This piece was created with a special animation desk that was rigged out of a second-hand bought submachine gun.
That gun made mandalas. I'm in love.
Thursday, March 26, 2009
Monday, March 9, 2009
Monday, March 2, 2009
THE HAMMER & ŠIKL
TWO NEW IDOLS OF FILM DISCIPLINE
JAN ŠIKL
(a.k.a. The Slick Mistah Šikl!)
"Czechoslovakia's twentieth century is a history of constant assault on human identity. Whether we talk about both of the World Wars, and then the communist system—, there were many regime changes throughout the century. Even the communist era had different chapters, some harsher than others and people had to adjust to the reality of the time. I think that all of this history is typically viewed only through the lens of power-politics, and the individual histories of people get lost."
(Šikl, Radio Praha, June 13, 2006)
***
As you may or may not know, my latest film (most likely my Senior Thesis at Syracuse) will be almost entirely comprised of a selection from hours and hours of archival footage of my family, magnificently shot by my great-grandmother in color 8-mm. The film will focus on my relationship with my father primarily, as well as discuss the unique disposition of him and his siblings (all five of whom have turned out either homosexual or bisexual). Obviously the personal nature of this type of project will make it very hard to produce.
Here in Prague, I recently had the opportunity to meet Czech filmmaker and FAMU alumni Jan Šikl after a screening of one of his works. My advisor (who is a filmmaker and fellow FAMU graduate from Bratislava, Slovakia) suggested I seek his advice about my own project because of his experience with archival footage. I am happy to say that he has agreed to meet to screen and discuss my footage, which I am absolutely ecstatic about.
Šikl is mainly an experimental documentarian, but recently, he has completed an eight-part series of individual films, each containing the private stories of various Czech families throughout the century. The work is entirely made from donated archival 9 1/2-mm (!) footage given by many willing families around the Czech Republic, entitled "Private Century: I-VIII."
The Individual films are:
Each piece explores intimately the private lives + family lives of different members of Czech society throughout the 20th century, from the 1920's to about the late 70's, early 80's (the hayday of video). Šikl devoted himself to selecting and editing (with a dramaturgic eye) the unique footage of each donor family, in a way that both accurately retells their experiences textually and visually, and touches upon their inherent subtextual elements that form a commentary about Czech society through the ages and its relationship to the world and the constantly shifting political climate of our last century.
The only film I have seen of the series is the second episode, "Daddy and Lili Marlene" which is only one half of a family's story that is so rich, Šikl chose to stretch it over two episodes (the other being "King of Velichovky"). To save breath, for a summary of the episode, click here
"This series of films gives us the rare chance to enter and perhaps better understand particular moments in history—through the story of someone's intimate life. So the people are in the foreground, but it's always the case that events of 20th century Czechoslovak political history enter each and every one of these lives, quite often in a dramatic way, changing them forever."
(Šikl, Radio Praha, June 13, 2006)
This film in the series is remarkably powerful, painting the tenuous, closed-lip stoicism of a withering upper-class marriage and the dynamic home life of a well off German/Czech family. Seen from the artful perspective of their daughter, Eva, the narration meanders between dozens of affectionate memories expressing a cherished love now lost and longed for, and the more linear and historical progression of her personal experience. I am amazed at how acutely it psychologically details the dissolution of her parent's relationship and its affect on her life after their separation amidst the chaos of the 1940's and 50's in Europe...
I am inspired by Šikl's ability to condense and yet reinforce the universality of this story simply by controlling the editing and its accompanying sound and narration.
I hope that I can learn from him to apply a similar power of selection, in order to construct my own footage as its own commentary on both the epical nature of world politics, and the troubled evolution of civilized society and the human condition.
The entirety of these eight works are currently being screened in an exhibition at the MOMA in NYC, and have won numerous festival awards (click here to read more).
ALEXANDER HACKENSCHMIED
(a.k.a. Alexander Hammid)
(also not really known by the nickname I just gave him:
Alex The Hammer)
(POST IN PROGRESS...)
(SORRY FOR THE WAIT...)
