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#auteur theory
sam-keeper · 1 year
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The Auteur as a figure in entertainment is dead. Grown strong on digital production, a more artistically bankrupt creature emerges in their place. It is the Executive Auteur, and it's coming soon to a theater near you, whether you like it or not.
If you've noticed all manner of artists increasingly taking a back seat in the discourse to studios and franchises, if you're weirded out by how much more valued a corporation's vision seems to be than the interchangeable drones tasked with realizing that vision, this article is for you.
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If your definition of good media literacy is auteur theory, then you do not actually have good media literacy, you just love creator worship.
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My Letterbox’d review for Dancer in the Dark….
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kanralovesu · 2 years
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Your daily reminder that Auteur Theory is B.S. and you don't need to suffer for your art, re: Pompo the Cinephile
I should have expected this anime-movie-about-movies to bow down before the dangerous claims of Auteur Theory (the idea that a singular person can infuse a creative work with enough zest that they deserve godlike reverence). This type of thinking is pervasive in Hollywood so you'd be hard pressed to find a “movie-about-movies” that doesn’t fall into this trap. 
What surprised me more is Pompo’s glorification of suffering for your art. While this is present in many similar movies, most portray it as an obstacle the character must overcome, the source of the tension in the movie. Few outright state that you need to work yourself to death to be an artist, because well, most people would say that’s a very obviously bad take. 
Spoilers Below!
The movie very clearly wants us to see the parallels between Gene and the titular Maestro in the movie he’s making (they practically beat you over the head with it). Gene’s movie even subverts the standard cliche character arc of the disgruntled old artist learning to love again by having said artist stay isolated at the end of the movie but just make good art this time. A more standard arc would involve the Maestro reconciling with his past mistakes (like abandoning his wife and kids) and becoming a better person. This feeds into why I think Pompo the Cinephile is not just a movie I disagree with, but a badly written movie: Gene and the Maestro have no character arc. They do not change over the course of the movie. Both of them start the movie sacrificing everything to become Auteurs, and they end the movie just being better Auteurs. In The Maestros case its because he had a little camping trip but in Gene’s case there isn’t an impetus to this change he was just always awesome and he was finally able to obtain enough power to show everyone how awesome he is. 
I would have much rather the movie dive deeper into several other interesting themes that it entertained for a single scene and then threw out: 
The need to “kill your darlings” shown when Gene cuts both his favorite scene and the scene that he ad-libbed from the final movie. The reason for this is never expanded on besides its ties to “suffering for your art”. Because of course the reason you need to “kill your darlings” is just because being an artists is all about feeling bad!
The spontaneity of film making when Gene and co adapted to the rain and the goat situation. Again there was no dissection of why this is a good thing just an expectation that we all know this is a cool good thing that directors do and thus evidence that Gene is a cool good director.
The lack of differences between B-Movies and True Kino (as said by Pompo herself). In a similar vain, the meaning behind the phrase “Its easy to make a tear-jerker movie but its difficult to make a silly movie”. Again this is just kind of thrown out there without any explanation.
Most of all I wish the movie dove deeper into its claim that shorter movies are better because good directors can convey their messages concisely. I think this is a really cool perspective that I have complicated feeling on. On one hand, a concise vision does seem good but on the other hand there are several great longform TV shows. I really want to engage more with this discussion so I’m sad that its almost totally unexplored in the movie! 
And that’s my scathing review of Pompo the Cinephile! Overall it was still a decent movie and visually stunning. I’d much rather watch it than a “boring” bad movie. In that way I agree with Pompo herself! The boardroom scene certainly felt like a true B-Movie Jump the Shark moment! In fact, its almost perfect parody that Gene ended up winning so many Oscars for his Oscar-bait movie and similarly I ended up lured in to Pompo the Cinephile by pandering depictions of the film industry I love so much. Final verdict: An entertaining 6/10.
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jacquelinemerritt · 9 years
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On Auteur Theory
Originally posted April 20th, 2015
This is a paper I wrote for my Film Criticism class, and I feel it deserves a place on this blog as well.
From the 1920s to the end of the 1940s, the American film industry was dominated by the Hollywood studio system, which churned out popular films one after the other as if it was a factory. The films released varied in quality; some were classics that persist to this day, but the majority were forgettable, catering primarily to popular tastes rather than to any sort of artistic integrity or vision. It is these (ultimately disposable) films that auteur theory seeks to justify the existence of, and it does so by elevating the director above the faults of his work, attempting to use “tension” between the director and his script as the primary metric by which any film must be judged.
