Thematic Wanderings: The Art Of Getting Away With It

Fellow co-conspirator and book creator E. Hsu, often questions the stuff we watch. Not always the hidden messages, but as a graphic artist herself, the approach. She recently called out the opening shot of Gone Girl, with the head of Rosamund Pike being caressed by an unseen, but clearly masculine hand as the words of Ben Affleck posit questions about his beloved - only to turn ugly in contrast to the hyper-stylized beauty before him.  And suddenly these reminders of what savvy visual storytellers do with their images to let us in came rushing to mind. That cinematic sleight of hand can be employed as a means of drawing in an audience who may not have considered a film's baggage otherwise. Especially considering our rapidly evolving media intake, there is a growing complexity to film that often plays it coy, to occasionally insincere degrees, playing the audience in order to implant conflicting thoughts. Considering the particular filmmaker in this case, it became quite clear that this was a deliberate attempt at playing viewers at their own game. While we have certainly over the past few years seen a few filmmakers over the years employ tactics on the level of a sledgehammer, the hidden, is often the most dynamic, and the style most effective in gathering years of heated controversy. The belief that post-film dialogue is far more constructive than a blunt-forced message (See- The Wachowskis. See- Snowpiercer.). After several discussions regarding the validity of hidden themes in mainstream cinema, the blog seemed to call out for a teensy bit of extra light on this often rocky topic.

Such a contradiction is classic Fincher, where he will often present an evocative visual, but use the soundtrack to offer up either sly humor, or an unreliable establishment to stir matters up. Among his most famous, is the final shot of Fight Club. The slowly pulling image of the narrator and Marla, hand-in-hand while the city's bank buildings topple one after another before them to the almost chorus-like sounds of Pixies' Where Is My Mind?, playing over the devastation. All we had seen up to this point, revealing the ultimate personal revelation of the narrator's journey, with the apocalypse of a confining banking system. Our so-called "villian", is gone, but his plan has gone off without a hitch. Our characters now reside within a new world. The film is asking pointedly about seeking new routes beyond the mundane & self-destructive to achieve our dreams. It's both giddy and harrowing, and ultimately feels emotionally resolved.We have reached thematic critical mass.

"Free yourself".

Chock it all up to your classic scene design and final construction. One can either use the field of vision to convey a clear-cut idea, or mix everything from costume, to set, to lighting, editing, and even music to occasionally blur certain thematic lines. One of the dicier things a filmmaker and crew can do to enhance, and often botch a scene, is with a risky mix and match. Happy music when something sad is occurring on screen, or perhaps a moody voice-over during the scene of a wedding, the means by which films can achieve a complex fabric of emotion is often infinite. But it can also lead to confusion among viewers not savvy to what is happening. And this is often where some critique can diverge between individuals. Mise-en-scène, remains something of a delicate art, and can work wonders depending upon its usage.

So when filmmakers take on more straightforward material, it's pretty easy for the casual viewer to miss elements that are uniquely them. Especially when they are often more adventurous in their projects. It's something that I have witnessed more than ever in recent years, which often leads to many an interesting discussion. Because certain scenes may mean different things to whoever is discussing it, the dialogue can occasionally break down - which can be anathema for some.

A classic recent example is the final montage of The Dark Knight, where a voice-over justifies a cover-up by our heroes, while we witness the fallout from the film's harrowing story. Everything leading up to this moment grants us a picture of an antagonist that has spiritually one-upped the city and it's defenders to the breaking point. And with the last bastion of hope to the community gone, and many dead in its wake, the need to lie to keep his legacy intact is played to the hilt with Batman defending his role as an outsider. What's thematically interesting about this scene, is the score which takes some recurring musical motifs that were introduced in Batman Begins, now take on broken form. They are now in a minor key, mixed with an almost triumphant wail, as if to say that everything we are seeing here is a compromise. Wayne's mission has taken a turn, and is now in an even more morally grey place than he was at the offset. The sweeping camera pans over Commissioner Gordon's speech, flag waving in the background, followed by his destroying of the Bat Signal, all imply that none of this is an ideal outcome. And yet, many a conservative pundit found this ending to be a condoning of certain tactics being used by private entities during the height of the Iraq War. They ultimately missed the part where all of this is proof of how the Joker actually prevailed on a philosophical level. The city will no longer be the same. Criminality may be on the run, but corruption can even ensnare the most well-meaning. It's a psychologically complex, and challenging way to end a blockbuster sequel, and yet it completely got away with positing an uncomfortable truism regarding western civilization.

