When I asked for feedback from those reading my book, Guardians and Dreamers, I was surprised to learn that my choice in templates and overall layout didn't make for a good reading experience, a white on black contrast is too hard on the eye. So I've been going through each of my blogs and changing them around to help address this problem.
Let me know what you all think of the new layout. It's a basic template, of course, because I'm don't know how to customize a webpage. I'm afraid HTML is beyond my understanding.
Friday, July 22, 2011
Monday, July 18, 2011
Favorites: The Harry Potter Series
And so it is that after a decade and eight films, the Harry Potter series comes to a close with an action-packed and emotional finale that is quite satisfying for any fan of the series. Thankfully, David Yates uses the same visual style he used starting with Harry Potter and Half-Blood Prince and the first half of Dealthy Hallows. The final film is a fitting end to a series that began in 1997, a few years before I even knew of its existence. However, I'm not going to write about the last film in the series. Like I stated in my previous review of Transformers, reviewing something like Harry Potter is almost pointless. Even if a critic said it was utter crap, the devoted will still make the trek to the theater. Mercifully, the Harry Potter series has experienced a rare phenomenon where critics and audiences agree for the most part, and the series has meant more to me than examples of good literature and filmmaking.
I came to the Harry Potter series only after the first film had had a very successful run at the theaters and was on its way to becoming a top-selling DVD. There was no desire in me to see the film as it was a child's film, nothing more. Thankfully my mind was changed, for it was in a child's film that I found a new spark of curiosity and creative inspiration.
Sometime between my high school graduation and my first year of college I became depressed. Of course, depression doesn't announce itself with any kind of visual symptom, expect for those who know you best, so I was unaware of any change in my behavior. Yes, I was rarely happy; yes, I hardly found enjoyment in anything; reading and writing no longer held my interest, and even school had lost its luster, but that didn't mean I was depressed, at least not in my mind; it simply meant that I was bored, nothing more.
Oh, how wrong I was.
Indeed, it took a film (two films in fact, but I'll leave the other film that helped for another post) for me to realize just how far I had sunk into a mentally debilitating depression. While visiting my parents house one evening I noticed they needed to return a DVD to Blockbuster (ah, remember those days, not that I miss them much). They had just watched Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone and had quite enjoyed it. I had heard of the film and was curious, not enough to run to the video store myself, but curious enough to promise to return the film once I'd watched it that night.
And watch it I did. Twice. It is an entrancing film. Witty, mysterious, and magical. Yes, I'd have to say the first is still the best. None of the subsequent films have a moment as wonderful as when Hagrid (that soft-hearted half-giant) says the words that forever change Harry's life: "You're a wizard, Harry." Even today when watching the film, those words are enough to send chills down my arms. And none of the films provides a moment as uplifting as the end. No, not when Harry defeats Voldemort, but when a boy of no remarkable magical talent, who is socially awkward and has a low self-esteem wins the House Cup for Gryffindor. It is a wonderful moment for Neville Longbottom, a touching moment for the audience, and my favorite moment of the film series, right next to his other act of bravery in the final film, but I won't give it away in case those of you reading this haven't seen it nor read the books. Those of you who have see the film or read the books will know which moment I'm writing about.
Now, even though I loved the first film from the moment I watched it, I was still unconvinced as to picking up the series, which by that time had just published the fourth book in the series, I believe. I was a serious English student and above such trivial pursuits as children's literature. Not until the second film, Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets did I yearn for more, more than the celluloid versions could give. And so, after a couple of years without reading anything remotely interesting, I bought Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone; and yes, I did feel foolish buying a child's book for myself. However, I didn't care. I had to know what happened next.
From the first book to the seventh (with a few midnight releases thrown in for good measure), I was propelled on a journey as intriguing and magical as any I've read since, and the films continued to provide some great entertainment as well, although I must confess there was building gap between the quality of the books and the quality of the films, something which could not have been helped, and the fact that the filmmakers continued to produce such quality films is as much a testament to their abilities as to J.K. Rowling's invention. The problem lay in the best quality of Rowling's writing: her ability to create elaborate plots. Each book is essentially a mystery, with each previous book's events setting the scene for the next. Take one plot detail out the books and the whole thing would fall apart. And that's exactly what the filmmakers had to do: disassemble the plot from the books and put it together to make a film everyone would want to see. Only hardcore Harry Potter fans would want to sit through the eight-hour film version of their beloved series, myself included.