Andrew Sarris, in attempting to define auteur theory, is engaging in a fairly noble goal; he is attempting to shift the popular discussion of film away from the actors and the spectacle of their celebrity, and towards the efforts of the director, who working behind-the-scenes, shapes the film in ways the actors do not. He is also attempting to turn the conversation on popular films away from snobbish dismissal and towards appreciation by focusing less on the quality of the story and its characters, and focusing more on the use of film as a visual storytelling mechanism, which, regardless of the quality of the films he’s defending, is also a noble goal (especially given just how dismissive the majority of critics were towards American popular cinema). But Sarris, in defining auteur theory as simultaneously narrowly and universally as he does, fails to provide us with a useful lens through which to analyze film.
Sarris begins by claiming that there are three levels of skill a director must have in order to be an auteur, describing these levels as concentric circles, with true auteurs falling into the innermost circle, and most directors falling into either the middle or outermost circle. The outermost circle and first requirement of any auteur is that they be technically competent; i.e., they know how to frame a shot, block actors, and follow the rules of cinematography. Pauline Kael responded aptly with the following: “Sometimes the greatest artists in a medium bypass or violate the simple technical competence that is so necessary for hacks. … The greatness of a director … has nothing to do with technical competence: his greatness is in being able to achieve his own personal expression and style.”
Sarris’ middle circle and second requirement of an auteur is “the distinguishable personality of the director … [exhibiting] certain recurrent characteristics of style [that serve] as his signature.” An auteur must have specific stylistic techniques that are present in any of their films, regardless of the content of the film being made. Kael again dismantles Sarris’ argument, writing that “in every art form, critics traditionally notice and point out the way artists borrow from themselves (as well as others). … In listening to music, seeing plays, reading novels, [and] watching actors, we take it for granted that this is how we perceive the development or decline of an artist (and it may be necessary to point out to auteur critics that repetition without development is decline).”
The innermost and last requirement of an auteur is that their work contain “interior meaning,” which Sarris defines as “the tension between a director’s personality and his material.” So, to Sarris, a director must be working with low quality material that has little to no inherent value in order to be an auteur. Thankfully, Kael yet again provides the perfect criticism of this proposition: “This … formulation … is the opposite of what we have always taken for granted in the arts; that the artist expresses himself in the unity of form and content. What Sarris believes to be ‘the ultimate glory of the cinema as an art’ is what has generally been considered the frustrations of a man working against the given material.”
She even goes on to say that “this formulation .. [shows] something that the first two [requirements] didn’t: it clarifies the interests of the auteur critics. If we have been puzzled because the auteur critics seemed so deeply involved, even dedicated, in becoming connoisseurs of trash, now we can see by this theoretical formulation that trash is indeed their chosen province of film.”
As harsh as Kael’s critiques of auteur theory may be, they are by no means inaccurate. Sarris was primarily interested in justifying the value of film as an art form, but his lack of either experience or care for film outside the popular cinema released by Hollywood meant that he was limited in his ability to defend film, and as a result, he latched on to a dying theory of film propagated by the critics in Cahiers du Cinema, and used that theory to justify his love of popular cinema. And the worst and most unbearable part of Sarris’ theories is that with some more thought, it wouldn’t be difficult for him to defend the idea of the auteur, or the popular cinema that he loved.
Sarris’ flaw in attempting to defend popular cinema is in his lack of an actual defense for it. He openly acknowledges the repetitive storytelling and the typical lack of variation in visual storytelling as flaws in the films he is attempting to defend. This honesty is fine in and of itself, but it Sarris takes it a step farther than he should by refusing to acknowledge the inherent value in such repetitive stories. Rather than acknowledging that the reasons these stories are repeated and retold are because of the resonance they have with the ordinary viewer, as he should, Sarris attempts to justify the existence of such repetitive stories not by their repetition, but in the ways they lack repetition. He justifies the, by his own admission, repetitive films Every Night at Eight and High Sierra by their shared use of the same type of scene; a scene in which the protagonist’s weaknesses and insecurities are displayed in a “feminine” way by showing him thrashing in his sleep at night while being comforted by the love interest of the film (which Kael mercilessly lambasts him for, questioning how such a scene is inherently “feminine”). While this device is potentially subversive, and has the potential for starting an interesting discussion on the typical presentation of the strong and infallible male protagonist popular in early Hollywood films, Sarris ignores this discussion point in favor of reveling in the joys of finding such a connection between these two films that he does not believe he could have made without auteur theory.
