11 posts tagged “movies”

Stuck in the Box --
    Has it really been nearly a month since my last entry regarding filmmaking? Geez, time sure blows by when you're working full-time and too damned tired to do much else but watch a movie or spend an hour or two playing video games before hitting the hay. Ah well, there's still another month left before I head back to San Francisco for good, and only another week or two before I leave my job (I gave them notice two weeks ago). Most likely one of our two films is going into production this weekend, which will be a nice change of pace.
    I decided the other night to scrap the screenplay for Purgatory in favor of pulling a Wong Kar-Wai; instead of writing everything out with stiff dialogue and trying to stick to a solid idea I'm going to try and be more natural. Fluidity is the name of the game. I'm just going to head out with my camera, tripod, and girlfriend (who plays the lead character) and just shoot the scenes I've got in my head, and once Derek comes back from jury duty next Tuesday we'll start shooting his scenes as well. Heck, we might even be able to shoot the scenes that I'm in as well, given that one of Mari's friends is staying over for a few days. Most likely I'll add in a couple of scenes here and there to extend the film a bit, as one of the biggest problems I've had with the previous scripts is how rushed and compact it all feels.
    Another change I wanted to make was to ditch the whole dark comedy angle and make it a bit more ... well, I guess I'd call it demented. I've always been a fan of darker films that tend to explore a character's nature instead of having some character with problems being placed in some situation that allows them to work things out. Mari likes the idea, as it'll give her character a whole new dimension that was sorely lacking based on the scripts I've written. Not to mention it's easier for me since I can stick with what I know; most of my recent stories tend to be told from a first-person perspective, and the characters tend to talk about themselves an awful lot despite what goes on around them. Sure, it's kind a cop-out to revert to a style you're already familiar with, but at the same time we - as in, The Breakfast Machine - have yet to make a real film that isn't some sort of action/martial arts short. The only exception is Apt. 309, which I liked because it was an homage to The Twilight Zone (1959-1964), one of my favorite TV shows.

     My friend King, a graphic artist and animator, was telling me a few weeks ago when we were brainstorming ideas for an animated short together that one thing I need to do is to start thinking outside the box when it comes to the types of stories I come up with. We've worked together on a few occasions, notably a few years ago when we came up with a script that served two purposes - a treatment for a film and the basis for what would later be an idea for a graphic novel that I still want to do. He knows what kind of stories I write, and we both know that they're stories that aren't exactly the kind that appeal to everyone since they're darker in nature and tend to be somewhat personal. One thing he suggested I do is to try and think of stories that are generally appealing and deal with situations and problems that lots of people run into, and also to try and shape them so that they're funny (well, he may not have said that, but I guess it was implied, given that he wanted to do a comedy).
    Purgatory was originally going to be funny, in a Wes Anderson kind of way, I suppose. It was supposed to look at the idea of an afterlife and make fun of the gravity of a situation like being dead, but somewhere along the line I think I lost that sense of comedy that I originally envisioned. It's just not that funny anymore, and everytime I look back at the first draft of script I tend to frown instead of laugh - if anything I'll laugh because the dialogue's just that bad. Death itself is something everyone deals with, but at the same time it's not really something that people find very funny. My girlfriend had a particularly impacting death in her family, and I sometimes feel like an ass because I'm casting her as a dead person, and part of the original screenplay includes a scene in which she commits suicide. Yeah, a bit screwed up, I know.
    At any rate, this project isn't really for "mass appeal". It's really to prove to myself that I'm capable as both a writer and a director. Unlike most of the other films I've been involved in, I'm trying to take complete control of the reins instead of just having Derek do most of the work (which he usually wants to do, with the exception of the writing). It's a way for me to exorcise the ideas I've had in my head for months, almost years now.
    I'm tired of giving excuses for not having started. That's probably the biggest reason why I'm just going to go out and do it.

    One thing that's been missing from this film blog has been reviews of the films I've been watching lately. I mean, if my resolution is to watch 120 new movies during the course of the year, I'm bound to come across a lot of good, bad, and horrendously terrible films. Why shouldn't I have something to say about them? After all, with a B.A. in Film & Digital Media I should be thinking critically, analytically, and serioously about each and every film I come across. And so begins the monthly series I've named "The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly", after one of my favorite westerns (as if you couldn't decipher that on your own, right?).
    Here are the rules: (1) You don't talk about GBU; (2) You do talk about movies seen during the month; (3) Pick three movies, one that was good, one that wasn't so great, and one that was just plain crap; (4) Explain why the movie was awesome or why it sucked; (5) Rinse and repeat once a month. Shall we begin the first session?

