One Girl At Film School

So in Week Eleven we turned to Jane Campion, watching A Girls Own Story and The Piano. While the Piano bored me thematically (The narrative moved along too slowly for my liking), I did adore the cool blue wash to it, and I thought there were some beautifully constructed shots (wide shot of the piano on the beach as the tide comes in? Woaaah). 

I quite liked A Girls Own Story for the way Campion handled the young women in the film; I felt she was sympathetic towards them. There were some slightly disturbing undertones which I think were underlined by her choice to shoot the film in black and white, and to chop the narrative up somewhat it post, splicing in fantasy or dream scenes seemingly at random. I struggled to make sense of what actually happened, but I was involved enough to want to try to figure it out.

One of the things we discussed about Campion was that she weaves the gothic and the romantic into her films. Generally speaking all things gothic annoy me and I’d tend to avoid them, but I might try and see some more of her work.

For the meantime? I’m reserving judgement. 

In Week Ten we looked at Neorealism and how it descends from Cinema Veritae, and we got shown a small section of Vitoria De Sica’s The Bicycle Thieves, so I thought I’d talk a bit about, because it’s the film that changed my life.

It was 2009 and I was studying for my Diploma of Screen and Media at RMIT, and I had one theory unit on classic film. The screenings were held on a Thursday morning in a basement theatre which was cold and had the most uncomfortable seats I’ve ever experienced, so coming to screenings was not something I relished, but I dragged myself out of bed and into the screening.

I had not been having a good year so far. I was over-committed with my paying job but could not cut back my hours as I was madly saving for a big trip overseas. I didn’t have time for much aside from school or work and I was really starting to feel the sting of not being able to see my friends. The only thing I loved that I managed to make time for was riding my bike. I’d started commuting to and from RMIT and work each day and had reached a point where I was doing a cool 200km a week through my commutes. I was contemplating taking up track riding. I was fitter than I’d ever been, and when I was riding I was free.

And then the knee problems struck. If I’d known at the time I was going to battle with this for over 18 months I might have cut my losses and given up riding entirely, but I didn’t and so I was living in hope that I would get back on my bike - someday! As part of research for my documentary project I’d spent some time with a rowdy bunch of bike messengers and the odd evening out I had was usually spent at an alleycat, which was really just salt in the wound.

So to walk into a screening and find the film they’re showing is called The Bicycle Thieves, well, I nearly walked out. I was so fed up with not being able to ride- I’d have dropped my job and my studies in a heartbeat just to get back out on the road. But I didn’t leave and when the film ended I remembered why I wanted to study film in the first place.

The Bicycle Thieves is an incredibly bleak film. It paints a picture of a world of desperation, where employment is nigh on impossible and starvation waits around every corner. When the protagonist, Ricci, gets a job that he needs his bicycle for, his wife sells their wedding linen, part of her dowry. And then, on his first day on the job, his bike is stolen. 

In a classic Hollywood film, Ricci would get his bike back and become a millionaire. But this is neo-realism, so there’s no fairytale ending. And I think that’s where it’s appeal lies; almost everyone has a story where there is no happy ending. We can all relate to what the protagonist is going through, and even more directly if you’re a cyclist in a big city- it’s odds on you’ve had your bike nicked at some point.

The other appealing thing about The Bicycle Thieves is that it shows that life could be much, much worse. I actually left that screening feeling like (comparatively) my life really wasn’t that bad. My income didn’t depend on my ability to ride, even though I felt like my happiness did. I had a roof over my head, etc, etc.

Finally, The Bicycle Thieves is entertaining. I hardly noticed the time fly by as it screened. And I was involved emotionally with the story the whole way through. I may be in a role where I’m a pencil pusher, but I still want to make films to entertain and to provoke an emotional response from the audience. I left that screening knowing that I was in the right industry. My faith in this may have wavered since, but every time I read about or see The Bicycle Thieves I remember exactly why I’m pursuing this career.

In Week Nine we explored Cinema Veritae, which I have dabbled in previously. To give us an idea of what Veritae encompasses we were shown DA Pennebaker’s Don’t Look Back. While I agree that Don’t Look Back gives a great introduction to Veritae and it’s hallmarks (handheld camera, available light, digetic sound, a search for/depiction of ‘truth’) I found it a frustrating watch as it had little to hook me in emotionally. In essence, very little happens in the film.

