The best thing

The best thing about having a blog no one reads, is it truly begins to feel like a private journal. Of course, nothing is private on the internet, but I find the illusion easier to sustain in the quiet of flying under the radar.  I haven't posted in ages; I always used to think 'time to start living and stop writing.' So I was living, marrying and working and sowing my seeds. But that depression which thrives under my skin, parasitic and invasive (but so much a part of me) is alive and well. I have medication to subdue the worst of the episodes. But tonight I come face to face with all of my failures.  It is hard in this state to remember there is good I have done on this Earth. Hard to remember the kindnesses I have shared with others. The humiliations come back to me, all the times I fell short, the times I failed and failed and failed again. So many lessons never learned because I am like an underwater creature who never learned to move with the waves; they crash into and over me. I am a mistake in an evolutionary history which has resolved in the most beautiful of creatures. I am fairly certain without the resources of modern medicine and technology, I would long ago have been eliminated by the process of evolution, a casualty of survival of the fittest. My kind were never meant to exist, but somehow we were lucky enough to make it through. I know this is subsidiary of the sadness, the disease of depression culpable. I know, while a disease, all my pains are due to my own choices, further mistakes I make in the realm of the living. But the knowledge doesn't ease the hurt of living, or the fact that my own cowardice and futile love of life keeps me from slipping over the edge. I love this place, I love those around me with everything I have; my love is my only success. I have never failed in loving, only in being loved.

Existential Crises and Other Stories

Once upon a time, this Time magazine issue tried to change my life but I wouldn't let it:




This one really did change my thinking, specifically about the biological aspects of love:

8 1/2: The Harem Sequence

Federico Fellini’s film 8 ½ has always been one of my favorites, precisely because of its dream-like quality, the constant stream expertly engineered by Fellini between the illusion and the truth.  The film is largely autobiographical, but seldom without the constant shift between what may be the director Guido’s fantasy and the reality around him. Fellini was under incredible pressure to create a masterpiece but had writer’s block; suddenly he realized the film would be about precisely his own predicament. The autobiographical aspect of the film extends beyond the anxiety of creation, but also touches on the crisis of middle age, and Fellini’s own love and confusion regarding women.

In what I will call the “Harem Sequence,” which occurs an hour and 32 minutes into the film, the central character Guido’s male desires culminate in fantasy. I’d like to demonstrate how Fellini transitions from the reality of the unhappy wife into the dream of the submissive woman with the use of sound, and how he then portrays his subconscious self in relation to the female entity through the use of lighting and movement. Bordwell’s Film Art states, “the look of a shot is centrally controlled by light quality, direction, source and color." In this particular scene, these elements are central.

The scene begins at the outdoor cafe with high key lighting whereas when we move further into the dream sequence (further into his mind) and to his childhood home, the scene is typically lit in low-key illumination. The transition into the dream sequence is impeccable. The entire film is this circle of movement from dream into reality and reality into dream. Guido’s dream is for all his women to just get along. An orchestra plays at the start of the sequence, so what we might have assumed is nondiegetic sound is actually diegetic. A sudden shift musically helps us clearly understand the transition into the fantasy. We suddenly hear fluid beautiful music (in contrast to the sharpness of Luisa’s voice); Guido leans back and seems to drift. Carla sings along with this new, calming music; she sings the same song Guido remembers from his warm, safe childhood bath, so we have an idea where Fellini is taking us. Luisa and Carla dance together surrounded by white clean linen tablecloths and flowers. Luisa’s sharp glasses have disappeared along with her sharp words. The twirling of the women fades into the swirling of steam above a pot. We realize we are in Guido’s childhood home, now filled with all the women in his life. The camera pans from Gloria with her harp to Carla coming down the stairs to Madeleine to his wife to the mysterious woman from the hotel and then back to the African girl. He never listens to the women unless it applies to his own selfish purpose, and the swiftness of the camera as it pans from right to left demonstrates this. He is not reading them, he is not processing them; and, as the camera typically spends gives little temporal attention to each woman, we do not fully process them either. The only woman the camera truly seems to study, to take time with is Luisa. This signifies to us her importance in Guido’s mind.

