A24: Why is it Important?

By: Keaton Marcus

PREFACE:

I know there has been plenty of essays on this increasingly popular studio, but this has always been a passion project of sorts for me since I started watching their films. A24 is, to many people, the most significant studio of all time, full of original and versatile content blowing a hole in the age of superhero box office hits. At the moment, however, there's also a good amount of naysayers. Although everyone is entitled to their own opinion, I have come here today to explain why I believe this studio is incredibly essential in the future of filmmaking through various genres.

ARTHOUSE FOR THE MAINSTREAM:

When the general moviegoer thinks about the word "arthouse," it immediately carries a negative connotation. Unfortunately, this word blocks them from a whole other world of great cinema. The arthouse genre's content isn't simply A24, but it's also with Ingmar Bergman, Martin Scorsese, and the majority of top directors out there. But what if there was a solution to all of this? What if a studio or filmmaker were to bring these smaller, independent projects and show them to more mainstream moviegoers? Could it save them from only watching Marvel films? The thing is, A24 is more or less the perfect stepping stone for more mainstream audiences to discover new experiences in cinema. I'm not only referring to watching this studio but many others that make completely original content bereft of the corporate stamp on so many films today. I am in no way suggesting that everyone should flock and watch lesser-known movies, but if one is interested in getting into this type of cinema without knowing where to start, this could be the key. It's principally the entrance unlocking the doors into the further depths of the world of movies, and you will not regret it. That said, the majority of A24 films are of a high standard.

THE VERSATILITY:

One of the highest praises I can award A24 is the fact that their contact is constantly changing with several different genres in the mixture. In a moviemaking world today where directors desperately scramble for new ideas and creativity, these people have succeeded. The disturbing horror of Midsommar, The Green Room, It Comes at Night, The Witch, The Lighthouse, and Hereditary, among likely many more, have succeeded critically and financially. But it isn't the only horror. They have also absolutely nailed the coming-of-age genre with movies such as Moonlight, Eighth Grade, Lady Bird, The Florida Project, and Waves. Five substantially acclaimed films, one after the other. If one can believe it, this studio has also distributed several comedies. Although more hit-or-miss, we cannot simply forget The Farewell, Under the Silver Lake (an absolute masterpiece), and The Disaster Artist. On the Rocks and The Bling Ring are two we don't talk about frequently. We have seen the depressing and intense drama of Room, A Ghost Story, and First Reformed coupled with the intensity and thrills of Good Time, Uncut Gems, Ex Machina, and Locke. Overall, it is awe-inspiring that we have this line-up of various projects with practically every primary genre. There is something for everyone, and with several overlappings, it's challenging to find one that will not interest you.

COMPLETE ARTISTIC CONTROL:

Unfortunately, the biggest and most mainstream studios at the moment can generally be named Disney, Universal, 20th Century Fox, and more than plop out several box office hits a year. Of course, this is changing with a Coronavirus marketplace, but that isn't my point. What I am explaining here is that A24 doesn't come up with their movies in a meeting. They don't have a planned-out cinematic universe that mindlessly follows the timeline until the end. Sequels have never happened. It's simply utter, beautiful creative control that lets the artists envision their idea and enact it no matter what insanity they end up producing. The studio censors nothing, and it sets a high bar for the future of filmmaking. However, this year, with Zack Snyder's Justice League, a massive superhero franchise legitimately let one of their filmmakers create a film entirely to his liking. Surprise, surprise, it was an enormous success with the fans. This is the general formula to what makes A24's movies so attractive, even if they aren't up to the usual standard. You're at least thinking about the fact that studios haven't slapped the corporate stamp of unoriginality onto this one.

GROWING AUDIENCE IN A DIFFERENT AGE:

Cinema isn't necessarily dying. Even if all moviegoers hate to admit it, however, the concept is undoubtedly getting weaker by the release. A24, no matter what some may think of it, is an assured beacon of hope in a void of darkness and box office hits. Quantity is being favored over quality too consistently that it's hurting my brain, and filmmaking is becoming bereft of originality. This studio, against all odds, has been growing a niche of a solid audience that helps it survive. They never break any records in ticket sales, but they almost always profit because of their minimal budgets. To many folks, including me, this is the perfect combination of quantity and quality, a balance that has become hard to discover. I am not saying that this one studio is the messiah of future filmmaking, but if we are talking about perhaps two films a year of consistently strong quality (most of the time), it should get held on a reasonably high shelf.

A BRIGHT FUTURE FOR HORROR:

Although A24 is revolutionizing several genres, I wanted to talk about a specific one that they seem to be harboring. Horror. Generally speaking, in the last two decades, modern horror films tend to suck. Hell-bent on milking as much money as possible, studios have wholly torn the genre apart. Don't get me wrong; there have been good ones not from A24, such as The Babadook, the first two Conjuring movies, Goodnight Mommy, The Cabin in the Woods, among several more, but the most significant ones of the 2010s have come from this magical studio. Robert Eggers first took the genre by storm in 2015 with his stunning debut, The Witch, and mashed horror with a dwindling family's dynamics. In a similar fashion but with original circumstances, Ari Aster made Hereditary in 2018. Imagine The Exorcist, but infinitely more visually deep, with smarter screenwriting and tighter scares. All while it creates compelling, well-acted family drama. Other significant releases included Eggers' second masterpiece, The Lighthouse, and Aster's magnificent follow-up Midsommar. Both have a slight edge of quality over their predecessors. That's how damn impressive this studio has been with horror. We should not forget lesser-known ones, including Enemy, The Green Room, Under the Silver Lake, Under the Skin, High Life, Climax, and more. All of which is, to an extent, relatively acclaimed.

CONCLUSION:

As some readers may have noticed, I have a passionate love for most films I have watched from this studio. Most notably Midsommar, Moonlight, Ex Machina, and The Witch. It's so complicated to have such a track record as A24's, and even the haters have to give them credit. They have single-handedly brought arthouse cinema to the mainstream (more-or-less), let their filmmakers have control of their work, revolutionized the genre of horror, and grew a unique niche audience in this brutal age. Upcoming projects such as Zola, The Green Knight, and Disappointment Blvd. look extremely promising as well. So, overall, here's to A24, my favorite studio and the producer of many in my top 50 of all-time!

Why do Films Matter to Us?

By: Keaton Marcus

PREFACE:

If one ponders this topic, will they be able to respond with a clear response? It's a challenging task. Arriving at a focused resolution on why cinema matters so much to an entire population of people who occasionally watch multiple a day seems almost impracticable. The purpose of this is to attempt to find core reasons that fuel the moviegoer and their desirous passion for seeing, writing, and living for cinema. Keep in mind that all of these essays are only my personal opinion so that readers will disagree with me. It's inevitable.

MEMORABILITY:

When you watch a damn good film, and I mean something excellent, at least one aspect should be memorable. It could be anything, being honest. The cinematography or visual effects were striking; the actors transformed themselves into their roles. The musical score conveyed emotion with simple noise. Did it terrify you? Make you tear up? Get you pumped for the following action sequence? Practically anything visually or substance-wise can affect audiences while witnessing an extremely well-directed movie. For example, when I first saw The Godfather Part II, I had just witnessed greatness in acting. Al Pacino and Robert De Niro changed my whole perspective on what a good performance was. Then we have an unrelated movie, such as Waves, which destroyed me with its powerful camera work and scored conveying heartbreaking juxtaposition. So what am I overall getting at here? I'm explaining that one of the main reasons we keep watching cinema is for memorability. The fact that we take away at least one bit of it long after initially watching. Anyway, aren't forgettable, mediocre films the absolute worst?

NOSTALGIA:

I commonly see this word getting thrown around older people, who don't necessarily make up most of this community, and it more or less angers me. Anyone can experience this feeling of elating reminiscence, and at least for me, a 15-year-old, it hits me hard a lot of the time. For folks wondering what I'm referencing, it's principally a sensation that strikes you while thinking about the past. In the case of cinema, it was a wistful affection of a movie you watched (and probably had a passion for) years ago, and the experience is just hitting you now. It's incredibly personal and should be held highly in terms of fueling the love for cinema. I always remember seeing Star Wars: The Force Awakens in theaters while re-watching it at home. It was the first of the franchise that I witnessed on the big screen, and say whatever you want; it was magical. When I re-watch Cars, The Iron Giant, or Wall-E, I remember when it was on repeat in my childhood. The most remarkable aspect of this concept is the fact that it's utterly unique to just you. No one else has the same, distinct feeling you will. Hold it dearly.

INSPIRING:

Although this generally applies to aspiring filmmakers, editors, actors, screenwriters, or anything in the film industry, anyone can at least feel it during a film. Think a bit for a moment. What was the last movie that inspired you to sit down and write? How about shooting your own short randomly? Or make you rapidly write down ideas in the notes app on your phone? When a film does this to you, it's something special to you as a viewer. Whenever I get struck by this and the movie is of good quality, it usually ends in my favorites. Take my absolute all-time favorite director, Denis Villeneuve. Every single project he takes up affects me in this way, even though it's for very different reasons. In Blade Runner 2049, it inspires me to make jaws drop. Prisoners motivates me to make audiences go through excruciating tension only for a delightfully ambiguous ending. Enemy and Next Floor make me want to disturb—Sicario to thrill. Whatever it may be, inspiring films are genuinely the greatest.

ESCAPING TO ANOTHER WORLD:

Transportation through cinema. A concept experimented with since the beginning of movies that absorb audiences to places they could only dream about at the time, and generally currently. Qualifications could consist of many things. It could take place on a whole other planet, fictional or real. Perhaps we witness a complete fantasy land with monsters, dragons, and brave medieval heroes. Could it be set in another period? Pick the decade, any decade from the last two centuries, and there's likely something to watch. There's more. What about an entirely animated universe where anything can happen? What if superheroes landed on Earth one day and caused absolute havoc? The possibilities are infinite with this one. Primary examples that come to mind instantly would be the Lord of the Rings franchise, Star Wars, the Marvel Cinematic Universe, Pixar's animated films, or any examples that create fiction. Something that you can escape into from your repetitive life. It is a war with apes, an adventure with Rey, Finn, and Poe, a battle against Goblins. Anything that isn't already in this reality. Then again, Drive makes you feel like you're in an ethereal environment, so that's that.

THOUGHT-PROVOKING:

Ah, the thinking man's film. An unofficial genre that is only for the real fancy pants cinephiles, right? Shut up, these may be frequently confusing, but that doesn't justify blocking them from the mainstream. Films that ask deep, otherworldly questions are so compelling in influencing the mind. They make you ponder the impossible. Imagine a concept so far-fetched and insane that people will make fun of you. These films can be Christopher Nolan and Cameron Crowe making characters live in dreams while reality and fiction blend in a line of lunacy. Charlie Kaufman delving into a janitor's deepest desires in his last years of existence. Denis Villeneuve's Enemy mashes faithfulness concepts in a relationship with a subconscious war between two versions of the same man. Yeah, all of the directors and movies they made mentioned here are bonkers, but in a good way. These are sometimes the only modern films that genuinely make you sit down and contemplate. A unique grouping of cinema that deserves infinitely more recognition.

CONCLUSION:

Please let me know what you thought of this highly personal write-up. Does any of it resonate with you? I'm hoping it at least made readers see why they have such a passion for cinema from another perspective. I was hopefully successful in explaining the reasons behind my passion for cinema that likely applies to many other people. Whether it directly affects you in this way depends on the person, so I would love to here others! I personally attempted to put more in here, like the ability to educate us and create literal magic with visual effects. There must be too many to count.

Vibing with Cinema

By: Keaton Marcus

DEFINING “VIBING WITH FILM”:

There isn’t a clear definition for this distinctive feeling at least in the case of cinema, so I am going to try my best to describe it personally. I would say that this word would apply to films that don’t necessarily require you to focus on characters, a three-act structure, or true substance in general. The feels, music, and cinematography principally take over in one big audiovisual splash. It’s an entire unofficial genre of cinema to be completely honest, and the sensation is barely describable in a lucid sense, so you resort to the word “vibes” to justify the passionate response to whatever film you were watching. This commonly gets paired with the criticism “nothing happens”, which is likely to be thrown at these types of movies where the visuals are the most prominent part. I, however, do not view this as a flaw for the majority of these, and sitting back, relaxing, and enjoying a delightfully psychedelic experience is no way wrong while viewing something.

WHY IT’S IMPORTANT:

Why is it that I am taking the time to write this all? How is it important? Well, at least in my highly subjective opinion, this is probably the most modern way of reflecting on original cinema. In a film class that I am taking this year, I was introduced to two incredibly essential classics made almost a century ago. Fritz Lang’s Metropolis and Dziga Vertov’s Man with a Movie Camera are both very different, but they celebrate one key aspect in the history of cinema, and that is visuals. One filled with hyperrealist cinematography, disturbing effects, and exaggerated facial expressions, and another with rapid editing and camera work documenting 24 hours in Russia. I for one was far less entranced by the storytelling in these two artifacts in cinema compared to the eye-popping feeling of it all. Plenty of the examples I will showcase next are gorgeous homages to a time long ago before dialogue, and perhaps even musical scores. Whether it’s Terrence Malick’s The Tree of Life, Tray Edward Schultz’s Waves, Barry Jenkins’ Moonlight, and even Greta Gerwig’s Little Women, these are primary examples of vibes over narrative.