Internship Shangri-La
Danila and I are trying to get an internship with Chris Handtke, the producer for Will Ferrell & John C. Riley. He is also the founder of funnyordie.com which is what we will most likely be working on (sidenote: Danila and I have our small comic short film "Mansound" up on funnyordie. Click the link (the word "Mansound") and tell us what you think! Please Vote.
Friday, February 20, 2009
Absolute Films & The heart-breaking mind-fuck!
My Avant-garde teacher is amazing. His name is Martin Cihak, and he looks like a mix from the short french fellow from The Science of Sleep and Golem from the LOTR trilogy. And that is with absolutely no exaggeration.
This week we reviewed German Avant-garde Film from the 1920's. This consisted of viewing screenings by four artists. The first three are extremely influential in terms of avant-garde as a larger movement, but the fourth and last is my new absolute obsession...
1) Walther Rutmann:
-Opus 1,2,3,& 4 {1921-25}
-Das Wunder (The Wonder) {1922}
- Falkentraum (The Dream of the Falcon) {1923 silent}
2) Viking Eggeling:
-Diagonal Sinfonie (Diagonal Symphony) {1923-25}
3) Hans Richter:
- Rhythmus 21 (Film is Rhythm) {1923-25 silent}
-Filmstudie {1926 silent}
- Vormittagsspuk (Ghosts Before Breakfast) {1927-28 silent}
-Zweigroschenzauber (Two-Pence Magic) {1928-29}
-Inflation {1928}
AND MY NEW HERO:
4) Oskar Fischinger:
-Seelische Konstruktionen (Spiritual Constructions) {1930}
-Studie 7 {1930-1931. Music = Brahms Hungarian Dance No. 5}
-Kreise (Circles) {1933. Music = Richard Wagner, Edvard Grieg}
-Muratti greift ein (Here Comes Muratti) {1934. Gasparcolor}
-Muratti Privat {1935}
-Komposition in Blau (Composition in Blue) {1935. Music = Otto Nikolai, overture from "The Merry Wivesof Windsor." Gasparcolor}
-Motion Painting No. 1 {1947. Music = Bach, Bradenburg Concerto No. 3}
While studying this spring at FAMU in Prague, I am getting the opportunity to take both practice and theory classes from some of the best artists in contemporary Czech Cinema. Not only will I be learning the art and extreme difficulty of the 35mm format (an experience only myself and the other 5 students from Syracuse accompanying me are afforded, out of our bigger group of about 40 other students) as well as sponge up a more in-depth understanding of European Cinema, especially within the camps of Surrealism and the Avant-Garde.
I'm going to try to write as much criticism of the works we view as I can, which for the most part, I imagine, will turn more into unadulterated praise (because honestly, its all been that good thus far).
Currently we are learning about the basic films of the Czech New Wave in a special screening series (made specifically for international students). This includes the following films:
- The Joke
- Larks On A String
- Closely Watched Trains
- Shop On The Main Square
- Daisies
- Loves of a Blonde
(also, privately, I watched "Little Otik", another film we were recommended to see, on my newfound netflix "instant view" which I've figured out how to use in Europe.)
Each of these films deserves its own post, but would require a second viewing. Perhaps later.
The rest of the work that we've been learning about in our electives deserves a separate post each as well, so I'll save those for later.
Basically, sorry for the delay in posts! Back to work for me!
Na Shledanou!
-H
Tuesday, December 2, 2008
Pravda Pravda Pravda
The various dimensions of truth in cinema have always been the onion skin layers one has to peel back in order to derive intention as well as ethical perspective from a film. Each of these layers has a unique vantage point from which the viewer is allowed to observe the subject.
My interest lies in how some films assume the air of unfettered documentation, when at their essence, the reality of their documentation is lost in the act of the cut. The process of selection that is inherent in film editing, whether intentional or not, reverts the control of the documented image away from the camera and into the hands of the editor. Once two frames are juxtaposed in any way, even if the two shots are congruous takes of the same objects (for instance, in Olympia, not one, but a series of shots pan around the Acropolis, seemingly observing the same structure) the filmmaker has branded the piece with what he or she wants the viewer to see.
