Institutionalization

Shutter Island is a film about a man at war with himself. The mental hospital in which the story takes place is said to have been constructed during the Civil War, and the freakishly enigmatic "Ward C" (where the really crazy ones are kept) was a fort in that war. Ben Kingsley as Dr. Cawley even remarks on the state of psychiatric study: a polarized philosophic mess of old and new ideologies. Internal conflict. So, it's the usual for a psychological thriller, except this time, it's Scorsese-fied.

Scorsese and DiCaprio have made a super-charged genre picture. Because of this, some will find the film cliche and too close to the mark. They wouldn't be wrong, but they'd be missing the point. Nitpicking the plot of any film is a tremendous waste of time. A film's aesthetics are far more important than its literature, and that above all else seems to be the focus of Shutter Island. Sure, you could list off references to past thrillers (I even flashbacked to Skull Island, of all things, during the opening scene), most notably those of the master himself. Both Scorsese and DiCaprio have cited Vertigo as a major influence, and indeed, the tale of a haunted man warped by his memories of a (blonde) woman isn't simply similar. But also remember Hitchcock's mantras of cinema: not as "a slice of life, but a piece of cake," and "technique over content."

And oh, such technique, such style. Scorsese has long been acknowledged as a wizard of of the camera, but I find his utilization and mastery of modern film making techniques downright astounding, especially his humblingly efficient use of computer generated special effects. Can you imagine The Aviator without the glossy galvanization of the crash sequence, or the ridiculous realization of the H-4's liftoff? I can't. Shutter Island is not without equally impossible visual wonders. The psyche is home to many elaborate and surreal dream sequences (or hallucinations... who knows!), including the converged perceptions of misrememberings, and the confetti-like, atmospheric, ashy remains of a fire victim, not really affected by gravity, but listless and tormenting.

Also, maybe it was just me, but I found this film to be a joyous playground of motifs. The final shot is a quiet pan over the island's craggy, New England cliffside, settling on the lone image of a lighthouse, a symbol of guidance. This is also the place where the facility performs lobotomies. Chilling! Especially when considered alongside the title itself: the light of memories hidden, even erased, by the quick and easiness of a shutter.

A Post by Seth

Opening credits are by nature pretty silly; we're going to see those same names at the end, right? Their existence basically amounts to studio self-congratulations (like the Oscars, only shorter), however if done right they can perfectly set up the mood, tone, or even story of the film. A great example are the titles for Hitchcock's North by Northwest: Bernard Herrmann's rousing theme music and Saul Bass's eye-catching graphic design set the stage for the adventure to come. The unusually green background of the MGM logo and the converging lines, crossed into a grid that then fades into the windows of a metropolitan office building, perfectly instill the themes of subversion and misidentity. It looks good, it sounds good, and it communicates worthwhile information to the audience. Not a single second of screen-time is wasted.

On the other, less masterful hand, are modern opening sequences. Sure we've got real works of the art, such as those found in Spider-Man 2 (brilliantly synopsising the previous film in comic book panels, the frames formed by the irregular quadrilaterals of spider webs), but more often than not we get ego-stroking aesthetic ejaculations void of any significance, and thus can only exist to exercise and flaunt the director's "skill." Take all three of Jason Reitman's films, for instance. Thank You For Smoking's titles are admittedly pretty effective (modeled after tobacco packaging), but in the end are simply gratuitous. There is no reason whatsoever for these credits to be so elaborate. Wouldn't the money to design and animate them have been better spent on, you know, the movie itself? Reitman's other two films, Juno and Up in the Air, are even worse. Musically-edited and masturbatorial, they serve no purpose to the film and communicate nothing to the audience. I suppose you could argue that as much, if not more, time and money was spent on Spider-Man 2's credits, but again, they actually have a purpose: synopsis. There is nothing so noble or at least logical going on in the credits of Thank You For Smoking. My only guess at the logic behind their creation is that they were supposed to "look cool." So the films' first impressions upon the audience are attempted coolness? That's the equivalent of Joe Camel smoking. Thank you, indeed.