EXAMPLES - PART 1

• Greta Gerwig’s Lady Bird

• Quentin Tarantino’s Once Upon a Time in Hollywood

• Cameron Crowe’s Almost Famous

• Terrence Malick’s The Tree of Life

• Doug Liman’s Swingers

• Terrence Malick’s Days of Heaven

• Kelly Reichardt’s Wendy & Lucy

• Lee Isaac Chung’s Minari

• Chloe Zhao’s Nomadland

• Wong Kar-Wai’s In the Mood for Love

• Lars von Trier’s Melancholia

EXAMPLES - PART 2

• Barry Jenkins’ Moonlight

• Hayao Miyazaki’s My Neighbor Totoro

• Greta Gerwig’s Little Women

• Sean Baker’s The Florida Project

• Trey Edward Schultz’s Waves

• Richard Linklater’s The Before Trilogy

• Michael Dudok de Wit’s The Red Turtle

• Jared Hess’ Napoleon Dynamite

• Krystof Kiewlosky’s Three Colors Trilogy

• Spike Jonze’s Her

EXAMPLES - PART 3

• Jeanne-Pierre Jeunet’s Amelie

• Nicolas Winding Refn’s Drive

• Pawel Pawlikowski’s Cold War

• Celine Sciamma’s Portrait of a Lady on Fire

• Agnes Varda’s Cleo from 5 to 7

• Charlie Kaufman’s Anamolisa

• David Lowery’s A Ghost Story

• Mike Mills’ 20th Century Women

• Joe + Ethan Coen’s Inside Llewyn Davis

• Nicolas Winding Refn’s Only God Forgives

WHAT ARE THE DISTINCTIONS:

The major question a reader could be asking is about the distinction between one of these and a fully plot-driven movie. I would describe it as filmmaking where you don’t need immense dialogues (for the most part) or hard-hitting plot twists to make an emotional connection with the audience. Prime examples of this would be the universe creation sequence in The Tree of Life, the visual motifs in Moonlight and Waves, or perhaps the non-linear structure of Little Women. These are films in which characters make random interactions, romantic or non-romantic connections, and overall just celebrate the beauty of life without the qualifications for a substance-filled film. Agnes Varda’s Cleo from 5 to 7 is basically only about a woman waiting to hear about her medical condition as she goes through incredible anxiety throughout the day, making connections that gradually help her along the way. Inside Llewyn Davis is a powerful, intense, and raw look at a struggling musician just traveling, meeting up with different people, and dealing with his self-indulgent loneliness. That’s literally it. Is that a negative in any way, shape, or form? Not even remotely, and I always adore when you can kick back and let the visual environment envelope and absorb you instead of the plotting. It’s relaxing, trippy, and occasionally hypnotizing in a sense. Overall, isn’t that why we watch movies?

MY TOP TEN:

1. Drive

2. Portrait of a Lady on Fire

3. Moonlight

4. The Tree of Life

5. Melancholia

6. Her

7. Waves

8. Inside Llewyn Davis

9. Minari

10. In the Mood for Love

Her: Finding Love Through Loneliness

By: Keaton Marcus

Spike Jonze's Her. A love story like no other taking place in a world inclined to give comfort, convenience, and solace to its citizens. It's a society that's incredibly peaceful yet somehow utterly detached from reality itself. It's a story of a man who fell in love with an automated voice due to his lack of connection with real women. His detachment from society and loneliness allows him to do so. Let's take a deeper look into why, however.

One aspect of this film that stood out to me was the color scheming. The various outfits and objects represent human emotions. It's the absolute epitome of visual storytelling. For example, mainly before Theodore meets Samantha, we see him generally dress in red. What does this color represent? It is commonly used to allude to the feelings of passion, love, or maybe they need for connection. Before finding his first proper romance with Samantha, his outfits can be interpreted as a symbol of affection. They emulate his desire for it. If a viewer takes the time to examine the color of outfits on the people walking around them, they tend to be more muted, dull palette. This, obviously, makes the character stand out from the crowd, making audiences focus solely on him. His desires. His needs. Still, it's also the color of Samantha, of a piece of furniture with his first wife, and even the sign of his apartment. So what does this tell us? I would personally concur that wherever red appears, Theodore is going through an intense moment of passion.

Theodore isn't exactly living a harmful life before his first encounter with Samantha, but it is far from perfect. There always seems to be a sheer, meandering disconnect with the world. He trudges through life, bereft of confidence and conviction. Unable to even sign his divorce papers, his only way of finding solace and peace within himself is writing letters of love through other people. His distancing to others and almost self-indulgent loneliness comes to a rapid close when he finds the next light of his life, Samantha. As humans, don't we all strive to find a purpose in life? What is our worth? Why are we here? I believe that Her is attempting to show that humanity needs love, and Theodore's primary purpose is that very feeling. He needs it to survive in a sense, and Samantha is the key to it. When the two begin to fall in love, it completely changes his perception of the world. He's happier, confident, convicted, and is almost an entirely new man. Because of his love for Samantha, he has found his meaning in life. To love.

But can it all last? Can a relationship between a human and an automated voice really prevail in the end? It definitely helps Theodore get through his grieving over the relationship with Rooney Mara's character. Still, I would view that as more of a temporary thing. It almost represents a breaking point in his life, a little bit of help for further successful connections, but with actual women. As anyone could have guessed, their relationship begins to deteriorate because of the lack of genuine physical contact with each other. The distancing prevents true love in a sense, and it eventually bogs both of them down. Samantha even hires a prostitute as a surrogate body for them to have legitimate sexual intercourse despite his evident distaste for the idea. The attempt to do so fails almost entirely, leading to even more deterioration in the relationship. Theodore feels out of touch once more, and it only takes one more push to make him realize that he and Samantha cannot last together.

This "final push" comes in the form of a heartbreakingly beautiful confession near the film's end. It electrocutes Theodore emotionally, waking him up in an extraordinarily unpleasant yet necessary fashion. This arrives when Samantha finally tells him that she has been in love with thousands of other men, talking to them while communicating with him. The ultimate romantic betrayal comes as a complete and utter truth about the disconnect in society today. Theodore may not enjoy the experience to any extent, but he absolutely needed the pain. With devices, music, and ultimately technology being ever so present today, we commonly disengage from connection and become blinded from life. It prevents us from living it to the fullest, which causes the butterfly effect towards a lack of purpose. I feel as though Theodore was so obsessed with finding connection in any way possible that it ended up artificial at the most, and this leads us to the ending. Quite possibly one of my favorite moments in cinematic history.

Reverting back to the "finding your purpose" idea, humans are inevitably going to die. We choose not to think about it, but the deep, dark fear will always live inside. Hurtling in a linear path towards the end of existence is a terrifying concept, so everyone feels the need to feel accomplished at the end of it. Purpose principally fuels this idea of content on our death bed, hence Theodore's avid journey for it. Unfortunately, this quest for the purpose has blocked him from true, genuine connection. The ending makes it the opposite. Amy, played by Amy Adams, is the catalyst that wraps this all up. In the final scene, she wears a red sweater, which represents acceptance and fulfillment, two aspects that he lacked in his life. Previously, this symbolized the need for love, but it has changed as wildly as Theodore has as a character. Jonze's screenplay is so incredibly developed that even outfits have a difference in meaning in conclusion. The importance of connecting with nature, friends, work, and overall life is just as essential in finding purpose. It's the lesson this movie is attempting to convey at the end of its running time. A lecturing that I believe all humans need to listen to before making the same mistakes Theodore made.

Science-Fiction: A Genre Retrospective

By: Keaton Marcus

PREFACE:

I have seen plenty of these “genre analysis” posts lately, so it should come off as obvious that I would want to try it out with my absolute favorite bunch of films under the name “science-fiction.” What defines this word? What different types of films lie under it? Any interesting subgenres? What are my personal recommendations in exploring this genre to a higher extent? Remember, I have not seen every single movie imaginable, so this is essentially solely my opinion on the matter.

SCIENCE-FICTION DEFINED:

fiction based on imagined future scientific or technological advances and major social or environmental changes, frequently portraying space or time travel and life on other planets.

Basically, this is a wholly fantastical genre and to qualify under it, a film cannot include real events or people, which eliminates stuff such as First Man or Apollo 13. It makes predictions about what the future holds for humanity, whether that means other extraterrestrial territories or life, dystopian or utopian societies, or anything simply outside our reach at the moment. It’s the ravaged and overpopulated apocalyptic world of Blade Runner and its sequel, 2049. A man lost on Mars forced to survive with his own smarts while waiting for rescue in The Martian. A father-son story mixed in with a journey across the stars to find a man’s ideation of God in Ad Astra, making for both emotionally investing and spellbindingly awe-inspiring results. Anything that qualifies as fictional and that deals with otherwordly technology or planets can be considered a part of “science-fiction.”

NOTABLE DIRECTORS:

Note: this is only a condensed list. There are many more.

• Denis Villeneuve - Blade Runner 2049, Arrival, Dune (upcoming)

• Andrei Tarkovsky - Stalker, Solaris

• James Cameron - Terminator, T2: Judgement Day, Avatar

• Ridley Scott - Alien, Aliens, Prometheus, Alien Covenant, Blade Runner, The Martian

• Christopher Nolan - Interstellar, TENET, Inception

• Alfonso Cuaron - Gravity, Children of Men

• Alex Garland - Ex Machina, Annihilation

• Rian Johnson - Looper, Star Wars: The Last Jedi

CHARACTERISTICS OF THE GENRE:

1. SPACE TRAVEL:

   Likely the most primary characteristic of a science-fiction film that comes to mind when hearing the word is traveling beyond Earth. A journey among the stars to find the unimaginable. Whether it is finding a new place for humanity to reside, looking for extraterrestrial life, or simply landing on a new planet, all of these factors into it.

2. TIME TRAVEL/TELEPORTATION:

   What if you could go any place or time in whatever random moment one desires to? This is a common question asked by several films of the genre, and an interesting one at that. There have also been many attempts at creating a world of time loops, reliving the same day every day. It’s infinitely full of creativity to grab upon, and its concept has fueled many filmmakers’ visions.

3. IMAGINATION OF THE FUTURE:

   Predicting what is to come is additionally a major aspect of the genre. Generally, these tell stories of dark, grim futuristic environments that although have some advancements in technology, are ultimately stuck in the dark age due to some national or global issue such as overpopulation or climate change. These are often referred to as “dystopian”, stories of imperfect worlds.

4. ARTIFICIAL INTELLIGENCE:

   Robots could live among us (STFU NOT A MEME) in the future. Our only conception of true artificial intelligence, meaning beings that can act as human as possible, is through cinema at the moment. Can it be the story of a robot rebellion? A test to see whether you can tell the difference between a piece of AI and a human being? The question of the possibility to fall in love with one of these? The possibilities run on forever, and between all the stabs at giving us a definitive answer, we shall have to see for ourselves.

   Other characteristics that I only more or less covered are alien lifeforms, interplanetary warfare, alternative histories, and more. These are only the four main ones.

EXAMPLES - TO THE STARS

• Ad Astra - James Gray

• Interstellar - Christopher Nolan

• Solaris - Andrei Tarkovsky

• 2001: A Space Odyssey - Stanley Kubrick

• Alien (Franchise)

EXAMPLES - INFINITIVE TRAVEL/RELIVING DAYS

• TENET

• Edge of Tomorrow

• Looper

• Terminator (Franchise)

• Source Code

EXAMPLES - A DARK NEW WORLD

• Blade Runner + Blade Runner 2049

• Mad Max (Franchise)

• Akira

• Planet of the Apes (20011-2017 trilogy)

• Stalker

EXAMPLES - ROBOT TRANSCENDATION

• Ex Machina

• Her

• The Matrix

• Terminator (Franchise)

• Moon

EXAMPLES - MELANCHOLIC LONELINESS

• Melancholia

• Annihilation

• Under the Skin

• Arrival

• Ad Astra

MY TOP TEN:

1. Blade Runner 2049 - Denis Villeneuve

2. Arrival - Denis Villeneuve

3. Melancholia - Lars von Trier

4. Her - Spike Jonze

5. Ex Machina - Alex Garland

6. Stalker - Andrei Tarkovsky

7. 2001: A Space Odyssey - Stanley Kubrick

8. Ad Astra - James Gray

9. Mad Max: Fury Road - George Miller

10. Children of Men - Alfonso Cuaron

FILMBROS AND CINEPHILES

What comes to mind when you think of these two terms? For the former, it’s probably the moviegoer who prefers more mainstream, popular films. For the latter, it’s likely someone with more refined and less accessible taste. These concepts have been around for awhile, but really pondering about them, it becomes clear that the morals of throwing moviegoers under one term simply because they enjoy Tarantino just doesn’t sit right.

FILMBROS:

Realizing that some readers may not know the actual definition of a filmbro, I would definitely like to clarify. Principally, the basic gist of the word is to describe a moviegoer who generally prefers more accessible directors, who although for the most part make good movies, are still the butt of the joke when it comes to throwing the word “overrated” around. Not questioning the actual morals of this, what are these people assumed to be like? I would deduce that so-called filmbros absolutely adore directors like Martin Scorsese, Christopher Nolan, Quentin Tarantino and more extremely iconic directors. If Pulp Fiction or Fight Club or The Dark Knight are in their favorites, they are automatically classified under this word. Additionally, we can also unfairly generalize these typically mainstream cinema enjoyers as haters of foreign language films or reading subtitles while watching. Basically, it’s American cinema or bust. Tarantino over Tarkovsky and Fincher over Fellini. Not to say that these people don’t exist, because I have met a few, but I would call it extraordinarily insensitive and hasty to call every single admirer of all things David Fincher a term which simplifies an entire moviegoer’s taste. In all honesty, why does one care if their friendly neighborhood cinephile prefers Se7en over Stalker? I do myself despite adoring both, so it’s disappointing to see things like this happening.

CINEPHILES:

Now this type of moviegoer is expected to be the utter opposite. The antithesis of a filmbro if you will. It’s a lover of Tarkovsky, Fellini, Kurosawa, and other lesser known filmmakers to the general mainstream. The awful thing is, these moviegoers are pinned to the ground and thrown under this term if they do so much as dislike Fight Club. People inherently assume that these are pretentious, snobby and “fancy” elitists who believe they are superior to other types of moviegoers. It all falls apart when you examine the overall morals of the concept “types of moviegoers” in the first place, so these arguments should really be discarded. Seriously, one move against a popular flick and you can be written off as a snob. Is that truly how one should be treated? Of course not. Let them love their Ikiru. Let them cherish their Criterion disks of Come and See. Then again, I am not assuming that none of these people do believe that they have superior taste in cinema, but these oversimplifications are incredibly rash.

