Modern Cinema and the Modern Landscape

The silver screen has long been home to a binary reality, a juxtaposition of ‘worlds’ or perhaps more aptly a reflection of the world in which it is conceived. These co-habitative and conflicting representations are the urban, rural and natural landscape. Much like the troubling relationships these environments share in real life, so too do they share in both modern and more archaic cinema. Often contrasted as polar opposites and in perpetual conflict, these environments are reflected consistently in cinema. These representations vary depending on the themes, directive aims or the purpose of their media. Often this representation may manifest as a very real depiction, as either the backdrop for a scene or the point of focus. These representations may also exist as a extended allegory or symbolism, perhaps in the form of a particular character, object or even narrative device. This binary representation is no more clearly defined and projected then within Yasujiro Ozu’s 1953 Japanese drama film ‘Tokyo Story’, Walter Ruttman’s  1927 avant-garde ‘Berlin: Symphony of a Great City’ and Vidor’s 1949 adaption of Ayn Rand’s ‘The Fountainhead’. Depicting a clear contrast between the metropolitan urban city, family orientated rural environment and even the simplicity of the natural environment, these films illustrate the ways in which modernist cinema incorporates representations of the external world. Principally through the use of visual imagery, emotive narrative, editing effects and symbolism, each respective Director incorporates these representations through differing means. 

Walter Ruttman’s 1927 avant-garde ‘Berlin: Symphony of a Great City’ provides a unique perspective of Berlin’s frenzied Urban landscape, as Ruttman provides a pervasive and comprehensive insight into the social and economic mechanics of Berlin’s 1920’s industrious infrastructure. Consisting of visual material both naturally observed and apparently staged Ruttman portrays the daily lives of Berlin’s many inhabitancies, as well as the anatomy of the vast and complex system that is Berlin. Adopting a semi- documentarian format, ‘Berlin: Symphony of a Great City’ does not incorporate any narrative plot or linear structure but rather consists of a series of non sequential clips and images. However various consistent themes may be inferred from its viewing, principally a comparison between the industrial mechanism of a modern metropolis and the individuals that both manage and depend on them. 

Primarily, the parallel drawn between humanity and machinery is projected through the use of visual coupling and juxtaposition. Throughout the duration of the prescribed text, images of machinery e.g. levers, cogs steam trains are alternated with images of Berlin citizens performing mundane tasks. Through this constant alternation a parallel or comparison is undoubtedly drawn between these two faculties, essentially blurring the line between man and machine, a common trope in literature and film in a post-industrial age. This comparison is further highlighted through the similarity in imagery, as tasks performed by various machines appear to mimic the tasks of various individuals, for example the buff of a trains exhaust is swiftly followed by a image of a man smoking a pipe or a crowds ascension up stairs being followed by an elevator. Much like the various working parts of each industrial machine we are exposed to in Ruttman’s film, each individual appears as both a machine and a mechanic ‘cog’ in the larger machine that is the thriving Berlin metropolis.

The hour long documentary is heavily saturated in the imagery of a vastly dull and man made city. Carved from manmade processes, the city of Berlin appears in stark contrast the natural and rural areas that encompass it.  While the frame is consistently dominated by unnatural and urban imagery, various scenes of natural life are inadvertently depicted in a scattered and sparing manner. The text begins with a rather ominous opening sequence in which through the window of a train the viewer observes the transition between the rural environments of outer Berlin to the dense maze of the inner metropolis. Within this scene a binary opposition is established between the spacious rural environment and the densely claustrophobic architecture of Berlin. The detrimental nature of this opposition is further perpetuated through the depiction of various distressed and caged animals. This emotive imagery may be symbolic of man domineering and destructive nature, as the detrimental nature of urban expansion is illustrated through the emotive and distressing depiction of various fauna. 

This theme is further perpetuated through the use of various filmic techniques such as superimposition, as within the opening sequence geometric shapes and patterns are superimposed over panning shots of rippling water. These shapes accelerate in a circular pattern reminiscent of a engine or locomotive, clearly represent of some form of mechanical device or process. According to Kaes (1998) “superimposition of animation over nature foreshadows many of Ruttman’s preoccupations”, principally man’s domination of nature as the arguably mechanical animations appear to dominate the frame and the natural forces that occupy its background. 

The various conflicts between the urban rural and natural are heightened through the progressive escalation in tempo and rhythm. This rhythm is established through the duration of each individual scene and the subjects that inhabit them. This rhythm becomes progressively faster, as the duration of each scene become more succinct and the subjects of each scene become faster paced objects e.g. trains and rollercoaster’s. The tension created by this elevation in tempo irrevocably leads to a crescendo that peaks at the films end, leaving the conflict between these two environments unresolved. 

The conflict and tension between the urban and rural is undoubtedly present within Ozu’s 1953 drama film ‘Tokyo story’, continuing to define the very genre of Japanese cinema ‘Tokyo Story’ reflects this conflict within a Japanese context. Portraying the degradation of Hirayama family in the face of urban expansion ‘Tokyo story’ provides a unique interpretation of the detrimental nature of the urban landscape. Particularly pertaining to the degradation of the family unit and the loss of traditional family values, following the development of the ‘metropolis’ and other ‘Western’ concepts (Richie 1959).

The detrimental effect of the urban construct is principally illustrated through the contrast between the elderly rural dwelling Tomi and Shukichi, their young rural daughter Kyoko and their other children who inhabit the modern urban metropolis’ of Tokyo and Osaka. Ozu presents a direct correlation between the modern urban landscape and the Hirayama family’s degradation. Notably, those who inhabit the rural landscape of Ozu’s film appear more dedicated to the continuity of family values and communication then those who inhabit the urban environments of Tokyo and Osaka, as despite the death of the mother Tomi, Koichi, Shige and Keizo appear more interested in their respective urban lives then the welfare of their Father. Consequently Ozu prophesies’  that traditional family values appear doomed in the face of growing urban expansion, depicting the degradation of the family unit as the most viable result.

This thematic concern is further enhanced through the complementary use of symbolism, as Ozu utilizes alternative devices as a means of illustrating the degrading bonds between the Hirayama family members. Within the films epilogue Shukichi presents Noriko with the deceased Tomi’s watch, stating that despite their lack of blood relation Noriko had been the most comforting and hospitable of all of their relatives. This act of sentimentality may be conceived as a symbolic act of kinship, as through the passing of this memento and heirloom Ozu implies that bond between the two exists, irrespective of blood relation. Consequently Ozu highlights theextent of the Hiroyama family’s separation, as Schukichi’s relationship with his children has fallen into such disrepute that greater symbolic relationships appears to exist outside of the family.

Landscape and setting remain key attributes within Ozu’s ‘Tokyo Story’, the interaction between the characters and their environment highlights the importance each respective setting and gives credence to the pervasive belief that landscape is of particular significance to the narrative i.e. the effect of the urban landscape on family relations. Notably, unlike traditional western cinema, scenes do not appear with character already inhabiting them. Within Ozu’s ‘Tokyo Story’ a particular room or setting is depicted as empty before characters enter the frame and begin the scene. This is a particularly unique aspect of Ozu’s film, as unlike most modern cinema in which the setting and/or background changes relative to the characters, within Ozu’s film it is the characters that move within the environment. Consequently, the environment in which the characters inhabit is of particular significance in Ozu’s film and appears to heavily influence character development and narrative direction. 

This similarly ‘stagnant’ and stoic style of film direction extends to the limited use of camera angles and positioning. Perpetually positioned three feet from the ground, the use of camera angles are extremely limited. More grandeur angles such as the panning shot or the ‘Dutch’ angle are rarely (if ever) employed, as Ozu utilizes the plain camera techniques indicative of traditional Japanese Cinema. This notion is further perpetuated by scholar Donald Richie (1959) who stated “the traditional virtues of Japan........Take, for example, the quality of restraint. In a strictly technical sense, Ozu films are probably the most restrained now being made-the most limited, controlled, and restricted”. Consequently, Ozu adopts many virtues and attributes of early Japanese cinema, namely the use of perpetual restraint as Ozu’s ‘Tokyo Story’ is remarkably unvaried in its use of camera angles and positions. This form of stoic camera direction further perpetuates the importance of the environmental landscape, as focus is drawn away from the characters and instead towards the urban landscape they populate. 

The notion of the urban landscape is no more endemic to a narrative then within Vidor’s 1949 adaptation of ‘The Fountainhead’. Set within the confines of a oppressive, competitive and ever shifting metropolis, ‘The Fountainhead’ engages with a very similar representation of contempt and oppression. Within Vidor’s adaptation of Ayn Rand’s 1943 classic the urban environment is defined by a series of oppressive smear campaigns, morally deficient characters and a persistent yet obscure engagement with the dichotomy between the urban environment and the natural world.  The urban landscape in which the narrative takes place is always present, as the audience is constantly reminded of the ever encroaching metropolis. Notably, most frames are accompanied by a wide open window through which various sky scrapers can be seen. The dominant and ever present nature of the urban landscape appears in stark contrast to the natural world which is rarely perceived. Consequently, much like Ruttman’s aforementioned  ‘Berlin: Symphony of a Great City, ‘The Fountainhead’ engages with a binary representation between the dense urban landscape and the outer rural regions, as through the apparently domineering nature of the urban landscape Vidor may be commenting upon the detrimental and destructive nature of urban expansion. 

Similar to Ozu’s ‘Tokyo Story’, Vidor comments upon the detrimental nature of the urban landscape through the characterisation of those that inhabit it. While the relative moralities of Vidor’s characters are subject to gradation, principally Roark and Toohey appear to inhabit opposing ends of the moral spectrum, yet neither is definitively good or bad. Protagonist Howard Roark is an architect of unique vision, refusing to conform to the popular architectural moderns styles (namely styles that borrow from classical form) Roark falls into disrepute with those around him. This notion of individualism conflicts with the more communist ideals of antagonist Toohey who believes that individual subversive virtues are detrimental and that the individual must submit to the collective will, as Roark states “the parasite seeks to bind all men in common action and common slavery”. Roark is undoubtedly referring to Toohey and her oppressive notions of collective power.

Schelier (2002) maintains that the conflict between Toohey and Roark is by extension conflict between individualist democracy and collectivist communist values. This socio-political conflict is eloquently illustrated within the films climactic scene, in which Roark justifies his vandalism.  Roark designates these opposing political ideals as the ‘parasite’ and the ‘creator’ and later defines the war between these two political factions as the war between the “individual and the collective”. Roark further denotes the democratic bases of this ‘individualist’ philosophy stating “Our country.......was based upon the principle of individualism, on the principle of a man’s inalienable rights”. Consequently, Roark and thus Vidor attempt to assert the democratic bases of Roark individualist philosophy through a clear parallel drawn between the founding democratic values of the United States of America and his concept of the individual. Inversely denoting Toohey’s ‘parasitic’ actions as that of a Communist although it is never explicitly stated, however Roark’s notion of the collective or parasite are indicative of anti-communist propaganda. Notably, the notion of ‘servitude’ and the sacrifice of individual need for the sake of the collective clearly reflect the communist values Roark wishes to denote to the ‘collective’. Considering the Post World War Two context in which this film was conceived and the political distain that remained, a socio-political reading of this conflict appears plausible.  

The binary characterisation of these characters may be extended to a characterisation of the city and the ‘urban landscape’. Toohey’s characterisation may be conceived as representative of the urban landscape Vidor persistently attempts to comment upon. Unlike the arguably virtuous Roark, Toohey is accepted by the urban populous as her moral teachings are not only accepted but embraced. Toohey and her collective philosophy appear to reflect the notion of the urban landscape as Roark aptly states she is able to turn the collective against the individual. Thus the negative characterisation of Toohey may be perceived as a vessel through which Vidor projects his commentary regarding the urban landscape and the dangerous of its ‘group think’, as her influence over the urban population allow her characterisation to be perceived as a characterisation of the urban landscape she inhabits. 

In summation, modern cinema houses a binary reality, principally cinema hosts a reflective representation of the world in which it is conceived. This reflection entails the ever-present conflict between the urban, rural and natural landscape, as cinema overtly or explicitly depicts the binary opposition between these landscapes. This conflict is both directly and indirectly present within Yasujiro Ozu’s 1953 Japanese film ‘Tokyo Story’, Ruttman’s  1927 avant-garde ‘Berlin: Symphony of a Great City’ and Vidor’s 1949 adaption of Ayn Rand’s ‘The Fountainhead’, as these texts highlight the troubled relationship between these environment through a plethora of visual and thematic means. Notably, through the use of symbolism, characterisation, visually emotive imagery and camera angles each respective director illustrates these landscapes through a variety of means. However, while the overt nature of this representation may vary these texts ultimately depict a conflict that is endemic to our culture. The pervasive conflict between these differing environments continues to remain a key issue that will irrevocably be reflected in modern cinema. These directors and t=others like them ultimately engage with this thematic concern to facilitate change and perhaps resolve a conflict that threatens our very existence as a species.

References

Kaes, A. ‘Leaving Home: Film, Migration, and the Urban Experience’. New German Critique, No. 74, Special Issue on Nazi Cinema (Spring - Summer, 1998), pp. 179-192

Richie, D. ‘The Later Films of Yasujiro Ozu’ Film Quarterly, Vol. 13, No. 1 (Autumn, 1959), pp. 18-25

Schleier, M.  ‘Ayn Rand and King Vidor's Film "The Fountainhead": Architectural Modernism, the Gendered Body, and Political Ideology’. Journal of the Society of Architectural Historians, Vol. 61, No. 3 (Sep., 2002), pp. 310-331

Life, Imagination and Motion

“It is possible that somewhere in all this is a clue to what sets a creative

 climate of any time, including our own.” 

The creative climate in which Eames’ film ‘Toccata for Toy Trains’ (1959) is conceived is indeed a unique one, at its nucleus a film of creation, life and perhaps more aptly reanimation Eames film provides a unique insight into the making of animation and imagination. ‘Toccata for Toy Trains’ essentially attempts to create life through the sound and movement of the inanimate, a foci that is common amongst many of the Eames films e.g. ‘Kaleidoscope Jazz Chair’. The prescribed film involves the use of childhood toys, more specifically the use of toy trains, as Eames uses a variety of common and antique toy trains to create life and movement within otherwise stagnant objects.

Toy trains in motion

What most struck me about this film was interaction between life and motion, as Eames consistently uses motion as a means imaginative re-animation. We would all be familiar with the universal childhood practise in which one would imaginatively ‘reanimate’ toys through motion created via direct physical interaction (a depicted Toy story scene comes to mind). Eames employs a similar tactic of re-animation as through movement created via physical interaction (although not explicitly shown) a form of false livelihood is created and illustrated.  This illusion to childhood play is further enhanced through the application of toys, as I would argue that Toys are a symbol of childhood imagination. This animation is further perpetuated through the use of sound, as Eames superimposes sounds of trains, crowds and individual passengers to complement the use of movement and enhance the illusion of life.

A prime example of the use of motion in the imaginative animation of the inanimate

This use of motion has became a common form of animation in film media, often through the use of stop motion techniques movement has long been used to bring life to the inanimate. Notably, as mentioned by a previous blog was even used in the production of Merian Cooper’s 1933 King Kong, in which a series of malleable 18 inch figures were animated through the use of implied movement. Recently popularised by various Tim Burton films such as ‘The Corpse Bride’ and ‘The Nightmare Before Christmas’, such techniques have became commonplace in main stream media in contrast to Eames avant-garde film.

Stop Motion Animation in modern film

 

In summation, Eames’ Toccata for Toy Trains’ provides a unique and imaginative visualisation of imagination, life and motion, as through a variety of means life is brought the inanimate e.g. Toy trains. I could not help at feel that perhaps it was films such as this that pioneered the use of the inanimate in modern media and perhaps defines the re-animative abilities of motion and sound in film.

Bigger Than......King Kong

When protagonist Carl Denim says “I’m going out to make the greatest picture in the world, something that no one’s ever seen or heard!” one cannot help at feel as if Denim himself is breaking the fourth wall and referring to the production of King Kong.  Much like the afore-referenced production of Ben Hur,  Merian Cooper’s (1933) King Kong was something never seen before, through a plethora of unique aesthetic and filmic aspects Merian Cooper produced a work of Hollywood art that 78 years later remains the subject of scholarly analysis and adulation,  setting a precedent for which future films were compared and judged. 

what could be bigger than King Kong?

While it was not the first adventure film e.g. The Black Pirate (1926) King Kong defined both a genre and a generation of film, a noted prestige that was irrevocably acknowledged when inducted into the national film registry in 1991, in recognition of its revolutionary use of special effects, unique aesthetic and historical significance. This modern accolade reminds us that King Kong remains a modern feat of filmic ability and much like the proverbial Kong stands as monument, not as a monument to the majesty of nature but rather to mankind’s ingenuity.

The mechanics through which Kong was actualised seem in modern filmic traditions rather rudimentary. The production process involved the use of three 18 inch high (one inch to each foot) poseable models covered with rabbit hair, the motion capture process  involved the filming of each individual frame by stop-motion photography artist Willis O'Brien coupled with the supplementary use of rear and miniature projection. 

Where does the difference truly lie?

My own personal experience and subsequent reading of King Kong was undoubtedly influenced and perhaps marred by my prior engagement with the King Kong franchise. Having seen Peter Jackson’s incarnation of King Kong, I found myself unable to distance my viewing of Merian Cooper’s film from the nostalgic taint of my previous childhood experience. I unconsciously establish to comparative reading of these films, most notably in terms of their visual, narrative and directive differences. The above illustration clearly establishes a dichotomy in terms of visual ability, utilizing the most advanced technologies available both Jackson and Cooper presented a creature that their respective audiences could both look upon in awe and fear.

Perhaps more convincing than Fay Wray

Thus despite the obvious aesthetic discrepancy this is not where the differences lay, but rather these films differ in terms of character depth and acting ability. While it may be risky and perhaps unwise to criticise such a prestigious film (particularly within such a restrictive word count), I will unwisely admit that my viewing and subsequent impression was one of laughter. While I was undoubtedly humbled by the films historical significance, the flailing arms and high pitched squeals of B rate actress Fay Wray made me almost catatonic with laughter. While I found the stereotypical nature and stunted depth of Carl Denim’s and Jack Driscoll’s characters both pervasive and always prevalent. These attributes of King Kong has been subject to heavy parody in comedic renditions such as The Simpsons and as such I would infer that my criticisms are not isolated but rather universal. Perhaps a product of Hollywood’s infancy, King Kong appears to encapsulate many flaws of early film, including relatively shallow character depth, limited character development and an emphatic inability to act!

Regardless King Kong has long been established as amongst the influential films of the modern age, King Kong’s prestige remains a red herring that subsequent directors may aspire to but never reach. King Kong like Ben Hur will continue to remain a defining and forever endearing symbol of Modern film, imagination and innovation.

The Re-Imagining and Re-Interpretation of Obsession

Following our extensive discussion of Rose Hobart as the first fan video, I will attempt to examine Cornell’s extensive editing of the film 'East Of Bomeo' as a means of correction and re-imagining. Cornell’s extensive edits include the removal of filmic content, the removal of the audio track and subsequent addition of background music, the use of a purple filter and the act of re-arrangement, in order to form an imaginative (be it incoherent) original plot.

As stated within the class discussion, these editing actions often stem from the creators extreme adulation of the original source material, it is well established that Cornell possessed a minor fixation regarding the central actress Rose Hobart, after which the title is derived. The original plot and visual landscape appears to have been remodelled, in which Rose Hobart appears to occupy a greater ratio of screen time in relation to her fellow cast. This act of remodelling may be seen as both a re-imagination and a ‘correction’ of the original source material, in accordance with Cornell’s perception. 