The GOOD: Surf's Up (2007) --

    I was really surprised with this film. Truly. Originally my girlfriend wanted to watch it because she loves surfing, she loves cute animated films, and she heard Surf's Up was good. It's been on Encore lately so one night we decided, what the hell, let's watch it. Honestly, I was expecting yet another decent CGI movie with cutesy characters, a barebones feel-good plot, and a few laughs here and there, but Surf's Up really defied all of these expectations.
    First off, the decision to stage the film as a pseudo-documentary/mockumentary was one that - as far as I've seen - hasn't been done in a mainstream animated film. This style not only makes the film a little more engaging for viewers - with handheld camera movements and the ability for characters to break fourth-wall conventions and seemingly interact with the audience - but also allows for a greater degree of freedom when it comes to character development. And the characters in Surf's Up, while sometimes cliche for a movie of this kind, are pretty nicely developed through this method. Of course, one problem with the use of documentary aesthetic is that sometimes there's no real excuse for the camera to be there, and some scenes certainly lose the feel of authenticity because of it.
    Another thing that struck me about the film was the incredible quality of the visuals. Water is always hard to texture and animate in a CGI film because there's just so much random movement and fluidity that it's easy to gloss over and forget about. But when you're dealing with a film about surfing penguins then you really can't ignore the water effects, and I have to say, I have yet to see better water effects in an animated film or video game. The other textures were also beautifully done, as were the characters and their movements. A definite nod to the animators for their attention to detail.
    Overall, Surf's Up is quite a stand-out film in the growing field of 3D animated films that have become popular in the US since Toy Story (1995) was released. It's perfect for younger audiences but has enough general appeal to satisfy practically anyone. I have not been impressed by a CGI film since The Incredibles (2004), and I'm always glad to see 3D animation done in a way that doesn't totally tank (cough, Matrix Reloaded, cough).

The BAD: Suicide Circle (a.k.a. Suicide Club) (2002) --

    It's never good when a film you've heard so much about and have always wanted to see turns out to be pretty bleh, and that's exactly how I felt by the times the credits started to roll at the end of Suicide Club, the first film of Sono Sion's trilogy. Most people will probably disagree with me on this, but the biggest problem I had with the Sono's film is that by the end it made no sense at all. The plot itself is a nice hybrid of typical horror and detective conventions seen in other Japanese-inspired horror films like The Ring (2002) and The Grudge (2004), but somewhere towards the second half of the film all semblence of sense and convention breaks down and the film almost seems to suggest one thing but suddenly decide against it. Am I the only one who thought the ending was going to involve subliminal messaging and/or some form of weird cult made up of creepy children?
    Don't get me wrong, the film is actually fairly well made, utilizing a lot of hand-held camera movements and long takes to really suck you in, and the conventions I mentioned above really fit with the creepy story (I mean, it's people killing themselves in huge waves). The social commentary is also quite apparent, given that Japan has a huge problem with suicide. However, much of the real power of the film is lost due to the lack of both sense and closure. And, from what I've read, the sequel - Noriko's Dinner Table (2006) - doesn't quite fill the void.
    It's funny, but when my girlfriend and I talked about it afterward, I realized that Suicide Club is a lot like Haruki Murakami's After Dark: the writing is great, the characters are all interesting and well-developed, and the plot is fairly riveting, but by the end you realize the entire thing throws itself off the cliff before reaching the summit (actually, that seems to be a suitable metaphor for this movie). It's more unfortunate than it is bad really, which is why it's the Bad for June, as opposed to the Ugly.