ISSUE #1: BLACK AND WHITE

One of the several glaring problems I see with these two terms are the oversimplifications in the world of opinions that it brings. We as humans always attempt to think outside of the box, to transcend the normal. This counteracts uniqueness. It forces us moviegoers to see everything in black and white, in ones and zeroes. It doesn’t let us transcend the two boundaries of “filmbro” and “cinephile”. You’re only allowed to stick with one. Solely permitted to either worship Fincher or Tarkovsky. Not both, not neither. It becomes almost controlling to really think about how far one could take these terms. Everything incredible about opinions have been diminished for the sake of keeping order with these two words. In mockery or irony, it is harmless, but in a serious way, this can absolutely ruin one’s self-confidence in their taste. Perhaps I am taking this too seriously, but do not think that I can’t enjoy it when these terms are used in memes. I have burst out laughing at several. The thing is, memes about these words are usually to make fun of how simple and boring they are, not to glorify them.

ISSUE #2: A CROSSOVER?

Similar to the previous section, it is interesting to test the many ways to break these concepts. What if a moviegoer is not restricted to one of these two words? To be clear, these are the vast majority of them, so does it really make sense to write off someone as a filmbro or cinephile when they’re a bit of both. What if I enjoy both Ingmar Bergman and David Fincher. Impossible, right. Not at all. Not in the very slightest. Looking at my top 25 films, my favorites can vary from Joker to Silence or Blade Runner 2049 to I’m Thinking of Ending Things. I am only one of the many examples of this debacle, and it becomes difficult to defend otherwise after listening to opposing arguments. I would even argue that several filmmakers can have traits that would fit the two categories equally. These include Denis Villeneuve, Paul Thomas Anderson and Martin Scorsese. Obviously, these three are for the thinking man, but they have some serious popularity as well. So what can be drawn from all of these scattered statements? This is the beauty of opinions. Something that cannot be constrained by boarders such as these terms.

ISSUE #3: A FILM BECOMES POPULAR

I will try and keep this last section fairly quick, but the third major flaw that I have found with this system is the fact that a lot of films that can be considered “filmbro movies” started out in a far more cinephile-type way. These are movies such as Parasite, Her, Moonlight, and even Portrait of a Lady on Fire to a certain extent. Art house, independent movies that happened to blow up in popularity and be recognized by the mainstream (within the Filmstigram community). These movies are unfortunately over saturated and commonly written off as “overrated” just because of being popular. I covered most of this in my “Overrated or Popular?” post, but it’s worth revisiting a little. It becomes an insanely complex situation when you add this in to the equation, and harder to side with the other opinion.

IN CONCLUSION:

Wrapping this up, there are a few valuable lessons to be learnt from this, but the primary one is don’t be an idiot. Do not butt your nose in someone else’s opinions and assert superiority of their taste simply because they like a certain movie. Is it really that important to you if some random moviegoer has some IMDb Top 250 films in their favorites? Or if someone despises that list and sticks with the Letterboxd Top 250? This topic truly irritates me occasionally, so it was nice to have a good rant about it. Hopefully readers didn’t fall asleep or anything.

Sicario: What is Morality in a land of depravity?

PREFACE:

Sicario might be the greatest action movie ever made. Of course, that isn’t too much of a surprise considering it’s from director Denis Villeneuve, but it definitely makes it a film worth diving into. It presents itself as the basic thriller, but examining it with greater depth leads to new discoveries about its themes and characterizations.

PREMISE:

After rising through the ranks of her male-dominated profession, idealistic FBI agent Kate Macer (Emily Blunt) receives a top assignment. Recruited by mysterious government official Matt Graver (Josh Brolin), Kate joins a task force for the escalating war against drugs. Led by the intense and shadowy Alejandro (Benicio Del Toro), the team travels back-and-forth across the U.S.-Mexican border, using one cartel boss (Bernardo Saracino) to flush out a bigger one (Julio Cesar Cedillo).

GOOD VS. EVIL

I have seen this film twice now, and the number one thing I have picked up on from it is its perspective and good and evil. The lines between the basic definition of morally right and wrong, and how they may become more blurred than we expect in situations like Sicario. Can we trust anyone? Are there any good people out here? Who can we root for? This movie gives you a straight answer: no one. The question of what defines good and evil is practically ingrained in our heads, and we as humans constantly try to hold on to a tangible sense of doing the right thing. But what happens when that isn’t the right thing to do anymore? What can we do when everything that we thought was morally correct is stripped away? These are interesting questions worth pondering over, and things this film so clearly asks.

USE OF TENSION:

Sure, artfully made violence is arguably the most key thing in an action film, but what about building tension? Slowly raising the audience’s heart rate until a beautifully cathartic piece of brutal violence plateaus the built-up excitement. Two things make this happen so easily in Denis Villeneuve’s masterpiece. One, Roger Deakins’ cinematography is impeccable. This film gets reviews or appreciation posts all the time celebrating this aspect, but I mean it with the utmost certainty. It may not have the big budget flashiness of Blade Runner 2049 (don’t get me wrong, that film’s beautiful) but in terms of grittier, more down-to-earth filmmaking, it successfully portrays the neutrality and blurred lines of morals. Two, Johan Johansson’s (RIP legend) haunting, chilling score is something to note down as well. It’s a meticulous assault on the ear drums that comes off as jarring in all of the right moments. Everything is unclear, complex and ambitious, and these two highly proficient technical aspects just accentuate it to the best extent. There are many aspects that make a dog-eat-dog environment, such as the screenwriting, acting and directing, but these two were the most atmospheric.

THE COMPLEXITY OF PERSPECTIVES:

One thing that Sicario does to truly separate it from the common film in the genre is its approach to good and evil. How does this film view the two vastly different words? At least from what I have noticed, it does it the most effectively with several perspectives from various characters. Admittedly, Emily Blunt’s Kate is the main character of sorts, but to be honest, there are more people to focus on. With each person introduced, whether it’s Josh Brolin’s Matt, Benecio del Toro’s Alejandro or even Silvio, a man doing anything to protect his family, each character has something new to offer. Matt and Alejandro embrace the nihilism and wrongfulness of this world, Kate is repulsed by the murderous actions they take, and Silvio is simply caught in a world of drugs while having people to care for. Of course, we cannot forget Jon Bernthal’s infamous Ted, who uses illegal and corrupt methods for easy money. But then again, can anyone really blame him? Can we even call him the bad guy? Not really, and this is because this movie never makes it clear who to root for. In general, especially in these types of films, it’s almost become a convention to establish a certified “good guy”. Here, there is simply no such concept. It’s highly subjective on where one lands in this case, and in the real world, isn’t this more or less a far superior and realistic portrayal of morals?

THE CHARACTERS:

It is more than worth taking a little bit of a better look at these characters. Obviously, we have Kate, an idealistic, by-the-books FBI agent who wants to do everything in her version of “right”, but that conflicts with other perspectives. Alejandro on the other hand is the ultimate opposite perspective of Kate, doing whatever it takes to complete his mission. He argues that her way of solutions isn’t always necessarily successful, and sometimes you have to become the bad guy to defeat one. This is a greatly intimate experience exploring what not one, but several characters think of each event in the film. This is yet another distinction I can make from your typical thriller. Brutality and illegality are the ways Alejandro rolls with, but the film shows that these are commonly more effective than Kate’s. So is he truly wrong? Or is it just her conflicted viewpoint on the matter struggling to side with him. Brolin’s Matt isn’t too different, as his methods align more with Alejandro’s than Kate’s. They both play as magnets of sorts, pulling her to see another way of seeing issues in the world, for better or for worse. It further makes the audiences and Blunt herself question if her way of thinking is correct in these types of situations. It’s a bold new take on a troubling real-life issue, The War on Drugs, and completely unique in this sense.

EVIL TO FIGHT EVIL:

Additionally, I would argue that although this film sends some pretty iffy messaging at times, it’s such an uncompromisingly smart look at good and evil. It argues that the most powerful way of fighting monsters is to become those monsters. Insanity to combat insanity. Brutality and violence to go hand-to-hand with more acts of depravity. It isn’t exactly the most positive look on things, but the execution is a flawless projection of Matt and Alejandro’s cynical look on morals, and how this almost clouds Kate’s judgement. Not necessarily in a bad way, however. It doesn’t quite shape her into a good person, but it teaches her the valuable lesson that sometimes, your viewpoint of “bad” is the greatest strength to fight evil. Even if it means breaking the law, this film pulls no punches.

THE BRILLIANCE OF AMBIGUITY:

Every motivation, every action, every dialogue and every single method one of these characters uses has a purpose in this movie. It all contributes to one massive shade of ambiguity, complexity and blurred morality. By the end of the film, audiences don’t know who won or lost, who made a difference in the world and who didn’t. Even the answer to who was the good guy or not. This movie is incredibly ambiguous, and that plays as a major part to its brilliance. This way of telling a story is deeply metaphorical for the message it is attempting to depict. The methodical execution is difficult to stomach, but Denis Villeneuve has presented one hell of a vision that will not be forgotten. This movie uses so many top-notch aspects to convey the fact that the only way to complete the mission is to maintain order. Unfortunately, to actually keep things under control, Alejandro and his methods shall prevail over her’s. Still, are they really people to idolize over either? Not even close. That’s the genius of Sicario. A definite future action classic that will come to be highly respected in the Hall of Fame in cinema.

Ex Machina: Creating Villainy Through Self-Importance

By: Keaton Marcus

Ex Machina is one of my favorite films of all-time. One of the many reasons why is the fact that it can be interpreted in many several different ways, including Man vs. Machine, a manipulation of the audience, or the ignorance in a battle of masculine wits which ultimately let AI take control. It is a haunting look at breaking the rules of God, and easily worthy of an in-depth analysis on how this film hits as hard as it does.

PREMISE:

Ex Machina tells the story of computer programmer Caleb (Domhnall Gleeson), who wins a contest to spend a week visiting the remote estate of Nathan (Oscar Isaac), his company's reclusive CEO. He then learns that this is no simple vacation.

DEUS EX MACHINA:

The title of the film is quite clearly taken from the phrase “Deus Ex Machina”, which I am sure readers have at least heard of before. The basic definition is explained as God from the machine. Principally, I would explain this as a robot or some type of artificial being transcending the boundaries of AI. Almost as if this being has become something else, bigger and ultimately special. Sure this movie presents itself as a basic thriller about a crazed genius who’s invented the world’s greatest piece of technology, but if one looks deeper, it’s truly about making a robot as human as possible so that an actual person could not tell the difference when talking to Ava.

THE IGNORANCE OF NATHAN:

I explained before that if examined in the most basic sense, one could see this film as a movie about robots and humans clashing with one another, but here, the case is a little different. How I see it is the robot behind the scenes playing it safe while Caleb and Nathan constantly argue, attempting to prove themselves over one another. The two men can both be viewed as clouded and ignorant in vastly opposite ways, with Nathan being cocky, confident, and incredibly stuck-up about his own intelligence while Caleb is the generally silent, shy one yet he yearns for self-confidence and masculine superiority, traits that Nathan clearly has. While Caleb is being lectured by Nathan relentlessly, his judgment is closed off further with Ava, whom he easily falls for and cannot tell if Nathan programmed her to flirt with him. He feels trapped and dominated by the other two, and Nathan simply assures himself that he’s the best of the best to keep himself the alpha male in this situation. However, this leads to his own downfall.

THE IGNORANCE OF CALEB:

Nathan may be on the high horse for most of the film, but Caleb’s ego and ignorance are just as fragile in a whole other way. He attempts to take down Nathan several times and is eventually successful. Nathan’s character story is all about how his confidence leads to falling from grace. On the other hand, Caleb’s character story is about how his need for power and control in his own self-pity leads to his own fall from grace. We can see this as he, on a few occasions, fights back and tries to prove his worth as a great coder and programmer, a special contribution to Nathan’s company and the world’s possibility for evolution. His journey for worth in this dog-eat-dog world leads him to become an unlikely fighter, and surprisingly a stronger character than we previously thought. Little does he know that although his approach to taking the pilot’s seat is smart and reserved at first, it will eventually lead to his own plummeting into nothingness due to a unique, but the still egotistical outlook on power dynamics between men.

MANIPULATION THROUGH SELF-IMPORTANCE:

Although Nathan comes off as a bit of an asshole throughout the first half of the film, audiences don’t perceive him as evil just yet, or even have any sort of hatred for him. That is until we find out that he has been manipulating Caleb even before he came for the week, and how his meticulous planning due to his self-importance leads us to look upon him in a wholly negative sense. We find that he has programmed Ava to look like a combination of Caleb’s pornographic searches, exploiting his loneliness, sadness, and need for connection. This, of course, leads him to clumsily fall for Ava and believe that they had some sort of special relationship without knowing that she would be the final win over the two men. Considering how dominant Nathan seems to be, audiences wouldn’t likely expect Caleb to crack through his masculine weaknesses, and this ends as both manipulation of viewers and Nathan. Absolutely masterful screenwriting if I were to give my opinion on it, subtle, sharp, and wickedly entertaining. Speaking of manipulation, Caleb uses Nathan’s alcoholism and conviction that he’s in control to defeat him unexpectedly. This is how he beats him in this dangerous game of wits.

RESPECTIVE WEAKNESSES:

We see Nathan as the strong and smart one and Caleb as the weak and only mildly useful one at the start, but in his own massive intelligence and ego, Caleb has found his number one weakness. That is, of course, his confidence in his intelligence, which although is deserved to an extent, he takes it way too far to survive. Through his intellectual prowess and clear pride, he has created something almost too ambitious, something that can exploit his weakness herself. Ava is programmed to tell what people are feeling, making her a product of crazed intelligence. However, the unfortunate thing for Nathan is that his own creation has outsmarted him and through tactful manipulation and exploiting weakness, has found a loophole. It’s a complex game of outsmarting and finding fragility in each other, but here is how I would describe it.

Nathan creates Ava through ambition - Caleb arrives, in need of Nathan’s pride and dominance - He finds that Nathan has been manipulating through his creation - Caleb finds his weakness and destroys him - Ava is both men’s weakness and exploits them both.

Outcome: Ava wins.

