Revisiting old favorites

Not everyone finds that dream job immediately, and it’s fine that I’m in that group. However, moving back home has lead to a strange change in my state of mind. Maybe it’s having a job in downtown Appleton again or hanging in my parents’ basement, but my reading and viewing habits have regressed about 10 years.

I’ve always had a soft spot for YA fiction, and it’s hit full-blown obsession this summer. Some of it’s re-reading, but most of it is that kind of “I meant to get to this years ago” reading. After years of focusing on what is or isn’t impressive or highbrow, it’s been a lot of fun to get lost in some Meg Cabot or Richelle Mead. Now I’ve hit the point of no return and can’t stop—I’m at probably 20 novels this summer.

On the movie side, I’ve gone back to basics from that same era: Hitchcock and Disney Channel Original Movies. (#noshame) More than the nostalgia, there’s something refreshing in just letting go of expectations for your own reading and viewing after being a graduate student with a perfectly calculated list of research interests. Guilty pleasures don’t exist for me anymore, and I feel pretty damn free.

The Beginning of an Institution

Prior to the creation of the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences, there was no governing body, no regulations on the filmmaking industry. Not only was censorship and regulation a concern, but there was no way for those working in films to organize (as in, no unions) or recognize the achievements of outstanding individuals.

And so leaders in the industry, including Cecil B. DeMille, Mary Pickford, Louis B. Mayer and more greats, founded the Academy in 1927 with five branches: actors, directors, writers, producers and technicians. Obviously the number of branches has grown as the film industry has changed, staying true to the goal of representing all the parties involved in making a great movie. Even today, the Academy still can’t prevent further censorship of films—as seen most recently with The Interview (2014)—but it still functions well as a united front with the industry’s best interests in mind.

The 1st Academy Awards took place on May 16, 1929, honoring the best films released during the 1927-1928 time frame. A lot has changed since that first ceremony, which was only 15 minutes long and without surprise—the winners had been announced three months earlier. The awards ceremony has morphed over the years into the grand production that keeps people staring at their televisions for hours on end.

Of the 15 awards handed out that night, Outstanding Picture went to Wings, a film following two fighter pilots in WWI. To me, Wings is especially interesting as a war movie that was created before the outset of WWII, which changed the image of war forever. Wings is a good movie, but quite lengthy. If you want to watch it, and watch it well, put away your phone and other distractions. Sitting down for a 144-minute silent film is no small undertaking, and you won’t appreciate it if you don’t focus on the action, or miss one too many intertitles.

A ghostly moment from Sunrise, characteristic of Murnau’s style perfected in his German films.

Sunrise: A Song of Two Humans, directed by F.W. Murnau, had also won a similar award that night: Best Unique and Artistic Production. During the 1st Academy Awards, that and Outstanding Picture were considered to be equally prestigious. The following year, only Outstanding Picture was awarded, and the Academy decided retroactively that Sunrise had won the lesser award. The big prize of the night went through several different names before Best Picture was settled on in 1962.

Murnau’s filmmaking is phenomenal, but what is also striking is his departure from his previous works, which are phenomenal examples of the German Expressionist movement. Sunrise is certainly not lacking in the dark visual, aural and plot elements of an Expressionist film, but is less stylized, and therefore more accessible. If you are new to watching silent films, Sunrise would be a great starting point.

There is yet another reason 1927 is a landmark year for film: it saw the release of The Jazz Singer, the first “talkie.” The Jazz Singer was recognized with a Special Academy Award at that first ceremony, ushering in a technological advance that is now commonplace.

Recommended Reading & Watching

For more F.W. Murnau

Nosferatu (1922): I’ve mentioned this one before, and will mention it as many times as I can. I believe every movie lover needs to see this horror classic.

The Last Laugh (1924): This one is not for the faint of heart. Not only does this silent film have very few intertitles, none convey spoken dialogue. Despite that, it is an important part of Murnau’s oeuvre and a must-see.

Faust (1926): The imagining of the story of a man who sells his soul has taken many shapes, including the iconic play penned by Goethe, is fanciful, delightful and dark.

For more about film history

80 Years of the Oscar: The Official History of the Academy Awards (2008) by Robert Osborne: If you watch Turner Classic Movie, you know who Robert Osborne is. The journalist-turned-film historian is a personal favorite of mine because his aim is to inform, not to give you opinions about each film.

The New Biographical Dictionary of Film: Fifth Edition (2010) by David Thomson: First, I have to warn you that Thomson is not the impartial historian that Osborne is. However, his writing covers many actors, directors and other members of the film industry who a fan should know about.

Birdman is Anything But Ignorant

Note: This the first in what I hope will be a long series covering each and every Best Picture winner. After Birdman, I will take us back to 1927.

