In his later films, Hitchcock shot car interiors in front of such alarmingly fake rear projection that it seemed to be his new cinematic signature.
John Waters.
You’re driving through the night. Through the blur of your windshield, the headlights pick out signs for long-forgotten towns. You don’t know where you’re going, but you know what you’re leaving behind.
What’s that up ahead? Palookaville, 5 miles.
Rear projection is one of Hollywood’s most familiar special effects, and one of its most ignored. Confronted with a back projected shot in an old movie, modern audiences usually react in two ways. Some will ignore it, passing it off as a technical limitation of the time. Others will laugh at it, their chuckles hovering somewhere between affection and derision.
Filming car scenes in the studio was largely down to camera size. The bulky equipment needed to film on location was complicated immeasurably in driving scenes. You just couldn’t fit a camera on the front of a moving car. Very occasionally set-ups were used that filmed from trailer platforms, but this was an expensive and time-consuming process. Far better to have the scene shot in the studio, where you could remove variables like weather, wind and the dubious driving ability of your hungover leading man.
What’s rarely mentioned with regard to rear projection is the level of meaning it can bring to a scene. In County Hospital, Stan Laurel is driving Oliver Hardy home in an open-topped car. Through a series of misadventures too complicated to detail, Stan is feeling the effects of a tranquilizer and Ollie’s leg is in plaster. As the sleepy Stan veers their car from lane to lane and Ollie flails around in the back seat, we see the oncoming traffic as back (and front) projection. What’s interesting here is the problem of scale – the surrounding traffic is much larger than in life, dwarfing the hapless twosome. The grotesquely enhanced surroundings make the scene more terrifying than funny. The sequence takes on the imagery of nightmare.
A less dramatic, but equally disconcerting, effect is felt in Vertigo. As James Stewart tracks Kim Novak through San Francisco, his delusional state seems to be reflected by the hazy scenery passing by. Later, in one of Hitchcock’s most celebrated shots, Stewart seems to know this when he kisses Novak, as the camera circles them, transporting him back to the stables of the Mission San Juan Bautista.
For drive-in audiences, back projected scenes must have offered an eerie mirror image. Sitting stationary in their cars, slurping at their shakes, looking up at Hollywood faces clutching steering wheels as they moved through virtual scenery.
Drive careful, now.
Showing posts with label hollywood. Show all posts
Showing posts with label hollywood. Show all posts
Tuesday, December 7, 2010
Saturday, July 3, 2010
Hollywood | Mixtape | Mixtape V, Hollywooding: A Musical McGonagall
Music As Reading: Mixtape V, Hollywooding: A Musical McGonagall
I must now conclude my lay
By telling the world fearlessly without the least dismay,
That your central girders would not have given way,
At least many sensible men do say,
Had they been supported on each side with buttresses,
At least many sensible men confesses,
For the stronger we our houses do build,
The less chance we have of being killed.
Musical accompaniment to literature – the soundtracking of poetry and prose – is going to be something that Music As Reading returns to again and again: in it lies, I think, a synthesis that I can already see turning into proper ideas, rather than silly reflections. Poems with Read with… subtitles making musical suggestions, novels coming complete with a tracklisting to – I don’t know, History Boys- or Donnie Darko-style, with their respective 80s pumpers – evoke unambiguous era or mood or context. It’s an attractive thought.
However, rather than launching into the deep-end of serious literary soundtracking, this mixtape takes a rather more gentle hop-skip-anda-jump into a frothy, comic manifestation of the same idea: can a good soundtrack save bad writing, Hollywooding it into something glossy and evocative (for an explanation of the act of Hollywooding, lookee here). Does music change words, or at the very least our ability to judge whether they’re any good or not? Is soundtracking literature therefore a responsible activity? Does the synthesis of literature and music make words less important – as is the case with lyrics, for example? Does this matter? If McGonagall’s writing can be turned, via a concerto, into something seemingly high-brow and ironically profound, then is he really the Bad Poet we all think he is? Perhaps he’s merely a badly read poet…
The Tay Bridge Disaster: McGonagall as Hitchcockian suspense…
String Quartet No.8 in C Minor, Largo - Il Allegro molto – Dmitri Shostakovich
Piano Concerto No. 3 in C, Andante - Allegro – Sergei Prokofiev
The Christmas Goose: McGonagall as arthouse enigma…
Violin Concerto No. 2, Allegro molto – Béla Bartók
Ode to Napoleon – Arnold Schoenberg
An Autumn Reverie: McGonagall as lush panorama
Serenade for Strings in B Minor, Moderato - Tempo di valse – Antonín Leopold Dvo_ák
Fantasia on a Theme by Thomas Tallis – Ralph Vaughan Williams
The Nithsdale Widow and her Son: McGonagall as human saga
Cello Concerto in E Minor, Allegro - Moderato - Allegro, ma non troppo - Pocco piu lento - Adagio – Edward Elgar
Pictures at an Exhibition: The Old Castle – Modest Mussorgsky
A Tale of the Sea: McGonagall as they-don’t-make-them-like-that-anymore adventure…
Piano Concerto in D Major, ‘For the left hand’ – Maurice Ravel
Symphony No. 5 in D Minor, Allegro non troppo – Dmitri Shostakovich
The Battle of Bannockburn: McGonagall as final chapter of a three-part epic…
Symphony No. 5 in E Minor, Andante maestoso - Allegro Vivace – Pyotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky
Symphony No. 9 in E Minor, Allegro con fuoco – Antonín Leopold Dvo_ák
Wednesday, June 30, 2010
Hollywood | Fiction | Changing Faces
So from Hollywood we got Bollywood, ‘Bombay Hollywood’; it makes it sound like an off-shoot, a kind of parasitic copy of the real thing. That probably wasn’t an issue when the name was invented, because the people in the industry will have wanted that connection, however inferior they seemed in comparison, because at least there was a comparison. To our film-soaked 20th-and-21st-century minds, a movie factory rhyming with ‘Hollywood’ has a great deal more associative heft than, I don’t know, Pinewood Studios.