CREATION LEADS TO DESTRUCTION:

I know, this isn’t necessarily an easy thing to digest, and it’s far more convenient to loom at this as an AI takes over the situation, which in a sense, is correct, but it’s so much more layered than that. I would call it a study on how even the greatest of creation can lead to villainy, destruction, and death. A complex look at how through one man’s sheer ambition, he has self-destructed himself through incredible creativity and intelligence. Nathan and Caleb’s constant search for self-importance, or more prominently Caleb’s has to lead to them creating God, something that can easily overpower any human. They have created a being that this world is not ready for, and by the ending when Nathan is killed and Ava locks Caleb in the facility, she has become in control. The two are left dumbfounded, jaws dropped that a robot has asserted dominance over both of them in their own quests for power. Alex Garland has let audiences witnessed true genius, the twisted psychotic game of how easily humans can turn corrupt just for the sake of self-worth.

Director's Study: Christopher Nolan

By: Keaton Marcus

PREFACE:

Christopher Nolan. What’s the first thing one thinks of when hearing this name? Is its non-linear storytelling, mind-benders that deal with time, confusion, exposition, awe-inspiring set pieces? There is a lot to praise and criticize this man for. Panning his lack of developed female characters and generic lead male ones, or falling down for his masterful craft in action sequences. Is he style over substance or just concept over character? It’s difficult to tell being completely honest, and while this likely won’t conclude with a definitive answer, I do want to spotlight this man’s work.

WHY I LOVE HIM:

The best place to start with this section is to write about Christopher Nolan’s greatest strength as a filmmaker, which is to create sufficient spectacle and immerse the viewer into the world of the film, almost always giving them an enjoyable ride at the very least. These films occasionally have serious flaws on the more artistic side of things, but in terms of entertainment value and larger-than-life storytelling, it’s almost guaranteed to succeed on a massive level. The Dark Knight is an epic, fabulously-looking, structured, and compelling comic-book movie. The Dark Knight Rises runs over its plot holes with major enjoyment value. Inception is an exposition-riddled, yet complex, creative and thrilling ride into an insane concept. Interstellar is a grand space opera, filled with mastery on every technical level despite its few shortcomings. Dunkirk doesn’t have to invest in characters, but it’s a transformative experience that was incredible to witness in the cinema. TENET is ridiculously convoluted, self-indulgent, massively entertaining, stirring, and action-packed. For every flaw in one of his movies, there are multiple things worthy of the appraisal to renounce any criticisms.

Another aspect of his films that I can love to an extent is his work that goes into subverting our expectations, and thirdly, his utter versatility looking at his filmography. What do I mean by this? How does Nolan subvert our predictions for each one of his movies? When done correctly, I adore his use of concept over character. Moviegoers can throw slander at him for a lack of substance and generic leads, but that isn’t the point for the majority of his movies. It’s to wow viewers with another inventive and immensely complicated concept, putting enough effort into spectacle and practical set-pieces. Looking at the behind-the-scenes footage for Dunkirk and TENET, one must admit that he puts blood, sweat, and tears into everything he does, no matter how simple. It’s hard not to commend the work that goes into every single large-scale action sequence even if someone despises his work. Look upon the internet a list of Nolan’s movies, and there is a lot more originality in each installment to his career than a lot of filmmakers working today. We go from a trilogy of comic-book films to a space epic. A war drama to two wildly polar opposite science fiction films dealing with the concept of time. Besides his one franchise which only consists of three films, he is extraordinarily versatile and precise in each of his original pieces.

AND WHY I DON’T:

Unfortunately, while there is a lot to adore and praise about this director, the problems are fairly noticeable as well and depending on the viewer, it’s interesting to see how much one cares about it. How much the gravity in one’s opinion changes when looking at the writing, characterizations, and overall substance side of things while viewing. I would say the closest he has gotten (from what I have seen so far) to have both style and substance-focused films is The Dark Knight. To add to the action, there’s excellent acting from its leads, widely solid characters, and magnificent storytelling. However, besides that, therein lies the rub. The first 45 minutes of Inception are useful for setting up the entire world, but it’s also got some truly obnoxious dialogue. It’s impossible to relate or connect to any characters in Dunkirk and TENET. Plot holes plague Interstellar and The Dark Knight Rises. Female characters are, for the most part, extraordinarily vacant in the entirety of his works. To really explore the concept, the sacrifice of a lot of other aspects to make something a masterpiece is evident in his movies. It comes with a heavy heart while writing this, but these are the primary factors that keep Nolan from being one of my favorite directors. The glaring issues are too difficult to ignore despite the fact that I have loved almost all that I have seen from him.

MY RANKING:

1. The Dark Knight - 95/100

2. Interstellar - 88/100

3. Dunkirk - 87/100

4. TENET - 87/100

5. Inception - 85/100

6. The Dark Knight Rises - 83/100

7. Batman Begins - 70/100

8. Following - 63/100

ON MY WATCHLIST:

Memento

Insomnia

The Prestige

Hereditary: A Trilogy of Suffering

By: Keaton Marcus

Ari Aster’s Hereditary. Likely one of the greatest films ever made, and alongside Midsommar, the greatest horror film of all-time. A masterpiece so disturbing, so traumatizing to both its characters and the viewer, that it makes you beg for it to end. You feel like you’re choking for a long, slow and devastating amount of time, unable to breathe, eyes stuck to the screen. It holds you in a position the entire running time, making you witness every sickening scene, every bit of brutal violence, and every moment of complex screenwriting and visual subtext. It transcends, it breaks boundaries…For performances and the genre. Now let’s get into it.

A MASTERFUL TRANSCENDATION:

What’s so special about this film is the fact that it isn’t mainly a horror movie, but rather a drama about grief that happens to have some seriously horrific stuff to it. The biggest issue I have with a lot of horror films today is they are so one-note, so enveloped in trying to jump-scare the viewers with some loud noises and gimmicks. It also restrains a script from becoming layered and meaningful, which is what Hereditary has achieved. It isn’t afraid to cross borders between genres of horror, drama, and even dark comedy at times. It breaks the cliche, another aspect that normally drowns films of this kind easily. The tropes are rarely there, and if one is present, it is at the very least presented in a unique and clever way. For example, this movie has an already set formula considering the age of true and raw originality has been lost in modern cinema. It’s all about breathing new life into the genre whole using a similar framework, a template if you will. Readers may be asking how these tropes are presented in a new way, and it’s really through Charlie. She’s the typically quiet outsider with an odd and unsettling tick of clicking her tongue. With no actual friends or companions, I would say her character is more or less representative of horror cliches. But what does Aster do to expel them? He kills her off within the first 40 minutes. Brutally, I may add. It’s almost as if her head is the tropes getting smashed by a pole. But wait…There’s more. To add to the grief aspect, there is also a supernatural one. Yes, it’s been done a million times before in this genre, with more poor attempts than good ones, but Aster manages to make likely the greatest one I have seen thus far. Remember how in all the ghost films, or anything with otherworldy creatures, that the characters accept it like it’s obvious, and the viewers do to? Here, it slowly but surely wraps tight around the audience, crushing any hope or life that they have for this family in the movie. It creeps and spreads like a virus, coming as a surprise even if we all knew it was there the whole time.

FEAR AND DREAD:

One of the most prominent aspects worthy of discussion in this movie is the overwhelming and intruding sense of fear that both the characters and the viewers get throughout. It is mostly present between the constant scenes with Annie (Toni Collette) and Peter (Alex Wolff) pointing fingers at each other for Charlie’s untimely and accidental death. It’s the fear of getting blamed. The dread of abandonment. The doom of something horrible happening at any given moment. Overall, this film carries an overarching sense of guilt which both figuratively and literally destroys the main characters while emotionally breaking the audience. This aspect doesn’t solely play a part in the dialogue, however, it is also extremely present in the visuals, atmosphere and cinematography. It’s a gorgeously and horribly visceral horror that transcends even the highest and weirdest expectations for where this film is heading. Facial expressions, framing, screams and shot choices create a disconcerting sense of anxiety as your heart rate begins to rise in each waking moment. It’s honestly a flawless combination of guilt, dread and uncertainty.

1. GUILT (THE FEAR OF BEING BLAMED)

   Guilt. We all loathe to have someone blame us for anything, especially if it’s something we didn’t do. In this case, Peter and Annie break each other down with fierce and perturbing arguments about who should be blamed for Charlie’s death. Obviously, considering Peter’s sheer teenage rashness, he is likely the one to lay the blame on, but in his guilt and fear of being demonized, he desperately tries to put the weight on his mother’s shoulders. Again, this aspect of fear is primarily projected through Peter and how he reacts to tragedies. Fitting of his character, he generally tries to avoid being blamed and points fingers at other people in desperation. He always tries to brush off the grief and depression he so clearly needs help with. It’s an uncompromising and brutal relationship with his mind in which he’s fighting a battle impossible to win. The incredible realism portrayed with each mannerism of Peter, especially the first time we see him after Charlie’s death standing behind a translucent door in a troubling posture. His avoidance reaction is prominent within several scenes, and because of this, it gives off the sense that he’s just worrying about existing. He doesn’t show struggle or pain through actions, but with avoiding. It’s possibly one of the most human things we all do. These moments are showcased on-screen with lifeless gazes that throw us into a void of melancholic decline as audiences are affected the exact same way Peter is.

2. AMBIGUITY (THE FEAR OF THE UNKNOWN)

   Uncertainty. Unpredictability. Ambiguity. It’s the fear of what you don’t know, of what you cannot predict. Although it isn’t shown with terrifying monsters or unsettling imagery, it is more behind the scenes, a thing so scary that no one will see it coming. Completely different to my analyzation of guilt in the film, we are seeing from the perspective of an entirely new character who has a whole other personality than Peter. This is more through Annie, a character who was set up with her instability, temper issues and sudden outbursts at her family. Her vulnerability in tough situations is what gives depth to her character, not avoidance or passiveness. She makes up for her lack of pale, boring stares with unpredictable moments of expressing grief through emotion. Her relationship with Joan, a seemingly innocent woman who she met at therapy meetings who lost her son, is the best example of this. It’s so one-sided and abusive, further disconnecting and alienating Annie from her family. Before you conclude that Annie’s devastation is simply another trope of a character with anger issues, think about this. Whenever she has a moment of vexation or exasperation, they form some deep connection with another character, whether it be Joan, Pete or her husband. Although there are still scenes filled with silence and passivity, like when Annie receives the mail or when Steve finds out that she’s re-creating Charlie’s death through miniatures, her reactions are generally emoted with expressiveness.

3. uNEASE (THE FEAR OF WHAT’S TO COME)

   This more relates to the cultish, supernatural aspect of the movie, and eventually that batshit crazy ending that had audiences more divided on then the rest of the movie. Unease in this film is principally the fear of the future. There’s such a massive sense of anxiety throughout this entire thing, and what’s so impressive about it is the fact that a lot of it takes place during the daytime. In horror movies, I’m always hoping for a nice, calm scene in the daylight away from darker moments, or breaks between the scares. In Hereditary, there are moments in the day, but they are far from breaks. In fact, I would argue that they are sometimes more stress-inducing than the ones in the dark. Yes, even more than the weird, naked and old cultists staring at Peter at the end. As it culminates to its horribly misunderstood finale, it becomes an epic, beautiful trilogy of emotions. Passivity, dissonance and emptiness with Peter. Anger and devastation with Annie. The internal, if quiet struggle with Steve. Each character has their own unique personalities and it finally concludes flawlessly at the end. It all coalesces into one formation of pain and depression, a completion of a masterful study. This isn’t a horror film, it’s an analysis on three reactions to horror.

Overrated or Popular: An Essay

By: Keaton Marcus

Call me out if I’m writing absolute nonsense, but I hope this essay can end up somewhat coherent and accurate to a decent amount of people. I hope some can relate to it, and if not, I’ll cower away in shame and cry in a corner. But who gives a crap about what I’m going to do? Getting back on topic, I wanted to cover something that at least I and a few other people have experienced, which is the fact that to an extent, it’s become cool to call immensely popular films (i.e. Parasite, Fight Club) “overrated” and or wrongfully slap people who love these films under a generalized group.

WHAT ARE THE FILMS:

Before I really get into the details of this essay, laying down the framework and explaining what actual films get attacked in this way is more or less essential at the start. The majority of them will likely lie in both the most popular films on Letterboxd and the IMDb Top 250 (the former in terms of popularity and the latter in quality). Highlights of these lists include Bong Joon-Ho’s Parasite, Todd Phillips’ Joker, Quentin Tarantino’s Pulp Fiction, Wes Anderson’s The Grand Budapest Hotel, and others like Lady Bird, Once Upon a Time in Hollywood, Inception, Fight Club, and Knives Out which aren’t necessarily all in the IMDb Top 250 but are still incredibly mainstream and popular. Referring to solely Letterboxd at the moment, all of these movies have an incredible amount of members (meaning people who saw them). For example, Nolan’s Inception has over one million members on the app, meaning it’s the biggest movie of all-time on the app. Otherwise, Parasite has about 950k, Joker is nearing 900k, and even arthouse horror films such as Midsommar are able to touch a massive 600k. To sum this up, these are basically the qualifications for the movies most likely to get hit with the word “overrated”. They must be regarded highly by a large number of people, they should rank on the first page of the calculated most popular list on Letterboxd, and perhaps be in the IMDb Top 250.

VOICING YOUR OPINION/HOT TAKES:

Before someone murders me in the comments section for generalizing people who dislike Fight Club as someone trying to be cool and quirky, let me defend what I believe is the majority. A lot of people who dislike these incredibly popular movies don’t happen t to be using the word “overrated” to look good. Some just genuinely don’t like the film, and that is simply voicing your opinion. If you have legitimate reasons behind it, then don’t let anyone tell you differently. If one believes Interstellar is a convoluted, overlong science fiction mess riddled with plot holes, so be it. If Star Wars is dull for someone then I have no issue with that. Explaining your reasoning in a clear fashion is perfectly fine and that’s what discussing movies is all about. If you have a legitimate hot take or unpopular opinion, then write whatever the hell you want. It’s only the butthurt people with fragile egos who can tell you off on that one. Overall, call Fight Club mediocre, Lady Bird generic and forced, Blade Runner 2049 style over substance. Just give me sufficient reasoning behind it. Don’t worry I’m not threatening you to, however.

