a full-length documentary film. The entire documentary is no more than real-life people simply telling their side of a story; one that has very real-life (and permanent) consequences. As small, seemingly “true” details have set the wheels of justice rolling in the wrong direction—beyond anyone’s ability, it seems, to control—it becomes painfully obvious that Adams is innocent.

One year after the documentary’s release, twelve years after Adams’ initial conviction, the documentary prompts a review of the case and Adams is released from prison to live the remaining 20 years of his life in hermit-like obscurity. (Details not included in the film; read more here.)

This film addresses difficult, yet fundamental questions about justice: Who decides what’s true? What happens when human justice assumes control over life and death? How do my preconceptions, desires, and desperation shape my ability to see? And what power do my words have to create, judge, and justify reality?

The Thin Blue Line reminds and inspires us that films do matter; that they have the ability to change our stories and the world.

Enjoy via Netflix Instant Stream.

The Matrix

eric@rednow.com (Eric Kuiper) — Sat, 12 May 2012 00:26:46 +0000

What is real?

Let’s start with the irony. No film genre employs the power of technology more fiercely than science fiction does while simultaneously warning us of the dangers of it. Maybe the greatest example of this paradox is The Matrix.

Almost thirteen years ago exactly, the Wachowski brothers brought an epic storyline to the big screen in a way most moviegoers had never seen. Fully loaded with religious symbolism, the film begged to be taken as something more than an American take on a Kung-Fu movie. As audiences watched Neo bend backwards to avoid flying bullets and ward off punches at lightning speed, they willingly suspended their disbelief in order to take in the visceral ride.

Herein lies the wonder of The Matrix: A film that created a virtual reality by the power of computers argues that living in a delusional world of alternate reality, created by computers, is the greatest threat to humankind. The only way The Matrix works, as a film, is if you enter into it in the exact manner that the film warns people away from living. The Matrix is a call to have a rebirth with new eyes—to see what is real in a world of lies—and it does this by lying to our eyes.

As the big summer blockbusters [at least the studios hope they are] start to make their way into theaters near you, it will become obvious just how obsessed America is with the idea of needing a savior. Once again, superheroes will fly onto the big screen in droves. Thirteen years after Neo became another face of salvation for us, Hollywood continues to acknowledge our thirst for more.

But what does a savior look like? Is the picture presented in Neo a reflection of what we collectively seem to desire so deeply? Is a savior a good guy with a gun that outlasts the bad guys with guns? Is a savior counter-cultural [different from the surrounding world] or super-cultural [an extreme, more powerful version of the surrounding world]?

The Matrix offers possible answers to these questions. You need to decide if they’re real.

10 Years of Dislocation

matt@rednow.com (Matt Browning) — Tue, 01 May 2012 16:46:17 +0000

What do post-modern sensibilities, shortwave radio static, September 11^th, and alt-country-pop-rock have in common?

The correct answer is Wilco’s album Yankee Hotel Foxtrot, but I also would’ve accepted rednow (I mean, who even knows what rednow is really about anyway?).

This month is the 10^th anniversary of Wilco’s most famous and most unique album. It’s a bit strange to me that this album is already 10 years old, but still clearly communicates an experience of disconnection. This experience made perfect sense to so many of us after September 11. It was one of the only albums that could begin to capture how we felt after that day. Plenty of bands were making music to boost our spirits and help us overcome these feelings, but none of these (U2’s “Walk On” and Bruce Springsteen’s “The Rising”) were able to really come close to being able to sit with us in those odd feelings of disconnection that we felt—not as individuals, which is how the disconnection associated with post-modernity has mostly been described, but as a society and nation of people.

The album still contains some of the best indie pop-rock from the first decade of the millennium, but all that comes mixed together with quiet dreamy melodies and not so quiet “noise.” All this coalescing on a single album creates the feeling of dislocation that post-modernity has for so long spoken of, yet this music somehow allows us to be disconnected together. This album is less a sequence of songs and more of a single progression of an experience.

Even 10 years after September 11^th and the dislocation that we as a nation and a society felt, one can pick up this album and feel the dislocation that might not be directly related to a national tragedy, but still exists in many of our lives from time to time. What Yankee Hotel Foxtrot does is what art should do. It shouldn’t just move us, but should also be able to put its finger on the experience when we don’t feel able to move at all.

A Separation of Love, Class, and Story

bob@rednow.com (Bob Davidson) — Mon, 30 Apr 2012 15:03:21 +0000

Can brokenness be too familiar?

If Iran is known for anything (in America), it's not film.

Rather, our common assumptions are derived from the numerous sound bytes we receive from Western news outlets. Reports of Iran's emerging nuclear program. Stories of Iran's conflict with neighboring states. And accounts of various abuses midst the theocratic rule.

And here lies the beauty of foreign films. We get a different window. One that's built from within foreign borders. One that tells another story.

A Separation, arguably Iran's most prominent and acclaimed film to date, assumes this role in more ways than one. The Western world witnesses an Iranian culture contrary to our presumptions. The state of Iran receives a story that it wishes was different. And the narrative itself revolves around the reality of opposing story lines.