So I’ve decided to write instead about Capturing the Friedmans, which I saw when I was studying at RMIT in 2009. Capturing the Friedmans is a pretty full on film, it deals with the topic of child molestation and the impact of the investigation of Arnold Friedman on his family. As the film unfolds, his son, Jesse, is also accused of child molestation. It seems like nothing can go right for the pair… But the scariest part is that it leaves YOU to decide if Arnold and Jesse are guilty or not, despite the court’s judgements. The ‘truth’ in this film is not spelled out, you take the information provided and make up your own mind. 

Stylistically the film is somewhere between documentary and Veritae, it uses a lot of locked off interviews, which are clearly lit and set up, and combines this with archival footage, news footage and even some footage from a video diary kept by Arnold’s son, David. It weaves a confusing narrative and keeps you guessing the whole way through, and I think this is what makes it such a great film.  DA Pennebaker’s Don’t Look Back really only has an emotional hook for Bob Dylan fans, but Andrew Jarecki’s Capturing the Friedmans has a much wider audience, and the emotional hook is a desperate want for some truth from the film- and the film never really provides you with this.

It’s a film you walk away from and you still can’t work out what it was saying, and even a second viewing doesn’t provide anymore answers. Instead of providing a truth, it suggests there is no such thing as truth.

Over Easter I sat down with a friend to watch Sin City. He’d pulled it out of his DVD collection, despite my warnings that I did not like violent films (he later admitted most of his DVD collection is violence and comedy). But it was presented to me in a stack of films which did little to excite me and I recalled the rave reviews it had gotten when it was released. I had been avoiding seeing it on the basis of violence but now was time to give it a shot.

Surprisingly, I quite enjoyed it. The violence was not as distracting or horrifying as I had expected (there was only one true “Ugh!” moment in the film for me) and I adored the lighting and camera work. I think the reason I wasn’t put off by the violence was the fact that Sin City has a very distinct cinematic style. It draws heavily on the imagery of graphic novels (no surprises there) and had overtures of film noir. The violence is highly stylised and at times the film feels more like reading a graphic novel than watching a film.  And, as David Edelstein points out in his review posted below, the blood isn’t red - it occasionally is, but it’s not a true ‘ugh that’s blood and it’s real’ red. It’s ‘Oh, that’s blood but this is a story and it’s not real’ red. Through Sin City I was hyper-aware of the fact that this is a very carefully constructed film- and that’s an interesting point…

As film makers, is it our job to alert our audience to the fact that film is a construct, or is it our job to make them forget that film is a construct?

David Edelstein on Sin City for NPR, originally found here: 

http://www.npr.org/player/v2/mediaPlayer.htmlaction=1&t=1&islist=false&id=4571642&m=4571643

This week in class we talked about the stylistic elements of film, and I caught up on the ABC’s screening of Paper Giants: The Birth of Cleo. Given that it captivated me, I thought I’d break it down and talk about the stylistic elements of the program- primarily, in this case, the mis en scene and production design.

Paper Giants is great to talk about because it’s a period piece set in 1970’s Australia, which poses a few problems for things like wide, establishing shots- many buildings in Sydney have since changed; so how do you have any establishing shots?

The answer here is the use of archival footage- it’s clear that to make the program the ABC and Southern Star raided the archives for all things Sydney in the 70’s, and while the quality is a little grainy and it is obvious as a viewer that it is archival footage, it works- and I mean really works- it literally shows the 1970’s and sets us up for what follows very neatly, easily and cheaply (imagine having to build sets that big in a studio for a few establishing shots, I’ll bet my bottom dollar it was cheaper to pay the fees to use the archival footage than to try to recreate all of it).

The next problem is; how do you have any shots of vehicles? Public transport? And, I kid you not, they’ve gone to the trouble of finding an old bus. It’s brilliant. Ita Buttrose gets on the bus repeatedly; they’ve really milked it for all it’s worth, but it’s so exciting when every little detail has been considered in that way.