WHAT’S WRONG:

But what’s wrong with some of the folks who harshly disagree with people who call these movies masterpieces? There certainly isn’t anything wrong with the group that’s just trying to voice their opinion about highly acclaimed and mainstream films, but what about the others? Well, take Bobby for example (making up more people ugh), an angry neighborhood moviegoer who despises everything that ranks high in popularity lists on Letterboxd or IMDb, regardless of their quality. I’m talking bullying people on social media who have Avengers: Endgame in their favorites list, figuratively curb-stomping some kid who happens to be a fan of David Fincher, or calling Parasite lovers “fake cinephiles who stick with the mainstream.” See anything that may be somewhat morally incorrect there? I understand that arguments can be made for both sides. For example, someone who likes more mainstream films doing the same thing to a friendly Wong Kar-Wai admirer. I only decided to write an essay focusing on the opposite side of things, so don’t hesitate to lecture me on why this is only half correct.

HASTY GENERALIZATIONS:

Likely one of the worst things in my, and probably many others’ experiences with these things would be consistently getting slammed under wrongful names and generalizations for types of moviegoers. As a meme or a joke, calling someone a filmbro, a cinephile or a kinophile isn’t exactly a bad thing to do, but if you’re being serious in the situation, then it’s sort of rude. Who do you care if someone enjoys Marvel films more than Tarkovsky ones? What’s so terrible about a person calling Joker a masterpiece and The King of Comedy “good” (literally me)? Throwing someone under the bus and labeling them a filmbro just because they have a profile picture of Arthur Fleck, Tyler Durden or whoever isn’t a “cool” thing to do. It isn’t just mean, but also quite invalidating to their personal tastes. You’re basically explaining that their opinions don’t matter and that they should stop liking more mainstream movies. Again, the same goes for writing someone off as a cinephile, or as a moviegoer who only enjoys foreign language movies. There are a billion really hurtful names for the invalidation of moviegoers and it really needs to stop. Can’t everyone simply enjoy what they enjoy and let others watch what they want to see? Is that truly so difficult? Additionally, a moviegoer who happens to adore Tarantino or Fincher films doesn’t mean that they don’t love Stalker or Portrait of a Lady on Fire. Overall, this just shows how messy and hurtful these generalizations can be if used in a serious manner.

BEING DIFFERENT:

So why do these people do it exactly? Well, as I have briefly touched upon, I believe it’s to be different and quirkier from the mainstream group of moviegoers. To have such an extreme need to have exotic and unique taste that it goes too far. Trying to experience new cinema is always a magnificent thing, but to bully people about not watching an Ingmar Bergman film is pathetic. It’s ridiculous because of how stuck up you are in putting yourself on a pedestal because you’ve seen a wider selection of smaller films that you are pushed to invalidate other's opinions due to different views. To be very honest, in that type of situation, you are the smaller one…Not the person you are trying to put yourself over. To call a movie overrated and bad because it’s popular and well-known isn’t enough. Being a polite moviegoer means a couple things. You have to respect people and whatever they like, and if you want to substantiate your unpopular opinion, give some true reasoning. Please don’t call me an asshole in direct messages for calling Joker a masterpiece when 140 thousand other people on Letterboxd think the same as me. I love to talk about films with other pages, but only if it’s respectfully and not someone who’s completely stuck up their own ass.

Films That Mean the Most to me

By: Keaton Marcus

PREFACE:

I recently realized that besides the mediocre-looking post I did a while ago, I hadn’t touched upon this subject. What films mean the most to me? These aren’t simply my favorites, these are ones that actually impacted my life. Taking various movies from several different genres, I break down why.

MOONLIGHT:

Moonlight, a devastating, bittersweet coming-of-age drama exploring three critical stages of a man’s life is an incredibly intimate, moving, and of course, meaningful experience that excels in practically every respect. The cinematography and shot choices are consistently layered with visual poeticism and melancholic beauty. Not only is it apart of the extremely limited selection of films that made me shed tears, but in terms of performances and direction, it was a revolutionary breakthrough in my love of cinema. The realism, the sadness, the empathy, and the community in each of these characters and how the actors portrayed them simply made me stare in awe while watching.

MIDSOMMAR:

Yeah, yeah. Say whatever you want, call it pretentious garbage, and claim it isn’t disturbing. Done now? Ari Aster’s Midsommar was a pivotal step for me, joining Moonlight in my journey as a cinephile. Call it a basic horror movie with no actual scares, but I’m not solely putting this on the list because it terrified me. Obviously, my legs were absolutely shaking throughout the entire running time, but pure terror and dread certainly affected me deeply. Maybe not in the same manner as the other additions on this post, but the amount of times my jaw dropped is incredible. Florence Pugh’s performance is one of the greatest of all-time, subjectively, the camera work and editing create sufficient atmosphere, and its approach to grief and relationship troubles make it far more breathtaking than the average thriller.

BLADE RUNNER 2049:

I know I’ve let every single soul know on this platform that this is my greatest film of all-time, but how could this not make the cut? For many it’s still completely bereft of emotion or soul, but being honest, this broke me, and I mean it with menace. It figuratively tore me apart, and built me back up into someone utterly new at the end. The journey to discover the distinctively human, to be unique, to be special was incredibly investing and commonly heartbreaking. It’s an experience I will forever cherish and never forget. It’s a film where the music, the colors, and the facial expressions tell the story. It’s the pinnacle of style over substance working out seamlessly. Claiming Denis Villeneuve is the God of filmmaking is too much of an understatement. His ability to make the thinking moviegoer feel is extraordinary.

THE TREE OF LIFE:

As I continue to dive deeper into Terrence Malick’s filmography he is quickly becoming one of my favorite directors of all-time. Specifically, The Tree of Life is the one that has stood out to me the most at the moment. The way it captures family relationships and dynamics, the contrasts of parenting in the ways of nature and grace, or covering an entire human being’s life, and the creation of the universe all in one film in concise, yet sprawling fashion is undeniably impressive. It is less a showcase for dialogue and acting than it is for Emmanuel Lubezki’s otherworldly cinematography and visual storytelling. This isn’t a surface-level beautiful movie. With its many layers of thematic undertones, this is just as deep as it is gorgeous.

JOKER:

Once again, call me a little kid who got to stay up past his bedtime to call this one a masterpiece while I ignore. Joker, although in some visual sense admired Taxi Driver and The King of Comedy’s style, is a grand artistic expression. It’s beautifully-crafted, enacted, directed, acted, and a bold new vision for comic-book movies. Above all, however, it’s a deeply affecting, disturbing, and emotionally layered movie that chronicles a disregarded and mistreated man’s rise against society while at the same time acting as a brilliant subversion of viewer’s expectations. Even the critics of this movie hated it only because it affected them in some way, whether it be in a negative or positive sense. For me, Icouldn’t stop squirming in my seat because of how uncomfortably incredible the experience was.

MELANCHOLIA:

This was something that I finally viewed recently, and wow did it deserve a place on this list. Ranking in my top ten, Lars von Trier’s Melancholia was an extraordinary experience, perhaps once-in-a-lifetime. The emotions that this movie portrayed, primarily depression and grief for almost no apparent reason, affected me in the exact same way it tortured its main characters. Every step of the way I felt what Kirsten Dunst was feeling. It’s a prime example of masterful immersive cinema, a film that chokeholds you to relate with the protagonist…In a good way. Overall, this isn’t for everyone, and although incredibly slow, the tension and overwhelming sadness will envelope the right viewer into the movie.

PORTRAIT OF A LADY ON FIRE:

How could I not add this in? Portrait of a Lady on Fire is something jaw-dropping. Every single aspect of it is literal perfection, and it is one of the few films that I would consider utterly flawless. There isn’t a single crack in the floor when examining this awe-inspiring piece of cinema. If you’re not into slower, more methodic films, it won’t exactly be for you, but, if you are literally anyone that does not fit that description, it’ll creep into your favorites. Exemplary in the mannerisms in which it explores the female gaze and equality between the two lovers in relationship dynamics through framing and cinematography, and breathtaking anywhere else, this is a triumph of the highest order that demands to be seen.

ARRIVAL:

Arrival. What more can I touch upon in another one of Denis Villeneuve’s collection of masterpieces? For one it’s an incredibly moving, touching science fiction movie themes of language and artistic expression. In another interpretation, it’s a heartwarming message of uniting nations across the globe to decipher a possible issue. In the most affecting matter, it is an emotionally traumatizing, deeply depressing movie that tackles collisions of past, present and future. Masterful and investing, I can recommend this to multiple types of moviegoers.

the Scorsese Paradox: Inspired or Derivative?

The argument claiming Joker is a product of meaningless plagiarism off of Martin Scorsese’s previous achievements has been around since it released in theaters over one year ago. Although despite my bias of thinking Phillips’ chilling comic-book movie is an utter and complete masterpiece, I will try my best to compare and contrast Joker, The King of Comedy and Taxi Driver, hopefully arriving to a conclusion that suggests that it was more than plain derivative.

PREMISES:

JOKER: Set in 1981, it follows Arthur Fleck, a failed clown and stand-up comedian whose descent into insanity and nihilism inspires a violent counter-cultural revolution against the wealthy in a decaying Gotham City.

THE KING OF COMEDY: Rupert Pupkin (Robert De Niro) is a failure in life but a celebrity in his own mind, hosting an imaginary talk show in his mother's basement. When he meets actual talk show host Jerry Langford (Jerry Lewis), he's convinced it will provide his big break, but Langford isn't interested in the would-be comedian. Undaunted, Pupkin effectively stalks Langford -- and when that doesn't work, he kidnaps him, offering his release in exchange for a guest spot on Langford's show.

TAXI DRIVER: Suffering from insomnia, disturbed loner Travis Bickle (Robert De Niro) takes a job as a New York City cabbie, haunting the streets nightly, growing increasingly detached from reality as he dreams of cleaning up the filthy city. When Travis meets pretty campaign worker Betsy (Cybill Shepherd), he becomes obsessed with the idea of saving the world, first plotting to assassinate a presidential candidate, then directing his attentions toward rescuing 12-year-old prostitute Iris (Jodie Foster).

SIMILARITIES:

Before we begin comparing these three movies, think about their premises again. Do they sound familiar in anything but the most remote sense? Returning back on topic, I would point out that Joker does borrow the general dirty and gritty aesthetic from Taxi Driver and The King of Comedy, albeit making the atmosphere visually superior due to the modern technology behind it. Gotham in Joker is somewhat similar to New York City in the other two films, but to be honest, it seems more inspiration than plagiarism. Secondly, both Arthur Fleck in Joker and Rupert Pupkin in The King of Comedy are begging to meet their dream celebrity, who happens to be a famous stand-up comedian in both movies. I’ll elaborate more on why this isn’t exactly stealing either in the meantime. Thirdly, all three characters, now including Travis Bickle from Taxi Driver, despise the society they are living in, and want to rise up and lead some sort of revolution. Overall, in terms of true comparisons that I can make, that is about all I can think of. Think to yourself before moving on, is that truly stealing someone else’s work, or is it admiring there achievements?

DIFFERENCES:

Now here is where I am likely going to get slammed in the comments section for disrespecting Scorsese. Guys, remember, if you’re reading this, the entire post is simply my opinion and is in no way objective. For me, Joker is almost entirely its own creation, merely inspired in a few aspects from classics that its director grew up with. The characters, although vaguely similar, differ from one another. Arthur Fleck is a shelled, afraid, depressed and disrespected individual who cares for his mother, and, well, isn’t exactly a bad person at the start of the movie. We feel actual sympathy for him, which is sort of an example of better writing in Joker. On the other hand, Bickle is just a straight-up confident douche bag who was a ticking time bomb all along. He wasn’t disrespected. His mental illness leads him to believe that he was wronged by society, when it’s really him taking out his own childish anger. The only real thing he points out against New York was the fact that it smelled foul. We feel absolutely zero sympathy for him, and I’m worried about those who do. Additionally, Pupkin is quite similar to Bickle in this respect. He’s a mentally unstable, pushy and irritating individual who wasn’t necessarily treated poorly, but his lack of stability in the head convinced him to go on a rampage, leading him to kidnapping. Fleck is consistently pushed away and stomped on by society until his emotional breaking point. He is thrown in with a cheap therapist that doesn’t help him, put on medications. His coworkers think he’s a freak and a lie from one of them gets him fired. The stand-up comedian he idolizes plays a tape in front of a massive audience of him failing in one of his shows. Everything that happens to him is awful, and although he’s obviously mentally ill, he at least has legitimate character motivations that people can understand.

In terms of how Joker differs from the other two, it isn’t only with types of characters, but also with creative choices. I adore how this movie makes it a mystery on whether everything took place in Arthur’s head. The movie constantly pulls the rug out from under you and makes you question whether it’s reality or not. Furthermore, I also appreciated the subplot with Thomas Wayne, which was extremely well-written and added to the sense of ambiguity. Thirdly, supporting characters and love interests were wildly different. In Taxi Driver and The King of Comedy, our main characters’ confidence leads them to getting a girlfriend easily, albeit before treating them like complete crap. Their arrogance and inability to have a healthy social life drowns any sense of love in the respective films. In Joker, Fleck and his introverted self leads him to making up a loving, nice and empathetic relationship with his neighbor in his mind. I’m not justifying Fleck’s actions in any way, and he is definitely insane, but his relationships with other characters aren’t very similar to Pupkin and Bickle’s. To conclude this bit of the essay, I respect any opinion on this matter, but at least realize some of the clever choices Joker makes to have substantial distinctions from its counterparts.

WHY JOKER (AND THE OTHER TWO) sUCCEED:

I at least like all three of these movies. The King of Comedy is a strong and solidly funny movie about how obsession with celebrities can go over the edge. Taxi Driver, cutting out that incessant soundtrack, is a fantastic character study of someone who was just bound to break loose and go stark raving mad. Joker, which likely tops any Scorsese movie I’ve seen at the moment, is masterful in every respect. An emotionally complex, gorgeously directed, shot and acted movie that reinvents the comic-book genre. However, within all three, I cannot deny that they easily succeed in their own respective ways.