A low angle shot reveals Luisa’s no-nonsense sister Rosella laughing and sitting on the rails of the upper level, like his upper self, his higher consciousness. She says, “I want to observe you.” The women from his childhood bathe him and say, “Isn’t he the sweetest boy in the world?” The dialogue echoes the original memory of the bath and the women tucking him into bed. Even women who he has had no sexual contact with appear in the harem sequence to serve and care for him.

We hear the nondiegetic melody of Saraghina’s theme and then she appears as one of the women carrying him in his sheet after the bath. We meet the showgirl Jacqueline; exposition reveals that Guido had an affair with her many years ago. I love the use of the camera as it pans in continuous shots throughout the entire scene. It as if he wants us to see as many of the women as possible in a single shot and in quick succession. There are several deep focus shots, where we see everyone and every female face in the frame. A rare exception is at 1:39. The woman in the forefront of the frame cries, as the woman in the background states Guido’s rules about women of a certain age retreating to the upstairs area. The woman in the forefront is out of focus; the woman in the background speaking is in focus.

The women revolt and Wagner’s classic Flight of the Valkyrie plays as he whips them; again, a nondiegetic use of sound. Patches of light fall randomly on the women as they run and scream with delight. The use of under lighting makes Madeleine, one of the stronger forces of the revolt, appear devilish.

After Guido dominates the women, Jacqueline is given the opportunity to give a final performance in the spotlight before she is sent upstairs. The beautiful shot which frames her face in bright white light as she finally realizes he is not watching her, and as she whispers his name, is heartbreaking. The extreme close-up of her face allows us to truly see her heartbreak as her face fills the frame, and she becomes real to us in a way most of the other women are not.

The women are quiet and solemn as they all sit at the dinner table, Rosella sits at his left (his conscience) and Luisa at his right (his heart). Carla plays the harp she shared the shot with much earlier in the scene – this is another example of the use of diegetic music in the scene – and for a moment everything in the background fades into darkness but the harp and her pained face. Luisa looks at the camera and at us as if we are Guido, her face is side lit, attached shadow- one side bright, the other in subtle shadows, and walks away from the table to do chores, chatting cheerfully. In a continuous long shot, we see her move in and out of shadow to the ‘kitchen’ area. A spotlight falls on her as she scrubs the floor. And the image of her scrubbing that floor fades into Guido’s sad face, into the reality.

Carlo Celli states that Fellini’s films often have an “inherent circular nature in which the main character eventually returns to the initial situation.” Certainly, we are taken in and out of the dream and are brought back to the same point of helplessness in the face of infidelity. The film itself demonstrates what Celli calls the “paradox or living between reality and illusion.” The movement of the camera, the use of angles, and the sound and lighting choices demonstrate Guido’s conflict with women and confusion in his personal life, and they help us to understand the significant difference between his reality and the illusion. The use of these elements also helps us to understand the seamlessness of the transition back and forth between both worlds. When we are in the dream world, we begin to understand through mental subjectivity, Guido’s true relationship to the female forces in his life. We see the brevity of their faces as the camera pans past them; we see the heartbreak in bright light, and the evil in under lighting. Through these forces, we see as Guido sees in the truest sense.

Watch 8 1/2 on Amazon Prime or purchase.  Highly recommend the Criterion version.

SHAME film review

Steven McQueen's Shame is a direct and unflinching examination of sexual addiction and codependency as essentially two sides of the same coin.

The director chooses to lead us into his characters' world with the use of stark angles and muted blue tones. A subway ride is akin to a trip down the River Styx, the faces of all around him empty and hollow; you can taste the defeat and sadness in that train car. The few moments the color scheme truly shifts in the film are those in which it seems the central character Brandon, as played by Michael Fassbender, is on the verge of slipping out of his metaphysical coma. In these later moments in the film, it seems he may be awakening. The air has that different texture, as if the sun is rising.

The opening scenes put Brandon's manhood directly in our faces. The nude scenes in the film are both vulgar and plain. They teeter on exploitative, but always fall on the side of an ordinary rawness. The characters are more comfortable baring their bodies than they are baring their own souls.

Brandon's sister Sissy, played by Carey Mulligan, is as troubled as he, though less functional and more honest. She is a mess but can at least acknowledge that her spirit is a train wreck.  Her shining moment in the film is made all the more powerful by Brandon's reaction to it.  In their eyes, we see the glimmer of a shared, painful past.