The UGLY: The Forbidden Kingdom (2008) --

    It's usually difficult for me to get so riled up about a film that I'll sit and have a heated debate about it for a good forty-five minutes almost half a week after I've seen it. Somehow, The Forbidden Kingdom managed to do just that, and the reasoning behind it is why I've chosen this film as the Ugly for this month. There are a number of things I absolutely despised about this film, ranging from the plot - based on a very, very loose retelling of Journey to the West - to the decentralization of the lead characters in favor of some lame Asiaphile white boy.
    The plot of the film is pretty much a carbon copy of Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles III (1993), in which the protagonist of the film, some kung-fu obsessed white kid from the mean streets of contemporary Boston, discovers the legendary staff of the Monkey King, Sun Wukong, is an old Chinatown pawn shop and gets sent back in time to a mythical Tang Dynasty China. There, he is made to fulfill the quest of returning the staff to its rightful owner, and along the way is joined by a drunken scholar (Jackie Chan) and a monk (Jet Li). Oh, and the beautiful-but-deadly young female who - obviously - the white kid starts to fall for. I don't know about you, but I certainly see how the Hollywood power-play comes into effect here: when you're billing this as a film starring two of the world's most famous martial arts superstars, why include a character who has absolutely no business in the story? And to top it off, why make him the only white kid in the film? As opposed to what you might think, there weren't many Caucasians running around China in the Tang Dynasty, let alone speaking English.
    Another thing I'm mad about is how badly all of the actors seem to be in this film. With such stars as Jackie Chan, Jet Li, and even Colin Chou you'd expect The Forbidden Kingdom to at least showcase their acting abilities in a well-developed manner. But no, they all continue to be placed in horribly stereotypical roles - Chan with his silly, drunken master role, Li with his unsmiling and serious monk role (though his Sun Wukong is funny to watch), and Chou as the make-up wearing bad guy who sounds "right out of a comic book", as Jim Kelly would put it. Naturally, the white kid's acting is also pretty bland.
    I could go on and on about all the other little things I disliked about The Forbidden Kingdom, but instead I'll end my review with a positive note. This is probably one of the few Hollywood films that does martial arts action in a good way. Naturally, whenever you have Yuen Woo-Ping it's a good thing, but the director seemed to allow him, Chan, and Li a lot of freedom in terms of the fight scenes, which are face-paced and beautifully choreographed. While that may be the saving grace for some, like my friend Derek, it's not enough for me to consider this film good by any means.

The WRAP-UP --
    That's all for this month's installment of the Good, the Bad, and the Ugly. It wasn't too difficult picking from this month's films (head over to my 43 Things or All Consuming page to see what else I watched), although for a moment I considered replacing The Forbidden Kingdom with Troll 2 (1990). Although universally considered one of the worst films of all time, Troll 2 does have one saving grace: it's downright hilarious, which is more than I can say for The Forbidden Kingdom. Anyway, I need to get started on watching my ten films for July. I've been downloading a ton of Asian films lately so my list will probably be pretty centered around them. Until next month!

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.)

   Lately, my roommate's been watching a Japanese anime called Lucky Star. A few minutes ago he and another friend were watching an episode of it on our living room TV, and I sat here at the computer listening to it and cringing. And that cringing leads me to write this entry, to explain why exactly I hold some contempt for the whole anime aesthetic and the people who adore it. In discussing this issue with my friend, we came up with three things in particular that I seem to focus on: (1) narrative, (2) artwork, and (3) fandom. While I'm sure there are more elements I take issue with, these are the three things I seem to have the problem with the most.

1. Narrative - "My Life for a Decent Storyline"
   Being a writer and an avid fan and student of literature, I love books and movies that can tell good stories. Ones that can keep me immersed in a different world for hours upon end. If I feel like I'm emerging from a dream at the end, then it's been worth it to dedicate the time.
   One of my biggest gripes with a lot of anime series I've come across are that they have no real story to them, or when they do they're so cliche and boring that I don't feel like watching the other 80+ episodes. For example, series like Inuyasha and Pokemon, which just never seem to end despite every episode having the exact same formula. I mean, even the shows that my roommate loves (Lucky Star, The Melancholy of Haruhi Suzumiya) don't seem to really do much in the way of plot, and simply serve as a vehicle for seemingly random events, 'cutesy'-ness, and cultural inside jokes. To me, shows like these are a real waste of time, because I don't feel invested in the characters at all, nor does there seem to be any reason to continue watching because nothing is really happening episode after episode.
   On the other hand, there are certain anime that really attract me because of their strong narratives that transcend the importance of the genre and aesthetic. Neon Genesis Evangelion is quite possibly my favorite example of this. Although it tends to be shoveled into the genre of a 'mech' or 'giant robot' show, Evangelion focuses heavily on plot, character development, and the infusion of religious and philosophical criticism. While the show doesn't necessarily rely on its anime aesthetic or cultural relevance, it's hard to imagine the show being made anywhere else in the world. It's the same with a film series like Godzilla - it just doesn't work when you try to adapt it.
   I also should mention here that, when I think about it, a lot of the American cartoons that I really love - Rocko's Modern Life, Ren & Stimpy - don't actually have stories either. They're more like sitcoms in that sense, and while they don't actually go anywhere, I still love them for some reason. Perhaps it's the cultural difference between American cartoons and Japanese anime. And here, I have to stress the need to point that YES, CULTURAL DIFFERENCE DOES MATTER (more on this in my third section on fandom).

