Laurel & Hardy, Godard

I watched a silent Laurel & Hardy comedy last night, Two Tars (1928), which finds the boys as sailors on shore leave who get involved in a nightmare of a traffic jam that turns into a violent battle between the frustrated motorists. I was particularly struck by the influence this film must have had on Jean-Luc Godard when he staged the similarly violent traffic jam in Weekend (1967).

Slippery Jim (1910)

This is an amazing trick film made by Ferdinand Zecca in France in 1910. The premise involves a prisoner who is also a master escape artist and finds the most unusual ways of eluding his captors. One of the exuberant, gloriously free-spirited comedies produced by the Pathe Studio in the early years of the 20th century.

BUtterfield 8 (1960)

This is the kind of lurid Hollywood melodrama I love. It follows the torrid love affair between a Manhattan call girl (Elizabeth Taylor, in one of her finest performances), and a tormented businessman (Laurence Harvey). 

There's an interesting subplot with Eddie Fisher as Taylor's long-time closest friend, and the film spends a good deal of time examining their relationship and the tension that it causes with Fisher's fiancee.

I'd been meaning to see this one for a while. I'd heard in an interview that George Kuchar cited it as a big influence on his own films, which made me even more curious to see it.

Lockdown Filmmaking: "Scared 2 Death II"

New short film, Scared 2 Death II: 2 Scared 2 Live:

This is a sequel to the short film I made this past spring, Scared 2 Death. Like many filmmakers, I found myself wanting to create something even though we were still in a strict lockdown period. As I've written elsewhere on this blog, I made a film back in January called Unknown Number, which had taken a great deal of preparation and a full day of shooting to pull off. While I was certainly happy with how it turned out, I also realized that the requirements of making a film even on that scale, with the limited resources I had, had sucked a lot of the joy out of the filmmaking process for me.

Several months later, I had the idea to make Scared 2 Death, a simple idea that I'd thought up about a decade ago while I was still living in Brooklyn. The situation is a horror film cliche -- the woman walking alone at night down a dark street, followed by an unseen menace. But the whole point of making the film for me was to take this situation and have fun with it. The fact that it was ultra-short and a very simple scenario to film made it all the more enjoyable to shoot.

Scared 2 Death is maybe my favorite of the movies I've made, because it got me back to the basics of what I love about making little films, and allowed me to re-connect with the joy I get just from filming a simple situation like that.

So, after a few more micro-shorts that I've made over the summer -- Isolation, Lights Out, and Scarcity -- I decided to have some fun by re-visiting the simple premise of Scared 2 Death with a tongue-in-cheek sequel, Scared 2 Death II: 2 Scared 2 Live. In this one, I take another staple of the horror film and just had fun with my own little interpretation of it.

Lockdown Filmmaking: "Lights Out"

This is another short film that I made under the lockdown restrictions, back in late June, called Lights Out. I premiered it on YouTube on June 26.

This one was born out of some of the darker ideas I wanted to explore about the idea of a character holed up in a single location during a catastrophe. I'd made a film along similar lines a few years, called Aftermath, so I was reluctant to tread too familiar territory. But I had the idea of a character alone in a house on the hottest night of the summer, when the power is suddenly knocked out during an electrical storm, and the dangers that await him in the dark.

I shot this one over the course of two nights -- a comparative luxury compared to the many one-day shoots I've done over the past several years. The Canon Powershot camera that I was shooting with handled the low-light situations very well, which made it possible for me to shoot in the darkness using only a flashlight as the lighting source. I liked the effect it produced, because it allowed me to highlight the little objects that are completely ordinary in the daylight, but at the same time take on menacing new implications in the dark.

This is also a good example of inspiration striking as a result of unexpected conditions. The lightning storm that I captured at the beginning of the film was not planned for -- but the storm came up the evening of the shoot and I knew it would be the perfect way to open the film.

I hope you enjoy Lights Out!

Godard and Lewis

Watched Godard's TOUT VA BIEN (1972) the other night. His large-scale, multi-level set for the meat-packing plant brought to mind Jerry Lewis' similarly impressive "dollhouse" set from THE LADIES MAN (1961). I love the photo of Lewis directing on the camera crane.

Gloria (1980)

John Cassavetes wrote and directed this story of a woman with mob ties who takes on the role of protector to a little boy after his family is murdered. Gena Rowlands is excellent in the title role, bringing the right combination of charm and toughness to the character. Cassavetes manages to make the film suspenseful and touching in equal measures without hitting a false note.

Cowboy (1956)

This was an offbeat Western about greenhorn Jack Lemmon teaming up with seasoned cowboy Glenn Ford to learn the ropes of riding the trail and herding cattle. Ford appeared in so many films for Columbia Pictures around this time; it seems he was called on to portray virtually any kind of character they needed filled. He's effective here in the quieter, more introspective moments. Lemmon gives a typically excellent performance as the greenhorn who has his eyes opened to the realities of life on the trail. The beautiful color cinematography is a highlight.

R.I.P. Ennio Morricone (1928-2020)

The great composer Ennio Morricone has passed away at 91:
https://www.hollywoodreporter.com/news/ennio-morricone-dead-prolific-italian-composer-was-91-858358

I was just listening to the soundtrack from Salo last night and thinking about Morricone's versatility as a composer. This theme was such a brilliant choice to contrast with Pasolini's shocking images that follow in the film.

Quarantine Filmmaking: "Isolation"

This is another short film I recently made under the current restrictions. Called Isolation, it is about a man reflecting on his experiences under quarantine.

"Scared 2 Death" -- Quarantine Filmmaking

Since the lockdown began, I've found myself inspired to start creating short films. I'd made a short film backed in January, Unknown Number, whose production I have detailed on this blog. I was certainly pleased with how that film had turned out, but I found myself wanting to return to making smaller-scale films, that could be written and filmed quickly and cheaply with minimal resources (even smaller than what I'd worked with on Unknown Number). It's liberating and invigorating to make films this way -- just small-scale, down 'n' dirty filmmaking.

I haven't felt this energized by making films in years.

This is the first of these that I put together back in May, called Scared 2 Death. It's based on an idea that I had a few years ago, when I was living in Brooklyn. I thought of this idea again recently and realized it would make a perfect small project that I could film under the current restrictions.

5 Against the House (1955)

This is an intriguing crime drama about a group of college students pulling off a heist of a Reno, Nevada casino. After a holiday trip to the casino, one of the students gets the idea of pulling off the perfect crime, and gets his classmates involved -- some of them against their will. One of them, a traumatized Korean war vet (Brian Keith) gets carried away and takes charge of the heist himself, with devastating consequences.

Directed by Phil Karlson, it builds some effective suspense about how the characters will be impacted by the scheme, but the heist itself is a relatively minor element compared with other films of this genre. The script is by a team of writers including Stirling Silliphant and Frank Tashlin. Guy Madison, Kerwin Mathewsm, and Kim Novak co-star.

Saskatchewan (1954)

An adventure-packed "North"-Western about a Canadian Mountie who takes up the protection of the lone survivor of an Indian attack, and defies commands in order to strategically lead his troops to the border to avoid another attack. Splendid Technicolor location photography (actually filmed in Alberta), with great contrasts between the bright red coats of the Mounties against the breathtaking mountain scenery in the background. Directed by Raoul Walsh.

Convicted (1938)

Rita Hayworth, age 19, in CONVICTED (1938)

"Quota Quickie" produced in Victoria B.C. for the British market, with American stars Charles Quigley and Marc Lawrence.

Hayworth plays a nightclub singer whose brother is framed for a murder, and must hunt down the real killer. Otherwise routine crime drama (based on the Cornell Woolrich story "Face Work") enhanced by the presence of Hayworth in an early role right before coming to the attention of Hollywood.