I think the easiest part of making Paper Giants would have been costuming, and I envy the costume designer and assistants for getting to raid prop stores, vintage shops and costume stores in search of all that glorious 70’s wear. Not to mention the fun in designing time appropriate make up and hair (check out all that eye make up) for a variety of settings. The costumes are vital to setting the time, most viewers know what to expect from the seventies (patterns, flares, over the top tight pants…) and seeing these things helps secure us in that world. In addition to this, the costumes happen to represent the characters to us; the young secretary dresses more casually than editor in cheif, Ita Buttrose, whose style becomes more business like through the two part series. Kerry Packer is dominant in a suit, and a cigarette is never far from his hand. All these things drop hints to us visually about each character before they even open their mouths or move.

Obviously some of the sets have been purpose built; but again, the detail is amazing here as they have a number of different locations to portray (I counted seven or eight- the newsroom, Packer’s office, the hospital, Buttrose’s home, a hotel room, a fancy restuarant, a house party- but there are probably more). It’s possible they found some houses which still had 1970’s interiors and kitted them out with furniture rather than building them in studio, but it’s still a significant amount of effort- this production would have been time and money expensive, only to be shown on a non commerical network. It does beggar the question, why bother?

The answer is that the stylistic elements work as much with the narrative elements in all films, as in this example. Without the 1970’s decor, costuming and props, you could tell us as viewers this was set in the 70’s, but it’s odds on we’d rapidly forget. The story would get confusing if we forgot that the narrative is absolutely a product of it’s time, and this is constantly reinforced by the production design and mis en scene. Paper Giants is a triumph for the Australian TV industry, it’s a gripping narrative which is well executed technically, fantastically designed and has some amazing performances (if Asher Keddie doesn’t get a Gold Logie this year something is seriously wrong- the woman is a force to be reckoned with!). It’s a clear example of style and narrative working together to create film form and even more so it’s engaging and interesting to watch. And yes, it makes me hopeful that our local industry will be around a little while longer…

So in Week Six I sat through several hours of blog presentations which ranged from amazing to excruciating, and overall left me with very little to write about (short of grumblings about how crap Powerpoint is/how certain 18 year olds aren’t putting the work in). And that kind of put me off blogging. But, purely on the grounds that I’m being assessed, we shall plough on, dear reader.

I just saw Love and Other Drugs. I sat down to watch it with my boyfriend, in the hope of something trashy and distracting (think white bread; no nutritional value whatsoever, but makes amazing fairy bread). What I got was a film which felt at times quite incongruous. I guess the plotline and the execution are what felt at odds with each other- young woman artist with parkinson’s disease falls in love with soul-less drug company sales rep who in the end finds his soul, tries to save her and is then moved to Chicago  for work… but of course, in the interest of happy endings, he doesn’t move, instead stays, quits his job and they live as happily as you can when your spouse has a degenerative disease. The film’s portrayal of drug company Pfizer (scathingly) suggests it was written as an indie and then bought out; because it’s execution (hello, chopper shot at the end of the film) and production values suggest it was made with a reasonable budget. There’s a lot of sex in the film (you repeatedly see Anne Hathaway’s ta-tas, if that’s something you’re keen on!), which definitely suggests it was bought and then spiced up. In fact; there was so much so that it reminded me of a scene in Sullivan’s Travels.

John L. Sullivan: I want this picture to be a commentary on modern conditions. Stark realism. The problems that confront the average man! 
LeBrand: But with a little sex in it. 
John L. Sullivan: A little, but I don’t want to stress it. I want this picture to be a document. I want to hold a mirror up to life. I want this to be a picture of dignity! A true canvas of the suffering of humanity! 
LeBrand: But with a little sex in it. 
John L. Sullivan: [reluctantly] With a little sex in it. 
Hadrian: How ‘bout a nice musical? 

I really haven’t been able to come to a conclusion on the film, other than it felt really odd…

So I’ve been on set most of the weekend and I’m probably just really tired, but sometimes working in film feels a little like this. I will expound on that later.

Jenny Lewis - Just one of the guys

Sometimes when you’re working on a shoot or a season, things start to go wrong. And then another thing goes wrong, and another, and another, and the whole house of cards looks like it’s going to collapse. Shit hits the fan, etc, etc.

It’s what you do after that really counts. Picking up the pieces can be frantic and stressful, but it needs doing and it’s something that I frequently have to handle as a Production Manager. Replace crew. Find new location. Speak to caterers. Rinse, repeat. The wrong thing to do is to stand around freaking out about it. A little bit of stress is good, it helps get you going, but you can’t afford to sook for too long.