Furthermore, the simple act of selecting what to shoot is a form of edit in itself. The filmmaker has intentionally decided to capture an image that he or she finds important to photograph, and thus has edited the present reality into a honed, hunted image taken from the greater physical state. of course, this is about as distant as the filmmaker can be from the product of shooting, and so out of the "documentary" films I viewed this week, my favorite selection had to be Coney Island At Night, simply because it only attempted this one take capture of a prismatic reality, with no presumptions made or artifice intended at all.
My interest lies in how some films assume the air of unfettered documentation, when at their essence, the reality of their documentation is lost in the act of the cut. The process of selection that is inherent in film editing, whether intentional or not, reverts the control of the documented image away from the camera and into the hands of the editor. Once two frames are juxtaposed in any way, even if the two shots are congruous takes of the same objects (for instance, in Olympia, not one, but a series of shots pan around the Acropolis, seemingly observing the same structure) the filmmaker has branded the piece with what he or she wants the viewer to see.
Furthermore, the simple act of selecting what to shoot is a form of edit in itself. The filmmaker has intentionally decided to capture an image that he or she finds important to photograph, and thus has edited the present reality into a honed, hunted image taken from the greater physical state. of course, this is about as distant as the filmmaker can be from the product of shooting, and so out of the "documentary" films I viewed this week, my favorite selection had to be Coney Island At Night, simply because it only attempted this one take capture of a prismatic reality, with no presumptions made or artifice intended at all.
An Echo, A Gong
{A DISCUSSION OF SOUND IN CINEMA}
I have a conflict as a filmmaker, one that upsets the tested tradition of how a film should be approached and realized. I have always been a total audiophile, and when discussing other's work, or in developing my own films, I start from the ear and move on to the eyes. This has always been a problematic fixation for me, as stressing the importance of the image seems to be the prevailing orientation for most theory and criticism. So, when given the opportunity to discuss the act of listening to film, I tend to go quite happily overboard...
All of the films we viewed during our discussion of sound in Avant-Garde cinema in my lecture class today had me hypnotized. Whether the score was erratic and impulsive, or haunting and atmospheric, each film is worth discussing in detail. I will try to write one short paragraph about each.
(1) The Edison Kinetescope Films - To find a film that predates the modern timetable of when sound in film was introduced must have been breathtaking. I have never been so fired up about a fiddle in my life. The surprisingly clean recording on brown wax has twice the majesty of sound alone from that era, because of its visual counterpart. I especially like that the massive early phonograph is so present in the frame, in that you can actually see the first synching of sound literally being produced in the image.
(2) Gus Visser and His Singing Duck - Again the quality of this recording exceeds expectations. The image marries the staged, vaudevillian ethos of the early Edison work, with a truly remarkable synch-sound recording.
(3) M - Fritz Lang's brilliant habit of pushing ahead of his time mechanically makes this film a breakthrough in sound design. He utilizes not only negative image space, but also negative sound space to create tension and pass time. The moments of muted horror punctuate the suffocating images he creates, and make "M" a remarkable and terrifying picture.
4) The Third Man - A film that also makes use of astounding imagery as well as impeccable sound, the atmosphere that Carol Reed intends to create is in fact realized by the harmonious nature of the score and sparse but effective sound with the grandiose nature of the footage. A truly wonderful joining of sound and image.
5) Ballet Mecanique - Though I disliked the "mechanics" of the score, what with its lack of order within disorder and its penchant for horns and bells that in my opinion are not well executed or composed, I am able to forgive the maker because of how well the sound matches the pace and rhythm of the imagery. Each bell and whistle carries quite perfectly with the edit and physical patterns of the images, which makes this film a difficult but successful work of sound design.
6) Rose Hobart - Using the found footage format calls for a heightened awareness of how to relate the image and whatever sound is chosen, as the filmmaker is attempting to either create mood or meaning seemingly out of nowhere, with the blending of the two. Cornell mends his footage and score together like a virtuoso, playing with pace and context in a way unmatched by most found-footage works. His piece makes use of the associative nature of film to build an interior narrative that, without sound, would most likely be lost (and, needless to say, pacify the audience quite quickly). I also love the way Cornell attempts to use color and sound as partners to create a sort-of episodic tone in the editing of the piece.