Playboy of Paris (1930)

Not a great or even particularly good film, by any means, but I could watch Maurice Chevalier in anything and this gives him a fun role as a cafe waiter who comes in to a fortune but has to continue working his job in the cafe. The plot is wafer thin but I enjoyed the fun spirit and energy of it all. I'm also intrigued by this director, Ludwig Berger (whose other films include the Korda THIEF OF BAGDAD and the 1937 Dutch version of PYGMALION), and was interested to see another example of his work.

Roadhouse Nights (1930)

I watched this strange little number from 1930 recently. It showed up on my radar after reading "Red Harvest", as this film is described as a loose (very loose, I'd say) adaptation of Hammett's book. It's so loose, in fact, that the book isn't even listed as a source in the film's credits, the script attributed solely to Ben Hecht.

I strongly suspect that little of Hecht's original script ended up on the screen, because it's an utterly bizarre mixed bag. The film tells the story of a reporter (Charlie Ruggles, in a dramatic role) who is sent to a small town outside of Chicago to investigate the disappearance of a fellow reporter, who went MIA while investigating a mob of rum-runners operating out of the town. We know that the reporter was bumped off by the mob leader when he got a little too close to uncovering the operation.

The plot finds time for music numbers by Helen Morgan, as the gangster's moll who also turns out to have been an old sweetheart of Ruggles, and some energetic comedy singing and dancing from the team of Clayton, Jackson & Durante (with Jimmy making his film debut in a role that also calls for some dramatic support).

It all runs out of steam by the end, with the absurdity of the situations working against the dramatic tension, but it's all oddly fascinating in its strangeness. The performances and direction have a stilted and lugubrious quality that give the impression of a bad dream.

Detective Story (1951)

Based on a play by Sidney Kingsley, this William Wyler film shows its theatrical roots but is imbued with a strong degree of realism. Set almost entirely inside a New York City police station and centered around the revolving group of characters who come and go throughout the day, it offers a first-rate showcase for its powerhouse ensemble cast headed by Kirk Douglas, Eleanor Parker, William Bendix, Cathy O'Donnell, and standout performances by newcomers Lee Grant and Joseph Wiseman.

This was right around the time that Douglas was essaying some really dark, intense roles (notably ACE IN THE HOLE), and his Jim McCleod here is one of the best of those. McCleod is angry and vengeful, uncompromising in his tough-as-nails attitude toward crime. He is anchored only by his love for his wife as his growing bitterness threatens to destroy him both personally and professionally.

The set design of the police station perfectly captures the claustrophobic atmosphere and the resulting high tensions of all who work within it. Special mention should also be made of the fine cinematography by Lee Garmes and John F. Seitz. Screenplay by Robert Wyler and Philip Yordan from Kingsley's 1949 play of the same name.

Night Owls (1930)

I watched this Laurel and Hardy short on TV this morning. I've seen it probably close to a dozen times over the years, and it's never been one of my favorites. I've always found it a little too slow and plodding, even clumsily-staged compared to their best work. I had chalked this up partly due to the lack of fluidity in the early talkies, but even then, Laurel and Hardy had achieved a more relaxed, smooth pace in even earlier films like The Perfect Day and The Hoosegow (1929), so I wasn't sure I could explain my reaction to Night Owls based purely on the challenges of adapting their comedy to early sound film.

For whatever reason, when I watched Night Owls again this morning, I thoroughly enjoyed it, and found my estimation of it much higher than before. The version shown on the "Laurel and Hardy Show" features new musical under-scoring of the familiar LeRoy Shield tunes, arranged by Ronnie Hazlehurst, so perhaps that added to my enjoyment and smoothed over the flow of the action. But beyond that, the antics of the Boys' repeated attempted break-ins struck me as much funnier this time around. What had struck me as one of their weaker shorts in the past now had me in stitches.

Maybe it was just the laughs I needed this morning.

Sven Nykvist on working with Ingmar Bergman

American Cinematographer ran an article by Sven Nykvist, "Photographing the Films of Ingmar Bergman", in which the cinematographer talks about his work with the great director. The article provides a fascinating insight into their working relationship and Bergman's working methods.

Nykvist describes his approach to working with Bergman:

"I am grateful to Bergman’s scripts that his photographic goal always changes with each one. There is no possibility for his cameraman to just alter his ordinary routine lighting technique or to shoot production after production in the same manner. All easy-come effects must be sacrificed for the simplicity which does not disturb. Although public acclaim in cinematography often can be achieved by instantaneous effects, it is in the long run only the true light which is interesting and which I strive for more and more in my work."

Full article here:
https://ascmag.com/articles/photographing-the-films-of-ingmar-bergman

Godard Instagram Interview with subtitles

The Instagram interview with Jean-Luc Godard that I mentioned in an earlier post is now available with English subtitles.

I've been re-watching some of his films lately, including A Married Woman and Pierrot Le Fou, so it was a good time to watch this:

The Squeaker (1937)

I watched the 1937 British crime drama The Squeaker (aka Murder on Diamond Row) last night. This was a stylish Korda production starring Edmund Lowe as an alcoholic detective who has to bring down a prominent citizen at the center of a smuggling ring. Two terrific supporting performances by the great Alastair Sim and Robert Newton.

It's based on a story by Edgar Wallace and directed by William K. Howard. Also featuring Sebastian Shaw, Ann Todd, and Tamara Desni.

Allen Daviau R.I.P.

Allen Daviau, the cinematographer of such films as E.T., The Color Purple, and Empire of the Sun, has passed away. Here is his obituary in the Hollywood Reporter:

https://www.hollywoodreporter.com/news/allen-daviau-dead-spielberg-cinematographer-five-time-oscar-nominee-was-77-1290572

He was also cinematographer on Spielberg's short film Amblin', which contains some of my favorite cinematography, particularly in the opening title sequence with the shots of the sun rising over the shots of the southwest.

Daviau was interviewed in the 1992 documentary Visions of Light, which I saw when I was a budding film enthusiast and gave me a great deal appreciation for the art of cinematography.

Roger Corman on Battleship Potemkin

This is an excellent video I watched this morning, while look at some videos about Sergei Eisenstein on YouTube. In it, Roger Corman provides an analysis of the Odessa Steps sequence from Battleship Potemkin. It's one of the most concise and appreciative analyses I have heard of this iconic scene, a scene that has been shown and discussed endlessly over the years.

As Roger Ebert said in his review of Potemkin:

"If today it seems more like a technically brilliant but simplistic 'cartoon' (Pauline Kael's description in a favorable review), that may be because it has worn out its element of surprise--that, like the 23rd Psalm or Beethoven's Fifth, it has become so familiar we cannot perceive it for what it is." (https://www.rogerebert.com/reviews/great-movie-the-battleship-potemkin-1925)

Peter Greenaway interview

This is an interesting interview that I came across tonight, with filmmaker Peter Greenaway discussing history, art, cinema, Eisenstein and Stalin.

I had just recently watched Greenaway's film about Eisenstein's time in Mexico.

Seymour Stern on "Way Down East"

This is an excellent series of videos from a lecture given by Seymour Stern, given at Harpur College in 1970, on Ira Gallen's TVDays YouTube channel. Stern (1908-1978) was Griffith's biographer, having had firsthand experience knowing and working with the director (he appeared as an extra in Griffith's America). Stern devoted most of his life to researching Griffith. This lecture is dedicated to discussing Griffith's Way Down East.

Metropolis Medley by Gottfried Huppertz

This is an early soundtrack recording of themes from Gottfried Huppertz's score for Metropolis, recorded the same year as the film was released (1927) and conducted by Huppertz himself:

Simple pleasures

Late last night, before heading off to bed, I happened to watch a couple of Charlie Chaplin shorts on YouTube, The Bank and His Musical Career. These are what I'd call "simple pleasure" movies -- the kinds of enjoyable, reliable movies you can come back to again and again and again over the years and they never fail to make you laugh and bring you joy.

