Blog 3 - Blair Witch Fraudject

This is what I love about free opinion and my ability to simply forgo expectations and completely disregard the notion that I must accept quotes as the end all and be-all.

These quotes are completely archaic. They have absolutely no bearing on the essence of filmmaking or the process by which a filmmaker creates meaning or, for that matter, we interpret a film's meaning. The quotes are deliciously relevant, tidy, and convenient; curiously similar to the succulent fruit tart at the end of a particularly benevolent 3 dollar steak dinner.

If we were to assume, for the sake of argument, that all film's purpose was to re-create reality, wouldn't the actual pursuit of other arts be absolutely abandoned? Wouldn't the entire idea of "art" itself be utterly dissipated and the reign of filmmaking become a forgone conclusion? Maybe I'm a cynic, but in theory, Benjamin is suggesting that the "aura" of the arts die because of film's ability to literally imitate reality. Instead of formulating a sweeping, browbeaten and roundabout retort, I feel like this idea only deserves a deep, bellowing, "What in God's name are you talking about?" It's like dignifying a child's notion that the world is made of cheese with a response.

In terms of "The Blair With Project", these quotes absolutely lose traction within the first, ehhhhm, 40 seconds. The, and I mean this literally, entire film is based on the ability of film to create (what I interpret it as, anyway) "aura". In essence, the film has no bearing upon the real and complete control over the context; thus aligning itself with every other medium of so-called "art aura" ever created. It essentially trumps the theory with such aplomb that Benjamin may as well have wrote about German Expressionism in terms of finger painting.

What would Benjamin make of a staged performance of "Macbeth"? Would he call it a mechanical re-distribution of commonly held notions of reality? Would his head explode at the prospect? Would he simply concede, finally?

We knew Blair Witch was fake when we watched it. Thus, we automatically place it within the context of, well, fake stuff. Like a painting of a rhino. So, I beg, where exactly does this lack of "aura" come from? I suppose I'm proposing more questions than I'm answering, but frankly I'm appalled by the very notion that Benjamin could actually be accurate in his thinking about where filmmaking fits within the artistic context. "For the first time...man has to operate with his whole living person." In what context does this make any reasonable sense? Perhaps in a nature documentary, or a highly (and dangerously) neo-realist film, but beyond that I see no situation where this would actually apply.

If I were to dignify the Blair Witch Project with a reasonable response, I would refrain from placing it within this ludicrous context. I apologize for my deviance, but this idea that Benjamin's quotes in the early stages of filmmaking applying to modern commentaries on our use of media comes off as lazy, irrelevant and utterly masturbatory intellectualism. I'm morally opposed to allowing myself the opportunity to go along with this notion, and therefore I choose to explain my position on the matter rather than buy into the silliness.

Give me an F, if you wish, but this is not something I find worth discussing. I know I'm not supposed to determine what's worth discussing, and maybe I have not examined the question thoroughly enough.

This is my response and this is how I truly feel about the questions asked. If it's "wrong", than that's your call, not mine.

So be it.

Blog 2 - Tokyo Story and The Maltese Falcon

Allowing ourselves, for just a fleeting moment, to think outside of our homogenized, sterilized and of course highly monetized American bubble, Tokyo Story is every bit as much a dense and penetrating discourse in the function of the human family as any film being produced at its time. Highly pretentious and grandiose claims (by your humble bloggist) aside, the boring little Japanese picture proves stiff competition for any film claiming to portray the ever-elusive "realism". I'm suggesting not an all-encompassing "realism", as there is little to support this argument and attempting to do so would prove not only futile, but also mind-numbingly boring and I wish to subject only my worst enemies to those kinds of musings.

Tokyo story uses the duality of a culture in the midst of massive turnover to illustrate points directly parallel to the story being told. An admittedly old and dying creed of stoic pride pitted versus the industrialized bustle of the modern age. Within this turmoil lays the story of an old Japanese couple visiting their children and grandchildren in what become a sort of swan song. They are confronted with a world with which they are haplessly unfamiliar. They are accustomed to sitting on grass mats, drinking tea, and meditating their little butts off until their inner peace is soothed to the point of a waking sleep. They wear traditional Japanese garb and speak of old times and the decaying remnants of their pasts. As this trudges along, we find the children (and especially grandchildren) completely out of tune with their aging elders. Their son is a busy doctor, desperately scratching out a living so he can live at least within the Tokyo city limits; a daughter so horribly glib and disrespectful that we cringe to even consider what kind of offspring such a creature would drop into the mix. The grandchildren are absolutely "naughty" (as their mother describes them) in the worst possible sense; completely disregarding the needs of others and absolutely, and completely selfish. It becomes abundantly clear that the children are less a product of their parents as they are of their society. Perhaps the grandchildren are too young and irresponsible to understand their shortcomings, but I can't help but believe that they are well on their way to becoming selfish, childish adults. Thus, the "realism", so to speak, is within the interaction of young and old as a tense, uncomfortable and utterly thankless exercise. The child who shows the most respect and love is not even that; she is a daughter-in-law whose husband has died. She lives in the past, and thus probably becomes most in tune with the culture and mindset of her parents-in-law. The film breaks certain rules of filmmaking that may not lead one to feel it is "real" in terms of a visual experience, but these do not take away from the central purpose as, once again, an in-depth examination of cultural turnover and the results of such relationships. The film also pays plenty of attention to the aftermath of a post-nuclear society and the various implications within the older couple's situation. They feel like holdovers, or remnants of some generation that the younger folks feel should have been swept away with the purge of "the bomb" lest they be subjected to further reminder of a sad and terrible past. In these senses, Tokyo Story accomplishes plenty in terms of those facets of reality. However, it is very boring and long.

Now, the use of the word "realism" and "classic Hollywood" in the same sentence feels like a vicious faux pas. That's not even an insult to those films as I tend to believe that in most cases, the goal of the filmmakers in early Hollywood was unrealistic cinema. These were films that were almost entirely meant for entertainment and entertainment alone; anything else was either a mistake (The Wizard of Oz) or the product of some rebellious (see:blacklisted) screenwriter (the Salt of the Earth or "enter Dalton Trumbo film here"). That being said, there was also the exhausting venture of film noir; namely, The Maltese Falcon. Noir, having its roots in German Expressionism, is a an unrepentantly visually unrealistic genre. However, like Tokyo Story, it does provide some footing in other "pockets" of realism. When you examine Hollywood films of the time period, you can easily decipher the root of the term "Hollywood Ending". They often end happily, upbeat and hopeful, regardless of genre. Noir became the direct antonym to this storytelling style, in regards to its treatment of the human condition. There is a tendency to believe in the goodness of human beings as a conquering force in many films of this era; noir takes the other root. The Maltese Falcon recognized that humans are also animals; that we are not necessarily in it for "the truth"; the truth does not buy cars, houses, and drugs. I'll spare the details for I'm running out of steam and the film is really complex; in the end, the girl was double-crossing, the bad guys are still bad and Bogey is really cool. In earnest, however, the film portrays a sad and disturbing truth about the power of money in our society and its function as "the stuff dreams are made of". It, like the fake falcon, is a hollow replacement for real happiness. In this sense, you have a realistic depiction of a love affair gone wrong, bad people who trick and do generally bad things, and a hero whose time and dedication have wrought nothing but a deeper hopelessness in humanity. Depressing as it may sound, it rings quite true.

Thus, to wrap this up, you have two kinds of "realism" in these two films. Each handles them with aplomb, though with starkly contrasting techniques.