The re-purposing of these frames into a ‘Rose-centrically’ re-imagined plot may reflect Cornell’s desire for Rose Hobart to be more prominent within the original text. This may also reflect Cornell’s ‘disapproval’ pertaining the original materials storyline, as a dichotomy between the experimental films mysterious overtones and the originals more typical and cohesive plot is clear evident.  

The reason I found this trope of re-imagining so riveting was the nostalgia it irrevocably invoked, the act of creative editing and soundtrack addition is no more prevalent then in the AMV (Anime Music Video). Between the ages of nine and thirteen I became completely and utterly obsessed the both Dragon Ball Z and the subsequent  plethora of AMV’s on YouTube dedicated to the adulation and veneration of Goku and his fellow cast. Often coupled with the musical stylings of Linkin Park and Drowning Pool, DBZ AMV’S (excuse the excessive use of acronyms) now number in the tens of thousands, their existence so prominent that they have now become an internet cliché, much like Rick Rolling or the common LOL cat. While this anecdote may be perceived as tangental to the discussion, I could not help at express how Cornell’s unique re-modelling of ‘East of Bomeo’ reminded me of my childhood years and the many hours I spent watching what I now see to be the successors or perhaps by-products of Cornell’s work, some of which I see recall and have posted below for your enjoyment.

I hope you enjoyed reading this Blog, please be kind in the comments and don’t judge me for my nerdiness. :D

My impression of Dziga Vertov

I have never been an admirer or a connoisseur of early film, I admittedly have never attempted to watch an film that predated the birth of my parents, mainly due to a premeditated apprehension regarding early films. In fact it was this lack of experience that inspired my enrolment within this very subject, in an attempt to avoid complacency and expand my comfort zone. Consequently I found my viewing of Dziga Vertov’s experimental avon-garde film ‘The Man With The Movie Camera’, both captivating and perplexing.

Dzia Vertov’s 1936 experimental film “Man with a Movie Camera” presents us with a defining expression of a non-linear documentary style, challenging the preconceptions of conceptual film and setting a precedent for the future of the documentary, surrealist and expressionist films. Hailed today as an innovative pioneer for alterative film, Vertov’s extreme opposition to linear film is clearly reflected in this distinctive and rather bizarre film. It is this distinctive and peculiar nature that made the deconstruction of this film quite a feat, however this is my attempt.

The film opens with a rather bizarre and surrealist image, as Vertov superimposes the image of a cameraman atop a mammoth movie camera, establishing the films surrealist nature, while foreshadowing the films progressive detachment from linear reality and the extensive use of filmic techniques including still imagery, slow motion and ‘Dutch/Batman angles’ (as seen above). Vertov’s film appears to consist of seemingly random footage, depicting the lives and interactions of various Russian citizens, portraying a variable spectrum of experiences, from the most mundane of actions such as walking, to the most momentous and defining of experiences such as Child Birth, denoting a clear attempt at universal inclusion. 

It may be noted that the most defining and innovative aspect of Vertov’s film is its structure, edited by Vertov’s wife Elizaveta Svilova, “The Man with A movie Camera” appears to at first constitute a tangled mesh of both mundane and surreal images. However one may understand the films structure by considering musical form, more specifically Rondo form. By applying the notion of musical structure to Vertov’s ‘non-linear’ piece, one may derive a semblance of structure amid an otherwise chaotic sequence of images. Rondo form refers a musical structure in which a common theme is propagated amid a series of differing content e.g. ABACADAE and can be effectively applied to Vertov’s avon-garde work. Throughout the film the image of cameraman is consistently shown, scattered amid a series of intentional non-linear images and sub-plots. Through this re-occurring subject matter Vertov attempts to communicate one of his primary thematic concerns, pertaining to the notion of surveillance. Vertov prophesises the inevitable use of camera’s as a means of personal invasion and observation. While simultaneously engaging with alternative themes, such as societies interactions and dependence on technology, as Vertov displays a series of scattered images involving citizen’s consistent and frequent contact with machinery, notably the persistent use of Train imagery. Consequently, despite the initially frenzied impression one might experience, it appears that Elizaveta Svilova’s editing sequence is more calculated then an initial glance would suggest.

Thank you for reading my first attempt at blogging and hope you found it somewhat insightful.