Nothing on a movie screen can be taken for granted. The smallest, most nonsensical thing is subject to interpretation by viewers, and if its presence is meaningless then they will see right through it. Even something as seemingly inconsequential as credits sequences can be instrumental tools of expression. I'll end this rant with what are probably the best opening titles of any film, those of Raging Bull. Hopefully my explanation of their genius is not needed.

Snob snob snob

Long time no post. These are, based on my experience and reaction, the most overrated, uninteresting, boring, Oskar Bate films of 2009. I can not grasp or even begin to fathom the praise for them.

Let it be known that I haven’t seen many non-American films this year, because, well I’m a fat American who enjoys all manner of apparatus-flung spheroids.


STAR TREK
I at least get the appeal here, I guess. I enjoy Trek as much as the next nerd, but I’m not really a fan, so that right there detracted from my enjoyment. Even taken on summer movie terms, though, I still found it boring. The production design was fantastic; all the sets, props, and costumes were a joy to look at; but I could never get over the annoying cinematography. So many cuts and close-ups! This is a very dynamic way of shooting films that is a popular trend right now, very Bourne kind of stuff, and I do not think it works for sci-fi. When there’s fantastic technological wonders zipping across the screen, explosions used like most people use punctuation, all the magic is lost. We should be able soak that stuff in, really appreciate the craft and thought gone into their design. Star Trek, to its great detriment, never lets up.

DISTRICT 9
I said all there was to say in my review already, but I think that this film and the other sci-fi duds of the year were so well received because there has been such a shortage of great films in the genre. This drought has people so thirsty that they guzzle down whatever droplets are being produced and think them to be great works.

AVATAR
This could be a trilogy of sorts; “Sci-Fi 2009: When Tastes Dilute.”

UP IN THE AIR
Jason Reitman needs to stop with the musically-edited opening credits sequences. They bother me.

UP
This is the big one. I am so baffled by this film’s love. Am I really such a bastard that I was apparently the only person not moved to tears by this aesthetically-challenged, bland, wheeze of a forgettable film? You’ve got two geezers, for all intents and purposes senile, fighting each other on top of a freaking zeppelin. This should have been incredible! But it wasn't – it was boring. Totally, unforgivably dead on the screen.

For All Mankind

For All Mankind is an extraordinary documentary that chronicles the Apollo missions. Director Al Reinert poured over endless amounts of NASA's archival footage to create one of the most inspiring and communal motion pictures ever made. I don't think I can fully articulate this film's invaluability to myself, film in general, or (seriously) mankind, so rather than write my own piece I have a link to an essay by Terrence Rafferty. Read it, have a listen to a bit of Brian Eno's fantastic soundtrack, and then seek out the film for your own viewing. You can watch the film on Criterion's site for a mere five dollars, and I strongly encourage it.

EDIT: I caved and decided to write my own, bad, piece on the film. But it expresses how I was feeling, so that is at least worthy. I am happy.

HAPPY

For All Mankind is an extraordinary chronicle of the Apollo missions. Director Al Reinert poured over endless amounts of NASA’s archival footage to create one of the most unique documentaries ever made. Unlike conventional docs, there are no talking head interviews or camera movement over still photographs. Video is entirely comprised of on location photography by NASA personnel and astronauts, voiced-over by the astronauts themselves. Footage from all the Apollo flights is spliced together to create the sensation of one epic, singular trip. This results in a technically fictitious series of events, but that’s filmmaking. The absence of subtitles to designate who is on-screen or who is speaking creates a humbling anonymity that trivializes the flags and initials emblazoned over the crew and equipment. These aren’t people, but humans.

Can I truly articulate this film’s invaluability? I have watched it every single day since my first viewing, and I can’t wait to watch it again tomorrow. To be there for Armstrong’s famous words, to cower at the terrible, explosive power of liftoff, like some infernal bullet fired from the depths of hell, or to simply marvel at Earth’s, my home’s, beauty. For All Mankind is representative not just of one of our greatest achievements, but of all humanity. You are unlikely to ever see a more inspiring or communal motion picture.