The chemistry between Fassbender and Nicole Beharie, who portrays a woman he meets through work, is endearing, the tenderness they convey together on screen is touching. Intimacy terrifies Brandon and watching him graze the surface of it is an exercise in disappointment. Like a child looking out at play, he is forever trapped behind closed doors. While Brandon is threatened by closeness, his sister craves it. Her attachments are all-consuming, her neediness unbound. She desperately wants to be loved and to love, a desire that crushes her and perpetually bewilders her brother.

McQueen isn't out to manipulate or to explain. The movie is sometimes like a series of snapshots. We don't walk away crying with Brandon or his sister. We've been given access to a window into their lives. Much time is not devoted to characterization or exposition. We live in the moment with these two wanderers and witness their pain; the film doesn't deign to ask for our compassion. Even so, watching Brandon struggle in the midst of the film with his addiction and rage against it, try to tear it apart, and destroy it is moving. His compulsion is savage, turning him into a manipulative predator. He is a person in the throes of addiction and he will do anything to satisfy the unquenchable need. The drive turns Brandon into something both brilliant and disgusting, simultaneously mesmerizing and pathetic.

Joseph Campbell tells a story in his series Power of Myth in which he describes a woman who finds she has lived the larger portion of her life underwater. It is only when she is out of the water that she realizes she was a moment before submerged. Living with an addiction is like living life underwater. One wonders at the end if Brandon will ever emerge from his dark existence. We may see the sun rise in Brandon's world, but we will never see it set.

Century of the Self

When in DOUBT, use the dutch angle shot - wokka wokka wokka

Well, I saw Doubt. And it was theatrical (understandable - it is based on a Tony winning Broadway play) and a bit hammy. The concept is interesting, but those 'moral ambiguity' films always annoy me somewhat. Only a masterful director can handle such subject matter. I told my brother when watching it, "Only certain directors should be allowed to use a dutch angle shot, just as only certain directors should be allowed to shoot in slo-motion!" (I have to confess here that I didn't know this camera angle was even called a dutch angle until he enlightened me - why didn't I pay more attention in that cinema class?? I think I was just too distracted by Marcello Mastroianni's hair). BTW - this is a dutch angle shot (from a great film, albeit):

I'm gonna make a short film wherein two characters are arguing over a jar of peanut butter. Let's say those characters names are floresita and El Steven (Note: I am copying this almost word for word from Shanley's script adaptation)

ALTERNATING SINGLE SHOTS - DUTCH ANGLE SHOT FROM BELOW

FLORESITA
Is it true?

EL STEVEN (smoking cigarette)
What?

FLORESITA
You know what I'm asking.

EL STEVEN
No.

FLORESITA
Did you take the peanut butter out of my kitchen?

EL STEVEN
It was organic; it was going to go bad!

FLORESITA
Why didn't you just tell me???

EL STEVEN
I was just trying to spare you further embarrassment.

Oh, the suspense - dun dun dun!!!
Okay, moving on ...
The story is essentially this ponderous mediation on the 'nature of doubt.' It was a tight stage play that is diminished by the addition of cheesy devices like lightbulbs burning out (which interrupted the building tension and the rhythm of the whole piece - WTF did he do that??), harsh wind blowing in the night (oooooooo), killer kitty cats, and, yes, unnecessary dutch angle shots. The glorious Meryl Streep delivers a spastic performance that proves (just as Natalie Portman did in the newer, blander Star Wars films) that even the finest of actresses is only as good as her director. I like John Patrick Shanley, and I loved his Joe Versus the Volcano (one of my favorites); but, again, I think here he should have handed this piece to someone with more expertise.

Speaking of 'moral ambiguity' films. The Reader. Oh, The Reader. I cried three times, I was moved by David Cross' performance. But the film struck me as manipulative and patently blatant. The movie was a great coming of age story, but it was a piss-poor holocaust film. I kind of agree with Ron Rosenbaum's article about it:

Though I still hate you for that Billy Joel diatribe, Mr. Rosenbaum. Gar.

I'm closing with a random clip of Lily Allen's new single. Because it's catchy, and it makes me happy :))

Etta Jones

I am feeling so incredibly romantic lately. But simply because I'm tangled up with someone wonderful, and I'm enjoying the ride while it lasts :)

Slumdog Millionaire

I hope it wins Best Picture.