So for every conceptual swerve a storyteller can dish out, there is always potential for involved dialogue. Which is pretty much a most exciting place to be as a spectator. To drink in the complex, and to have something new to share with another, even if it's a freshly formed idea, is one of the great virtues of art. Problems persist only when everything points to a simple answer. Sure, it can be great to hear something that aligns perfectly with your views, but to experience another's purview is equally as important, if not moreso. As we are consistently evolving creatures, it remains more crucial than ever to allow the exchange to create rivulets, and multicolored fibers. It's what helps us enrich ourselves and each other. But it's especially interesting when we think we are aware of what we are looking at, only to find ourselves stealthily implanted with a vital, impactful new discussion.

Special Rumbles: Lessons From Roger Ebert (1942-2013)

Despite yesterday's news regarding his health, there was no part of me that was in any way prepared for writing up several thoughts regarding the importance of one Roger Ebert in my social, and written life. To be completely fair, noone is truly prepared for such a thing. But to give a complete charting of just how important one person's views can be toward so many angles of another's life, it is also something possibly foolhardy to consider. But what I can best deliver in a timely, and hopefully raw fashion, is to keep beacons glowing in the name of what makes criticism so important to not merely film, but to human culture as a whole. Much like how achaeologists derive theory from findings and disparate elements available, there is a deep importance toward our collective ability to see beyond mere positives and negatives. To dole out how something makes us feel, rather than merely take in everything at face value wthout second thought, or future evaluation. And there were fewer voices available to so many of us in the broadcast age with such a reverence for the unusual, and the accessible than Ebert, a man who's very presence on television or in print, exuded a yearning to understand not only an evolving artform, but a rapidly morphing world.


Growing up a remarkably addicted child of movies, Ebert's views on At The Movies remained an integral part of my weekend viewing diet. To be in my presence throughout a majority of the late 1980s meant that this ritual was an expected norm. And it wasn't merely because of access to clips of the latest releases, and whether or not they received a thumbs up or down, but rather my focus was largely on how both Gene Siskel & Ebert went from gentle confirmation to outright verbal blitzkrieg in mere minutes, and still retain a fair amount of sympatico by the end of each episode. And despite the often whispered revelation that the duo in fact didn't get along well outside the theater for a time, it was endlessly exciting to see such worldviews interconnect with such energy from their reaction to something as commonly seen as diversion as film. They spoke a mature form of a language I long wanted to be able to grasp, even as I grappled with the often humiliating trial known as grade school.


Moreso than any other televised movie critic, there was an inherent relatability to the way Ebert examined movies that told me, "I could do that". In fact, I vividly remember recording my first movie review "podcast" with my best friend by way of cassette tape, capturing our reviews of movies like Robocop & Rocky IV. This went even further come the early 1990s, when a good high school friend of mine fand I wrote a "He Said, She Said" column for our local newspaper's experimental "youth" section. Sharing impressions was a major part of what drove me to write, and perhaps it seemed inevitable that japanese cartoons would eventually follow. It wasn't enough for me to merely watch something and forget about it in preparation for the next life trial, it was vital that I take it down somewhere, or talk it out with a fellow weirdo. Discourse was on the brain from a very early point, and Ebert was unquestionably a large part of why.