2. Artwork - "I Know What I Like"
   This section is a little more subjective, because people will always debate on whether animation (including 3D) should start moving towards realism or not; usually this comes up in discussions of next-generation video games. When it comes to anime the artwork of a show usually falls within a range of at least three areas: from realistic to moderate to exaggerated. The first area is self-explanatory. The third area tends to evoke more of a cartoonish feel, with a reliance on extreme facial expressions, unrealistic movements and actions, and 'different' appearances. The moderate area is pretty much a blend of the two, and typically seems to be used in shows of mediocre quality.

    Personally, when it comes to anime I tend to prefer shows that have a more realistic look to them as opposed to the cartoonish style of others, mainly because the shows that use the exaggerated style of artwork are the very same ones that have no real story. The exaggeration of the artwork tends to be part of the comedy since it allows with a wide range of physical actions that you wouldn't see in more realistic shows.
   Now that's not to say I only watch shows that have a realist attitude. Hell, most American cartoons are extremely exaggerated. Many of my favorites even tend to use anthropomorphic animals as characters. It's just that for some reason I haven't found myself actually liking anime that use anything but. And as that old saying goes, "I may not know art, but I know what I like."

3. Fandom - "Or, Why I Don't Like You"
   I've always wanted to write about the fandom surrounding anime. When I was in high school I was part of that group, known by the Japanese term otaku - if you'd rather not look it up, it essentially refers to anime geeks. Anyway, there was a span of time when I'd watch anime with my friends, attempt to learn some rudimentary Japanese, and use the same stupid exaggerated actions that the characters in the shows do. By the time I was ready to graduate I'd learned to stop that crap because I started caring about my public image - which does say something about the kind of image that is produced by engaging in anime fandom. It's not like you don't see this in other realms, otherwise there wouldn't be a fan about Trekkies, Comic-Con and Wonder-Con, or the entirety of geek culture that's become more and more appealing over the past decade.
   The biggest problem I have with anime geeks is that they tend to worship a culture that, more often than not, they understand very little about. As opposed to what most would like to believe, Japanese anime does not depict a realistic view of Japanese culture or society, and it won't help you speak the language. Japan itself is a country that has a long, rich history that goes back centuries, and watching its cartoons is probably the worst way to try and grasp any notion of Japanese consciousness. What's worse is that there are hundreds of people out there who make no attempt at all to actually learn anything about Japan through academic means; I've heard stories of anime geeks who fail Japanese language classes and classes about pop culture because of their reluctance to learn anything outside of what they get from anime.
   As I've said, cultural difference does matter. For most American otaku, I feel the need to pull them aside and remind them that they're not Japanese (sure, there are a good number of actual Japanese Americans that are ethnically Japanese, and depending on the case they remain the exception). If you're a white person who's lived your entire life in sub/urban America, you can't honestly expect anyone to believe that you're in tune with Japanese culture. And you shouldn't be going by some typical Japanese name you got from a cartoon. Anime is ripe with cultural constructs that only those who have lived in the society can understand, and many more instances of cultural relativism and criticism. We as Americans experience a very different lifestyle than the Japanese, and vice versa, and it just seems weird how so many Americans are obsessed with this false image of Japan that they almost construct for themselves. To me it's a more extreme version of cultural tourism.

   While I could say the same thing about Trekkies or Star Wars fans, there's a certain cultural importance when talking about otaku. Even the Japanese seem to think we're silly people for our love of silly cartoons, catgirls, and maids. And unlike the aforementioned examples, more and more younger kids are becoming anime fans these days as it becomes heavily mainstream in American media and as an aesthetic that a number of American cartoons are attempting to cash in on as the cultural divide begins to become more and more blurry. You don't see as many kids playing with toy lightsabers and wanting to be a Jedi when they grow up. Too bad. As time goes on, anime's continuing mainstream success will only serve to devalue the aesthetic as a cultural value central to Japan. After all, why bother with authentically Japanese shows when you could use the same style of artwork, toss in some typical cliches like giant robots and people with cat ears, and skip all that subtitling crap by making everything in English. Oh, and you can forget all of those strange jokes that Americans don't understand because of their cultural specificity. Perfect!