Sarris’ version of auteur theory is also weak; there is certainly merit to the concept of a film having a singular auteur, but Sarris, in attempting to create a universal model where there is an auteur for every film, fails to define the auteur in a way that expands the possibilities for the discussion of a film. Sarris’ auteur is a director working with subpar material; his auteur is a contractually bound artist forced to work on films they do not necessarily believe in. This immediately excludes any director who fights for good material or writes their own material, all while Sarris touts this model of the auteur as being universal. Sarris’ model also fails to recognize the collaboration that often takes place in film, and is even more common in the popular cinema he is arguing for than the obscure cinema he seems to ignore (he mentions a number of foreign directors as being auteurs, but he refuses to go into detail as to why they are auteurs, even when directors like Abel Gance, Vittorio de Sica, and Federico Fellini directly contradict his model).
While the influence of the director can certainly be seen in the way the subject matter of a film is handled, given that directors unquestionably have patterns and techniques that they typically use, the same can be said of any artist working on a film. The composer has specific motifs, instruments, and styles that are present throughout their work; the cinematographer has specific types of shots, preferences for lenses, and lighting techniques that are present throughout their work; the writer has specific types of characters, dialects, and phrases that are present throughout their work. The existence of repetition and development of technique is not unique to the director, and so this auteur model touted by Sarris can be applied to anyone who works on more than one work of art in their chosen medium. The director can only be the sole auteur of a film in a scenario where they have the final say on all content, and are ultimately in control of the entire film.
But while the director can almost never be the sole auteur of a film, they can certainly be the primary auteur. There is a uniqueness to the way a director like Alfonso Cuarón uses Emmanuel Lubezki, who was the cinematographer for both Children of Men and Gravity, and Cuarón uses Lubezki’s incredible ability to design long tracking shots to create suspense, tension, and unease. Christopher Nolan uses Hans Zimmer’s ability to create massive, bombastic scores to give the events of Inception and The Dark Knight incredible weight, working in tandem with the emphasis and weight Nolan feels his stories deserve.
David Fincher frequently works with writers whose works deal heavily with pop psychology, and exploits society’s obsession with the deranged to draw in audiences; Gone Girl, Se7en, The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo, and House of Cards all deal with either psychopathic or borderline-psychopathic characters, with Fincher casting these psychopathic characters as both unsympathetic antagonists, as in Gone Girl and Se7en, and highly sympathetic protagonists, as in The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo, House of Cards, and Gone Girl (in which he maintains a meticulous balance of allowing us to sympathize with Amy’s plight, allowing us to revel in her psychopathy, and allowing us to be disgusted by her manipulative behavior).
If Sarris had been willing to acknowledge how this collaboration can still be a part of an auteur model, then perhaps he would’ve given us a more realistic model, where the responsibility for the entire film still rest on the director, but it rests on the director knowing when to inject themselves into a work, and knowing when to step back, and allow another auteur of a different field shine.
Reference
Andrew Sarris: Notes on Auteur Theory
Pauline Kael: Circles and Squares
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heljar-heimur · 1 year
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Goncharov and Auteur theory
What I love about this Goncharov discussion is that because its a Martin Scorsese film we know kind of how it would go and how it would look. Because Martin Scorsese is an Auteur type director.
We know the depictions of culture are harsh and even violent, we might even get critique of american culture even though its a Russian/Italian film hybrid. We have American actors....
Bleak Irony and moral ambiguity and rebellion against old Hollywood.
The movie is character focused and artistic, the cinematography feels natural and the perspective interesting.
We know this because his other films may have very different stories but the directorial input is the same, the look is similar, there is a theme and a artistic vision behind everything.
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checkitout-checkitout · 4 months
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I don't mean this in a mean way, I just mean it in an "I'm on the spectrum" way, but: I kind of don't care about plot and characters? Like, I've come to realize I'm way more interested in aesthetics and style? So much of fandom and pop "analysis" seems to be "the rise and fall of this character's journey" or "This easter egg changes the entire multiverse" and I'm way more concerned with the piano doing the tinkly thing while the camera does the whoosh.
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mordysworld · 1 year
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Film Induction Assignment
This is where my film essay writing skills began, these were my answers for my film studies introduction assignment. The first question was asking for an analysis of the importance of cinematography using an opening scene from a film of my choice and the second question asked for an example of a director who could be considered an auteur.
The importance of opening of Shrek (2001)
The movie opening of Shrek is an iconic scene that is still remembered and referred to when thinking of the movie shrek 20 years later but what exactly makes this scene so memorable? The opening establishes our protagonist Shrek and walks us through his morning routine starting with him exiting his toilet.
When we first meet Shrek he’s shot from a low angle which then transitions into a wide shot of his home, the swamp. The low angle used establishes that in this environment, shrek has a level of power, authority and status and then the wide angle makes his home look bigger so makes the audience think shrek is a character with a lot of authority as he owns his own land which is typically an indicator of power and status. We see Shrek smile before the camera pans to the swamp where a spotlight appears overhead. This kind of lighting  has heavenly or angelic connotations which makes the viewer think that shrek highly values the swamp and sees it as a gift from the heavens above. The swamps lighting and deep depth of field make the viewer focus solely on Shrek's home which could also emphasise the importance of the home to him as we see the swamp from shreks point of view.
None of the shots are filmed in a hand held camera style, this could be to show the steady, never changing routine that the character has already established. Shrek has a steady set, day to day schedule and this could work as foreshadowing that the stable, pre-established monotony of his life would soon change and chaos would ensue. The same could also be said for the heavy focus on his attachment to his home and that his power and authority over his home and land would be threatened by someone even bigger (metaphorically of course) later on in the film. Another important element of the scene is the music. The song ‘All star’ by Smash Mouth is the music that accompanies the scene. The establishing shots of shrek are important but the memorability of his character also comes from the association with this song as well as the first introduction we have to shrek, the cinematography and music go hand in hand.
The Cinematography in the scene is incredibly important; It establishes Shrek's character and the dominance of his character at the beginning of the film and foreshadows a waiver in that status to come. It also establishes the deep attachment he has to his home and why it's so important. The close up and more personal shots show us how comfortable, happy and at ease the character feels in his natural environment which helps to illustrate the deep attachment he has to the setting. The cinematography also helps set the more light-hearted and jovial tone for the movie as well as the pace. This is an example of how pivotal the cinematography is for creating a powerful response in the viewer.
Question 2
Fantastic Mr Fox: The Work Of An Auteur?
Many different components go into creating a film. Editors, actors, set designers and the directors among other things. Arguably one of the most important people that are crucial to the creation of a film is the director. A film director's job is to  manage the creative aspects of the production. They direct the making of a film by visualizing the script while guiding the actors and technical crew to capture the vision for the screen. They control the film's dramatic and artistic aspects.
Wes Anderson is the director of many films including Fantastic Mr fox, the grand Budapest Hotel and Isle of dogs. 
Anderson has a distinct directive style. His films have symmetry and meticulously chosen colour paler in common. Anderson directing could be described as 'direct directing' and he has a hand in producing idiosyncratic and immensely detailed films. Something important is to note a film could have the same cast, crew and script but be directed by a different person and turn out very different. It's all about the creative direction and execution. 
The aesthetic of Fantastic Mr Fox is deliberate and at a glance the scenes could look simplistic but the closer you look the more intricately detailed it seems. An example of this could be character design. The characters already have a base design thanks to the book the film was based off but a decision that Anderson made as director was, having the characters be made from real animal fur rather than synthetic fur as a stylistic choice. 
Another popular shot in Anderson films are profile shots. In Fantastic Mr Fox in our introduction to Mr Fox and his wife we see multiple profile shots when characters speak which gets us to focus our attention solely on the characters and their dialogue. In this scene there is also the visual gag of me fox saying "you're practically glowing, maybe it's the lighting" and then it cuts to a wider shot of both the foxes and she's literally 'glowing'. Anderson movies share a similar sort of dry/visual gag element of humour which isn't exclusive to Anderson movies but is consistent throughout his light-hearted or comedic films
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annasfilmclub · 2 years
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Cinépanorama (1960): Robert Bresson discusses his film Pickpocket (France 1959).
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littledigits · 5 months
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directy directory ramble incoming
I wanted to type out my thoughts on the role of director and how its viewed. Especially coming from a perspective of seeing the streaming bubble pop and just..intense scope creep..and yeah , anyway. No reason specifically just my surface level musings that i always have. Its been 5+ years since I went from an animation supervisor to an animation director, to being able to do my own episodes. It wasnt something I wanted in the sense of a title, but I just like taking whatever the next step or challenge is. I've always been team oriented too, so that will always be in the back of my mind when being in a position with more power. The level of power you have as a director is not something I was expecting to have,so I try not to take it for granted.
Over time I really found that there are two viewpoints of what the job and the expectations of the director are. People have asked me for advice on the job and Its through these conversations that I really see the split opinion. The strongest camp is the one that represents the word least to me, and thats the people who think that the director is 'in charge' in the sense of always doing what they say. There are good and bad of course, but the directors job is to make the hard choices and to push boundaries and to enact a VISION (be it their own, a clients, ect). Their expectation soley revolves around the creation of the creative product. The other camp is the one that sees the Director as a leader first and foremost, who has a responsibility to their team as well as the product, and that leadership and team management skills should be on the roster as well as creative prowess. one thinks its about creative vision first and minimal people skills, and the other thinks it should be 50/50 at the very least. I'm in the second camp, and I have so many people that go 'YES, THAT IS WHAT A DIRECTOR SHOULD DO!' and as much as I agree, I also have to point out that is often not the actual reflected expectations that Directors get - expectations play a big role after all. When you enter a job or grow in a job you should know what your new responsibilities are, and if not you are left to fill in your own gaps. Studios in GENERAL are terrible with clear boundaries and job expectations, so its really no surprise that the stronger creative voices become the loudest in the room. Even the most well meaning people can get into an impossible mindset because no one has told them otherwise...we all know passion and creativity can take us places after all. Sometimes, one is thrust into a position of power without even knowing just how much their choices may impact the team. There are some notorious asshole directors of course but for the most part I've found that creatives in the director realm are well meaning. However, that doesnt change the reality that as well-meaning as you are, there is an entire team of people who can be effected by your mindest, choices and problem sovling for good or bad.
I've talked about this before, but a mindset can vastly change how you problem solve something. A director with no leadership skills may see work that does not meet their expectations and their first thought was that the artist did not do their job properly. A director with leadership skills may see work that does not meet their expectations and understand there are many factors. Heres a few questions I ask myself.
did that person receive proper expectations for the task ?
was there a communication mishap ? ( this happens ALL THE TIME. its ART !_! the amount of times i've written a note that i thought was super clear and someone takes it in a way that..i didnt expect but it also made sense ? SOMETIMES IT DO BE THAT WAY. WE WORK ON OUR COMMUNICATION SKILLS TOGETHER)
did they have enough time to do it ? or feel rushed?
is everything ok ? Everyone has bad times and blips in the production so its reasonable that sometimes things come in not 100%
if it is a hard skill issue, is it a one off or is it ongoing? how are we helping them work on it? The answers to these questions are FAR more valuable in actually getting your vision done to the best of your time and energy then just simply thinking someone doesnt have the skills or needs to learn more. ALL OF THIS TO SAY. That even just having good faith and a connection to your team as a director is incredibly valuable for your information gathering and problem solving, (you learn way more about your pipeline and where the real issues are.) but is vastly underrepresented as an expectation of the job. SO. IF YOU WANT TO DIRECT. you may not get told that your team is part of your responsibility, but if we want a sustainable and healthy industry we have to divide our passion for the project into our team as well as the creative end game. Take some leadership classes, learn about different communication types, or at least have people around you who can do that. You dont need to be everyones bestie, but you do have a responsibility for their experience on the project. ill post some tips and such about working with people later cuz this is long enough
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lesbianrobin · 2 years
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my favorite films, (10/?): The Nightmare Before Christmas (1993) | Directed by Henry Selick, Screenplay by Caroline Thompson, Music & Lyrics by Danny Elfman
I sense there's something in the wind That feels like tragedy's at hand... ...And will we ever end up together? No, I think not, it's never to become For I am not the one.
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b0tster · 1 year
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Now that we got a tasty release date for Rubicon, if I wanted to get ready for it as someone who is interested but largely an AC novice, do you recommend any games to play as, like. The Bare Essentials, for someone who doesn't have time to poke through all 15 games before launch? I touched the first one on PS1 but I kinda wanna know where to focus my time as energy arises.
if ur into retro games and are curious to see where it started, AC1 and its sequels
if u want a good polished iterated version of the core idea that started the franchise, AC3 and its sequels
if u are solely interested in the one miyazaki had his hands in cuz u believe in auteur theory, AC4A
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findafight · 2 years
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More demi romantic Steve because I'm having emotions.