And as I mentioned, growing up the only kid in a nearly 40-mile radius who was halfway interested in cartoons from across the ocean, as well as weird movies from other parts of the world, it was great to have someone on TV with the openness & enthusiasm he did. Whether it be his surprising segment on AKIRA, or opening up about Miyazaki's works, it was strengthening to see someone in the grand sphere talking about something so many were so quick to write off in those days. In fact when they happened (which was not at all often), it was this brief moment of relief that came over me. A reminder that I had indeed run into something that spoke to far more than a small niche of strange kids/adults, and that it was something worthy of merit on a world's stage. A confirmation that art could be found just about anywhere as long as one is taking that extra moment to look.



Among the more important lessons I took away from him being such a presence in my life, was that articulation was vital toward greater connection between very different types.  That it wasn't enough to merely say your piece, and abandon room for further discussion. Walls were malleable and filled with gaps and curves which can shift and bend based on shared experience. That the wheel must continue to turn in the name of a healthier ecosystem. And while differences are an inevitability, they are also what make us so valuable to others. Enthusiasm for art, idea & expression flowed naturally through him, and it was infectious, especially when meeting new people who shared a similar affinity for the language.



And to be even more on the even side, it wasn't as if I agreed with his views all the time. In fact, a there were multiple instances where I simply didn't understand where he was coming from with many films that have since become important in the eyes of the public. For instance, I have never, and likely will never understand his evisceration of Blue Velvet (1986). But perhaps therein lies the greatest lesson; that critique of any kind is less about the object being reviewed, and often more about the person doing the review, and the others they are reaching out to. It's continued communication in celebration of something shared, also made by human hands. There is something inherently natural about reacting to the world, and examining the results on an individualistic basis. Just as no two people will see the same sunset in the same way, there is something important about the ability to take a human work, and derive a nebula of thought.It is within this important activity that our futures are founded, and universes are rendered endless.


But another really important thing I learned by way of watching and reading him, was that I didn't have to agree with a person's assessments, and maintain respect. That it was indeed possible to trade barbed differences upon anything, and still seek to understand the other person, which should be one of our greater goals as a species. Ebert saw human civilization as a triumph, and there is no triumph without regard to the past, and at its most primal -- that is the cinema's greatest gift to all of us.


That is what I'd like to believe anyway.

Regarding Reviews: What Makes This Kaijyu Tick?

Waking up this morning, I was suddenly possessed with typing up some kind of explanation as to how some of my tastes function, as well as perhaps elaborate a little on what makes certain movies/shows work for me personally. And to be honest, like anyone else, I couldn't pinpoint such things with any absolute razor thin accuracy. All I can do is perhaps shine a light on what it is that makes me lose myself in a film as opposed to seeing it as just a collaborative project that either functioned, or didn't. And it is by looking back at years of watching movies that I can finally see patterns emerge, which is what I hope to share here over time. If anything, The Wandering Kaijyu works not unlike a means to see where I am, not only as a "fan", but as a "maturing" human.

So with that, let's dive on in...

As I just mentioned via Twitter, one of the larger components of what works for me as a reviewer is if the completed work carries within it some manner of "truth". And when I say this, it isn't that there's some hidden desire for absolute truth of any kind. But rather that the work's established thesis carries with it a certain amount of conviction permeating throughout the entire piece. (without getting lost along the way) And this even includes films with a certain level of naivete. If the piece maintains that spirit, no matter how silly, or goofy, chances are it can pass. But the establishment of these feelings, ideas, concepts must be well established within the first few moments, otherwise tone can be compromised, oftentimes creating something of an uneven mess.


If a film/show establishes a highly logical universe, it is important that the writing and acting maintain this in order to keep more attentive audiences locked into the story. This is where I have to chime in that the moving picture is more an emotional medium than an intellectual one, so the sheer level of logical complexity will almost always never be one hundred percent, but if the story established asks the audience to be wary of minute details, it's important to at least convince us that what is happening really is. The brain can detect falseness very well, and as such, this is part of a very tricky balancing act in order to keep viewers emotionally engaged in matters. So "logical truth" is important, if only to keep the more thematic/emotional material intact. This is something that film often gets wrong since the other part of this equation is in many ways more important, but in that rare occasion, something closer to airtight can also better support the projects' more direct ideas & themes.