IN CONCLUSION:

Readers must pay attention to the vital fact that getting inspired is far different to literally plagiarizing. Just because Joker borrowed some sense of aesthetic and vague plot points means that it was more of Phillips paying homage to Scorsese, a filmmaker who he clearly looks up to. Outright stealing would be drawing on the same plot, motivations and themes without stating that it was a remake. Ironically, people commonly criticize Joker for being an “unofficial remake”, yet the only similarities are vague references to Scorsese movies. Every single filmmaker gets inspired. Take me for example. If I ever have a future career in the industry, my work would pay homage to my favorite directors including Denis Villeneuve, Paul Thomas Anderson, the Coen Brothers and Charlie Kaufman. No work nowadays is entirely original. There’s always a piece of the puzzle that’s taken, and to me, that’s completely ok.

Melancholia: Film Analysis

By: Keaton Marcus

MELANCHOLIA: deep sadness or gloom; melancholy.

Depression is a mood disorder that involves a persistent feeling of sadness, loneliness and loss of someone or something. It could be as small as a loss of interest for anything, or as large as grieving over a dead loved one. Maybe it’s simply you’re tired of life, or dealing with a death. It principally means a general feeling of sadness, and Lars von Trier’s Melancholia encapsulates the feeling of doom and isolation so well that it actually makes you feel these things. Haunted and deeply alone. From the magnificent opening sequence, if you do a little research, it will mean a tad more to you than simply an elegant first scene. One of the many symptoms of depression is time warping. Everything around you feels slow, you lose your sense of yourself and others, and your mental life is thrown under a bus. Considering that the first minutes of the movie are shot completely in slow-motion, it at least now has a true meaning to the stylistic choice other than only being a gimmick. Trier uses shaky-cam and swift zooms to create a disorienting atmosphere for the viewer, making them feel like they are in the main character’s shoes. As he has said in interviews, this is a reflection of Trier’s own depression. He’s writing and directing about himself. Getting back to the point, right after the warped montage of various people running, we get a beautiful shot of some sort of planet colliding with Earth heading into the opening credits sequence. We cut to two newlyweds, Justine (Kirsten Dunst) and Michael (Alexander Skaarsgard) driving in a comically-large limo on the way to their party. Eventually, because of its size, they abandon it and walk the rest of the way up the desolate hill. Justine’s sister, Claire (Charlotte Gainsbourg), comments on how late the two are. The interesting thing about this moment is the fact that it’s literally the start of the movie, perhaps less than ten minutes in, and the dialogue sort of gives hints to the seemingly time-warped wedding reception to come.

A COUPLE TOGETHER, YET APART:

Right off the bat, Michael and Justine almost seem utterly alienated from each other. She is clearly and obviously suffering from a great state of depression and grief, and he kind of acts as if he’s unaware of her mental health. He acts completely normal in every single scene and just shrugs it off whenever she shows any sort of emotional strife. It adds to the skewed time effect that Von Trier so deftly crafts, and how oblivious Michael is to everything going on with his wife. There isn’t any history added with the couple’s past, and viewers could definitely interpret it as they recently met without proper context. Likely the first hour of the movie is chroniciling the hazy, dreamlike reception, reverting from the party to whenever Justine exits it each time she falls deeper into a state of deep depression. The other members there are only trying to have a well-sequenced, proper reception for the couple, but Justine continues to interrupt. For example, she drives across the golf course aimlessly, sits in the bath for what could have been over an hour, yet the party still goes on. The two puzzle pieces and perspectives this film tries to fit together in the first act don’t work as a whole and that adds to the experience. It feels disorienting and catched me completely off guard every time Von Trier switched angles. Even when she is with the other people at the reception, it feels as though she is detatched from reality, and the dancing sequence in the movie is a haunting, seemingly neverending montage with “La Bamba” playing in the background. Again, everything speeds up in this brilliantly shot and directed sequence, and it feels almost too quick, like we’re missing something in all of the acid trippy action. It’s unsettling and disturbing without any actual violence or horror, and that simply proves that this is a man capable of serious filmmaking craft when he puts his mind into it.

ARTISITIC REFERENCES:

I had to look this up while witnessing all the painterly shots in the opening sequence, and I was right. Von Trier does reference several acclaimed and well-known paintings in several frames. For example, Ophelia lying in the water is paralleled here, and he uses a shot from Pieter Bruegel’s The Hunters in the Snow, which I also believe was put in a Tarkovsky movie, someone who Von Trier idolizes. He uses the same technique Tarkovsky used in Solaris with his film, repeating Richard Wagner’s Prelude to Tristan & Isolde, which gives the dark tone a beautiful side to it with some of the best music I’ve ever heard. The opening sequence is also keen on foreshadowing future moments in the film, despite not exactly replicating them. They are in the same vein, however.

A STRIKING LOOK AT DEPRESSION:

Sure, Melancholia may seem like it lacks any sort of real coherence, and it can wander off into occasional pretentiousness, but it’s one of the most groundbreaking portrayals of mental illness or depression that I have seen. Perhaps besides Midsommar, the best. Everyone struggles with some sort of depression. I went through a little phase when smashed with mountains of homework. It affects everyone, and this film is important to see. Putting it on a platter, melancholia or depression is when you lose your grip on identity and reality, time becomes warped, and everything comes to one big still. You have no motivations to do anything productive, memories become wavered, and every day it feels more difficult to wake up. It’s an awful experience, and this film channels it so well. Getting back on topic again, it would be a disservice to the movie not to write about the ending in this analysis. Heading into the magnificent final 30 minutes, the rogue planet Melancholia continues to threaten to collide with Earth despite reassurances from scientists that it would fly by. This experience doesn’t simply warm time, but also the character’s perception of the events. Justine, still deep in mental illness, reacts to her possible death with complete calm. Claire, on the other hand, loses her grip on reality and is rightfully worried about it all. It’s almost like only through this type of happening are the personalities of these characters switched to the opposite side. You can also interpret it as the film becoming the disease. Becoming depression. Becoming Melancholia. All in all, however you see it, this is a glorious, touching and unsettling look at mental illness through science fiction.

Style and Substance: An Essay

By: Keaton Marcus

PREFACE:

The paradox of how to make a distinction between style and substance in cinema has been around far before I was born, but why not give it a shot with an essay? On a general side, I will be covering the two respective definitions for these two concepts, proving which one is more appealing, and explaining how to combine them satisfyingly.

STYLE:

First, there’s style. Where to start? Well, in film, it principally means bombarding audiences with as many cool visual features as possible, such as cinematography, framing, and editing. If done right, it gives the viewer a truly visceral and memorable experience and perhaps makes it more accessible for a re-watch. If done wrong, however, it can end in a void of mindless pretentiousness, but there are some people who get a kick out of movies that many people slap the word pretentious on. Although I will elaborate more on this later, I, for one, can appreciate stylistically memorable movies as long as they have some sort of a story or plot driving it forward. Directors who tend to lean more on this side include Wes Anderson with his symmetrical, perfectionistic tendencies, Nicolas Winding Refn with surrealist visual nightmares bereft of a full grip on reality, Edgar Wright with bombastic and wickedly sharp editing, and perhaps Baz Luhrmann who always attempts to immerse viewers into the world with a distinct style that’s quite hit-or-miss for me. Additionally, Zack Snyder, Guy Ritchie, and maybe even Christopher Nolan are all directors who tend to pack more visual punch than a narrative one.

SUBSTANCE:

Ah, substance, the thinking man (or woman’s) concept. The one that the Oscars fall down and bow towards.. Known for its in-depth screenwriting, themes and an occasionally straightforward meaning for everything, this is quite the opposite of ambiguity. At least for films that lean heavily on this side of the spectrum. For some people, this is the perfect thing, usually consisting of a very simple, easy-to-follow plot that generally tells a story of some importance, perhaps even a true one, generic color palettes and long, heavy dialogues. For others, typically the people who prefer stylistically impressive movies, feel bored and detached, without much investment. They can appreciate and acknowledge the fact that it may be a highly-respected movie that maybe even won Best Picture, but without something truly mesmerizing to look at, it ultimately falls flat. For example, Thomas Alfredson’s Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy or maybe Tom McCarthy’s Spotlight would fall under this section. They both tell important, interesting stories, but lack aesthetically, which can be extremely hit-or-miss depending on the type of person watching. This could either make an informative or dull experience, and depending on which one it was, it influences the possibility of a re-watch.

WHICH IS BETTER (MY OPINION):

It’s difficult to get a definitive answer on which concept is truly better, but I can confidently say that I prefer a movie that is more memorable to look at than to listen to. With movies that masterfully combine both style and substance, such as Drive, The Tree of Life, or Blade Runner 2049, it’s the perfect thing to me. I’m entertained by everything I’m seeing on-screen, but I also understand some hidden or deeper meanings or perhaps some interesting philosophical questions. Again, without elaborating any more, I’d have to say that style is just a more important thing in cinema historically. Movies with actual dialogue didn’t come till far after motion pictures were actually invented. Film has always been a visual experience, and although ones that lean too heavily on style don’t always make the cut, it will ultimately be a more appealing experience. For movies such as Only God Forgives, Atomic Blonde or The Neon Demon (the latter is far better than the first two), the storytelling may not be as strong, but in terms of the score, cinematography, editing or action, it keeps me invested enough to watch. For films like The King’s Speech or Green Book, they both tell intriguing stories, but looking at it, I’m bored out of my mind.

cOMBINING BOTH:

I’m no expert in film studies or anything, so my explanation on how to combine style and substance is inherently flawed, but I’ll try my best. Theoretically, satisfyingly meshing these two is to effortlessly weave both cool aesthetics with potent themes or a story that tackles an important subject (it doesn’t always, however). The examples that I gave above are absolutely visual and thematic perfection in my opinion. The neon aesthetic combined with the complex romance in Drive, the philosophy about searching for the distinctively human together with the groundbreaking visual effects in Blade Runner 2049, and The Tree of Life with its exploration in nature and grace with some of the most beautiful cinematography I’ve ever seen. They all keep me entertained both visually and thematically, both gorgeous on the surface and on the inside. While I tend to lean more on the style side, this is truly how you make a flawless film (or close to one) in my eyes. A juxtaposition of style and substance. Another movie I’d like to mention would be Paul Schrader’s Mishima: A Life in Four Chapters. The production design and camera work may be extraordinarily pleasing to the eye, but through each chapter of this movie, Schrader opens a new door for the viewer to take a deep dive in on the substance side. Disagree with me if you wish, but that’s what I really want when heading into the theater or turning on the TV. A special case that defies this part of the essay would be the filmography of Christopher Nolan. Yes, I already mentioned that his films tend to be more impressive in a visual sense, with pulse-pounding, mind-bending action, and consistently epic set pieces, but a few also have a solid amount of substance. It can be tough to find a distinction with a few directors, and Nolan checks the boxes with this one.

IN CONCLUSION:

What else is there to write about? Style is the art of giving audiences a pleasing visual experience through editing, cinematography, action, or a score, and substance is the art of giving viewers an informative and real experience with a worthy subject matter or complex themes. Combining both, in my opinion, is the ideal perfect film if done correctly, and although very few have achieved this, I can still appreciate movies that lean more on the style side than ones that choose substance heavily.

Mishima: A Life in Four Chapters: Film Analysis

Mishima: A Life in Four Chapters is probably one of the greatest experiences I’ve had with cinema to-date. In terms of its visceral and absolutely beautiful set design, cinematography, and screenwriting especially, it was a mesmerizing thing to witness it. Although this will be more of an essay than an analysis, I will also attempt to uncover a few deeper meanings as well. Don’t worry, it’ll be kept short-ish.

NOT YOUR TYPICAL BIOPIC:

Instead of showing the boring rise-and-fall story of Mishima, it’s far more complex than that. I’d describe it as more of his journey from a young boy with an overprotective, sheltering mother to the philosophical, radical General. It’s not necessarily a success story, and that’s one of the many things I cherish about this movie. The film plays out more as a tragedy linking art with beauty, bodily features and violence. What I find ironic about his life is the fact that when Mishima was young and in World War II, he claimed that he wanted to fight in this war and win for the Emperor of Japan. However, to stop further service in the military, he lied, or at least exaggerated about an illness.

THE CONTRADICTIONS OF MISHIMA’S LIFE:

The entire first section is Mishima as a younger man attempting to link art with beauty. The novel in which this part of the film was based on is about a stuttering young boy who is obsessed with the idea of beauty. However, in an act of pure insanity and rage, he ends up destroying what he called beautiful, the Golden Pavilion. Similar to when he defected from the war, this is a very ironic story. From a man to call something beautiful and obsess over it only to destroy it is very contradictory, and lays the groundwork for the rest. His entire life is kind of a contradiction. In the span of it, he enacts masculine ideals such as bodybuilding and the obsession over militaristic values or the need to become a warrior poet. On the other hand, he’s a closeted homosexual who carries an extremely fragile ego when it comes to looks. It is utterly contrary to the other half of his life.

THE NEED FOR BODILY PERFECTION:

To be more specific, Mishima’s desire to have the perfect body aesthetically is palpable. You can feel his need to be beautiful, above everyone else. This is especially depicted in book two, Kyoko’s House. This section of the film asks a few interesting philosophical questions, such as should you kill yourself in your prime to preserve beauty? This relates to if the human body can really be art if it isn’t natural beauty. The concept of being otherworldly and gorgeous is one of Mishima’s main motivations. The structure of this movie effortlessly gives life to four major components in this man’s life. Beauty, art, action and the harmony of pen and sword. In the next chapter, he becomes convinced that action is the answer to art.