   It's hard for me to completely express my feelings on a matter like this in a single post. Most likely I'll find something that I forgot to mention and smack myself on the head for forgetting such an important issue, but until then this post will have to suffice. Anime is a touchy subject for me, given my personal involvement with it years ago, and I'm still skeptical about the whole idea of watching it because I don't ever want to go back to being one of those people. It scares me for some reason.
   I'm pretty sure this guy would tend to agree:

   Earlier today I was actually thinking of sports in relation to the way we think about film and television, mainly in terms of spectatorship. Most film theorists including Christian Metz viewed film as a medium that, although viewed in a theater packed with other people, is actually consumed by an individual rather than as a group. Sure, you can argue against that statement, but contrast watching a film in the theater with watching a film on TV with a group of friends. In the former mode of viewing there's more of an internalization of the story (let's assume the film is a fictional narrative), more engagement with what's ultimately going on in the world on-screen. In the latter mode one is more prone to staying outside the boundaries of the diagesis, remaining grounded in the real world via talking, making jokes and references, et cetera. As one theorist - whose name I unfortunately can't remember - wrote, film's relation to a viewer is likened to that of a novel. (Bare with me, I'm getting to my point regarding television and sports.)
   Now television works on a fundamentally different level in terms of spectatorship. For the most part television is produced as a medium that actually depends and thrives on a large audience, though to a large extent fictional television still retains many of the functions of film. Take a show like Battlestar Galactica, a terrific serial that invokes the same engagement with the diagetic universe created for the audience. You know you're not the only one watching, but, as you're watching and remaining engaged with the story you unconsciously negate that factor. It's okay, that's natural.
   Sports, on the other hand, along with certain types of shows including newscasts and reality television, tend to work in the opposite manner. Whereas narrative fiction is all about engaging one-on-one with the content, sports use the content to invoke a sense of unity between the largely unseen audiences. Here, the sports event is the spectacle, but because sports are inherently about a kind of a shared pride akin to something like nationalism within a country, it automatically presupposes this notion of 'us' - as in 'our team'. Not only do fans stand behind their team, but they also stand alongside - though not literally, at least when watching on TV - countless others, forming a collective group of fans who also share the same experience. This experience isn't the same as the kind you get from a show or film, especially these days when select episodes are available for download at any given moment or available for purchase on DVD. No, sports events are based solely on a fleeting moment in time, one that is often forgotten barring any memorable moments. What remains usually is the effect, either of a win or a loss, that carries over to the next game and remains cumulative over the course of a season.
   Take sports rivalries for example. Not only do they exist between the teams themselves, but fans also feel the same distaste for each other that the players do. And the fans tend to remember and relive old rivalries long after the players do in many cases - the San Jose Sharks and Calgary Flames have been rivals in the National Hockey League for years due to the Sharks besting the Flames in previous playoff series, and even though many players have come and gone in that time, the rivalry is still felt between the players, both rookies and veterans. And, of course, the fans on both sides have kept the 'flame' going (hur hur, pun!), due to the two teams facing each other in the 2008 playoffs.
   You can see this unity most clearly at sports bars, with everyone huddled together watching the television screens, cheering their team on in hopes of a victory. The fans watching the game on TV automatically have a kind of affinity for the fans in attendance at the actual game in that they're all watching the same game at the same time, and cheering for the same team. Get it?

   Yeah, it's getting late and my thoughts are starting to get a bit cloudy. I should get some sleep, not only because I have another early morning tomorrow, but because game five of the series between the Sharks and Flames is on tomorrow night. And you know I'll be watching, along with thousands of other Sharks fans. And with that, I give you ... Joe Thornton.

   2008 is coming up fast, and I've been coming up with a rough draft of resolutions for the new year. One of my main resolutions is to watch 120 new films throughout the year, broken down into about 10 films a month. Now that may not sound like a big number to someone who constantly watches films, but with graduation and a thesis to write in the next few months I won't exactly have a lot of freetime to kick back with a good flick. Not to mention going to the movies these days is getting extremely pricey, and new DVDs aren't cheap either. Still, I'm going to try and make time to watch that many movies.
   Looking back on 2007 is still fun though. Despite my year being fairly ordinary (yet incredibly fast), I did manage to see a lot of good movies. To me it felt like this year was big for comedies, as most of my big picks for the year seem to consist of such. Good to see that something so "simple" can get the appreciation it deserves; comedy is harder to pull off than you'd think though.
   Anyway, here are my top ten favorite films of this year, including some that - before 2007 - I had never seen before:

   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 first time I made a film was in high school. I remember my friends and I heading over to Golden Gate Park in San Francisco with a camcorder, and when we got there we made our friend Gordon take his shirt off and cover himself in ketchup to simulate blood. Of course, without his shirt on he wouldn't lie down on the dirty gravel, so he kind of hunched next to the wall of a tunnel while another of our friends investigated the bloody "corpse". All of a sudden - boom! - Gordon starts moaning like something out of Romero's Night of the Living Dead and slowly ambling forward while our other friend pops off five or six rounds from a cheap toy gun that doesn't actually shoot anything. We didn't want to shoot anymore since we didn't have a script, an idea of where to go, and Gordon wanted to wash up. We never picked up the film after that.
    Senior year I had to make more films for my AP English class. The only one I remember really putting any effort into was a crappy rendition of Shakespeare's Othello, but since my group comprised of me and two of my Chinese friends, we changed the story around so that Othello was white (which I looked and identified more with in high school, despite being half Chinese) and living in a world made up of Chinese. The work was grueling and long, but we wound up finishing up the project thanks to my friend Derek. We dubbed the finished work O², after the other Othello film with Josh Hartnett, Mekhi Phifer and Julia Stiles. Unfortunately we still got a B on it, despite it being "epic" in our eyes.
    Fast-forward to fall of my Freshman year of college, and I'm asked to make a film for my Core course. At that point in time I didn't have a camcorder of my own, and none of my close friends had one that I could use for my project, so I wound up shooting the film - a short interview with my dad regarding his immigration to the United States - in thirty-second intervals using my digital camera. My classmates liked my film, as did my professor and TA. They said it had a very "cinematic" quality to it. I think it was at that point that I realized that I liked making films. By the following spring my parents bought me a camcorder and my friends and I - the two I had worked on O² with, Derek, and another friend who went to UCSC with me - formed a production group under the named JAWED Productions; the name was derived from our first names (Jeff, Austin, Will, Edmond, Derek).

   Of course, we never actually completed a film under that name. Our first real film, PWNED!! (2005), was done under the modified name "MAWD" since my then-girlfriend thought it was "unfair" to use a name when not everyone was represented (yeah, whatever). We shot the film in my dorm room as well as the laundry room and dining hall of my residential college, finishing everything including an all-nighter for editing in about four days. We submitted it to an on-campus student film festival and got a great reception by all of our friends who attended, later getting even more praise for the film by our friends online after putting it up on YouTube.
   It was then that we decided to take our filmmaking to yet another level. At the time I decided that I wanted to study film as a medium, so I made the decision to double-major in Film & Digital Media as well as Literature, which was what I was currently majoring in (although I had planned to do Creative Writing, which is a concentration of Lit for some reason). We changed the name of our production group to something more fitting, something we all understood, loved, and instantly clicked with - The Breakfast Machine.
   Since then we've made a number of short films and been in a couple of film festivals. Hell, we won a viewer's choice award last year at another UCSC film festival. By now we've gotten fairly good at the technique of filmmaking despite the lack of equipment and personnel to work with. Every film we make is another step forward, and even though we generally only churn out one "solid" film a year those films wind up being huge strides for us in terms of production. From PWNED!! we moved on to a 20-minute neo-noir, Delivery (2006), which was radically different than anything we had done; and after that we pulled off the experimental action/thriller HK (2007). Now we're working on a number of other projects, including a film I've been working on since last year, Purgatory.

   This past summer marked our two-year anniversary as The Breakfast Machine, and as we moved into our Senior year of college I started to look back at what we've done and reflect on what sort of things I actually want to do with film. When doing the rewrite for the Purgatory script I started to jot down what sort of themes and tropes I wanted to deal with in my films, what kinds of aesthetics I'd like to employ in telling my stories, and what defined my style and philosophy of filmmaking. Naturally, very little of what I wrote down has made it to any of our films, because my ideas tend to be long, drawn out, epic you might say. Beyond our current fiscal reach. But I'm starting to get to a point where I can work with what we've got.
   Filmmaking is definitely something I like to do, and I definitely want to keep on doing it. In many ways I'm glad I'm not part of the production concentration here at UCSC, because I hate to be restricted and confined to doing certain things. I love having the freedom to express myself in whatever way I want. I only hope I'll be able to keep on doing just that even after college.

   I realize that this post is long enough as it is, but it's only the first part of what I want to write about when it comes to making films. Next time I'll write more about those aesthetics and themes I talked about in the above paragraphs. For now I'll be content with the history portion, because if there's anything I learned from taking film classes here, it's that the historical context has just as much weight as the theoretical images within a film.