It was fun watching His Musical Career again after recently looking at Laurel and Hardy's The Music Box. I'd forgotten how much the latter owes to the Chaplin film beyond just the basic premise of two moving men carrying the piano up a flight of steps. There's a great sight gag of the moving cart being pulled by a donkey, who is lifted off the ground by the top-heavy weight of the piano. And there's a hilarious moment when the heavy piano is dropped down on to Mack Swain's back. Maybe my favorite bit is when Chaplin is carrying the piano on his back, and he is so bent over and stiff that he can't straighten back up again. And of course there's the gag involving drinking a can of varnish by mistake!

I could go on...but these are the great little moments that makes films like this such reliable and inexhaustible pleasures.

Now sit back and enjoy them for yourselves!

On Adaptations and Swiss Family Robinson

I'm currently reading Swiss Family Robinson by Johann Wyss. I love re-visiting the classics, and have fond memories reading this story as a kid (albeit in an abridged version). I also greatly enjoyed the 1960 Disney film adaptation, starring John Mills. Re-reading the novel now, I am struck by how much the script for the Disney film adapts the story in to a much more traditional narrative. There is a great amount of detail in the book describing the plants and wildlife found on the island, along with meticulous descriptions of how the family adapts to their new surroundings.

The book presents a much more methodical document of the survival process, even if it does take a great deal of liberties with the realistic availability of supplies and resources on the island, as well as the father's knowledge of them and how to utilize them. In contrast, the screenplay adapts the family's adventures in to a much more concise story, punctuated with memorable set-pieces of the kind that tend to run together amid the many details in the book.

Purely as drama, the Disney film is far more satisfying for me. There is also a 1940 version, narrated by Orson Welles, which I have yet to see.

Mack Sennett Studio Tour

This is a fascinating video essay giving a virtual "tour" of the old Mack Sennett Studio, including "then and now" view of the surrounding area today:

Camera Moves in Osaka Elegy (1936)

I watched Mizoguchi's Osaka Elegy (1936) last night, and was absolutely entranced by the sublime camera moves. It was, without doubt, one of the most beautifully-photographed films I have seen.

Here is a clip from the film that provides an example of how gracefully Mizoguchi moves his camera:

Bruce Baillie R.I.P.

The New York Times is reporting that experimental filmmaker Bruce Baillie passed away on April 11:
https://www.nytimes.com/2020/04/10/movies/bruce-baillie-essential-avant-garde-filmmaker-dies-at-88.html

This seems a good time to share one of my favorite short films, All My Life, made by Baillie in 1966. A beautiful, poetic film set to a recording by Ella Fitzgerald.

His obituary in Artforum has this to say about All My Life:

"The impetus behind his three-minute, Ella Fitzgerald–soundtracked short All My Life (1966), which slowly pans on a wooden picket fence framed by blue skies and red roses, was 'the quality of the light for three summer days' on the Northern California coastline. After days of admiring the light, he and a friend had started driving back to San Francisco, when suddenly he decided 'No, I cannot turn my back on this!' and took out his tripod." (source: https://www.artforum.com/news/bruce-baillie-1931-2020-82729)

David Lynch and Lumiere Camera

This is an interesting segment from the anthology film, Lumiere and Company (1995), featuring the segment directed by David Lynch, along with behind-the-scenes footage of Lynch directing it. The idea was that a number of leading filmmakers were asked to make a short film using an original Lumiere camera, in celebration of the 100th anniversary of the birth of movies. I've seen a couple of the other segments but it would be interesting to see the entire film someday. I'd love to see what each of the directors came up with.

The Flying Deuces

Watching Laurel and Hardy always brings back great memories. I always have a special fondness for The Flying Deuces, a family favorite from when I was a kid. We watched this one together often and shared many great laughs over it.

I saw it on "The Laurel and Hardy Show" on the Movies TV network this morning. I always love the scene where Hardy sings "Shine On Harvest Moon". That's one of the things I love about their movies -- the relaxed pace, finding time for enjoyable little interludes like this, and making it all look like so much fun.

This one also has one of my favorite Laurel and Hardy scenes, when Stan keeps bumping his head on the low ceiling of their hotel room. When Oliver admonishes him for being so stupid as to stand there and continue to bump his head, you know it's only a matter of time before Hardy's head hits the ceiling!

Color in Cries and Whispers (1972)

Turner Classic Movies used to (and may still, for all I know) air foreign films in the wee hours of the morning on Saturdays. As a teenager just immersing myself in all of the world cinema I could find, this was an excellent opportunity to see a lot of movies that I couldn't find elsewhere at the time, and to see many landmark films for the first time. One of these was Bergman's Cries and Whispers. I just re-watched the film last night for the first time in over twenty years. What I remember about seeing it for the first time on TV late that night was the color. That's what everyone talks about with this film, of course -- the stunning, deep reds. Watching it through bleary eyes at 2:00 in the morning, I just remember being so taken with the color and the compositions. I had seen a still from the scene above (not this exact still, but from the same scene) in Gilbert Adair's book Flickers: An Illustrated Celebration of 100 Years of Cinema, in which he selected Cries and Whispers as the representative film for 1972. It still makes quite an impression on me.

Sound in "Stalker"

This is a good video essay on Tarkovsky's use of sound in Stalker.

A modern silent comedy

This is a fun movie I wanted to share here. It's called Flickers: A Silent Romantic Comedy, directed by Robbie Chafitz. I saw this back in October 1995 at the Orpheum Cinema in Baltimore. It was a local production, and as both a budding filmmaker and silent film enthusiast, I thoroughly enjoyed seeing this at the time. It's still a lot of fun, a nice tribute to silent comedy with a mix of the comedy styles of Chaplin, Keaton, and Lloyd. Shot in black and white with a piano score, it also does a great job of re-creating the look and feel of the silent comedies. I always remember the opening shot of the Weinberg Center for the Arts in Frederick, MD, and the camera cranes down to reveal the marquee with the names Chaplin, Keaton and Lloyd on it. It's a great shot and a great way to open this tribute to silent film comedy.

When I saw this at the Orpheum, it was shown on a double bill with Buster Keaton's The Cameraman, and a live vaudeville show featuring local performers. One of my favorite moviegoing experiences.

Tarkovsky Shooting "Stalker" (1979)

This is some amazing behind-the-scenes footage of Andrei Tarkovsky directing Stalker (1979), which recently surfaced on YouTube. It provides a fascinating glimpse in to the production process of the film:

Sylvia and the Phantom (1946)

What a delightful, whimsical fantasy-farce! On the eve of her 16th birthday, a young woman living with her family in an old castle yearns to see the ghost of her grandmother's lover, immortalized in a painting that hangs in her bedroom. After he is forced to sell the painting for money, her father decides to give his daughter her wish for her birthday, setting up an actor to play the ghost at her party. For reasons too complicated to get into here, her two suitors also end up impersonating ghosts at the party, and the real ghost (played by Jacques Tati, in a masterful pantomine performance), ends up making an appearance to everyone's surprise.

It's the kind of farce plot that could have been way too silly, but it's played with an earnestness and sweetness that takes it into another realm (no pun intended).

David Lean

I was watching a doc on David Lean this morning. He shared a story of how he got started as a cutter in the British film industry.

He was working as an assistant at the studio, having worked his way up from teaboy, serving the tea during the afternoon break. One day, when the studio was making its first sound film, he learned that the film editor didn't know how to synchronize dailies. The only person who could do that was the newsreel editor, who spared two hours to show the editor the basics of syncing dailies. Lean watched intensely and learned the entire process from seeing the demonstration. The film editor continued to struggle with the process, and since the newsreel editor was occupied with his own responsibilities, Lean -- who had the whole process down pat -- stepped up to do the job and instantly rose to position of film editor.