And yet Bollywood has now become its own industry, world-famous, with a distinctive and easily recognisable style. It probably doesn’t need that association any longer. And so I find myself thinking of a future, years from now, when Hollywood has asphyxiated itself on CGI and origin stories and lies dead in the California dust (the letters are just beginning to drop from the billboard for ‘Avatar 24: The Na’avi Accept The Mass Immigration Of A New Species As Part of Nature’s One-ness And Well, Natural Progression, Seeing As They’re Animals And Not, You Know, Technologically Advanced, And They’re All Promptly Eaten By The Aliens Out Of ‘Alien’ And Those Other Alien Movies’.) Bollywood is still going strong, making movies or virtual experiences, or Two Minutes Hate broadcasts, and an enterprising group of film-makers decides to set up their own industry in the ruins of LA. Would they call their new site ‘Hollywood’, in honour of the ancient movies, or would they call it ‘Hollywood’ because they thought people might associate it with Bollywood?
The markers are forever changing. I do remember, about a decade ago, a contestant on Big Brother, or possibly the celebrity version, trying to score intellectual cool points by bitching that another contestant’s book ‘wasn’t Dostoyevsky’. Dostoyevsky, ironically, only got his first novel (a kind of parasitic copy) published because someone decided he was Gogol – or the next Gogol, anyway. Then he spent most of his career being told he wasn’t Tolstoy, and he wasn’t Turgenev. So he might have been confused to have been used in such a way, but of course, the specificity of the name doesn’t matter. All that matters is that it be recognisable enough to get a reaction.
It’s all a little like the notorious ‘_ Movie’ line of comedies that’s been around over the past few years, which never do any more than reference popular culture. Audiences get the references, and that satisfaction feels almost like there’s actually be a punchline – and this is an opinion that’s been pretty much confirmed for me by the recent appearance of another group of film-makers doing exactly the same thing, with a ‘parody’ of Judd Apatow’s comedies, The 41 Year-Old Virgin Who Knocked Up Sarah Marshall And Felt Superbad About It.
It doesn’t sound like it’s exactly Duck Soup, does it? (Hyuk, hyuk.)
*
In other, utterly unrelated news, I can’t believe I haven’t encountered this before. I’m kinda of the opinion that decency surrounded by other decency leads too often to smugness, and that may be why I’ve never quite ‘got’ American political comedian Jon Stewart’s show. There’s too many decent people applauding and whooping in favour of basic human decency and common sense. It’s the brutal in-crowd attitude of goodness.
But this five-part ‘interview’ from February, in which decency (in the form of Stewart) finds itself alone and up against the pig-headedness of a bully (in the form of the slightly monstrous Fox News political pundit, and Stewart’s rival, Bill O’Reilly), made me fall in love just a little. Forty-odd minutes of O’Reilly doing his usual thing when faced with a ‘hostile’ guest; shouting them down, making vaguely threatening remarks about where they’ve come from, emphasising his own good-ol’-boy simplicity while being condescending about his guest’s intelligence, making a lightning-fast unsubstantiated claim and then changing the subject...
And Stewart takes it, doesn’t get flustered, and he responds with humility, self-deprecation and honesty. And then he gives some back with interest, mostly at the expense of Fox News’ political motivations and the climate of fear they’ve propagated around the Presidentship. His final punch? O’Reilly is explaining that Jews don’t go to Hell, but that they might make an exception in Stewart’s case.
Stewart replies, smiling,
“You know what your problem is, right now? You like me. And you don’t know what to do with yourself right now, because you like me.”
And O’Reilly smiles back.