Steve and Robin have talked about Queer Shit but because it's the 80's there's not exactly the terminology nor is split attraction model really at all known so when they got to the "I feel like I need to know someone before I fall in love with them. Like. I need to love them first and then I'd have a crush on them. Does that make sense?" Part of their conversation, they don't really have any labels for Steve, so settle on "friends first then dating" which really significantly narrows down the possibilities in Hawkins. Girls don't want to be Steve's friend. They want to be Steve's girlfriend. And that just doesn't really work for Steve, who's tired of hookups that don't or won't go anywhere. Steve is ready for love.
So spring break happens. And Steve is like huh. Eddie's pretty hot. Eddie is very hot. Nice. But he 1) doesn't know if Eddie is into men 2)doesn't know Eddie very well so it's sort of moot.
When Robin notices she goes "ohhh? What's this, Steve. Checking out our dear Eddie?"
And Steve scoffs. "Yeah, sure, whatever. He's hot, Robin. I'd make out with him, sure. But could I build a life with him? Could we bond and get to that point before he wants something else? Someone else? Idk"
So post spring break shenanigans happen and Steve and Eddie get plonked together (because Robin is a bro and she's got a good feeling about this even if Steve has decided to be a negative Nelly) more often than not. He sees Eddie interact with the kids (who are not really kids anymore) and talk with Robin about obscure movies (what the fuck is Weekend and why is he not allowed to watch it?) And they hang out, Steve tries to teach Eddie about sports ("Eddie. Bases are in BASEball. I feel like you're doing this on purpose" "nah, Stevie, just trying to shoot a homerun" "you are making me regret ever letting you into this family video" and Eddie and Robin try to get Steve to learn anything other than Royal Conservatory pieces on piano.
So he shouldn't be surprised that Robin siddles up to him in June, Steve stirring a pot and Eddie setting the table, grinning. "So. How's making a life with him?" somehow Steve didn't realize until Robin mentioned it that, yeah, Eddie had been Steve's friend since spring break, and that warm spark of comfort and familiarity had changed, morphed into something that caused him to want different things from Eddie.
And it wasn't like Steve didn't know it could happen, like he didn't actually want it to happen, but it's unexpected. It's nice, to realize he trusts Eddie enough that his heart is willing to be soft for him, be open to a different kind of relationship he hasn't had with anyone for almost two years.
But it's also scary because what if Eddie doesn't want that? What if the flirting was just Eddie being friendly? What if Eddie doesn't get how much it means to Steve that he has a crush, an actual honest to goodness crush, on him and Steve isn't actually sure if he's every truely had one that wasn't just mislabeled desire for friendship? What if it just ruins their friendship?
Cue dramatic pining.
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pb-dot · 3 months
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Film Friday: Inception
Today I'm writing about a movie that's a bit outside of my regular wheelhouse. Inception is not my favorite movie, it probably doesn't even get on the Top 10 shortlist if I'm honest, but it's probably one of my favorite movies ever to think about for a couple of reasons that I suspect are a bit unusual. This is all to say I'm going to go a bit deeper into Film Nerd mode than usual for this one. I'd apologize, but I'm not sorry. Inception spoilers beneath the cut.
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So, to start off, I'm not particularly fond of Nolan as a filmmaker. He's extremely gifted on the technical side of filmmaking for sure, and his authorial voice is very strong. That said, his oeuvre seems entirely too cold and clinical to me. Sharp suits, sharp men, complex plans that pivot on perfect twists, near-realistic aesthetics. If there are any emotions involved it's what's ruining everybody's shit. Sometimes, Batman is there. You know, the whole bag.
Nolan makes complex clockwork movies that frequently fuck with time in an interesting way, but there's an emotional distance, or perhaps I should say "distance from emotion" to the whole thing which makes very few of them stick in any meaningful way. For example: I remember Dunkirk being a technically impressive movie that did some spicy things what narrative pacing is considered, but I couldn't tell you a single thing about who it was about, or even what those spicy narrative decisions were in service of.
There is, however, one notable exception. In his 2010 movie Inception, Nolan assembles one of, if not the most complex mechanism yet, and somehow it manages to be his most emotionally honest film. It's quite the impressive magic trick, and I would argue he achieves it by reaching a level of emotional honesty that one seldom sees from mainstream filmmakers.
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Inception is a film about a crew of exceptional thieves specializing in cracking the final vault, the human mind. Using technology that lets them enter the dreams of their targets, they seek to extract company secrets, classified intel, and other pieces of knowledge that can most easily be hidden in memory. However, their troubled leader Cobb finds himself compelled to attempt a job thought impossible, Inception. Their mission is to plant in the mind of energy company heir Robert Fischer the idea of breaking up his company through a dream heist. This heist is complicated not only by the sheer deftness the crew must show in planting an idea without leaving any trace, but also by Cobb's own psychological scars that threaten to destabilize the carefully planned multi-level heist.
The first level I want to look at here is the central metaphor of the Mind Heist gang being analogous to a filmmaking crew. They're all creative and immensely focused people coming together under the direction of a man with a vision, Cobb. This description is perhaps a bit over-general, but what elevates the Filmmaking-as-heist idea to me is how the heists in Inception are specifically about creating a narrative. It is especially important with the main heist as creating a narrative in the head of the target is part and parcel of the inception, but even in the other heist we get to see, setting up a narrative is pivotal to stealing the information they're looking for.
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As an aside, this narrative-making and the need for realism that comes with it also justifies what I consider to be my main sticking point with the film, in that the dreams are so very true to life and low-tech, while dreams in my experience tend to be strange, surreal and malleable experiences. This explains at least from the Watsonian perspective. From a Doylist point of view, it's more likely because Nolan is most comfortable with a near-realistic style of narrative, and this strict adherence to something approaching the realitylike makes his complex drama puzzleboxes easier to follow.
So, the heist crew are, essentially, filmmakers, which would, at least in today's Western film tradition, would make Cobb the director. In much the same way as Roy Neary in Close Encounters Of The Third Kind can be read as a stand-in for director Steven Spielberg, Cobb functions as our Nolan stand-in for Inception. Cobb is, however, far from a blank slate, or frankly a particularly idolized self. He is, in short, a mess.
After going deeper into the world of dreaming than anyone before him, Cobb has crossed some ethical Rubicons, especially when attempting to deal with his now-dead wife Mal and her reluctance to leave the world of dreaming. After performing the first-ever inception to plant the idea in Mal's head that the dream world is, indeed, not the real world, Cobb finds himself constantly troubled by anxiety as to whether he's asleep or awake. Whether this is a direct consequence or reaction to the act of inception, paranoia stemming from such a perspective-shifting thing even being possible, a manifestation of the guilt he feels over Mal's return to the waking world ending with her suicide, or even a sign that Mal did some incepting of her own, is something we can only speculate on.
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Regardless of what exactly is eating Cobb, it manifests in his work. The heist crew frequently finds their efforts frustrated by incursions from Cobb's mind. The most common of these is Mal, or at least Cobb's mental recreation of her, throwing a wrench in their plans, and, in one particularly memorable case, a freight train running through an area a freight train really has no business being. Cobb tries to minimize the risk of this by not taking point and not being too directly involved, but this does little to dissuade his cocktail of trauma and troubled emotions from coming damn close to upending the entire thing.
The heist, however, does succeed. Through a series of bluffs and maneuvers, they manage to navigate Fischer Jr. to what he believes to be the deepest corner of his mind, where lies the comprehension, represented by a deathbed conversation with the man. Through this, Fischer realizes his recently departed father wishes for Robert to break up the energy conglomerate Fischer Sr. built, and instead make something for himself. It's a scene of high drama, and no small amount of catharsis as the troubled Robert realizes his father was never disappointed in him, and merely wanted his boy to be the best version of himself he could be. It's quite stirring stuff.
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It is, however, a lie. This isn't Fischer Sr. revealing himself to be a caring father with trouble communicating the same, hell, it isn't even Robert's interpretation of the man. It is a scenario set up by the dream heist team with the express intention of making the dreaming Fischer Jr. believe this was his unconscious mind telling him to break up his energy conglomerate. It isn't Fischer Sr., not even as an imperfect mental construct by Fischer Jr., it's a construction of the heist crew. It's an act of manipulation, a triumphant act of manipulation, yes, but an act of manipulation all the same.