It's like Mardik Martin said, "If you're a shrinking violet who sits in the corner, no one's going to give a shit about you. You've got to present yourself."

The Devil and Daniel Webster (1941)

American Gothic take on the Faust legend, about a poor New England farmer who sells his soul to the devil in exchange for material wealth, which ultimately corrupts him.

Directed by William Dieterle, who appeared in Murnau's 1926 film of Faust, the style here is heavily infused with the influence of German Expressionism, particularly in the shots of the light falling across the farm at night which recalls Murnau's Sunrise. The rural Gothic horror element also looks forward to The Night of the Hunter, especially the eerie image of the devil as seen by the farmer from his window at night.

Laurel and Hardy Home Movie Footage

Cinémathèque de Nouvelle-Aquitaine has posted some rare 8mm home movie footage of Laurel and Hardy on the set of their film Atoll K in 1951. It's always fun to see new footage of The Boys, especially behind-the-scenes footage like this. The footage is brief, only 33 seconds long, but nonetheless it's fascinating for Laurel and Hardy fans:
https://cdna.memoirefilmiquenouvelleaquitaine.fr/films/laurel-et-hardy

Godard Interviewed on Instagram

Jean-Luc Godard was interviewed live on Instagram today. Someone posted the entire interview video on YouTube. It's not subtitled but perhaps someone will add captions on the YouTube video at some point.

Made in U.S.A. (1966)

I'd never seen this Godard film before until I watched it last night. It's relatively obscure in his filmography, I'd say, at least compared to his other earlier, pre-1968 works. That's likely because it didn't receive an official release in the US at the time it was made, due to a lawsuit brought by author Donald Westlake, whose novel "The Jugger" was the source for this unauthorized adaptation. (It didn't have a proper release here until 2009).

It's also a very difficult film to appreciate in translation, and it seemed to me to be a film that one really needs to experience in the native language to get the full effect. It's filled wall-to-wall with endless wordplay, much of it silly, but nonetheless the kind of thing that would be almost impossible to effectively translate into another language. Sort of like the Marx Bros.

The premise involves Anna Karina going to the fictional "Atlantic City" and ends up getting involved in an investigation in to the death of her lover. She refers to the investigation as being like a Walt Disney movie with Humphrey Bogart. That gives you an idea of what to expect.

The Hour of the Wolf (1968)

Watched this one for the first time last night. It's from a period of Bergman's career I greatly admire, with Persona being my favorite of these. The Hour of the Wolf is a horror psychodrama about an artist (Max von Sydow) and his wife (Liv Ullman) living on a remote island whose relationship becomes strained as the artist is haunted by bizarre visions. Bergman creates a thoroughly unsettling, haunting atmosphere, heightened by the sense of isolation on the island and the growing sensation that nothing is quite what it seems.

The Cameraman's Revenge (1912)

This is an early stop-motion animated film from Russia, directed by Wladyslaw Starewicz in 1912. It's quite impressive, especially considering that Starewicz used dead insects as his models to create their own little world.

Eisenstein and Disney

This is an interesting video essay about the unlikely friendship between Sergei Eisenstein and Walt Disney. The two met during Eisenstein's stay in Hollywood in 1930, and Eisenstein considered Disney perhaps the greatest artist working in film, and would later call Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs the greatest of all films. It has been argued that Disney's style had a big influence on Eisenstein's approach to making both Alexander Nevsky and Ivan the Terrible Parts 1 and 2.

Eisenstein in Guanajuato (2015)

In 1931, after an aborted attempt at making a film in Hollywood, acclaimed Soviet director Sergei Eisenstein received funding from author Upton Sinclair to go to Mexico and make a film there with his regular collaborators, co-director Grigori Alexandrov and cinematographer Eduard Tisse. That resulting film, Que Viva Mexico, was never completed (a version was edited together in 1979 by Alexandrov, to give an approximation of Eisenstein's vision). At the time, Eisenstein was riding high on the worldwide success of his trio of revolutionary films Strike, Battleship Potemkin, and October, and the trip across the European and American continents provided an opportunity to meet with luminaries in all fields across multiple countries.

However, his stay in Mexico proved to be a transformative experience for Eisenstein, as he immersed himself in the culture thousands of miles from Soviet Russia and Stalin. It is this experience that Peter Greenaway explores in his avant garde biopic, Eisenstein in Guanajuato (2015). Greenaway focuses not on the making of Que Viva Mexico, which quickly becomes almost a footnote to Eisenstein's trip. Rather, he examines Eisenstein the man (played by Finnish actor Elmer Back in a splendid performance), whom we initially see as a flamboyant, bombastic man in total charge of his public image. As production on his film continues to drag out, Eisenstein becomes intoxicated on the local culture and his admiration for the country's own recent revolution, but is also revealed to have extreme self-doubt about his body and his sexuality. It is through his relationship with his Mexican guide, the intellectual and academic Palomino Canedo (Luis Alberti), that Eisenstein goes through this personal transformation coming to terms with himself.

I had not heard of this film until doing some recent digging on the web about Eisenstein, and decided to watch it after just having viewed the entirety of Eisenstein's filmography. I wanted to see it while his films were fresh in my mind. Greenaway's avant garde approach is very well-suited to the subject of the revolutionary filmmaker, and conveys the swirling events that Eisenstein experiences as a stranger in a strange land.

It's interesting how this brief period of Eisenstein's life continues to hold such a fascination. Several years ago, film scholar Mark Cousins made a documentary video essay about his own stay in Mexico City, called What is This Film Called Love (2011), in which he walked around the city with a photograph of Eisenstein, attempting to experience something of Mexico as Eisenstein experienced it.

WWII Archival Footage of Bletchley Park Uncovered

CNN is reporting that previously unseen "secret" footage dating from World War II and filmed at the codebreaking facility Bletchley Park, has been unearthed and published online:
https://www.cnn.com/2020/04/03/uk/bletchley-park-footage-scli-intl-gbr/index.html

"The 11-minute video is thought to be a compilation of footage shot at the Whaddon Hall facility used by communication staff from the UK's Special Intelligence Service (SIS) -- also known as MI6 -- from 1939 to 1945, according to a press release from the Bletchley Park Trust published Friday."

Archival discoveries like this are always fascinating, especially when it provides us with glimpses of such rare subjects.

You can view the footage on the Bletchley Park YouTube channel here:

Adaptation (2002)

I remember back in the early 2000s, in the wake of the success of Being John Malkovich, there was a great deal of interest in the work of Charlie Kaufman. I haven't heard much about him lately, and couldn't tell you the last film that he wrote. I had seen Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind in theaters, but had missed Adaptation, which I recall was released with a great deal of anticipation after all the interest in Being John Malkovich (just looking up his filmography, I realize I do not recall the film Human Nature, which he wrote in between Malkovich and Adaptation).

When I saw Adaptation was available on the Criterion Channel, I decided to finally give it a watch. After 18 years(!) it was about time that I caught up with this film. It's a quasi-autobiographical story of screenwriter Charlie Kaufman (played by Nicolas Cage) struggling to write an adaptation of a book, "The Orchid Thief" by Susan Orlean (Meryl Streep). In between flashbacks of Susan's experiences with the subject of her book, John Laroche (Chris Cooper), Kaufman works under great stress, anxiety and self-doubt as he tries to unlock the key to bringing the book to the screen. Meanwhile, his twin brother (also played by Cage) has decided to dip his toe into the screenwriting pool as well, and Charlie watches with a mixture of frustration and amazement as his brother, after attending a single screenwriting seminar, churns out a highly marketable screenplay for his first effort, which immediately gets optioned for a big movie deal.

Adaptation left me with a lot of think about. It's one of the most vivid depictions of the self-doubt and questions that so often arise during the creative process.