The journey did not end with the publication of the final book, at least not for me, and not because there were still more films to go. No, the final book was published at exactly the right time because I was in graduate school and had to write a thesis. I was struggling over what to write my thesis over. I had written a well-received paper on The Matrix trilogy and was considering expanding it into a thesis, but I just couldn't bring myself to do it; I wasn't inspired to write a longer version of that paper. So I looked back at what had inspired me in the past. Not long into my first year of graduate school, I decided what better way to end my academic career than by dedicating myself to the very books that made school tolerable while still a Freshman. My thesis was to cover the entire book series. The original plan was to include a couple of the films as well, the ones that fit within my thesis, but that was not possible; after all, my thesis could only be so long.
The process of writing my thesis was difficult, but fun nevertheless; and after a forty-five minute defense, I passed, receiving my Master of Arts in English in May of 2009. Receiving an education took a lot of hard work on my part, but I don't think it would have been possible if not for J.K. Rowling's books and the films they inspired. It's hard for me to see exactly how I would have made it through, educationally speaking. So much of the university experience requires dedication and devotion, neither of which I had until I was reminded just how much I love books, movies, school, and writing.
So for that, I thank J.K. Rowling. And I thank my parents, for they are the ones who introduced me to the series in the first place. Hopefully, I can one day return the favor by passing the gift of inspiration to others; whether through teaching or my own writing doesn't matter, what does matter is that the gift is passed on to others.
I came to the Harry Potter series only after the first film had had a very successful run at the theaters and was on its way to becoming a top-selling DVD. There was no desire in me to see the film as it was a child's film, nothing more. Thankfully my mind was changed, for it was in a child's film that I found a new spark of curiosity and creative inspiration.
Sometime between my high school graduation and my first year of college I became depressed. Of course, depression doesn't announce itself with any kind of visual symptom, expect for those who know you best, so I was unaware of any change in my behavior. Yes, I was rarely happy; yes, I hardly found enjoyment in anything; reading and writing no longer held my interest, and even school had lost its luster, but that didn't mean I was depressed, at least not in my mind; it simply meant that I was bored, nothing more.
Oh, how wrong I was.
Indeed, it took a film (two films in fact, but I'll leave the other film that helped for another post) for me to realize just how far I had sunk into a mentally debilitating depression. While visiting my parents house one evening I noticed they needed to return a DVD to Blockbuster (ah, remember those days, not that I miss them much). They had just watched Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone and had quite enjoyed it. I had heard of the film and was curious, not enough to run to the video store myself, but curious enough to promise to return the film once I'd watched it that night.
And watch it I did. Twice. It is an entrancing film. Witty, mysterious, and magical. Yes, I'd have to say the first is still the best. None of the subsequent films have a moment as wonderful as when Hagrid (that soft-hearted half-giant) says the words that forever change Harry's life: "You're a wizard, Harry." Even today when watching the film, those words are enough to send chills down my arms. And none of the films provides a moment as uplifting as the end. No, not when Harry defeats Voldemort, but when a boy of no remarkable magical talent, who is socially awkward and has a low self-esteem wins the House Cup for Gryffindor. It is a wonderful moment for Neville Longbottom, a touching moment for the audience, and my favorite moment of the film series, right next to his other act of bravery in the final film, but I won't give it away in case those of you reading this haven't seen it nor read the books. Those of you who have see the film or read the books will know which moment I'm writing about.
Now, even though I loved the first film from the moment I watched it, I was still unconvinced as to picking up the series, which by that time had just published the fourth book in the series, I believe. I was a serious English student and above such trivial pursuits as children's literature. Not until the second film, Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets did I yearn for more, more than the celluloid versions could give. And so, after a couple of years without reading anything remotely interesting, I bought Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone; and yes, I did feel foolish buying a child's book for myself. However, I didn't care. I had to know what happened next.
From the first book to the seventh (with a few midnight releases thrown in for good measure), I was propelled on a journey as intriguing and magical as any I've read since, and the films continued to provide some great entertainment as well, although I must confess there was building gap between the quality of the books and the quality of the films, something which could not have been helped, and the fact that the filmmakers continued to produce such quality films is as much a testament to their abilities as to J.K. Rowling's invention. The problem lay in the best quality of Rowling's writing: her ability to create elaborate plots. Each book is essentially a mystery, with each previous book's events setting the scene for the next. Take one plot detail out the books and the whole thing would fall apart. And that's exactly what the filmmakers had to do: disassemble the plot from the books and put it together to make a film everyone would want to see. Only hardcore Harry Potter fans would want to sit through the eight-hour film version of their beloved series, myself included.
The journey did not end with the publication of the final book, at least not for me, and not because there were still more films to go. No, the final book was published at exactly the right time because I was in graduate school and had to write a thesis. I was struggling over what to write my thesis over. I had written a well-received paper on The Matrix trilogy and was considering expanding it into a thesis, but I just couldn't bring myself to do it; I wasn't inspired to write a longer version of that paper. So I looked back at what had inspired me in the past. Not long into my first year of graduate school, I decided what better way to end my academic career than by dedicating myself to the very books that made school tolerable while still a Freshman. My thesis was to cover the entire book series. The original plan was to include a couple of the films as well, the ones that fit within my thesis, but that was not possible; after all, my thesis could only be so long.
