I turned in all directions, but my compass wouldn't spin
It is a quiet, sunny September afternoon and all of a sudden it feels like fall. Last night it was cold enough for an electric blanket and as of today I have transferred my keys into the pockets of my corduroy coat; the color of the light and the clarity of the sky are stone-washed, paling, remote. The leaves are not yet turning that I can see, but I just realized that the tree directly across from my office window may have died. Its branches are split and grey with lichen, its twigs leafless. I wonder if the ash borer got it. It had better not be an omen. Autolycus crouched next to my computer with the afternoon in his green eyes suggests that I should not take it as such.
Tomorrow I plan to meet![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
rushthatspeaks for the HFA's all-night vampire marathon. For most of next week spatch and I will be out of town and traveling because of family business on his side. When we get back, the Brattle will be running a celebration of Tilda Swinton and I will get to see more Derek Jarman on the big screen, including The Last of England (1987), which I have only read about. The HFA is not running a full Wellman retrospective, but selected works with emphasis on his pre-Code and social message pictures. I am glad that someone other than me considers Heroes for Sale (1933) and Wild Boys of the Road (1933) "neglected classics," because they are. Any summary that leaves Dorothy Coonan out of the latter, however, is out of focus.
I keep thinking about Dunkirk (2017). I went to see it again last weekend because I wanted to observe the structure now that I knew how it worked; what I feel I mostly ended up observing was the emotion. It's really not a cold movie. Some characters' arcs leapt out at me this time around, one numinous moment in particular which I may describe if I can recompile my brain. The cinematography still sticks for me. There are moments of great visual beauty, disorientation, immersion, but not everything needs to be quick-cut, adrenaline-flash. You can create astonishing claustrophobia and chaos holding the camera crisp and steady—Sidney Lumet and Oswald Morris did it with The Hill (1965), yet another film I saw this summer and failed to write about. I know Christopher Nolan thought the alternative would be more intuitive. I don't know that he was right.
I wish I were not so tired. I remember being able to think. I liked it.
Tomorrow I plan to meet
rushthatspeaks for the HFA's all-night vampire marathon. For most of next week spatch and I will be out of town and traveling because of family business on his side. When we get back, the Brattle will be running a celebration of Tilda Swinton and I will get to see more Derek Jarman on the big screen, including The Last of England (1987), which I have only read about. The HFA is not running a full Wellman retrospective, but selected works with emphasis on his pre-Code and social message pictures. I am glad that someone other than me considers Heroes for Sale (1933) and Wild Boys of the Road (1933) "neglected classics," because they are. Any summary that leaves Dorothy Coonan out of the latter, however, is out of focus.I keep thinking about Dunkirk (2017). I went to see it again last weekend because I wanted to observe the structure now that I knew how it worked; what I feel I mostly ended up observing was the emotion. It's really not a cold movie. Some characters' arcs leapt out at me this time around, one numinous moment in particular which I may describe if I can recompile my brain. The cinematography still sticks for me. There are moments of great visual beauty, disorientation, immersion, but not everything needs to be quick-cut, adrenaline-flash. You can create astonishing claustrophobia and chaos holding the camera crisp and steady—Sidney Lumet and Oswald Morris did it with The Hill (1965), yet another film I saw this summer and failed to write about. I know Christopher Nolan thought the alternative would be more intuitive. I don't know that he was right.
I wish I were not so tired. I remember being able to think. I liked it.
no subject
See, I like black-and-white cinematography, quite a lot, when it's done by people who know what they're doing. Increasingly I think I may just not like shaky-cam. It has its applications, but it's not a good default. I guess maybe if you want to see the world through GoPro, you'll be fine with it.
The numinous moment for me was the plane gliding without fuel over the empty beach. And to a lesser extent, the propaganda fliers fluttering down from the sky.
The soundlessly gliding plane was part of it for me.
no subject
Also I have motion sickness and there was a stretch of years where shaky-cam was so extreme that I literally could not see many movies I wanted to see. I spent half of one of the Bourne movies sitting simmering with my eyes shut.
no subject
I would accept this exchange. We can keep as much shaky-cam as there is new black-and-white these days.
I spent half of one of the Bourne movies sitting simmering with my eyes shut.
Bleh.
I do not get motion sickness, but Dunkirk on first viewing actually gave me some trouble parsing action sequences, which is how I knew it had gone too far. I didn't have that problem the second time around, but it still felt unnecessary.
no subject
On the other hand, when it gets to the point where the technique interferes with understanding, yes, that is a problem.
no subject
It worked for me some of the time; I think it interfered more. It worked better for my mother. It totally wrecked the experience for at least one person I've heard from. I understand what Nolan wanted to do with it and why. I'm just not sure it was the most successful tradeoff with the technique possible.