MEANING OF THE FOUR CHAPTERS:

Part one, or as I mentioned, The Temple of the Golden Pavilion, is principally about a man’s obsessive quest for beauty through this structure that he happened to come across. It’s also about recognizing your problems and coming to terms with them. In Mishima’s case, it’s his stuttering. Part two, Kyoko’s House, is about a man who’s quest for bodily perfection almost leads him to suicide. It also happens to be the most philosophical one, asking questions about whether a human body can really be art without death at its prime. Part three, Runaway Horses, can be seen as a study in brutality and violence, or how action can relate to art. It’s about a young army cadet who forms his own group of assassins, who are all ambitious to purge Japan of all its corruption and evil. Although the police eventually break up this cell of criminals, the cadet does end up escaping, killing a business man, and preparing his own death. And finally, part four, Harmony of Pen and Sword, sort of enacts that message of how death is the only way a human body can become art. Preserving it at its peak beauty. In this story, Mishima and a team of men from his own private army set a political coup at the headquarters of the Japanese army in Tokyo. They easily break into a General’s office, bind him, and demand a polite audience so that Mishima can give his speech about the corrupt ways of modernism. However, it’s a complete failure, and Mishima interprets this as words will never mean beauty. Only death. This is why I think he commits suicide at the end, both because it’s a Japanese ritual, and the fact that he believes the philosophy from Kyoko’s House.

IN CONCLUSION:

Regardless of finding the hidden meanings in this movie, every basic aspect is also done masterfully. Used famously in The Truman Show, Phillip Glass’ score has risen to the ranks of one of my favorite soundtracks of all-time. It’s apt, triumphant and ethereal all at the same time. I also adored the use of traditional theatrical set pieces. It’s not only incredibly unique and special, but it is also used very effectively to depict the four novels without getting mired in convoluted storytelling. Overall, although it is a simple task to call this pretentious without totally investing your self into the world of Paul Schrader, this is an utterly unique, thought-provoking, philosophical, well-acted, gorgeously-shot, directed and composed cinematic masterpiece of epic proportions.

Blade Runner 2049: Film Analysis

Analyzing the greatest film ever made

Analyzing my favorite movie of all-time is no easy feat, but why not give it a try? I guess I have to do it for the God of Filmmaking, Denis Villeneuve, at least.

SETTING THE SCENE:

It’s California, 2049. Nature and all of its grand beauty has been reduced to a tired memory and has been conquered by the evil of mankind. Greenfields have been replaced by ugly dirt, metal, and plastic to create a distinctively atmospheric setting for the perfect dystopian movie. Man once had a true connection with Mother Nature, a spiritual and beautiful one if you will, and throughout the time we have chipped at it until Earth had been reduced to nothing but her most basic elements and remnants of once eternal existence. Through the need for capitalism and human evolution, the world is run by a man who’s gone blind with greed. A man who can only see through the perspective of his futuristic technology. Without the distinctively human, the world has gone mad, turning into an unforgiving hellscape bereft of life. This man may be a literal God, yet the miracles of creation still elude him.

WHAT IT MEANS TO BE HUMAN:

Possibly the most major question this movie asks is what it actually means to be human. What is the distinction between man and robot? Right from the opening, Denis Villeneuve gives you that answer. Officer K (Ryan Gosling) is sent to retire Sapper Morton (Dave Bautista), a replicant. Remember when I explained the Sapir-Whorf hypothesis in my analysis on Arrival, well take a look at that first name. Seem familiar? Sapper’s name is likely a reference to Edward Sapir, who created that hypothesis so prominent in that movie. If you hadn’t read that article, let me explain what it means once more. The structure of a language, or what language a person speaks, can change the native speaker’s perception of experience. It was changing how we looked at time in Arrival, but here it’s how we look at being human. Who we are is shaped by past experiences. Language is simply a piece in the puzzle that happened to be explored in Villeneuve’s previous effort. Sapper’s backstory may seem like unimportant details, but you have to focus on it. He used to fight as a soldier, but after seeing a miracle, which in this case was birth from a replicant (robot if you haven’t seen the first movie), he gave it all up. He now lives a happier, simpler life as a farmer, and this also contributes to solidifying one of the major themes in this movie, searching for the distinctively human. For the entire film, K searches to be more than what he was created for. He yearns to be special, unique, and, yes, a miracle.

Early on in the film, Villeneuve portrays him as a mindless robot who does what he’s told to do, with no profound respect for the remains of life around him. As a replicant, he’s obviously constantly oppressed by society and treated like an object, not a human being. I was confused about this, but the reason he, a replicant himself, so easily murders others of his kind is because he’s been programmed to do it. He’s a killing machine with no remorse, at least in the start of his journey. Throughout the film, K wants to believe that he has a soul, and that to be human means to have one, but when he begins to fail the baseline test, his entire reality is shaken. Don’t worry readers, this is the same person as before, but the Sapir-Whorf hypothesis has kicked in. His self-perception has switched massively, leading him to bending the rules, going against programming. Ryan Gosling’s performance is so brilliant because his subtle pain and suffering up until his glorious breaking point makes it so that his small emotional bursts feel that much more effective. It tugs at your heartstrings, and to anyone who thinks this movie is emotionless, pretentious garbage, at least attempt to look at it from a different perspective. He begins to feel anger, love, hopelessness, and ultimately…Human. He still isn’t necessarily a miracle, but at least he has developed some sort of a soul. He makes the rules from now on, and not even the menacing Joshi can keep him under control. Hell, he even sacrifices himself so that others, miracles, can feel the same love he felt. That’s possibly the most human thing you can do, give yourself up so others can experience emotion.

JOI: THE ULTIMATE BREAKING POINT

But who starts this chain reaction so that K can eventually find his soul? It’s obviously Joi, who is possibly one of my favorite characters in all of cinema. Not just their relationship, but her purpose is gorgeously incorporated into the movie. She was made to fulfill the desires of her owner, and make him feel better. In this case, in every possible situation, she encourages Joe (it’s K, but I’ll call him by his fake name now) and tries to make him the absolute best version of himself. It’s off the point, but this is what really made this sequel miles better than Ridley Scott’s original for me, the romance. It was cheesy and uninteresting in the first, but now it makes up an entire theme in the second. Even when she’s about to be disabled by Luv, her last words are “I love you”. No matter what happens to her, she will still care for Joe. What’s interesting about this, however, is that it truly means nothing to him. Literally right after her death, he sees an advertisement for another Joi. He initially thought his Joi was unique, real and human, but all of that has been pre-programmed into every single model. You can tell when the ad version of Joi says, “What a day”, which is the exact same think Joe’s Joi said to him. What’s most devastating is the fact that the one in the ad even knows his name. It’s all generic and artificial, and it breaks both our hearts and Joe’s. I would say this pushed him to the breaking point, giving him the final call to go against his own programming.

Similarly, Luv had the same belief as Joe did under her circumstances. She’s a replicant, and Wallace (the son of the creator of replicants) even named her. When Joe meets up with her eventually, he points out this, giving her a newfound sense of confidence and pride. It re-enforces her mindset that she is unique and special. Her perfectionist tendencies and rigorous orders from Wallace are not always achievable despite her high standards. What’s so damn brilliant about Villeneuve’s screenplay is the fact that he doesn’t write off Luv as the generic bad guy who kills everyone with ease. In impossible situations, she shows genuine human fear. The fear of failure, that is. In the final action scene, she is less worried for her own safety than her ability to enact the orders from Wallace. In fact, she shows feeling in several scenes. When she kills Joshi, for example, she shows anger and distaste.

EVOLUTION OVER LIFE:

There have been criticisms that Jared Leto’s Wallace was too underdeveloped, but he’s actually one of the most intriguing characters in the movie. His role in the film is a parallel of sorts to Luv and Joe’s respective arcs. He feels the constant need to fill the massive shoes of Tyrell. To create and think the impossible. While he does improve on his predecessor’s replicants in some ways, he has failed in many other places due to his lack of understanding. Interestingly, he isn’t necessarily evil, but he only sees from the perspective of the big picture at the expense of noticing the minute details of life. It’s something small, but notice how Wallace forgot Rachael’s eyes were her green when he showcases the remake of her to Rick Deckard. His motives lie not with human life, but human exploration. His capitalist tendencies make him blind and ignorant to the intricacies of life. This makes it impossible for him to be a good successor to Tyrell. Like Wallace, Deckard also has these inherent restrictions that hold him back from ever seeing his daughter. I legitimately got excited when I noticed this, but remember when Deckard says to K “To love someone, you got to be a stranger.” That’s his philosophy, and as flawed as it may be, his beliefs are front and center for audiences to see.

THE ENDING:

The ending of this film is my number one scene ever, so it would be a disservice if I didn’t include it in the analysis. We first see a stark contrast between Joe, who’s accepting his death, and Anna, watching her fake snow fall on her hand. Anna, although born naturally, is inside a chamber. She doesn’t experience anything truly human. It’s all artificial and non-unique. On the other hand, while Joe is a replicant, his death is heartbreakingly human and real. Reverting back to the Sapir-Whorf hypothesis, Joe has been shaped by his past experiences, and so has Anna. As Mariette explains, replicants are portrayed as more human than actual humans. This contributes to my argument that Blade Runner 2049 is one of the most emotionally powerful movies of all-time. Joe’s journey is so painful and beautiful at the same time, and despite not seeming like it on the surface, if you notice his every facial expression, it becomes clear. It’s as small as something like him finding out that every Joi is pre-programmed to something as big as discovering he isn’t a miracle. Remember, no matter where he come from, it’s always our decisions in life that impact us the most. Now that is the answer to this film’s question. What does it mean to be human?

Arrival: Film Analysis

Exploring Denis Villeneueve’s Arrival

By: Keaton Marcus

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COLLISONS OF PAST, PRESENT AND FUTURE:

The movie, released in 2016, didn’t reveal much when the trailers were dropped, creating a mystery of a film that led audiences to believe that it was some sort of mix between an all-out alien invasion thriller and a film about communication between humans and alien languages. While in a very basic way describing it as this wouldn’t be incorrect, it is still far more than simply a hybrid between two distinctive genres. From the beginning where it depicts Dr. Louise Banks’ memory of her daughter growing up and eventually dying of cancer, audiences realize that this was going to draw far deeper emotionally than we expected. With repeat viewings (I’ve seen this four times), the director has left little clues for us to pick up on something more than what is shown on the surface. It can be as little a touch as the style of how the spaceship is balanced to something as massive as figuring out the alien’s way of communication. If one simply peels the onion little by little on each detail and stylistic choice, you will discover a whole new world of cinematic magic.

As Louise finds her role to perform as a linguist to decipher the alien’s language, she finds a major difference between our language and theirs. We communicate in sentences, whilst they communicate in circles, expressing their thoughts all in one instance. This also means that the Heptapods (aliens) differ in how they not only language, but time. As humanity writes and talks, it matches the way we see time passing. Experiencing every single moment one after the other in slow, methodical succession as each word comes out of our minds. This concept becomes truly intriguing when we take in the parts of our own lives into it. Our past is, obviously, already known despite some flaws in memory, the present is becoming known at every moment, and the future is a vast world of unpredictability, slowly waiting to become apart of our present and past. On the other hand, the Heptapods communicate in circles, meaning that their perception of past, present and future is all the same, equally known and remembered. At first, Louise reminisces of her daughter’s life and death, but then an idea called the Sapir-Whorf Hypothesis comes into consideration.

THE MAGIC OF THE SAPIR-WHORF HYPOTHESIS:

This theory principally explains that if you immerse yourself in learning a foreign language enough, you can literally rewire your brain. It sounds like utter drivel, but it actually works towards this film’s benefit. In other words, the language you speak equals how you think. Mysterious, am I right? That your brain could actually be hardwired differently depending on the language you speak. Not only this, but it can also change your perception, or how you see everything. However, as she continues to learn the circle language, the movie makes it clear that the past, or Louise’s memories of her daughter, is actually the future. I’ll talk about how emotionally devastating this realization is later, but just take a second to think about this. The future is now remembered as much as her past, and it’s only through this new language, this Sapir-Whorf Hypothesis that she realizes this. With the Heptapods’ language, Louise has learned to transcend the arrow of time that we all live in. This arrow of time is basically just living life in a normal way, slowly catapulting towards inevitable death. Remembering the past, living the present, and trying to predict the future. Transcending it means you have broke free of every day life, and past, present and future have collided in one beautifully indecipherable yet completely understandable explosion of time. Like the alien’s language, the film’s storytelling is circular instead of linear, coming to a full close at the end. When she hugs Jeremy Renner’s character at the finale, it represents her choosing to embrace the joys and sorrows of the life she knows will live.

THE PAIN OF KNOWLEDGE:

Another thing that becomes truly apparent while drawing deep on the Sapir-Whorf Hypothesis is how depressing and emotionally painful it is to live it. Louise may have saved the aliens from being wrongfully attacked by humanity, but she forgot her own mental well-being. All the memories of her daughter’s birth, life and tragic young death coupled with her husband leaving her to live out her sorrows alone are all things that will happen in her future. She has to go through life knowing that her daughter will die of cancer, and the man she loves (who we find out is Jeremy Renner’s character), leaves them both. Just thinking about how all the joys and beauty of being a mother will be sucked out by the pain of knowledge is tragic to think about, and it proves once again how Denis Villeneuve uses heartbreaking material in a subtle way that isn’t necessarily easy to decipher. People have criticized his films for being emotionless (especially Blade Runner 2049), but simply because you have to crack the puzzle to find the true heartbreak in Arrival or his other masterpieces doesn’t mean there isn’t any. This is a beautiful film, and I’m not just talking about the cinematography or visual effects, but the feelings this makes you evoke is profound if you look deep enough

FORESHADOWING OF THE CIRCULAR (THE HERMENEUTIC CIRCLE)

Another aspect that this movie nails is the foreshadowing of the immense change that will come in Louise’s life. Watching the film on first viewing, seeing Louise walk down a circular hallway doesn’t really mean anything, but on second viewing, it is juxtaposed with a previous shot of Louise walking in a straight line. It foreshadows the way she will eventually think in the future, utterly aligned with the alien’s thoughts. By the end of the film, just like the main character, audiences too have come to see Arrival as Louise has come to see her life. It’s only on a re-watch in which we experience the true significance and beauty of each and every moment. The language of the Heptapods represents the full circle that this movie has come before the end credits, key to understanding the film’s underlying themes of meaning and interpretation.