First things first: Birdman or (The Unexpected Virtue of Ignorance) and its director Alejandro González Iñárritu deserve all the accolades they are receiving, including Best Picture and Best Director at the 87th Academy Awards earlier this week. I’ve watched it twice now, and I know I can watch it many more times and continue to dissect the film and change my mind about the nature of Riggan’s “Birdman” alter ego.

Birdman movie poster

“Every film is a documentary of its actors,” said Jean-Luc Godard. Whether or not Iñárritu had that declaration in mind while making Birdman, it is the perfect complement to the film. The movie is self-conscious of its identity as a work of art that follows actors as they practice their craft. Meta moments are sprinkled throughout, including when Mike and Riggan are walking between the theater and the bar and pass a man playing a drum set—music that had been in the background well before they could have possibly heard it. Other great self-conscious moments come from Edward Norton’s Mike Shiner, who believes in the truth, which he only achieves while performing. As a documentary about its actors, Birdman finds its best subject in Mike, who is an actor who ignores personhood for his art.

Rope movie poster

The first time I watched it, the cinematography and appearance Birdman as one continuous shot made me think of a personal favorite film of mine: Rope (1948), directed by Alfred Hitchcock. Hitchcock wanted to achieve the feeling that the film was taking place in real time, as if the viewer is sitting and watching the dinner party. However, he was limited by the available technology and created this by panning from actor to actor while filming long takes to create an 80-minute film with only 10 separate segments. The way Hitchcock edited and hid the seams between these segments was to pan over to an inanimate object, which I suspect also occurred in Birdman at points such as doorways, windows and walls. If only Hitchcock could have worked with cinematographer Emmanuel Lubezki on Rope…

Although there’s that similarity in filmmaking, the two films used the continuous shot for very different reasons. Where Rope used long takes to slow the pace of the movie to realtime, Birdman uses the continuous shot to increase the tempo and mimic the effect of live theater, which has no second takes and doesn’t look back.

Which brings me to my point: Birdman is anything but ignorant. It has managed to push past previous boundaries in the world of filmmaking while making a keen examination of the art of acting.

Guess who’s back, back again.

I feel terrible for letting my blog fall off the face of the earth and not updating for a year and half. So I came up with a plan to get me back into the saddle. Inspired by the 87th Academy Awards, I am going to work my way through all of the Best Picture winners. Yes…I realize this means I have to watch The English Patient (1996) and Crash (2004).

My hope is that writing posts twice a week will get me back into the habit, and hopefully I’ll be inspired to share some of my bookish and geek thoughts with you as well.

Looks like I’ll be popping some corn when I get home. Although I’m going to do these chronologically, I’m going to start with Birdman before we go back in time to look at the films of the 1920s.

“Oh, the horror!”

No, this isn’t about The Heart of Darkness. So don’t worry about that.

What I really love about horror films and television is the way they reflect so much of the society that creates them. Watching a marathon of The Twilight Zone last night, I started thinking about that fact again. The kind of horror my dad grew up with is nothing like the horror films I tried to sneak into the house while I was in middle school.

Since my father was born in the early 1950s, he grew up with the Cold War, McCarthyism and space exploration. (His mother didn’t teach him Norwegian to avoid the associations that came with speaking a foreign language during the Red Scare.) War + foreigners + space = aliens. If you want to see a wild alien story that will make you think, watch The Twilight Zone episode “To Serve Man.”

In the late ’70s and ’80s, the horror moved into the mind with classics like Carrie (1976), The Shining and Nightmare on Elm Street (1984). That shouldn’t be a surprise with threats coming from within the nation, like widespread protests against the Vietnam War, which didn’t end until 1975. Don’t forget that dang Cold War was still going strong.

Now we’re in the post-apocalyptic phase of horror, such as The Shaun of the Dead, The Walking Dead, World War Z, etc. People were genuinely concerned about the supposed Mayan apocalypse (which was simply a stone calendar with a finite amount of room, not an omen). The threat of nuclear weapons is very real and a possible outcome of the constant wars in our world. The zombie aspect of those films is so obvious I feel stupid adding it, but look at what I did to write this and what you’re doing now. Sitting around and staring at a screen, which is pretty close to doing nothing.

It’ll be interesting to see where horror goes in the age of globalization that has already brought us Hostel (2005) and Taken (2008). Think maybe social media is next up on the chopping block?

Suggested Watching:

• Nosferatu (1922)
• The Twilight Zone (1959-64)
• Carnival of Souls (1962)
• Night of the Living Dead (1968)
• The Shining (1980)
• Nightmares in Red, White & Blue (2009)