The Crimson Kimono (1959)

Watched this Sam Fuller film on the Criterion Channel last night. A white cop and his Japanese-American partner, best friends from their time in the army during the Korean War, find their friendship tested when they both fall in love with the same woman while investigating the murder of a stripper. Great production design by Robert Boyle and cinematography by Sam Leavitt showing off the nocturnal LA locations.

I'd been wanting to see this film for years since it played at the Orpheum Cinema here in Baltimore back in the '90s. I missed it then but the description of it in the local paper made me want to see it. It lived up to expectations. I remember it was shown on a double bill with Edgar Ulmer's Ruthless (1948), which I see is available on YouTube. Maybe I'll have to watch that one next...

"Unknown Number" on YouTube

Looking for something to watch? My new short film Unknown Number is now available to stream for free on YouTube:

The Thief of Bagdad (1940)

I watched this one last night for the first time in years. It was a childhood favorite, though to be honest, I preferred the Douglas Fairbanks version (which was my gateway into silent movies). This Alexander Korda production is a blockbuster that still impresses today for its scale, state-of-the-art special effects, and intoxicating sense of wonder.

This is one of those magic films where all of the elements come together and work in great unison. Despite having three credited directors (and other three uncredited), like Gone with the Wind and The Wizard of Oz, the overarching vision of the producer creates a cohesive experience out of the many individual parts. There is the cast: John Justin as Ahmad, June Duprez as the Princess, Sabu as Abu, and of course, the great Conrad Veidt as Jaffar. Justin and Duprez are appealing romantic leads, but it is really Sabu and Veidt who make the biggest impressions. Veidt does so much acting with his eyes in this film, and it's a testament to his ability to really embody a performance that he does it so well. If you've seen him in The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari, and especially The Hands of Orlac, it's apparent that he was one of the greatest physical actors of all time, right up there with Lon Chaney, I'd go so far to say.

Special mention should also be made of Rex Ingram's unforgettable performance as the genie, a truly larger-than-life character that Ingram brings to life in ways that are both astonishing and frightening. The scenes in which he interacts with Sabu are a marvel of special effects, combining large-scale models and early bluescreen technology to completely defy your belief of what was possible to do in 1940. The scenes are still impressive today -- one can only imagine how they must have stunned audiences 80 years ago.

The fantasy world would not be complete without the sets to bring it all to life. Vincent Korda and an uncredited William Cameron Menzies (who'd worked on the earlier Fairbanks version) designed a sprawling, lavish Technicolor fantasy version of old Bagdad that seems to go on forever past the edges of the screen. There is also some interesting location photography taken in the Grand Canyon, of all places, that contributes a genuinely epic sense of scale to those scenes (due to mounting wartime conditions in Britain, Korda had to move the production to Hollywood in the middle of the shoot, and took advantage of the geography of the Southwest United States). 

A final note should be made of Miklos Rozsa's sweeping symphonic score, which would clearly later influence the work of John Williams on films like Star Wars. It's a prime example of that grand Hollywood tradition of scoring that includes Max Steiner's soundtrack for King Kong and Erich Wolfgang Korngold's score for The Adventures of Robin Hood.

All of the pieces come together to form an unforgettable experience that has enchanted generations of moviegoers. I've often said that Alexander Korda knew better than almost anyone else what really made a good movie. If you look at his filmography, he produced one crowd-pleasing, timeless classic after another. The Private Life of Henry VIII, The Scarlet Pimpernel, Elephant Boy, Jungle Book, The Four Feathers, To Be Or Not To Be, The Third Man...the list goes on. The Thief of Bagdad takes it place firmly alongside these other Korda classics.

It was 125 Years Ago...

The Lumiere Brothers debuted their first film, Workers Leaving the Lumiere Factory, on March 22, 1895, in a private screening for a small group. Workers Leaving the Lumiere Factory would go on to become the first Lumiere film on their program of subjects shown before a paying audience at the Grand Cafe on the Boulevard des Capucines, later that year on December 28, 1895.

Although not the first film, nor the first film publicly exhibited, nor even the first film publicly exhibited on a screen, Workers Leaving the Lumiere Factory has become seen as the symbolic moment that "the movies" -- as we think of them today -- were born.

In his book Flickers, Gilbert Adair writes of Workers Leaving the Lumiere Factory:
"La Sortie des usines Lumiere is, after all, a work of art. It demonstrates, no less than the Lascaux cave drawings of which it may be said to be the exact filmic equivalent, the axiomatic truth that art is, ultimately, whatever lasts."

Networking

I went to a local filmmakers lounge event last night and showed Unknown Number to the group. It was a great event -- a nice size, good atmosphere, and a welcoming place to show the movie, get some feedback, and network with other filmmakers.

I'm very pleased with the response I've been getting to Unknown Number so far. I've submitted it to a festival that I'm waiting to hear back from. Whether I decide to submit it to further film festivals will depend on how it fares in this one. The cost is just too high for me to submit widely if the responses just aren't there. But we'll see.

I really enjoy the experience of meeting and chatting with other filmmakers, actors, or just anyone who wants to be involved in the experience of making a movie. I immediately get that sense of being among kindred spirits. It's very encouraging to experience that when it sometimes feels like I'm off in my own little corner of the world doing my own thing in solitude. It's nice to know there are other folks out there working toward the same goals, aspirations, and dreams, and to have a chance to connect with them.

Once Upon a Time in Hollywood (2019)

I watched Tarantino's latest film, Once Upon a Time in Hollywood, again last night. It was the third time I'd seen it, and enjoyed it as much as ever. Two of my favorite moments are the montage sequences of Hollywood at night. The first occurs after the day that DiCaprio's character has been shooting his TV episode and Pitt's character has a run-in with the hippies at Spahn Ranch. Pitt picks DiCaprio up at the studio and drives him home, and we see Hollywood at dusk as the sun is going down and the town is lighting up, accompanied by the Jose Feliciano's rendition of "California Dreamin'". The other scene occurs when DiCaprio and Pitt arrive home from Italy and prepare to go out for one last night on the town before DiCaprio settles down to married life with his new Italian wife. We see Hollywood coming to life, with the neon signs of the movie theaters (specifically the Cinerama Dome) and restaurants lighting up.

It's just so evocative of the attitude and spirit of the movie, and conveys so much of the magic of Hollywood that Tarantino captures in this movie.

Cuban Rebel Girls (1959)

I watched this low-budget independent production, Cuban Rebel Girls (1959), on Tubi tonight. I'd read about this one in Allen Baron's book, since he was involved in it as an actor and general assistant. His stories about the circumstances involved in the production certainly piqued my interest.

This is the final film of Errol Flynn, effectively playing himself as a Hollywood star who goes to Cuba to write about the revolution. It's based on a story by Flynn, which he apparently conceived of as a vehicle for his girlfriend, Beverly Aadland, who co-stars with him. The pro-Castro story follows two American women, sympathetic to Castro's revolution, who travel to Cuba and become involved with a group of rebels, raising money to buy guns to be used in the revolution.

Cuban Rebel Girls was produced and directed by Barry Mahon, and photographed by Merrill Brody (who would go on to shoot Baron's Blast of Silence). The movie is a fascinating study in guerilla-style low-budget filmmaking, being shot on location in Cuba. Much of the film is shot silent and accompanied by voice-over narration, a good technique to save money and time shooting sync-sound sequences.

Magic Hour & Filmmaker Dreams

I was driving through the countryside this evening at "magic hour" -- that time when the sun has set below the horizon but the sky is still illuminated by the lingering light. This special time of day is a favorite of directors and cinematographers.

It reminded me of a couple things:

I had recently watched Visions of Light, the 1992 documentary about the art of cinematography. Nestor Almendros was talking about shooting Days of Heaven, and how much of the distinctive look of that film was achieved by filming during "magic hour". He made the point that, despite its name, it's really more like a 20 minute time window that you have to capture your shot.