Philosophers refer to this as the Hermeneutic Circle (I had to look up the definition of this), which explains that the whole defines the parts as the parts define the whole. Oh yeah, we’re getting super philosophical here. Part and whole are working together to form the true meaning of any sort of text. This basically means that to understand a specific part of something, you must figure out the whole before. The main conflict in the story of this movie, which is questioning the purpose of the Heptapod’s arrival, creates a crisis that solidifies this theory. Although primarily it focuses on Louise’s interactions with one singular ship, the larger conflict surrounds what to do with the total of 12 Heptapod ships located in random places around the globe. This leads the 12 nations in which the ships landed in to collaborate and share progress with each other. However, much to the distaste to many countries, when enough of their language is learned to ask their purpose on Earth, their response was translated to “offer weapon.” The Heptapod’s ultimate sign for true purpose is represented through past human experiences. This specifically relates to Louise’s “memories”. In a powerfully metaphorical and climactic moment, Louise is actually invited to write with their language on the glass screen that separates them from the aliens, which causes her to experience rapid flashes of more memory before a cloud of signs suddenly erupts.

LANGUAGE IS THE LIMIT:

As I mentioned right before, a cloud of signs erupts directly after Louise experiences flashes of these new memories. If you payed a little attention, you may notice that clouds are a visual motif in the movie, or imagery that keeps repeating itself throughout the film. After Amy Adams and Jeremy Renner analyze the new burst of data they received, it’s found out that the empty (incomplete) space reveals the incompleteness of Louise’s knowledge of their language. The positions of the ships are in fact not random. The Heptapods have strategically placed their ships in these 12 places to make a puzzle of sorts for Louise to crack, but she needs the other eleven pieces of the puzzle. It requires teamwork between these nations to bring the parts together to make a cohesive whole out of their scattered language. It sends a beautiful message about unification no matter where you are in the world, but it also is symbolism for a clock, which of course reverts back to my points about the parts and whole of time. Not only do the nations have to come together in order to solve this, but Louise herself must piece together the pieces of her timeline to connect the dots. Time is language in this movie, and our language is simply nothing greater than the Hermeneutic Circle by which we interpret anything. Albeit, in a generic and unimaginative way. Unfortunately, our languages are the boundaries in the world we live in. It creates obstacles and limits in which you cannot cross in fear of breaking the norms. Languages keep us a united society, but they also keep us caved by missed opportunities.

Another way one could look at all of this that the present language we use represent the limitations of our memories. We cannot remember everything that’s happened in the past. Our present language has made this an impossible achievement. Language is the end result of a past experience, so even learning an alien language will not allow Louise to fully remember a future she has not yet lived. However, she can roughly predict what’s going to happen next as any of us can, which is almost like re-watching this movie. The circular language of the Heptapods is obviously representative of the film’s unique, circular way in which it chooses to tell its story. The Heptapod’s ship really represents the entirety of Louise’s life, which is probably the primary reason why the position of the spaceship is different than most depictions of alien arrivals. Based on several analyses that I have watched on this film, it’s really no secret that this alludes, or references to the Black Monolith in 2001: A Space Odyssey. This Monolith may seem like it appears in random places at random times, but it’s actually a symbol of human evolution. It appears whenever humanity is at some breaking point in evolution. The beginning of all mankind, man’s movement into space, and finally at the main character’s death bed and place of birth. Similarly, the tunnel at the end of the ship in Arrival represents death, and the quick flashes of memories that Louise sees are to be associated with the flashes a person who’s on their death bed receives right before they move on. This all brings things full circle, and I hope this analysis was found to be helpful!

The Lighthouse: Film Analysis

By: Keaton Marcus

PREFACE:

Robert Eggers’ sophomore effort, The Lighthouse, is one of my favorite movies of all-time and I’ve been meaning to write about it for a while now. Generally, I wish to focus on its symbolism and general aesthetics used to reel in audiences for an insane, but ultimately rewarding time.

PREMISE:

The Lighthouse centers on two lighthouse keepers, Thomas Wake (Willem Dafoe) and Ephraim Winslow (Robert Pattinson), whose isolation on an unnamed island off the coast of New England builds to a strange, humorous, and rocky relationship, one beset by the tumultuous waves of folk legends, confessions, and madness.

THE STYLE/AESTHETIC:

One thing that Eggers has nailed in both The Witch and The Lighthouse is the highly-stylized period look that is so appealing to viewers. Unlike the typical 4:3 aspect ratio, this film uses the unconventional 1.19:1 ratio, which is almost never used nowadays and was most commonly known to be for early sound films. I had to do a little research for this, but this movie isn’t just shot in black-and-white, it’s legitimate. It was shot on Kodak Double X 35mm stock, which is one of their two black-and-white stocks. Before people criticize this movie as simply a gimmick that many other films use today, think about this. Most of the time, when a modern-day movie is in black-and-white, it’s initially shot in color before being graded. An example of this would be Noah Baumbach’s Frances Ha. Additionally, cinematographer Jarin Blaschke used a custom cyan filter to emulate the orthochromatic film, which was a popular technique in the late 19th and early 20th century. This film even blocks all of the reds to make all the blood look black, so the orthochromatic emulation makes it so audiences can notice every single imperfection and detail on an actor’s face. Not only did Blaschke use turn-of-the-century filters, but he also shot on classic camera lenses, using Baltar lenses, which were popular in the 1930s. However, he used an older lens from the early 20th century for some of the more surrealist shots and an old zoom lens despite not knowing where it was originally from.

THE PERIOD ACCURACY:

Eggers and Blaschke were absolutely rigorous in their attention to period detail. Apart from the aesthetic being completely legitimate, the costumes, the lighthouse (which they built the entirety of), and even the dialogue. In fact, the screenplay is probably the most important detail in terms of accuracy. Like in The Witch, the attention-to-detail in this aspect was crucial, and Eggers nailed it in both films. However, there’s a major difference between the two. In his directorial debut, he lifted whole paragraphs and conversations from old texts, but in The Lighthouse, he and his brother Max had to construct entire conversations from an old dialect. I’d even go as far as to say that his second film is even more impressive in its ambitions than the first, and possibly one of the most creative movies of all-time. As their primary source, they actually used Sarah Orne Jewett’s book The Mate of the Daylight for Thomas Wake dialogue due to parts of it featuring interviews with real-life figures like Willem Dafoe’s character in this vernacular. In contrast to this, Robert Pattinson’s dialogue was actually inspired by Maine farmers of the same era. Overall, just the authenticity alone is enough to call this a masterpiece. Eggers is a master at filmmaking, and everything here is pretty much pitch-perfect. There is an accurate set, characters, and dialogues to immerse audiences in a new world. That’s what cinema is all about, isn’t it? I watched this on a phone at one in the morning on the first-time viewing this (apologies, David Lynch), and I was enthralled and immersed by every second of this.

BLENDING DREAMS AND REALITY:

Another thing that really stood out during this film was the distinctions between surrealism and reality. Initially, Eggers tried everything in his power to make a sharp difference to what’s imaginary and real, but as the film goes on, he slowly and absorbingly blends them together. I’d say he does it even more effectively than Stanley Kubrick’s The Shining, does it? To make things feel crazier, he also uses contradictions and gas-lighting, perhaps making audiences go a little mad themselves. Thomas Wake changes his story about how his leg became gimpy, shifting from blaming it on an injury to blaming it on scurvy. He also asked Pattinson’s character why he chased him with an ax directly after we saw him chasing Howard with an ax. Following this, Dafoe even bludgeons Pattinson with that same ax before burying him. One of the primary things that I adore about this film is the fact that it doesn’t tell audiences what to think or what to interpret about the film. Instead, it leaves viewers to come up with several different ideas, theories, or concepts. This is definitely a rare thing nowadays, and simply one of the aspects that makes this film masterful.

THOMAS AND THOMAS ARE ONE AND THE SAME:

Continuing off of my point on the fact that audiences weren’t told what to think, let’s take a look at my history with the movie. On the first viewing, I looked it at in a completely basic fashion. A darker fairy tale of two men isolated on a lighthouse driving each other to insanity. However, that ending changes everything. It concludes with Pattinson’s character staring into the light before falling down the stairs, conveying that there is some sort of hypnotic enchantment in the light. This made me ponder and theorize about the film more than before, and I began to think that Pattinson and Dafoe’s characters were the same, and Wake is simply a projection of Howard. On the second viewing, it became more of a meditation on the vast distance between heaven and hell, in which Wake is blocking Howard from the light, or heaven. Remember when Wake made the claim that there is a dead sailor’s soul in every sea bird? Or when Wake couldn’t remember the time that they’ve been there? You can argue that this would come from heavy drinking and overall craziness, but it also works in the sense that these two are stuck in purgatory, or in-between heaven and hell. Furthermore, it also does seem like Wake is solely there to torture Howard into eventual insanity. They begin painting the lighthouse but don’t finish it, which makes him inventory the silverware and even scrub the floor multiple times without actual reason to. This is all happening while he continuously bars him from looking into the light. In the end, when Thomas eventually gets to look into the light, there’s this brilliant effect used to make it seem like it’s ripping his soul out.

OVERALL:

In conclusion, The Lighthouse could be seen as a simple story of two men going mad, and it works just fine that way. But the real magic of this movie is when you start to delve deeper. It begins to invalidate people criticizing this film for being Oscar-bait or having no tangible story. It has a complex one that requires you to think and not just focus on the surface. However, there are lots to love on that glorious surface too! The cinematography, editing, performances, and attention-to-detail are all immaculate. This film is one of the greatest movies ever made in my opinion, and I hope it continues to do as well as it can in my cinematography tournament.

ARE ACTION MOVIES CINEMA?

PREFACE:

So…action movies. Are they really cinema? Or is the genre simply a group of dumb diversions, or “amusement park rides”, as director Martin Scorsese referred to them. I will not solely be getting deep on Marvel films, but also stuff like Fast & Furious, Mission: Impossible, John Wick and even Christopher Nolan movies.

WHAT DID SCORSESE SAY ABOUT MARVEL? DO I AGREE?

Before getting deeper on all the individual films, I do want to give attention to the man who jump started this entire argument in the community. Martin freaking Scorsese, one of the most prolific directors of all-time. Let’s get into the quote.

“I tried, you know? But that’s not cinema. Honestly the closest I can think of them, as well-made as they are, with actors doing the best they can under the circumstances, is theme parks. It isn’t the cinema of human beings trying to convey emotional, psychological experiences to another human being.”

Now do I agree with him? I absolutely do. I’m not some Marvel hater, in fact I enjoy several of them, but I will get deeper into that later. Overall, the MCU, DCEU and action films in general are theme parks. Granted, they are very fun, entertaining and cheer-worthy rides if done exceptionally well. Fortunately, plenty of them are made by capable people who know how to make audiences sit back and enjoy, even if they have to turn their brains off.

THE MCU AND DCEU

Right off the bat let’s get the two biggest superhero franchises out of the way. My favorite MCU films, such as Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Black Panther and Thor: Ragnarok are films that I wouldn’t consider cinema, but they are the highest quality a theme park movie can get, and that’s perfectly fine with me. Some of the Avengers films, especially Endgame, are a true experience if you’re a fan. However, there are many movies in this franchise that are genuinely bad. The first two Thor films, the mediocre Captain Marvel, Avengers: Age of Ultron, Iron Man 2 & 3 and The Incredible Hulk are only some of them. Considering these, I’m also not going to pretend that every single MCU film hits the bar, but a few of them really do. However, a lot of them are simply well-made amusement park rides.

The DCEU and DC series in general isn’t much better, but similarly, I am entertained by several of them. For example, Birds of Prey, Shazam!, Aquaman and especially Wonder Woman are very good popcorn flicks in my opinion. I do, however, consider Christopher Nolan’s The Dark Knight trilogy (especially the last two) to be real cinema. I’ll save him for after this, though. Then again, there’s also Justice League, Suicide Squad, Batman v Superman and Man of Steel (the latter two are superior, but still eh), which just won’t cut it for me. Bad films that take over the box office make it so unfair for the better movies. Then, on another level of horrible, there’s Wonder Woman 1984, but I don’t want to talk about that piece of shit.

Overall, superhero movies (for the most part) aren’t cinema, and Scorsese was completely right. That doesn’t mean you can’t enjoy them, however.

CHRISTOPHER NOLAN

But Keaton, what about Christopher Nolan, our lord and savior? Yeah, I’d say he’s about the closest mainstream, consistent action director to cinema. From Inception, The Dark Knight movies, Dunkirk and even Tenet, this guy can invent. His action sequences are definitely an art form, and generally the cinematography, stunt-work and any visual aspects are top-notch. Of course he has his highs and lows like every director out there, but generally, he delivers. He has issues with dialogue, storytelling and pacing, but the effort put into giving viewers sufficient spectacle is too clear to deny. Nolan’s films are cinema, I won’t deny that. They aren’t simply fun, disposable movies that you’ll forget after watching. They are each puzzles to solve.

FAST & FURIOUS, ANYONE?

This is obvious, I suppose. I don’t, and will never consider Fast & Furious movies cinema. Besides, say, the John Wick films, these types of action movies generally don’t cut it. For example, literally every Liam Neeson movie ever made, The Equalizer 1 & 2 and many more that I couldn’t care less about are guilty of stupidity. Don’t get me wrong, I’m able to turn my brain off for several of these and just have a nice, good time. But holy shit they aren’t cinema. The filmmakers usually put minimal effort into them, the acting is mediocre, and even the action sequences sometimes leave something to be desired.

OTHER ACTION MOVIES THAT I CONSIDER CINEMA

• Sicario

• Mission: Impossible 4-6

• Mad Max: Fury Road

• Baby Driver

• Logan (a comic-book movie??!!)

• Skyfall

• The Matrix

• Terminator 1 & 2

• Bourne (1-3)

• Kingsman: The Secret Service

• Planet of the Apes (2011-2017)

• Looper

For me to consider an action movie cinema, like these and probably some outliers, they’ve got to have something special to distinguish themselves from the crowd. Whether it be score, cinematography, performances or even action in general, I have to find one facet of the film to be stand-out. One thing I will remember after viewing. So, in conclusion, while I do agree with Martin Scorsese, it’s to a fault. Plenty of Marvel movies are good, and a lot in the genre are too, but they’re mired in a shit ton of bad ones as well.