The process of writing my thesis was difficult, but fun nevertheless; and after a forty-five minute defense, I passed, receiving my Master of Arts in English in May of 2009. Receiving an education took a lot of hard work on my part, but I don't think it would have been possible if not for J.K. Rowling's books and the films they inspired. It's hard for me to see exactly how I would have made it through, educationally speaking. So much of the university experience requires dedication and devotion, neither of which I had until I was reminded just how much I love books, movies, school, and writing.
So for that, I thank J.K. Rowling. And I thank my parents, for they are the ones who introduced me to the series in the first place. Hopefully, I can one day return the favor by passing the gift of inspiration to others; whether through teaching or my own writing doesn't matter, what does matter is that the gift is passed on to others.
Wednesday, July 13, 2011
Natural Born Killers: A Study of Excess and Power in Film and Television
A few weeks ago I watched Oliver Stone's controversial (would classic be an adequate adjective here, too?) film, Natural Born Killers, and it has taken a while to think of how I'd approach the film, but even today it's hard to write about the film and its lingering effect. So much has already been written regarding the level of violence in the film, so it would be desirable to avoid yet another essay on the violence of the film; however, that would be quite impossible considering that Stone's subject is violence--well, violence in association with media and the public's insatiable need for entertainment. Instead, what I could write about is the powerful effect the film, and others like it, can have on us.
The moving picture, whether small or big, is an intriguing medium because no other art-form so closely mimics our visual perception. No other art-form simulates reality so well. However, Natural Born Killers is far from any reality I know. It plays with conventional representations of family in television sitcoms, hints at the sometimes sinister nature of "getting the story," and the inherent power in representational media. Natural Born Killers poses interesting questions: Are the main characters' murders truly the most reprehensible actions that occur in the film, or is the public's endless desire for entertainment, in whatever form it takes, the true villain of the film? What about the desire for fame and celebrity and the lengths in which we'll go to obtain both?
Stone poses these questions by integrating images and scenarios that refer back to television and film. Take for instance the quite disturbing scene when Mickey (Woody Harrelson) and Mallory (Juliette Lewis) first meet at Mallory's childhood home. The scene plays out as a contrived sitcom piece (complete with laugh-track), but Stone takes the usually saccharine plots of a sitcom and fills it with a lecherous, incestuous, and violent father-figure, far removed from the world of Beaver and the Brady's. This particular scene is a play on how sitcoms represent the ideal familial unit, an ideal that is impossible to live up to, an ideal that adds pressure on families to maintain an unrealistic image. Stone is also hinting at the idea that psychosis and violence often begins at home, the one place, at least according the artistic representations, where we are supposed to be safe and happy.
Unfortunately, the psychosis and violence that begins in the home is hardly going to be contained there, which is where the dangerous power of film and television comes into play. According to Stone's film, film and television act as a magnifying glass for psychosis and violence, but the image within that magnification extends beyond, out into the realm of reality. With it's rapid succession of cuts, edits, and Stone's insistence on not having a single straight shot (the camera is always tilted), Natural Born Killers made me uncomfortable, restless, and tense; there was only one moment in the film when Stone allowed for a moment of calm, almost: the scene when Mickey and Mallory exchange vows and blood. Watching the film, I imagine, feels like looking into the mind of a narcissistic psychotic, where the entire world is both against and paying attention to you, where reality is shattered by a hyperreality, a reality so magnified and distorted that it is virtually unrecognizable.
The problem with Natural Born Killers is that it does not present an alternative to all the craziness, which is Stone's intention, of course. It's an enigmatic film that attempts to bring up more questions than it answers. It makes us all accomplices in the violence that occurs on screen; after all, would Mickey and Mallory have been as violent, or successful, without having an audience? Robert Downey Jr.'s character, Wayne Gale (a television investigator and personality), is the symbol for just such a connection between viewer and murderer. When his interview goes wrong, Gale accompanies (not willingly at first, of course) Mickey and Mallory as they escape from prison; however, he helps them in their escape, killing others as ruthlessly as they do. His motivation is twofold: Gale is willing to do anything for a great interview, more celebrity; and he is also motivated by his unfulfilling life, a suppressed rage that has had no other outlet. Mickey and Mallory are the expressions of the rage that can form in all of us and from the safety of our living rooms we can vicariously experience that rage through their exploits. The problem, of course, is that others are suffering at the hands of their rage, for our own entertainment.