It also reminded me of a dream I had about filmmaking. This was a few years ago. I dreamed I was in Brooklyn, at the edge of the water where you can get a really spectacular view of the sunset. It was "magic hour", and was an stunningly beautiful sight. However, I had left the camera and tripod in the car, and I couldn't remember where I had parked. I had to frantically search for the car to get the camera before the light was gone.

That reminds me of another filmmaking dream I had. This was about ten years ago when I was directing the first episode of a straight-to-DVD series. We had a six day schedule to shoot the entire film. After we wrapped, I began to have a recurring dream that I was going over the script for the film and kept finding some scene that I'd forgotten to schedule and shoot.

Director's Favorite Films

I enjoy occasionally perusing lists of the favorite films of certain directors. The Sight & Sound poll results are a good source of such lists.

I came across a couple of such lists from No Film School. One is the 100 favorite films of Akira Kurosawa:
https://nofilmschool.com/2017/06/kurosawa-master-list-akiras-100-favorite-films-all-time

The other is a list of Kubrick's 93 favorite films:
https://nofilmschool.com/Stanely-kubricks-favorite-movies

It's interesting to see the mix of expected titles, and the surprises. I like to see what the individual choices say about each filmmaker.

Black & White vs Color

I watched an interview with Peter Bogdanovich tonight, in which he shared an anecdote I've heard before. When he was preparing to shoot The Last Picture Show in black and white, Orson Welles told him that black and white was the actor's friend, that all performances were better in black and white, and challenged Bogdanovich to name him one great performance that had been filmed in color. He couldn't.

Bogdanovich speculated that black & white strips away all the distractions -- you don't notice the color of the actor's eyes, for example, and thus can focus entirely on their performance.

Bogdanovich would go on to film Paper Moon in black and white (which he felt was appropriate given the 1930s Depression-era setting), and had intended to shoot Nickelodeon that way, too, but the producer insisted on color. Bogdanovich told his cinematographer to light for black and white anyway, though, because he always intended to return to the film at some point and re-release it minus the color. He said that it made sense to shoot it in black and white since it's a film about the silent era, and made the comment that in color, it looked like a movie made in 1975.

He did later release a black and white version of the film, but I haven't seen it. It's one of my favorite Bogdanovich pictures, and one of my favorite films-about-film, so I really should try and track it down, for comparison to the color version if nothing else.

"The Interview"

I watched a cute short film tonight on one of the free Roku apps, called The Interview (no relation to my own short film of the same title). A woman goes for an interview with the daughter of the man she is dating, who grills her with a series of questions to assess her qualifications to join the family. It was a good example of an amusing idea well-executed in a short timeframe and on a low budget. I wasn't able to find any information on the director but it appears that the producer has done quite a few videos that are available on YouTube.

Kurosawa, Spielberg, and Lucas

I watched a video yesterday of Akira Kurosawa receiving a special Oscar at the 1990 Academy Awards. It was presented by Steven Spielberg and George Lucas, who were introduced by Jack Valenti as the "new kids on the block". That struck me as a little disingenuous, given that they'd already been working in Hollywood for a couple of decades at that point and were hardly "kids". But in any case, it was good to see the two filmmakers pay tribute to the master who'd had such a profound influence on both of them.

I found Kurosawa's speech especially moving. He said that he did not feel that he had earned this Oscar yet, because he feels he does not yet understand cinema, and has not yet discovered the essence of cinema. But now that he has the Oscar, he promises that he will keep working at it and do his best to earn the award. It's a good reminder that even someone as accomplished as Kurosawa, undoubtedly one of the very finest film artists the medium has ever produced, continued to grapple with these questions about the art of cinema and pushing himself to reach new heights.

You can watch his full speech on YouTube:

Netflix Viewing: "Brain on Fire" and "To the Bone"

I caught up with two movies on Netflix last night. The first one sounded intriguing -- Brain on Fire (2016) was a true-life drama about a young woman who develops an unknown condition that leads to hallucinations, seizures, and eventually puts her into a near-catatonic state that results in her hospitalization. I saw that it starred Chloe Grace Moretz, whom I had only previously seen in Martin Scorsese's Hugo as the granddaughter of Georges Melies. Also in the cast were Jenny Slate, Thomas Mann, Tyler Perry and Carrie Ann Moss.

Afterward, I watched To the Bone (2017), about a young woman recovering from anorexia. She's an aspiring artist and had gained some attention for her self-portraits on her blog, but is now placed into a recovery center for people struggling with eating disorders. Lily Collins stars along with Keanu Reeves, Carrie Preston, Lili Taylor, Alex Sharp and Liana Liberato.

One thing that struck me about both films is the degree to which either one would have felt right at home as a TV movie of the week on network television in years past. I admire the craftsmanship and economy of storytelling in these productions. They can also serve as a good actors' showcase. Moretz in Brain on Fire and Collins in To the Bone both did excellent work, largely carrying the film through their respective performances.

TV movies and their various iterations get a bad rap in some quarters for their predictability or formulaic qualities, but I find them inspiring from the perspective of the opportunity they offer to practice the craft of directing.

I think what draws me to the idea of directing professionally for TV/streaming/web is that the process of it reminds me of what I've read about the Hollywood studio system of the '30s and '40s. I now watch a lot of TV shows in the evenings, old programs like "Hogan's Heroes" and "Perry Mason" as well as newer ones, both on TV and on Netflix, and find myself drawn to the way they're staged, shot, edited. It's funny, because I never paid that much attention to them before, but as of late, I've really taken notice.

DIY Dolly

In his memoir, Allen Baron mentions that in filming Blast of Silence, they used a dolly consisting of wheels that attached to the base of the tripod. I used this same type of dolly when I shot Unknown Number. The trick, of course, is stabilizing the movement when you have the wheels but no track to run them on. Well, Baron and his crew came up with a good solution to that: throwing a 100-pound sack of sand across the base of the dolly to help keep it steady!

Wish I'd thought of that...

Peter Bogdanovich on Film Technology

Peter Bogdanovich was interviewed on Reddit a few years ago. He was asked about his thoughts on the digital revolution in filmmaking, and the fact that it's possible to shoot a film on a smartphone for very little money. He viewed this as a plus, and brought up a good point that doesn't get talked about that often in relation to these developments:

"Because I think amateur filmmakers, or wannabe filmmakers, will discover from using that equipment that it isn't as easy to make a movie as sometimes people think it is.
And it might actually invigorate the art of the movies, because younger people who want to make movies can get the materials, the technical materials necessary to make the movies, much more easily." (source: https://www.reddit.com/r/IAmA/comments/38kdsr/i_am_peter_bogdanovich_an_actor_film_historian/)

The ease of access to technology and the low cost of production have laid bare the realities of moviemaking for even the most entry-level amateur. For those willing to put in the work and who have the dedication and discipline to see the project through, it is indeed easier than ever before at a purely technical level to get the movie made. However, these same advantages have made it more difficult for wannabes to make excuses about why they aren't making anything.

It strikes me that at the beginning of the digital revolution, there was this idea that anyone could make a movie and indeed it seemed like everyone with even a passing interest in it was giving it a try. Now, to some extent, it might be that -- as with anything -- digital filmmaking has simply become more professionalized in a way that it wasn't 20 years ago, back when digital was viewed largely as the purview of the amateur or DIY hobbyist. Now that Hollywood has gone digital, and the professional level equipment has become so much more costly and sophisticated, it could be that it has opened up a lot of the same insecurities and disparities that existed before with film.

But I tend to agree with Bogdanovich -- that when wannabes who think that it will be "easy" to make a movie get their hands on digital tools that they think will make the movie for them, they're going to be in for a surprise that it's still not that easy.

Releases and Permits

I've been reading Allen Baron's memoir about the making of Blast of Silence. He mentioned how they shot the film around NYC entirely without permits. One of the locations was a barge that was tied up in the harbor. Baron, playing the hitman, climbed up on the barge and was filmed walking around on it. The watchman spotted him and told them to stop filming. He continued to film on the barge for a few more minutes while the crew distracted the watchman.