Good Criticism, and Anti to boot

this is one of the best video game reviews i have ever read, despite (and truthfully, as a result of) barely even mentioning the game in question. this is because that game, Halo 3, does not deserve to be talked about. as an artistic and meaningful experience, the article bitingly points out that Halo 3 "doesn't even try." Radosh's points are admittedly fundamental to people like myself, who are almost universally seen as radicals for our thoughts and opinions on game design, but to an outsider or a "gamer" as defined by the usual connotation, i think the article will be an eye-opening read

once you have read it, there are a few things i would like to expand upon. in addition to Halo 3 utterly failing artistically, it is equally unremarkable when viewed as the mindless entertainment that video games are often seen to be. as a game where the goal is to shoot things and not die, or more accurately, reach the end of the level, Halo 3 is in no structural way an evolution or even refinement of the systems present in classic shooting games like Galaga and Space Invaders. in fact, it is a regression if anything, because of its first-person perspective and three-dimensional environment. these attributes, while undoubtedly modern, are incredibly conflicting with Halo 3's base design and goals, which are archetypal at best

here's why

a multiplayer match Halo 3

in a shooting game, the number of enemies on screen, the direction from which they are coming, and their relative distance to the player character are all paramount to performance. Halo 3's design is inferior and inefficient in all of these areas when compared to more traditional examples of the genre. case in point: in a sidescroller on a two-dimensional plane, the player is not limited by point of view. the perspective is constant, and challenges are assessed and deduced immediately

two games which many people consider to be excellent 2D shooters, Ikaruga and Contra

the player is also unlimited in its projectile firing and aiming. many of these sidescrollers allow shooting in every direction, and though many still do not, the cardinal movement found in all 2D games allows for swift and precise changes in direction. this level of control is impossible in a first-person shooter due to perspective. the control shift to an aiming reticule rather than of a character is also arguably less interesting

these design conflicts are not found in all FPS games, though. perhaps the best example comes from Nintendo, who i am finding more and more to be the only ones really skilled at video game craft. they recognized these problems immediately when adapting their sidescrolling Metroid franchise into the third-dimension. the result, Metroid Prime, instead exemplifies 3D's strengths. it quite logically is less about shooting and aiming and more about exploration and immersion

showing the transition from 2D (Super Metroid) to 3D (Metroid Prime)

while it may not be apparent from these screenshots, the original Metroid Prime (the game has since been rereleased on the Wii with updated controls) did not allow direct control over the aiming reticule, like most FPS games. it instead relied on a Zelda-esque lock on system for aiming. whether or not this was ultimately the best approach is debatable, but it without question further exemplifies the series' staples of atmosphere and environment


the fact that first person shooters are by far the most popular genre in video games right now, and that very few developers have even a basic grasp of the ideal conditions of a shooting game, is quite troubling

Apt

to live up to the blog's title im starting a series of "Good Criticism, Bad Criticism," because so many people who get paid to tell me what is good or bad are apparently either monkeys, three year-olds, or a combination of both

so here's to them

Bad Criticism

video games have it especially bad, its "critics" a generation of socially challenged nerds who find shooting things a deeply profound experience. really, people diagnosed with incommunicable disease are paid to write. have a look at Mr. Matt Casamassina's many opuses (opusii?) when youre craving some suicide

but for every million or so of these wordless, rambling descriptions (IGN calls them reviews), we get something along the lines of this:

Good Criticism

Mr. Ryan Stancl of Game Career Guide has critiqued the Katamari Damacy series, and it's a great read. his approach is noticeably blunt, but this is easily forgiven because he is quite literally trailblazing. Stancl ventures through several different schools of criticism, enlightening us to not only the brilliance of the game, but the complete idiocy of modern game journalism

the critique is in three parts: part 1, part 2, part 3


while we're on the subject, Yū Miyake is probably a genius. i say probably because i'm not quite sure what a genius is

but his music sure is great

one day i will write my own piece on Katamari Damacy, because i am finding it harder and harder to contain the exponentially increasing amounts of praise i have for this staggering work of... thing. seriously. if space aliens visited earth and i had to show them something that encapsulates our entire culture, humanity in a nutshell, if you will, i'd show them Katamari Damacy