Natural Born Killers has no catharsis, no psychological release of anger and rage, because it is an expression of an unsolved, and possibly unsolvable, problem in our very nature: entertainment at the expense of others. Of course, art at its best can profoundly affect all of us, change us for the better, but the other side is that it can also profoundly affect us in a negative sense. Stone focuses here on the more negative aspects of art's power, and he leaves us to make our own decisions regarding how to react to such a powerful presentation. Just like most of us control our more violent impulses, Stone is perhaps suggesting that such control needs to be exerted over our impulse for entertainment at all cost.
I'm not yet sure if I consider Natural Born Killers as a classic film, but it is definitely a powerful film... a film I don't think I'd like to experience again.
Wednesday, July 6, 2011
Transformers 3: About What You'd Expect
A funny thing happens with a Transformers movie: fans become rabid, heralding the greatness of Michael Bay's vision, and many critics consider the film to be a insult to all film-making. I feel that the reality is probably somewhere between both extremes. Transformers: Dark of the Moon is the latest installment to the franchise, and it delivers exactly what you'd expect: lots of transformations, lots of destruction, lots of huge robots kicking ass, and lots of lingering shots of the new Transformers beauty (Rosie Huntington-Whitely). If you've seen any of the previous films then you know exactly what to expect, whether Bay's vision is your idea of a good time or not.
As for me, I do consider the third film to be an improvement over the second, but still without the emotional impact or character-development of the first. Yes, there are some points in the film that are supposed to illicit an emotional response, but what came before did very little to support those emotional shots. In fact, the entire story seemed to be loosely strung together only to provide us with the context for the devastation Bay presents. He's a kid playing with very large toys, much like the main character from Super 8 (a much better film, even though the special effects of that film are not on the same level of Transformers), but as an adult filmmaker Bay should at least attempt to engage both the child and adult in all of us. It's not enough to simply blow stuff up; without the emotional context of characters we care about, the film is nothing more than a stunt show.
I wouldn't put so much time and energy into trying to understand Transformers if Bay hadn't made good movies before: The Rock, The Island, and Transformers are the only ones I liked, with the first being his best. Bay creates some amazing visuals, but somehow misses the mark when it comes to telling a story, or at least he's a very inconsistent storyteller. The proof is in the final battle sequence. There is no care taken as to character positions in the midst of a devastated Chicago. They pop up wherever and whenever they are needed for the next action sequence. I had no sense of direction or space at all. Great action sequences are stories within stories and so must be treated with the same care as the entire film. Take for instance, Inception, a movie that plays so much with time and space that it would have been very easy to get lost, but Nolan handles it all in such a way that the audience doesn't lose track of where and when.
But really, who am I kidding. If you go into the film knowing you'll enjoy it then you will. The same goes for those of you who know you'll just hate it. Either way, reading a review of Transformers: Dark of the Moon will do neither party any good, which brings up an interesting question: Why am I writing this? And the answer to that is, "I don't know."
But there is one thing I do know for sure: Optimus Prime is a badass.
As for me, I do consider the third film to be an improvement over the second, but still without the emotional impact or character-development of the first. Yes, there are some points in the film that are supposed to illicit an emotional response, but what came before did very little to support those emotional shots. In fact, the entire story seemed to be loosely strung together only to provide us with the context for the devastation Bay presents. He's a kid playing with very large toys, much like the main character from Super 8 (a much better film, even though the special effects of that film are not on the same level of Transformers), but as an adult filmmaker Bay should at least attempt to engage both the child and adult in all of us. It's not enough to simply blow stuff up; without the emotional context of characters we care about, the film is nothing more than a stunt show.
I wouldn't put so much time and energy into trying to understand Transformers if Bay hadn't made good movies before: The Rock, The Island, and Transformers are the only ones I liked, with the first being his best. Bay creates some amazing visuals, but somehow misses the mark when it comes to telling a story, or at least he's a very inconsistent storyteller. The proof is in the final battle sequence. There is no care taken as to character positions in the midst of a devastated Chicago. They pop up wherever and whenever they are needed for the next action sequence. I had no sense of direction or space at all. Great action sequences are stories within stories and so must be treated with the same care as the entire film. Take for instance, Inception, a movie that plays so much with time and space that it would have been very easy to get lost, but Nolan handles it all in such a way that the audience doesn't lose track of where and when.
But really, who am I kidding. If you go into the film knowing you'll enjoy it then you will. The same goes for those of you who know you'll just hate it. Either way, reading a review of Transformers: Dark of the Moon will do neither party any good, which brings up an interesting question: Why am I writing this? And the answer to that is, "I don't know."
But there is one thing I do know for sure: Optimus Prime is a badass.
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