And yet Bollywood has now become its own industry, world-famous, with a distinctive and easily recognisable style. It probably doesn’t need that association any longer. And so I find myself thinking of a future, years from now, when Hollywood has asphyxiated itself on CGI and origin stories and lies dead in the California dust (the letters are just beginning to drop from the billboard for ‘Avatar 24: The Na’avi Accept The Mass Immigration Of A New Species As Part of Nature’s One-ness And Well, Natural Progression, Seeing As They’re Animals And Not, You Know, Technologically Advanced, And They’re All Promptly Eaten By The Aliens Out Of ‘Alien’ And Those Other Alien Movies’.) Bollywood is still going strong, making movies or virtual experiences, or Two Minutes Hate broadcasts, and an enterprising group of film-makers decides to set up their own industry in the ruins of LA. Would they call their new site ‘Hollywood’, in honour of the ancient movies, or would they call it ‘Hollywood’ because they thought people might associate it with Bollywood?
The markers are forever changing. I do remember, about a decade ago, a contestant on Big Brother, or possibly the celebrity version, trying to score intellectual cool points by bitching that another contestant’s book ‘wasn’t Dostoyevsky’. Dostoyevsky, ironically, only got his first novel (a kind of parasitic copy) published because someone decided he was Gogol – or the next Gogol, anyway. Then he spent most of his career being told he wasn’t Tolstoy, and he wasn’t Turgenev. So he might have been confused to have been used in such a way, but of course, the specificity of the name doesn’t matter. All that matters is that it be recognisable enough to get a reaction.
It’s all a little like the notorious ‘_ Movie’ line of comedies that’s been around over the past few years, which never do any more than reference popular culture. Audiences get the references, and that satisfaction feels almost like there’s actually be a punchline – and this is an opinion that’s been pretty much confirmed for me by the recent appearance of another group of film-makers doing exactly the same thing, with a ‘parody’ of Judd Apatow’s comedies, The 41 Year-Old Virgin Who Knocked Up Sarah Marshall And Felt Superbad About It.
It doesn’t sound like it’s exactly Duck Soup, does it? (Hyuk, hyuk.)
*
In other, utterly unrelated news, I can’t believe I haven’t encountered this before. I’m kinda of the opinion that decency surrounded by other decency leads too often to smugness, and that may be why I’ve never quite ‘got’ American political comedian Jon Stewart’s show. There’s too many decent people applauding and whooping in favour of basic human decency and common sense. It’s the brutal in-crowd attitude of goodness.
But this five-part ‘interview’ from February, in which decency (in the form of Stewart) finds itself alone and up against the pig-headedness of a bully (in the form of the slightly monstrous Fox News political pundit, and Stewart’s rival, Bill O’Reilly), made me fall in love just a little. Forty-odd minutes of O’Reilly doing his usual thing when faced with a ‘hostile’ guest; shouting them down, making vaguely threatening remarks about where they’ve come from, emphasising his own good-ol’-boy simplicity while being condescending about his guest’s intelligence, making a lightning-fast unsubstantiated claim and then changing the subject...
And Stewart takes it, doesn’t get flustered, and he responds with humility, self-deprecation and honesty. And then he gives some back with interest, mostly at the expense of Fox News’ political motivations and the climate of fear they’ve propagated around the Presidentship. His final punch? O’Reilly is explaining that Jews don’t go to Hell, but that they might make an exception in Stewart’s case.
Stewart replies, smiling,
“You know what your problem is, right now? You like me. And you don’t know what to do with yourself right now, because you like me.”
And O’Reilly smiles back.
Monday, June 28, 2010
Hollywood | Introduction | Universal Pictures
Week 6 | Hollywood | Contents
Tuesday | Poetry | Remakes
Wednesday | Fiction | Changing Faces
Thursday | Music | Musical Hollywooding
Friday | Chapbook | You Could Pass For Lana Turner, by Kyle Hemmings
Saturday | Mixtape | Hollywooding: A Musical McGonagall
Sunday | Mini Essay | On the Inherent Decay Within Conservative Social Systems, by George Ttoouli
“Kodak sells film, but they don't advertise film. They advertise memories.”
Theodore Parker
We talk about film quite a lot here at Silkworms, which is a little odd as it is not mentioned on the tin, it just seems to worm its way in.
It makes sense for a couple of reasons – firstly and most superficially, it’s because we’re all film fans in Silktown, so naturally it part of the vocabulary of our thought – sometimes we think in film, see the cinematography of an idea – don’t we all. This leads on the more complex second reason regarding the universal nature of the medium. Film is visual, not of one language – so it is inherently ‘open’. It is also easy – just sit back and watch. It is no surprise then that it so popular – the undemanding on demand.
As Frank Capra notes “Film is one of the three universal languages, the other two: mathematics and music”. But, film features music – the soundtrack. A novel doesn’t have a soundtrack, and an album doesn’t have an accompanying visual (of course there are exceptions on both those fronts). Film more than most artistic mediums engages the eyes and ears – it spreads it bets and can throw in a chip or two on any conversation of music, art or literature. I considered for a moment the mathematics of film, but the first thing that leap to mind was ‘A Beautiful Mind’ – so I left that tangent at that.
This week, welcome to Hollywood.
James Harringman
Editor
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