When the film was picked up for distribution by Universal, the owner of the barge evidently saw the film and successfully sued the studio for a small sum because he hadn't given permission for the barge to be used.

I remember reading an interview with Kevin Brownlow somewhere. He said that when United Artists picked up his film It Happened Here for distribution, they asked him to get talent releases for all of the people involved. Since there was a cast of hundreds, most of whom were non-professional volunteers, it took something like two years to fully track down every last one of them and get them to sign off.

Observations on Film Art

I've been watching a good series of videos on the Criterion Channel called "Observations on Film Art". These video essays by David Bordwell and Kristin Thompson that take a formal analysis of various films. I watched one this morning about the use of three-point lighting in Ernst Lubitsch's To Be or Not to Be (1942), followed by one on classical Hollywood editing in Harold Lloyd's Girl Shy (1924).

These are fascinating for budding filmmakers to understand how some of these films are put together and how they work. It's like a master class in the construction of different film elements. These videos really make you appreciate how the techniques are used, and the effects that they create.

I keep thinking what an incredible time it must be to be a budding filmmaker. There is so much material out there to learn from. I was watching the 1992 documentary Visions of Light the other night, about the art of cinematography, and thinking back to how inspiring I found that film when I saw it as a kid in the '90s. There are so many great videos out there now on YouTube and streaming sites like Criterion that a young filmmaker could learn from. It really is like having a whole, virtual film school at your fingertips.

The great thing, to me, about this "Observations on Film Art" series is that it is of value to both scholars and filmmakers. If you're interested in learning about the theoretical and conceptual aspects of making a film, the videos do a good job of illustrating that angle. And as a filmmaker, you can learn how the films are put together and achieve the effects that they have on audiences. Learning this way provides a more comprehensive experience for both -- learning not just how something was done, but why.

The Art of Subtitling

I watched an interesting featurette on The Criterion Channel yesterday about the history of subtitling foreign films for English-language audiences. It included some excerpts of films like Grand Illusion and Open City in their original US release prints, which illustrated how limited the early subtitle translations were compared to their latter-day restorations. The point was made that, even though far more dialogue is translated today than in the '40s, say, it is still unwieldy and counterproductive to try and translate all of the dialogue spoken in a film, because it would become overwhelming to read that many subtitles in such short order. It made me think about how much dialogue we hear in films that is not absolutely essential to conveying information that we need to know, but adds a layer of texture to the experience. As Bruce Goldstein pointed out, the subtitler's job is to capture the essence of what is being said, rather than trying to translate each and every spoken word.

I was glad to see Herman G. Weinberg mentioned in the video, as a pioneer of the subtitling process back in the '30s. It was Weinberg who was responsible for helping to bring many foreign-language classics to US audiences for the first time. I've long been interested in Weinberg's work in cinema. He was really a jack-of-all-trades, working as a music arranger for silent film scores and as a manager of the Little Theater in Baltimore, an early arthouse theater. He also made the avant garde short film, Autumn Fire, while he was living in Baltimore in 1931.

Film music

I attended a concert yesterday by the Baltimore Symphony Orchestra. They performed a selection of music from the film scores of Charlie Chaplin, including suites from The Kid and City Lights. Having seen the movies so many times, the music and images are burned in to my mind. Just hearing the music could make me laugh or cry, thinking about the scenes that it accompanies. This was especially true for The Kid, with that beautiful, powerful music during the scene when Jackie Coogan is taken away in the orphanage truck.

It was a delightful concert. They also performed selections of classical music that either influenced Chaplin, or which show his influence in the art of film scoring, such as the themes from Schindler's List and Cinema Paradiso.

Son of Kong (1933) on Svengoolie

I'm watching Svengoolie on MeTV tonight, and he's showing Son of Kong, the sequel to King Kong released later the same year as the original (1933). I've always marveled at how quickly this film must have been rushed through production in order to get it out so quickly. It's a far cry from the brilliance of the first film, to be sure. But it's another reminder of how much I love these monster movies, especially with the characters that Willis O'Brien imbued with so much personality. Robert Armstrong was really a great lead in the Kong films and in the later Mighty Joe Young, bringing just the right mix of attitude and humor to the mix.

For as quickly as this must have been produced, the stop-motion animation is still quite good, even if it is a bit less memorable than that in the original Kong. And of course, it's also lacking Fay Wray. But otherwise, it's a fun excursion back to the magical world of Skull Island.

Big Studio Backing

At the gym last night, I was watching the making-of doc about the production of Spike Lee's Do the Right Thing (1989). In it, he mentions that the film was originally with Paramount, but that the studio got nervous as the production date got closer, and pulled the plug. Fortunately, Universal picked up the project and carried on getting it made.

It hit me how much things have changed in the film industry that a unique, provocative, and personal film like Do the Right Thing could get big studio backing.

It reminds me of a good article published in Flavorwire a few years ago, "How the Death of Mid-Budget Cinema Left a Generation of Iconic Filmmakers MIA":
https://www.flavorwire.com/492985/how-the-death-of-mid-budget-cinema-left-a-generation-of-iconic-filmmakers-mia

The article cites directors like David Lynch and John Waters as examples of the really distinctive, personal filmmakers who are finding it increasingly difficult to get their projects off the ground given the shifting expectations of mid-budget cinema.

Thankfully, things have improved somewhat since that article was published in 2014, largely due to new opportunities afforded by streaming platforms like Netflix and independent studios like A24.

Indie Filmmaker in Hollywood

I've been reading the Allen Barron memoir Blast of Silence. I knew he'd directed many episodes of TV shows from the '60s-'80s, and decided to look some of them up to see which of his episodes I could find online. I saw that Roku was offering three seasons of "Charlie's Angels", which included at least a couple directed by Barron.

I watched one last night called "Angels at Sea", from 1977.  The plot found the Angels on a cruise ship being menaced by a madman. The climax finds them having to diffuse a series of bombs that have been planted around the ship. It was fun seeing an example of Barron's Hollywood directing work. It made me think about the career trajectory of filmmakers who direct an independent movie and then go on to work in the Hollywood film industry making commercial, mainstream films or TV shows.

For someone who loves directing and the process of making movies, it seems like it would be a great way to spend your career, because of the sheer amount of experience you could get with a steady stream of work. Some filmmakers take the approach that they only want to direct projects over which they have complete creative control, that they've developed from scratch, etc. But it seems to me that commercial work in directing film and television would provide a lifetime of learning about the medium, similar to the working methods of studio contract directors of Hollywood's golden age. I remember in Martin Scorsese's Personal Journey through American Movies, he mentions that Michael Curtiz directed something like 60 films in the 1930s alone, and points out what an incredible opportunity this must have been for him to perfect his craft.

Obsessing over gear

Victor Kemper in Light and Shadow -- Greatest Cinematographers of the World, Interviewed.

I watched a good documentary on YouTube while at the gym last night, Light and Shadow -- Greatest Cinematographers of the World, Interviewed. It features short interviews with many of the top cinematographers discussing their art and craft. It makes a nice supplemental companion piece to Visions of Light.

One comment, made by Victor Kemper, particularly stood out to me:

"I feel very strongly about this for kids who are just trying to get in to the industry.  If you think for one moment that Hollywood gives a damn about what camera you used on a job, they don't even know, and I bet you couldn't even find three people who would even ask. So nobody should be worried about what camera they're using. The tool is there -- if you know how to use it, and you've got the talent, and you've got the drive, you can shoot a damn good movie."

I'm always struck by how the further up the chain you go, the less people seem to care about issues of gear and equipment. I certainly agree with the view that he expresses here, as someone who has always been dogged by criticism over not using the latest and greatest cameras and gear for my own shoots, for the simple fact that I am unable to afford them.

At the same time, I can't help wondering if this is a little bit of wishful thinking. Although we hear lots of stories about movies shot on iPhones or what have you, there's still the reality that Netflix, for example, has certain requirements about what cameras can be used to shoot original productions for their streaming service. So they most definitely care.

And of course, there's the reality that were you to try and shoot a Hollywood movie with a consumer level camcorder (like the one I used on Unknown Number), it would never fly.

Still, though, it's interesting that I've heard this sentiment expressed by professionals before. I find that among amateurs or non-professionals I encounter, they are often a lot more hung up on the gear being used, rather than the ideas you're working toward expressing. I've never understood this mindset. If you get so hung up on the equipment you're using that you freeze up and never produce anything, then what good is it doing you?

The issue of cameras and gear becomes a convenient excuse for why someone isn't producing anything, and can also be used as a way of marking by degrees the "serious" non-professional from the amateur hobbyist. At the end of the day, none of these distinctions should matter. But now that the means of production are now theoretically available to anyone, I suppose it's inevitable that new barriers to entry should be put up.

I'm reminded of something I noticed about 10 or 12 years ago, right after YouTube had really started to become big. Now that anyone could put their films out there for a worldwide audience to see, it took some of the power away from small film festivals that had previously been the only way for filmmakers to have their work shown. I remember reading an interview with a programmer from a local, DIY film festival who was bemoaning the fact that it was getting more difficult to find filmmakers interested in even showing their work at the festival, because they were now able to post their films to YouTube. I don't think it's surprising that film festivals came back with a vengeance around this time, because -- as with the fixation on gear -- it provides a further barrier to entry in an age when those barriers are continually being demolished by new possibilities.

The odds of indie success

I just started reading a memoir by Allen Baron, director of the 1961 independent cult classic Blast of Silence. It's a gritty, low-budget, independent film, shot in New York, about a hitman who comes from Ohio to carry out the killing of a mob boss. Baron wrote, directed, and starred in it. It was his first movie, following some work he did on a film made in Cuba in the late '50s.

Blast of Silence turned out to be Baron's ticket to Hollywood success. He got his big break when the film was acquired by Universal Studios for distribution, launching him in to a directing career in Hollywood, where he worked mostly on TV shows, directing dozens of episodes from the '60s to the '80s.

I've been interested in Baron's story ever since seeing Blast of Silence, a movie that I love and that has fueled my own desire to keep making low-budget, DIY movies. I was excited to see that he'd published a memoir detailing his life and career. I just started reading it but am already learning a lot about independent filmmaking in the 1950s.

Baron wrote an interesting article for Filmmaker Magazine a few years ago, around the time his memoir was published, detailing the differences between making an independent feature film in 1959 vs. today:
https://filmmakermagazine.com/77144-blast-of-silence-independent-filmmaking-then-and-now/#.Xjso7mhKiUk

Aside from all of the technical issues that would be much cheaper and simpler to handle today, he also discusses the difference in the odds of finding success with your film once it is completed:

"Attempting to make an independent film today as opposed to 1959 would present a far different set of problems. For one thing, in 1959 I doubt if more than a half-dozen independent movies were attempted to be made. Today, because of the use of a digital camera, literally thousands of independent movies are being made. While I’m sure that among the many thousands there are probably some very excellent movies, the crowded field makes it very difficult for distributors to make a selection. Today, anybody can go into a store, purchase a digital video camera and start shooting a movie. This was absolutely impossible in 1959 because of the use of film and expensive equipment that was necessary to shoot a movie. An additional point that emphasizes the difference between then and now is the fact that in 1959 I doubt if there were more than half a dozen film festivals in the world. Today there are literally hundreds." (Allen Baron, "Blast of Silence: Independent Filmmaking, Then and Now", Filmmaker Magazine).

This is the dilemma of reaching for success in indie film today. Yes, it's much easier than ever to actually get a film made. People are making movies on their smartphones. I shot a short documentary on my Android phone that has played on the big screen and looked great up there.

But what do you do when there are so many films being made out there, all competing for attention at the countless film festivals around the world? (And I think Mr. Baron is being conservative when he says there are "hundreds" of festivals out there. Judging by what I see on websites like Film Freeway, that number now has to be in the thousands, at least).

I find myself taking the attitude that just putting your film out on YouTube, Vimeo, etc. and doing whatever you can to get it in front of people is perhaps the most productive strategy we can take today, depending on what your goals are. I've been thinking about this with Unknown Number, because my ultimate hope for it is that it will serve as a calling card short. Would I love for the right person in Hollywood to see it? You bet! But I'm happy to have anyone watch it and enjoy it. And as far as I can tell, that can only really happen if I just put it out there to be seen.

This gets back to the point I made in a previous post, that it seems like if you really want to have film festival success above all else, you have to really want to have film festival success above all else. You have to do whatever it takes to get your film in shape that it will get on the radar of festival screening committees, panels, judges, etc. With the thousands of submissions that these festivals likely receive, it's a long shot just to get in. Personally, my take on it is that since it's such a long shot anyway, you might as well make the film you want to make and stick true to your vision for it, rather than trying to shape it into something else just because it might, supposedly, increase its chances of getting into a festival.

As Allen Baron points out, back in 1959, the odds were a lot better that your film -- if you overcame all of the obstacles and challenges in getting it made, that is -- would rise to the surface and get on the radar of film festivals and distributors. Since that seems not to be the case anymore today, you might as well focus on making the film you want to make, any way that you can.

Good advice from Mardik Martin

I always liked this quote from Mardik Martin, screenwriter of Mean Streets and Raging Bull, among many others:

"If you're a shrinking violet who sits in the corner, no one's going to give a shit about you. You've got to present yourself."

Prepping for festival submissions

I'm looking into a couple of film festivals to submit Unknown Number to, now that I've more or less signed off on the final cut of the film. I received some constructive feedback on the film so far from people I trust, which is always appreciated. It does bring up a point, though: "festival" films can be very much their own genre, and if you really want to get in to a festival more than anything else, you have to be willing to accept and implement every bit of advice you receive (even if it's contradictory).

The Big Easy (1986) & Sundance

I can't recall what prompted it, but last night I was thinking about Jim McBride's 1983 remake of Breathless, which I'd recently seen for the first time on one of the free Roku channels (I think it was Tubi) and enjoyed quite a bit. I saw that The Big Easy was available on there, and decided to give it a watch. Dennis Quaid plays a corrupt cop in New Orleans who is being investigated by an agent with the DA's office (played by Ellen Barkin). The film appeared to be shot entirely on location, capturing the atmosphere of the city quite nicely with an energy and vitality characteristic of McBride's filmmaking style. John Goodman, Ned Beatty and Grace Zabriskie all put in good supporting performances.

I read that Robert Redford recalled The Big Easy to be the first film to be sold at the Sundance Film Festival. Apparently, it was thanks to Redford's insistence that the head of Columbia Pictures saw the film at the festival, which resulted in it getting picked up for distribution by the studio.

Uncut Gems (2019)

After hearing so much about Adam Sandler's performance in it, I finally went to see Uncut Gems today. For some reason, I'd had the idea that this was a Netflix original production and had thought I might be able to watch it on that service, but I was wrong.

Sandler plays a jeweler with a gambling addiction. Just as he manages to pull himself out of one bad situation, he gets pulled right back in to another. This is a very high-energy, intense movie. There's one scene, early on, when Sandler is in his shop surrounded by chaos that almost brings to mind the madcap energy of the stateroom scene from the Marx Brothers' A Night at the Opera. We follow Sandler through one scrape after another, as his debts mount and tension builds, until he comes up with one final scheme that might save the day.

I saw that Martin Scorsese was one of the executive producers. That makes sense. This felt like the kind of film Scorsese might have made back in the '70s.