Set in the capital city of Tehran, the film opens with a husband and wife facing an Iranian judge – a role that writer and director Asghar Farhadi subtly suggests is occupied by the viewer – shooting the entire scene from the (unseen) judge's perspective. The couple is before the court attempting to settle a domestic dispute about whether or not they should leave Iran (the aspect of the film that the Iranian state is not thrilled about). The wife Simin (Leila Hatami) wishes to pursue greater opportunities for herself, their daughter, and women in general. Nader (Peyman Moaadi) refuses to leave due to his ailing father's bout with Althzeimers – an easy excuse in lieu of the unspoken, yet apparent, resentment that has plagued their marriage.

The result is a separation eerily familiar to Western culture.

In fact, the titles namesake permeates the script. We see it in Nader and Simin's fallen marriage. We see it within class distinction, in government rule, and in the prominence of religious differences. All of which can easily be mistaken as distinctively "Iranian".

But Farhardi has crafted a story that eventually breaks any remaining cultural barriers that might exist for Westerners. Brokenness is brokenness. And the pursuit of justice and grace is a reality that goes well beyond the cast.

A Separation is undoubtedly worthy of it's recent Oscar win (Best Foreign Picture) and arguably the top "dysfunctional family" film of the year. And while I have no real means of knowing whether or not this is an adequate representation of Iranian culture, it certainly provides a new window and tells a story that you won't hear on CNN – one that might be a bit more familiar than you'd think.

Improving to Blue Like Jazz

eric@rednow.com (Eric Kuiper) — Mon, 23 Apr 2012 18:41:57 +0000

How many notes can you change in a song before you’ve written a new one?

As chronicled in his book A Million Miles In A Thousand Years, Donald Miller was approached about turning his memoir, Blue Like Jazz, into a film. [Yes, that means this is a movie based on a book that has another book based on the making of the movie. That has to be a first.] Every book-based film will inevitably be compared back to the book. Blue Like Jazz is no different.

This film has a character in it named Don Miller, but this is not exactly Donald Miller’s story - at least not in detail. The details are likely closer to the life of some of the readers of Blue Like Jazz who felt like Miller was finally giving a voice to their story. In the film, Don is on a clear path to a local Baptist college when he finds out his mom is sleeping with the youth pastor. Faced with this disorienting news, he jumps in his car and heads for Portland in an act of rebellion. Reed College becomes the site of his further disorientation and subsequent reorientation. Now that the rose tinted, evangelical glasses are off, what will happen to Don’s faith in God?

Maybe the most interesting thing about this movie is not actually the movie, but the world created around it to get it into theaters. This project died a million deaths in a thousand days. Investors came and went with the film never quite rolling. Finally Miller announced its death on his blog. His devoted reader base decided to take matters into their own hands. One kickstarter.com campaign later and they had raised well over $300,000. The film was already living up to its title. You don’t plan jazz, you create it through improvisation with others, and that’s just what happened.

The question that now hangs in the air like an unresolved note is did those lovers of the book who poured their money into it get the film they hoped for? Did the improvisation that was done with Don’s story present a new variation on a loved theme or is this new song all together? Essentially, how much jazz can you have in your Blue Like Jazz and still have you end up liking it?

Are we Bicycle Thieves?

gabe@rednow.com (Gabe Knipp) — Mon, 16 Apr 2012 15:04:05 +0000

What is it that connects us?

The plot is hopelessly simple. Antonio needs a bicycle. His endearing wife pawns their sheets so Antonio can get his bicycle. Now, Antonio can work hanging posters.

Until his bicycle is stolen.

Full of pathos yet unsentimental, Bicycle Thieves tells the story of Antonio and his son, Bruno, searching the streets of Rome for his bicycle. Set during postwar Italy, the production of this neo-realist classic embodies certain values: non-professional actors, simple street-level shots possible on a low budget. Yet, while Director Vittorio De Sica may have been aiming at a critique of capitalism, he stumbled upon a story that is achingly beautiful.

A reaction against the glamorization of Hollywood, Bicycle Thieves is almost too human. Antonio and Bruno search for the thief in a church and a brothel, and both the holy and the unholy places bring frustration. The church is powerless as the poor come and worship simply to get a shave and a meal; the brothel and surrounding neighborhood depict a worn-down population intent only on keeping the outsiders where they belong—out.

As the film critiques individualist society, we face our own roles in the 21^st century. Even if the police, the pious, and the poor all have no regard for the man who lost his bicycle, do we?

In such a system, we’re left with startling questions of what moral action is. A moral life, according to Aristotle, is a well-lived life: but what if that is not an option? With parallels into the 21^st century and the continual dehumanization of those on the margins, Bicycle Thieves continues to resonate—and haunt. We’re left wondering what connects us in modern society, and face the final image of the film as best we can: a father holding his boy’s hand, walking in a crowd, unknown.

The Chill of a Winter's Bone

samantha.curley@gmail.com (Samantha Curley) — Thu, 12 Apr 2012 03:36:05 +0000

Who am I in the context of what came before me?

Not often enough do films emerge from the Sundance Film Festival to receive even one nod from the Academy, let alone four. If you don’t remember the 2010 Oscars, you may recall the name Jennifer Lawrence...

And if you don’t, well, Lawrence plays Katniss Everdeen, the lead in the recently released Hunger Games. But her first noteworthy performance comes as Ree Dolly in Winter’s Bone. (She also stars in Like Crazy, another notable independent (Sundance) film that came out in 2011 – needless to say, she’s had a great couple of years.)

Very different films on the surface, Lawrence’s role in Winter’s Bone is not all that different from Hunger Games. In both she plays a teenager fighting for her own survival and for the survival of something extending beyond herself. She becomes an unlikely, if not reluctant, and certainly ill-equipped hero: of Panem in the Hunger Games and of Sonny and Ashlee (her younger brother and sister) in Winter’s Bone.

Telling the dark story of poverty, drugs, and violence, various scenes of Winter’s Bone will send more than a shiver down your spine. And as it speaks to the patriarchy of backcountry culture (set in the Ozarks), this film also proves interesting through the lens of feminism.

More deeply (and more personally) I think this film tells the story of family. Who am I? Not defined, as our modern culture may tell us, by my own isolated identity, but defined by my roots. Who am I in the context of the history, geography, professions, passions, and culture of those who came before me? How do I interpret and understand myself as a part of those markers? Where do I fit and how do I act, within a life, within a story, that’s bigger than just me?

Many of the ‘actors’ in the film aren’t actors at all - they are playing themselves in their real lives. As a result the characters and the scenes carry the weight of reality. As you watch, notice and appreciate the intentionality and depth of a story well told.

Babies

matt@rednow.com (Matt Browning) — Tue, 10 Apr 2012 01:28:38 +0000

What, if anything, pre-exists culture?

The question of what is “innate” in us as humans and what is simply the effect of our unique cultural context has long stood firm and unanswered. So while he might not have solved the debate, Thomas Balmès, the director of the documentary Bébés (Babies), is on the right track. Balmès gives us a look into the first year of life of four babies from around the globe: one from San Francisco, one from Tokyo, one from Mongolia, and one from Namibia. As each place differs greatly from the others in terms of everything culture, I think you'll discover there is something innate in these four babies that, while not resistant to culture, is captured before culture fully takes hold.

The film is almost entirely void of dialogue and is made of simple images of these four babies taking part in everyday experiences. If the film doesn’t exactly seem like a “page turner” (or whatever it is we call a movie that we can’t stop watching), it’s because it's not. What will grab you is the simple beauty of connection despite - and because of - our culture.

In an interview with the NY Times, Balmès, who had only made rather serious documentaries until this one, claimed Babies was the closest thing to a real documentary that he's ever done. This alone is an interesting lens through which to see the film.

Mr. Balmès also said, “We wanted to be there the first time certain things happened, the first time each baby heard music or started to walk. We were hoping for small miracles. Because you cannot set up babies. You have to wait, and watch, and make sure you’re in the right place at the right time."

Babies, culture, documentary, miracles. Cue oohs and ahhs.

The Hunger Games

Bdorn@iwu.edu (Brandon Dorn) — Tue, 27 Mar 2012 18:32:53 +0000

What do we hunger for?

Something was missing from the recent novel-turned-film, The Hunger Games. Training montage? Check. Close, heartfelt shots of the protagonist? Check. Bow and arrows? Check. Hunger? Conspicuously absent.

Near-constant starvation, one of the defining struggles for survival in the novel, was only peripheral in the film. Apart from a few cutaway scenes depicting the main character, Katniss, as distraught, hungry, and receiving a discarded loaf of bread, the film doesn’t convey physical hunger. To be sure, the written medium allows for the expression of inner aches that, were they stated outright in a film, would be silly. However, the film does metaphorically what the book does literally: it conveys a more philosophical depiction of hunger, asking us and our society, What do we hunger for?

Three enduring narratives converge in the novel and film which, like the mythological nods in the Harry Potter series, elevate the story above teen drivel. The movie reveals and critiques cravings that pervade our society. Teens surviving in a strange place at the cost of each other hails back to William Golding’s Lord of the Flies, though with the reality-TV flavoring of Survivor. The dystopian evolution of a society oppressed by its totalitarian government recalls George Orwell’s Nineteen Eighty-Four. The spectacle of death and suffering carries forward Gladiator with a twist of American Idol. (Even visually, as Katniss shoots an arrow toward the Capitol members and faux curtsies and Maximus hurls a sword from the arena floor toward the Roman elite and bellows, “Are you entertained?”) Teenagers live in a world of competition, for friends, grades, college admissions. Our government works toward omniscience. Our media idolizes dramatic spectacle and tragedy.

The Hunger Games has appeal beyond its intended audience, in part, because we are half-aware that our society hungers for things that are not completely right, or good. The film amplifies these urges in a way that the book doesn’t quite achieve. Where it fails to effectively convey literal hunger, it makes vivid the devolved desires of our culture, doing what good art does: waking us to realities that, like wallpaper, become unrecognized by virtue of familiarity. In this case, the walls may be a bit blood-splattered.