It took me a solid 12 months to get my head around the fact that as a Production Manager, I should never, ever be seen to be panicking by the crew. This is the worst possible thing I could do; it spreads through shoots like swine flu and will knock more people out than the H1N1 virus actually could.

This doesn’t mean I’ve actually learned not to panic, it just means that I know I shouldn’t let people see it. Chances are; if it’s a bad day and I disappear for a costly minute, I’ve gone to spend sixty seconds breathing in a quiet place. Not showing that I’m stressed is at odds with my personality in some regards; I am generally pretty open about how I’m feeling. I’m learning that in my professional role I need to be friendly but controlled at all times.

It might seem odd that my preferred career path is at odds with one facet with my personality, but it’s perfectly aligned with another; being organised. I am a date and a time kind of a gal living in a very flexible, oh, sometime someday world and socially it drives me insane. Spontaneity is not for me. But as a Production Manager; being organised is the best thing I could possibly be. Being on top of the when, where and how makes me invaluable. Being able to squeeze every last minute out of a schedule is suddenly not seen as an annoying personality trait but a very useful skill. Having a good memory for rules and regulations, and being a stickler for them, is a good thing in the end (despite the number of directors who will try to argue otherwise). Suddenly the things that made me dorky in high school make me a good person to have around.

I love production managing. I love the puzzle pieces, but it’s a very personal joy. Not many people understand why I love it and I struggle to articulate it myself. There’s not much point other people questioning me about it; I’d just tell them to accept that I’m good at it, that I love it and that they should hire me. 

Many creatives see us as pencil pushers, but at the end of the day, we’re the pencil pushers who will make your film happen. You can suck up to your producer as much as you want, but I promise you, alongside every great producer; there’s going to be an equally great Production Manager. 

Miracle Fish

Still care of Miracle Fish website.

I have seen Miracle Fish before so I had vague memories of the story (and less vague memories of my friend Genevieve’s reaction to the film). As it opened I recalled how much I had loved the lighting and the slow tracking shots through the film, but this time around what really stuck with me was the performance by Karl Beattie as Joe. The stylistic elements create a sense of isolation, but it is the quiet, shy delivery of Joe’s character which really drive the lonely feeling central to the film’s plot. I found the film both haunting and believable, and unlike About a Girl it doesn’t need a second viewing to add to the experience of viewing the film. A second viewing in the case of Miracle Fish is purely a bonus; it still has the hard hitting ending and it is easier to appreciate the delicate construction of the film, but it is not key to understanding the characters or the plot line.

Deeper than Yesterday

Still from Deeper than Yesterday press site

Holy wow, what a well made film. The story is quite simple but it sure packs a punch. And yet- damn my production manager brain! I have trouble switching off my PM brain; I sit through films wondering where they were shot, how much it cost, and how long it took. Deeper than Yesterday is a beautiful short film, but it also looks like the kind of logistical nightmare I enjoy. Shooting in a submarine? Crazy expensive, not to mention cramped and dangerous. Building a submarine interior in a studio? Crazy expensive, and crazy time consuming, but certainly less cramped. I want to know more about how this film was made rather than wanting to know more about the character of Oleg. It’s gorgeous, but damn, I cannot get past how insane this film would be to make as a student, let alone someone with a trillion dollar budget!!

  Daybreak Express

I wanted to make a film about this filthy, noisy train and it’s packed-in passengers that would look beautiful, like the New York City paintings of John Sloan, and I wanted it to go with one of my Duke Ellington records, “Daybreak Express.” - DA Pennebaker

Quote from: http://phfilms.com/index.php/phf/film/daybreak_express_1953/

Daybreak Express is a fascinating short documentary. Fascinating in that it feels and looks more like a piece of video art; it is not a documentary as a modern audience would know it. Pennebaker purports it is a piece of cinema veritae, and in a sense it is, but it is so beautifully and artistically shot that it feels more like video art or narrative. It can be seen as a road movie or a city film, and indeed the key characters in the film are the train and the city. Interestingly, in the article linked above, Pennebaker admits he did not know how to use a camera or edit at the time that he made the film- it is him playing with techniques and technology! Perhaps we can use Pennebaker’s example as what we could be expected to make just through play… or perhaps that’s setting the bar a little too high.