6 posts tagged “books”

A Repetition of Procrastination --

     We seem to do this every year now without fail. Our output seems to consist of doing one real project a year with one or two other shorts (moreso if you include the Team Internet stuff Derek does with his other friends) randomly assorted sometime around that one project. Not an ideal situation if you're trying to break into the whole film business and/or build up a portfolio for graduate school. Since forming The Breakfast Machine about three years ago we've made some films that really stood out amongst our friends, but for the most part I feel like I haven't been contributing as much as I should be.
    It's just hard to find motivation sometimes, especially when you're working with such outdated, low-budget equipment. We're pretty much reliant on natural lighting and in-camera audio - which, if you've ever worked with a low-end Hi-8 camcorder, you know is a pretty crappy way to do things. Sometimes it can be hard to get the right shots because of technical limitations. And then there's the lack of good actors. Somehow between the main four of us (myself, Mari, Derek, and Tommy) we don't really know too many people who are willing to be in front of the camera, let alone take on a starring role. We wind up having to be in our own films, which can be somewhat difficult if you're also trying to direct or otherwise view things semi-objectively.

    So follows the same repetition of our workflow for 2008, although this time we started a lot later (we usually try to finish a film before spring so we can submit it to our college's film festival), and we're looking at completing two seperate projects. The first, naturally, is Purgatory, a short I wrote sometime last year and never got around to completing due to changes in my housing situation and because I kept altering the script. The second is an adaptation of Raymond Chandler's short story, Pearls are a Nuisance, which I read in The Simple Art of Murder this past spring. This past weekend Derek and I spent most of the afternoon discussing ways to both modernize and adapt the story in a way that we'd be able to do it, and we even found a radio show of it from 1945 (check it out here).
    To top things off, since it's The Breakfast Machine's third anniversary we're trying to (finally) get a logo and start up a website so we can look official and maybe begin to take our group in the direction of a real business. It's something I've been dreaming of since our inception, and it's not unreasonable to think that we can succeed in this field so long as we put our minds and talents together and, most importantly, focus.

Status Reports --

    In terms of the actual projects themselves, everything is moving at a decent pace. I'm in the middle of rewriting the Purgatory script (how many times have I said that though?) and two scenes for the as-of-yet untitled Pearls adaptation are finished. The former we can technically start shooting anytime, since I already have the scenes planned out and most of the dialogue can be improvised; it's a technique we've used more than once (see Apt. 309 for a good example). As for the other, we need to start planning out locations, making sure all of our friends and fellow crewmembers are on-board, and finalize the story. It's not that hard when you're working with pre-made material, but when it's from the 1930s-1940s it's a bit of a challenge trying to adapt it so it easily translates to modern times without completely overhauling everything.
    Really we've just begun, so hopefully I can motivate myself by posting periodic updates and perhaps some screenshots from the work we'll be doing. Until then...

Telling Stories

    When I started writing stories in second grade they were never very good despite being better written than my classmates' stories, which usually had to be dictated and modified by my teacher in order to make sense. While most of their ideas were original or based on personal experiences, mine often mimicked the movies I'd seen or the games I'd been playing. I guess I've always had a fondness for being influenced by other media forms. Still, my love for stories came about fairly early on in my life. By the time third grade rolled around I was already reading decent-length novels, and by fourth grade I had read both Jurassic Park and The Lost World: Jurassic Park twice, read practically every R.L. Stine book in existence, and had started writing my own science fiction novel, which has evolved over the years into something that I would have never expected - part of an amalgamation of stories and ideas for video games that I once thought had the potential to rival Star Wars.
    Somewhere during college I think I lost some of my creativity, in no small part thanks to the rigid Creative Writing department at UCSC and the fact that I had to write loads of academic essays for a multitude of classes. The problem I had was that in my creative writing classes I had no real control of the style and aesthetics I wanted to employ in my narratives, which often blurred the lines between reality and what one of my TAs called "genre" fiction. The department had a very narrow approach to writing in that it had to be non-commercial, stick well within the boundaries of a realist mode, and utilize a very plain (and now popularized) mantra of "show, don't tell" aesthetics. Frankly, I couldn't see how this was anymore creative than using the Schaeffer Method. It was after being rejected twice from UCSC's Creative Writing department that I realized that it would've been a mistake to deny myself the privilege to retain my own style and sense of creativity that I'd developed.