And still, even upon rewatching the movie with this knowledge well in hand, it's hard to not be swept along by the sheer force of emotion in that moment. Part of it is because it feels so necessary for the character. Fischer Jr. isn't just a target in the context of the scene, he's a troubled man with a complicated relationship to his father. He needs to settle his self-doubt and dismay with the stern and aloof parent he grew up with, and after his death, he still needs the catharsis. So in a way, it doesn't matter much that Fischer Sr. isn't the real deal, Fischer Jr. knows he's in a dream at this point, hell, it maybe doesn't even matter if the dream construct isn't his own. Perhaps what the dream-construct father says is what the wayward son needs to hear, although it'll certainly change the energy market in some pretty dramatic ways. Perhaps, or perhaps Cobb has become such a skilled manipulator his reach extends to the audience, but returning to our metaphor of Cobb as a Nolan stand-in, what is filmmaking if not manipulating and eliciting emotional reactions?
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To further reinforce the point that this cathartic, but fake, heart-to-heart isn't the climax of the story, Cobb's journey isn't done. In the process of doing something thought impossible for the second time, Cobb is forced to do something impossible yet again, parallel to Fischer's revelation. This time, it is to dive deeper into the layered dreaming still in pursuit of his exit strategy, to the unconscious, chaotic under-realm of Limbo, from which there is no waking. This was from whence he managed to rescue himself and Mal back after the first inception, and although it is far from pleasant, he yet again manages to pull through and emerge from the dream.
Or does he? The movie does play with the possibility that the reality that Cobb emerges into is merely another dream in Limbo. It could be because of this the cinematography gets somewhat less focused as the heist concludes and Cobb finds his highest wish fulfilled, exoneration both in the eyes of the law and himself from any wrongdoing in Mal's death and the opportunity to return to his children.
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Now, before I bring this all home, I feel I should speak briefly on Totems in Inception. The Totem is a series of different objects made by the various members of the heist crew. These items, Cobb's is a spinning top, are modified by each individual member and is only to be handled by them. The logic here is that these items are supposed to be a way to check whether you're in somebody else's dream, as you can check the object and how it interacts with the world to verify that it's doing what it's supposed to do, the weighted die falls to the number it's supposed to, the spinning top spins out and tips over like you'd expect it to. Throughout the movie, Cobb has a spinning top he checks regularly, some would say with obsessively, only feeling fully safe once the top tips over.
This is all to explain the lead-up to the final moment of the movie. Cobb, true to his habit, spins his top before meeting his children. He does, however, not wait for it to tip over, and instead goes to meet his children. The camera remains on the top, and moments before it becomes clear whether the top will fall over or continue, the movie cuts to credits.
Many have taken this as a challenge of sorts, a call to action to analyze the logic and events of the movie for signs. Is this a movie about a man succeeding or about a man succumbing? Is what we see in the closing minutes of the movie real, or is it a comfortable lie Limbo has formed around Cobb like it once did around him and Mal?
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Personally, I say it does not matter. The story of Cobb ends with him leaving behind his totem for a reason. He has rid himself of the fear that has plagued him since emerging from Limbo and Mal's death. What if it was Mal who was right, and the quote-unquote real world was nothing more than a particularly elaborate Limbo dream. What if he never incepted anything, what if he's still dreaming within dreaming, stuck in a holding pattern until the impossibly long dream ends, his mind rent asunder by experiencing more time and place than a human mind is meant to bear. What if the top never stops spinning?
As my sequence of retelling might imply, I believe it was experiencing the inception scene with Fischer that helped Cobb clear the final hurdle and face his fears. Even if what Fischer experienced wasn't real, it had a powerful, arguably positive effect on the man. It gave him something he'd never get in the real world, closure. It wasn't real, but it was real enough.
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So that is, I believe, what we're meant to take from that spinning top. The point isn't whether the top has stopped spinning or not, but rather that Cobb has stopped checking. Spin or not, Cobb's journey is not real. It's a movie, told by a crew of talented creatives, guided by a man with a vision and the willingness to show us things that aren't real to give us catharsis, show us wonder and terror, entertain us, and perhaps, give us some closure. "Try not to dwell on it," the movie says, as if aware of the deluge of movie buffs and wannabe theorists that would descend on this movie like they do on every movie with their red circles and reading metaphors as mechanics, "Even if it's fake, it's Real Enough."
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phantasyhalation · 5 months
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doing some checks led me to realise Tomoco Kanemaki has only written for two square enix Games—358/2 Days and Stranger of Paradise—and suddenly a lot of things are starting to make sense. about the characters yes. but also the deranged shipbait.
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*handing a sloppily-made card to ganondorf with unglued glitter on top* happy women's dayyy
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