7) Lucifer Rising - Of course you can't really go wrong using
Bobby Beausoleil (which translates to "beautiful light" ironically) to create a composition that fits with a film about ritual and the history of demonism and different perceptions and manifestations of satan. He is sort of a pro in both realms, so its almost like cheating. But whatever, Kenneth is good at making the right friends to score his work. Nuff said.
I have a conflict as a filmmaker, one that upsets the tested tradition of how a film should be approached and realized. I have always been a total audiophile, and when discussing other's work, or in developing my own films, I start from the ear and move on to the eyes. This has always been a problematic fixation for me, as stressing the importance of the image seems to be the prevailing orientation for most theory and criticism. So, when given the opportunity to discuss the act of listening to film, I tend to go quite happily overboard...
All of the films we viewed during our discussion of sound in Avant-Garde cinema in my lecture class today had me hypnotized. Whether the score was erratic and impulsive, or haunting and atmospheric, each film is worth discussing in detail. I will try to write one short paragraph about each.
(1) The Edison Kinetescope Films - To find a film that predates the modern timetable of when sound in film was introduced must have been breathtaking. I have never been so fired up about a fiddle in my life. The surprisingly clean recording on brown wax has twice the majesty of sound alone from that era, because of its visual counterpart. I especially like that the massive early phonograph is so present in the frame, in that you can actually see the first synching of sound literally being produced in the image.
(2) Gus Visser and His Singing Duck - Again the quality of this recording exceeds expectations. The image marries the staged, vaudevillian ethos of the early Edison work, with a truly remarkable synch-sound recording.
(3) M - Fritz Lang's brilliant habit of pushing ahead of his time mechanically makes this film a breakthrough in sound design. He utilizes not only negative image space, but also negative sound space to create tension and pass time. The moments of muted horror punctuate the suffocating images he creates, and make "M" a remarkable and terrifying picture.
4) The Third Man - A film that also makes use of astounding imagery as well as impeccable sound, the atmosphere that Carol Reed intends to create is in fact realized by the harmonious nature of the score and sparse but effective sound with the grandiose nature of the footage. A truly wonderful joining of sound and image.
5) Ballet Mecanique - Though I disliked the "mechanics" of the score, what with its lack of order within disorder and its penchant for horns and bells that in my opinion are not well executed or composed, I am able to forgive the maker because of how well the sound matches the pace and rhythm of the imagery. Each bell and whistle carries quite perfectly with the edit and physical patterns of the images, which makes this film a difficult but successful work of sound design.
6) Rose Hobart - Using the found footage format calls for a heightened awareness of how to relate the image and whatever sound is chosen, as the filmmaker is attempting to either create mood or meaning seemingly out of nowhere, with the blending of the two. Cornell mends his footage and score together like a virtuoso, playing with pace and context in a way unmatched by most found-footage works. His piece makes use of the associative nature of film to build an interior narrative that, without sound, would most likely be lost (and, needless to say, pacify the audience quite quickly). I also love the way Cornell attempts to use color and sound as partners to create a sort-of episodic tone in the editing of the piece.
7) Lucifer Rising - Of course you can't really go wrong using
Bobby Beausoleil (which translates to "beautiful light" ironically) to create a composition that fits with a film about ritual and the history of demonism and different perceptions and manifestations of satan. He is sort of a pro in both realms, so its almost like cheating. But whatever, Kenneth is good at making the right friends to score his work. Nuff said.
Kissing One's Own Eyes
As a huge fan of the long take and difficult material, Andy Warhol's The Kiss as well as Stan Brakhage's The Act Of Seeing With One's Own Eyes fits right to my palette, and provides some important perceptual modes that prior to his work had only been explored in the obscure.