    In both my films and my writing I try to stick to my elements. There are certain things that I just like doing, not only because they're in the vein of other artists who I feel in tune with, but because they fit within the realm of what exactly I want to do. There are also a number of things like narrative tropes that I tend to utilize because they pertain to events in my life that I can't let go of (or want to). Tropes like a troubled relationship, cheating ex-girlfriends, and anonymous meetings. There are other tropes that I've come up with - as I said last time, I wrote out a list - though I've yet to use them in a finished product.
    Aesthetics are also key. Although I always used to 'think big' and plan things out that were far too advanced to be practical, I've developed a kind of minimalist attitude based on the work of some Taiwanese New Cinema directors like Tsai Ming-Liang and Hou Hsiao-Hsien, who let their characters tell the story while the camera - and audience - sit back and observe. That's something I want to achieve with Purgatory, once we get around to shooting it this summer. As with my narrative tropes, I have a list of techniques that I feel suit me best depending on the kind of story I'm telling and the mood I'm aiming for. Even though I've never really taken a production course (outside of a six-week summer course in which I learned almost nothing), I feel like it's for the best. Part of me wants to tell myself this is a bad thing, because in the real world of filmmaking there are certain rules you need to adhere to, certain techniques that you just have to know in order to even be able to be considered for a job. The other part of me slaps me in the face with memories of being rejected from the Creative Writing department, and simply asks, "Do you really want to be just like them? Just like everyone else?"

    There's a certain freedom in doing things your own way. Sure, it might be more difficult to gain acceptance and acknowledgment, but at least you can revel in the fact that you're doing what most people can't/don't/won't. You're standing on your own two legs without the aid of manuals and guides telling you how to tell a story. Seriously, if everyone stuck to these rules and aesthetics, wouldn't everyone's work be exactly the same?

(PS: I realize I'm a day late in posting this entry, but it couldn't be helped. Having a full-time job in which I have to wake up at 6AM every morning is more hectic than I thought, and a friend from out of town came down for the day. I'll start blogging the night before from here on.)

   The other day in my seminar we were talking about Christian Keathley's cinephiliac anecdotes, and how they can be used as springboards for larger discussions. Keathley used an example written by a student studying Fritz Lang's M; essentially the student focused on the use of bowler hats in the film to talk about the origin of bowling as a sport, something about it being used by German cults to "cleanse" sins. The student then related this back to the film, in which he describes Peter Lorre's character as a "pin" being chased around the "alleys" of the city and such.
   At this point in the discussion one of the other students in my seminar goes off on a tangent about how this example doesn't make any sense at all, since bowler hats have nothing to do with bowling. His whole argument was that since there's no real connection between the two, the student's reading of the film is totally wrong and therefore invalid. I'm not quite sure what was said immediately afterwards, but it lead to a discussion about filmmakers and theory. According to this guy, every film has to involve some sort of theoretical framework, otherwise it automatically is labeled - as he put it - as "bad". I don't know why, but this struck a cord with me.
  

First off, Keathley himself points out that one reason for the declining interest in film studies is because the discipline has become extremely elitist; individual interpretation has been replaced with a mechanical way of looking at movies. As he says, his book is meant to show how individual experiences - cinephilic "moments" - are important in reading film, and the above example is meant to show how anyone can come up with an interpretation of the film by looking at specific objects or moments in the film.
   The guy in my seminar is a total example of how snobby a lot of film students are. He talked a lot about the Russian school of film (i.e. Eisenstein) and how a lot of those filmmakers were also film theorists who infused their films with their theories. He's always comparing everything we watch in class to these theorists and putting down a lot of other ideas and theories that are just as valid, which is something I've grown tired of over the course of the quarter. What's worse is that this guy made it into the Critical Studies concentration, which is something I wanted to do. It's bad enough that our department is already so U.S./Euro-centric when it comes to film theory, but to have an elitist guy like him teaching a seminar in the spring is just ... baffling.