Now...on the other hand...

Looking back at everything that tends to secure a fave spot somewhere, there are times when simple logic is often abandoned. I mean, let's get down to it. I'm a grand sucker for tokusatsu films featuring giant monsters, giant robots, spirits, fantastic worlds without standard physics in attendance. I have a raging love for works that often bend conventional rules of reality, until it no longer even resembles a recognizable construct aside from maybe having humans in them. So what about these? And why do some of these still get iffy reviews regardless?

Let's go ahead an illustrate what I mean with a truly mainstream example of this; Spiderman 2 (2004).

Much like the previous Sam Raimi film(and before things really got out of hand), this was a fully realized American comic book world brought to life complete with classic archetypes, derring-do, and special effects. And considering the era of special effects that were attainable at the time, along with some seriously questionable physics, the film in many strange ways, looks strangely quaint in retrospect considering where comic adaptations went in regards to "realism" years following. The action scenes of Spidey 2, while exciting to some degree, feel not only video game-like in execution, but also sadly plastic-y, and sans any real feeling of threat. As Spiderman is battling Doctor Octopus, there are multiple moments of human bodies slamming against concrete, busting brick walls, bending steel, and so-forth without any concern for the all-too mortal Peter Parker underneath the spandex. It gets to a certain point where the back of the mind just gives up, and the suspension is compromised.


So why do I still own this film? Why does it still work in my mind as a successful popcorn experience?

Simple; Raimi and crew stuck to their guns regarding their rendition of Peter Parker and his life. In the end, the action was nowhere near as important as the human element. Whether it be his living situation, his love issues, or even guilt over the past, it is all played beautifully, and does so in a clever way when considering the plight of Dr. Octavius. It is here that the fantasy elements are countered by emotional, and thematic truths that are played well from first frame to last. And even as the credits roll, we understand the sacrifice inherent in living such a life. Even as the world embraces a more heightened reality, the more personal underpinnings of the story are what stay.


Therein lies what I find to be one of the the more challenging parts of the viewing experience, and yet can be summed up with a simple response; when one is dealing with the fantastic, at least for me, there needs to be some kind of emotional, spiritual thesis at work from the beginning of the film, which again brings back the idea of intention. Some films while utterly steeped in the unbelievable are capable of counterbalancing the often tinkered rules of physical/logical reality at hand. It goes all the way back to my love of films like Gojira for example. There is an almost youthful exhuberance in the execution of many of TOHO & DAIEI's early special effects films that comes through quite clearly despite all the fantasy bouncing off the edges like a vengeful Superball.

When faced with envisioning the impossible within film (or anime for that matter), a need for something else to ground matters is vital. And more often than not, this is where effective emotional storytelling comes into play. Without this, it all whittles down to merely spectacle with no real point or purpose, which for me is worse than anything. Especially in a time when anything can be achieved visually, story & theme eventually must take point in whether the project will speak to me or not.

If the spirit of the work is well established from the outset, and the creators find ways to maintain that spirit throughout, there's a good chance for a successful experience for us. Even if certain rules are bent, beats are underplayed, notes are forgotten, or even betrayed with new revelations, they still can help weave a unique tapestry. But more often than not, it all needs to be well-planned and executed. There are exceptions out there for sure. Works that came together on the day, within happenstance, or out of last moment necessity. In fact, some works can work in spite of all of this due to their immediacy, ingenuity, and energy. As long as the central nucleus of thought is consistent and carried through to the credits, chances are it'll work its wonders on me.

At the end, there are no real rules so much as a need for the work to speak truthfully, even if it's through the mind of a child. It is a quest to believe in the possibilities. And this is the spirit of The Wandering Kaijyu.