The Kiss follows or even comments on the form of staging an act for the camera (instead of documenting life) first cultivated by Edison's work in the Black Maria studio, where the films shot were highly theatrical and artificial. Warhol repeats the same process here, only the artifice he has worked creates not a distant and theatrical space, but an intimate and borderline uncomfortable gaze. The viewer is forced to stand in place of the filmmaker behind the camera, which for me brings out a very uneasy, almost predatory twitch in poaching the images of these young lovers and their long snogs.
Similarly, Brakhage's piece forces you into a space that is not agreeable to most people. What is different about Act is that the visual confrontation does have cuts, and thus, we are pushed even closer to the subject by the filmmaker. One can discuss the thematic separation between to the two pieces, but what I find more interesting is the way both filmmaker's really strap you to the back of the camera and wrangle you in close to what you may not want to see.
The Kiss follows or even comments on the form of staging an act for the camera (instead of documenting life) first cultivated by Edison's work in the Black Maria studio, where the films shot were highly theatrical and artificial. Warhol repeats the same process here, only the artifice he has worked creates not a distant and theatrical space, but an intimate and borderline uncomfortable gaze. The viewer is forced to stand in place of the filmmaker behind the camera, which for me brings out a very uneasy, almost predatory twitch in poaching the images of these young lovers and their long snogs.
Similarly, Brakhage's piece forces you into a space that is not agreeable to most people. What is different about Act is that the visual confrontation does have cuts, and thus, we are pushed even closer to the subject by the filmmaker. One can discuss the thematic separation between to the two pieces, but what I find more interesting is the way both filmmaker's really strap you to the back of the camera and wrangle you in close to what you may not want to see.
Agencement Sentimentale
Each of the three selections shown at the close of my International Avant-Garde class' lecture on "Blink" in cinema (Maya Deren's "Meshes Of The Afternoon", Sergei Eisenstein's "Romance Sentimentale", and Luis Bunuel & Salvador Dali's infamous "Un Chien Andelou") in their own way champion the use of the "cut" as a means of regulating a fragmented reality. The three intersect comfortably in that they seem to be attempting to render an accessible representation of the "dream state." However, each work's individual artistic intention stands as what separates it from its neighbor. In all three films, every break obviously works to orient and control our perception, but what is more interesting is that each seems to work towards a dislocation or "non-reality" while still organizing each image, in the hopes of mimicking the intangible notion of thought.
Meshes Of The Afternoon was created by Maya Deren in an effort to solicit a mythological experience from her audience. Her specific design of the "dream state" lingers on the insular, recollective confusion of unconscious thought, with no premeditated psychological subtext involved (or at least not directly indicated.) Each cut in this work quite successfully facilitates a fluid line of action while sewing together movements and spaces that could only come to meet in dreams. The film's tone is one of sublimated anxiousness, exhibited in the beautifully cautious movements and choreography tactfully performed by Deren herself. Ever languorous, the artist shifts between impossible spaces with a feline grace and intensity, interacting with a realm that to the viewer appears somewhat magical, or even "mythical."
Romance Sentimentale functions in a similar vein. Eisenstein approaches the unconscious from a kind of spatial modality as well, though with less emphasis on artifice and more on undisturbed emotional imagery. He begins by utilizing less authored segments of pastoral, natural landscapes, slowly interjecting the images of these spaces with highly augmented moments of animation, contrapuntal sound, and other blatant editorial hand-work. This self-reflexive "hand" in the work changes the discussion of cut as "blink" because it implies an awareness, even a form of strategy, in the arrangement of images, which Meshes seems to try and avoid.
The final film of the triplet, Un Chien Andalou, stands well away from the other two works in terms of device and intention. Dali and Bunuel were actively working to create an entirely inaccessible dream space or alternate reality that lacked any order or association. Of course, the pair underestimated the mind's tenacity in creating meaning where none exists. The work is well crafted and contains some startlingly attractive imagery, but the work fails in its intention of voiding the images of their inherent meaningfulness. It would be interesting to see the three films cut together as one massive psycho-space; perhaps then a true "Exquisite corpse" could be stitched from each film's individual perspective of the human mind at rest.
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