   Truth be told, sometimes I do get a touch of elitism when it comes to "knowing" more about film than others. But hey, everyone's like that at some point or another. People just love to show off their knowledge, especially when they know the other person doesn't know certain things. My friend Derek is like that all the time, but there's a difference between simply passing on factual information and trying to eliminate a certain way of thinking. When dealing with non-film majors it's easy to get carried away, but this poses the problem of alienating people away from film studies, as Keathley writes.
   What we need to do is to open up film studies, to make its appeal a little more broad. Film studies, especially in regards to theory, is not completely dictated by the Russian montage theorists or the French writers of Cahiers du Cinema, despite how influential they've been in helping to create film studies as a discipline. Literary studies have already begun to delve into the individual experience, but until film studies can do the same, you're only going to see the same people talking about how Eisenstein's a genius, French films are the "best", and how your interpretation of (insert name of film) is completely and utterly wrong.
   So please, be a little open-minded when it comes to film. We're not all a bunch of pricks.

   There's a reason why I haven't blogged in almost a week, and it's because I had to write a little over fifteen pages' worth of essays during that time. Ah, midterms. I'm sure after graduation when I have nothing better to do but work I'll actually miss them. Speaking of which, my quarter is ending in another three or four weeks, which means finals are right around the corner. For me that entails two more lengthy essays and a final project for my seminar on film theory. The other day I came up with an idea of what I want to do.
   The assignment essentially calls for a project that expresses how each of us in the seminar views cinephilia, and we can do this in any way we want to so long as there's the inclusion of a written portion (another eight or ten pages). Some suggestions my professor noted included an autobiographical element, something I've always been good at (well, most people should be good at talking about themselves). Immediately I thought of writing about my passion with collecting DVDs.
   My DVD collection's currently sitting at 110 (box sets and multi-disc movies count as single DVDs), with three more on the way that I wound up winning on eBay for a good deal. Before the year ends I'm hoping to bring that number as close to 150 as possible. Why? Because I want to build a massive library of films that I like - and I just happen to like a lot of films. One of my bad personality traits happens to be that I'm a huge materialist, and I attribute that to growing up on the edge of being poor. My theory is that if you spend money on something, you should be given a tangible object, something you can keep and enjoy again and again. I'm not a big fan of one-time experiences, especially the more enjoyable ones, which is why I don't go to the movies as often as I'd like these days. It's just too expensive, and if I'm going to spend that much money I might as well go to Streetlight and get a DVD for the same price.
   To tie in to that part about materiality, I have to say that I just love how my collection looks. Whenever I look at my bookshelf and see it filled with movies I just have to smile. There's a kind of pride in having such a huge collection because it represents a part of myself. One girl in my seminar talked about her library of books. She said that even though she probably won't ever reread the majority of her books, she loves keeping them on display because it gives a measure of "intelligence" and "experience" (her words) - it shows others that she's read those books and consumed them. To an extent I agree with that position as well.

   Another facet of collecting I'm interested in exploring is how certain companies seem to cater to those types of crowds. Take The Criterion Collection, for example (the word "collection" is right there), and the more recent Dragon Dynasty. Both companies prominently tag their DVD releases with numbers and keep a catalog list that acts as a handy checklist of sorts. And, if you like the films they put out, collecting them all becomes a habit because you know that there's some kind of overarching element that connects them all; one film leads to another through a common connection.
   The same goes, in a way, with "special editions". They feel special, and having those editions instead of regular, more mass-market editions gives you a sense that you own something slightly more valuable. And typically they're a better value, especially on sale. I made the mistake of buying the single-disc edition of Pan's Labyrinth when it first came out on DVD, and a week later I saw the two-disc set for only $5 more. Needless to say, I kicked myself for that blunder. Hard.
   I think based on this idea, of special collector's editions, I want to make my own DVD, cover and all. My essay will take the form of a booklet insert, and the DVD itself will ... actually, I'm not sure. I was thinking of doing a short film asking people about their own forms of collecting and/or viewing experiences, but that might take more time to do. We'll see how I feel by next week. I definitely need to do the writing portion as soon as possible, especially since I have to present my outline in two weeks.
   But hey, I think it's a good start. My DVDs are a big part of my life, and I hope that I'll be able to pass them on when the time comes.

    This past week I was finally able to watch Hou Hsiao-Hsien's A City of Sadness. Ever since coming to college I've been trying to explore the Chinese side of my identity, mainly because up until college I was never considered as such. In high school everyone always saw me as white because of the way I looked; I guess it was expected, seeing as the majority of my high school was made up of Chinese kids, many of them actually from China. Since coming to college it's been the opposite. For once, I'm actually being considered Chinese (due in part to my open regard for my own "hapa"-ness), and it's a great feeling to be accepted ... for once.
   As I mentioned briefly in my last post, I'm interested in researching the Taiwanese New Cinema movement which took place in the 1980s-1990s (and, as it can be argued, is still continuing to this day). I've already seen a small number of films that have made their way to the United States, as well as spent some of my own money on books to use in my own personal research (see my book list for a few). It's been a slow process, but I'm really starting to learn a lot about the movement, as well as about the history of Taiwan itself, which is something I haven't thought too much of until recently.
   The reason why I'm so interested in Taiwanese cinema as opposed to mainland China or Hong Kong is that I'm technically half Taiwanese. My dad was born in Taipei, and the majority of my family on his side still resides in Taiwan. My dad's never even been to the mainland, and despite considering himself Chinese, his real home was in Taiwan. Now, from what I've learned about Taiwanese identity and history, that's kind of a paradox, because the Chinese population living in Taiwan technically aren't real Taiwanese, at least not in the sense that everyone except Native Americans aren't real Americans. From what I've heard, my family actually came over from the mainland sometime around the Chinese Civil War, around the same time as the Kuomintang (KMT). If you're familiar with Taiwan history at all then you'll know that the KMT was highly oppressive with the Taiwanese people that had been living on the island for decades under the Japanese occupation, and they essentially treated the Taiwanese people like colonists and slaves rather than compatriots.
   And here's where my post connects with A City of Sadness. Hou's film is set during the transitional period between the end of the Japanese occupation and the KMT's takeover of Taiwan in 1949. The focus is on a local family, who experiences death, political oppression, and incredible loss during this time. It's pretty depressing despite the film beginning with a birth and ending with a wedding. There's an ambiguous feeling by the time the credits begin to roll - does the film end with a suggestion of hopefulness or hopelessness? It's hard to tell.

   The film really kind of tore me up inside, knowing what I know about both Taiwanese history as well as my family's own personal history. Can I say that I'm really part Taiwanese despite my family's Chinese heritage? Is there even a difference in contemporary times? Taiwan's current president seems to think so, which is why he's vying for independence from mainland China (something I won't go into). My identity is already divided in half, and now those halves are threatened to be divided into quarters because of these issues. I'm not even sure where to stand on certain points.
   Funny that as soon as I begin to feel comfortable with my identity everything goes to pieces because of a single film. I guess that's the power of film itself as a socio-political medium. It definitely has the power to make you think if you're willing to look at the larger social issues and history. Of course, I'm sure half the people in my class were just wanting the film to end because of its length (over three hours) and the obsessive use of long shots and long takes, but I'm still glad I managed to see it, and subtitled in English. It's not readily available over here like Hou Hsiao-Hsien's other films (Millenium Mambo, The Puppetmaster). I'm going to try and seek out a copy for myself.
   I've also been reinvigorated to go back and watch Edward Yang's Yi Yi, which has been on my shelf for awhile now, calling me to watch it again. In fact, perhaps I'll do that this weekend since I have off on Monday.

   The other day in my film theory seminar we talked about the relation between cinephilia (which is the overall focus of the course) and knowledge. We're supposed to write a five-page essay about it before November 5th, but I figured why not bounce some ideas around on my blog? Anyway, we're being asked to write about what it is the exact correlation between these two things, using  Metz's idea of film as a "socio-psychological" tool and examining one of these two books and their respective film: