Kristin here–

I have finally caught up with Cars, the new Pixar animated film. Not brand new, exactly, but it’s still playing second run on the big screen here in Madison. Good thing, too, because it would be difficult to appreciate its technical virtuosity on DVD. (It’s due out on DVD on November 7.)

For me, part of the fun of watching a Pixar’s film is to try and figure out what technical challenge the filmmakers have set themselves this time. Every film pushes the limits of computer animation in one major area, so that the studio has been perpetually on the cutting edge. In Cars, that area is light and reflections. The comic scene of Tow Mater running around backwards has a breathtakingly flashy effect, literally, when he runs into a forest and can be tracked only by the rapid bursts of light that come through the trees.

The reflections are dazzling at times. By choosing highly polished cars and trucks as characters, the filmmakers forced themselves to devise ways of showing light realistically bouncing off their painted surfaces. This happens in virtually every scene, but the moment when the refurbished town of Radiator Springs turns on its array of neon lights in the evening is a real tour de force. The vehicles parade up and down the main street, and the reflections run over their surfaces from every side. (This segment and the design of the town’s drive-in restaurant irresistibly recall the appealing look of American Graffiti.)

Cars builds on the methodical technical progress Pixar has made over the past decade.
Perhaps the greatest technical challenge in this kind of animation comes in “rendering,” or adding surface texture and color to images. In the early 1990s, Pixar invented RenderMan, a program that made a huge leap forward in the sophistication of this process. It was used for the dinosaurs in Jurassic Park (1993), which included relatively few shots because rendering was so time-consuming and complicated. RenderMan has since become one of the most basic tools for creating CGI (computer-generated imagery), and it can be seen among the technical credits of almost any big effects-heavy film, including The Lord of the Rings (2001-2003) and Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Man’s Chest (2006).

Many versions of RenderMan have come out since its invention, and the studio’s animated features have been the driving force behind its progress–though its short films also provide early testing grounds for new developments. In 1995, the studio released the first feature-length movie made entirely with CGI (computer-generated imagery), Toy Story. At that point, rendering anything beyond colored, smooth surfaces was impossible. Toy Story revolved around toys precisely because they could look reasonably realistic despite such limitations. The challenge then was simply to make a full-length film with CGI and to make it an absorbing, amusing story.

Objects with more complicated surfaces, especially composed of many tiny objects moving independently but alongside each other, required technical innovations. In a bug’s life (1998), it was realistic grass. Monsters, Inc. (2001) went a step further and created believable fur. (Final Fantasy: The Spirits Within came out that same year, touting its creation of realistically moving human hair, but it lagged behind the sophistication of Pixar’s big fuzzy blue monster.)

Substances that move in complicated and random ways have always been tough to animate—especially water and fire. Disney’s 1940s features, which were of course drawn animation, were great partly because the studio had the resources to conjure up realistic water (for the sea scenes in Pinocchio, 1940) and fire (in Bambi, 1942). Pixar pushed RenderMan to create extraordinary water effects in Finding Nemo (2003).

The Incredibles (2004) didn’t focus on one single challenge in the way that most Pixar features do, but its main accomplishment was to create a strong 3D look to the sets and characters while finding stylized designs for the first human cast to populate one of the studio’s features.

By the way, the surface that had remained the most difficult to simulate realistically using CGI—human skin—was finally achieved by two other companies. One was ILM (George Lucas’ special-effects company Industrial Light & Magic) when it created the infamous Jar Jar Binks in Star Wars Episode I: The Phantom Menace (1999). The other was Weta Digital, which animated Gollum in Rings.

In Cars, the reflections in the distinctive surfaces of painted cars was enabled by another upgrading of the RenderMan system, adding a ray-tracing capability—a capability that also assisted in creating realistic shadows and other tricks of lighting. (For a discussion of many aspects of the making of Cars, check here.)

Overall, of course, Pixar’s uninterrupted streak of hit features stems from the fact that all this technology is put in the service of smart, funny, well-constructed stories. I’ve seen some reviews suggesting that Cars isn’t quite as amusing or engrossing as many previous Pixar films, but I don’t think it suffers at all in comparison. There are so many puns, both verbal and visual, that one has to be very alert to notice them. There’s a running gag about a naive car being overjoyed when the famous racecars keep calling him by name—not remembering that he’s sporting a personalized license plate reading “Fred.” Every time that happens, it gets whisked over so quickly and in such action-packed compositions that it would be easy to miss.

Another thing that struck me about Cars, and this has nothing to do with the technology used, is the extraordinary stylistic differences between the two main environments in which Lightning McQueen, our hero, finds himself. The racing-world scenes are, predictably, fast and lively: very quick editing, the hero’s visions of the crowd, superimpositions, camera movements, and loud, loud sound create a hectic pace. The sweeping desert landscapes and sleepy little town, on the other hand, have gentle music and sound effects, a much slower cutting pace, and a general leisureliness. Yet the result did not bore me in the least, for the design of the surroundings and the group of eccentric vehicles that “people” Radiator Springs provide a different sort of enjoyment—and indeed a bit of relaxation after the visual and sonic bombardment of the opening. Other films have contrasted different setting by using stylistic techniques, but I can’t think of one where the gap between them is so broad.

I note that the supplements listed for the DVD being released in a month don’t include any real making-of documentaries. Presumably a special edition will come out later that will feature some, and maybe then we’ll get to witness some of the technique behind all those lights and reflections. In the meantime, if you haven’t seen Cars and live someplace where it’s still in a theater, give it a try.

Kristin here–

Recently I wrote some comments on MGM’s announcement that it will co-produce The Hobbit with New Line Cinema.  Yesterday TheOneRing.net posted a statement from an MGM executive declaring that preliminary discussions with “Mr. Jackson’s representatives” have started.   It’s hard to believe such an announcement would be made public if things weren’t looking very promising!

A late night Thursday, and a snoozy day of traveling on Friday, kept me from posting ASAP. And now on Saturday morning—I can’t get on to my own blogsite! Apparently others can. So while our web czarina Meg fixes things, I try to wrap things up on my visit to the Vancouver International Film Festival.

Le Petit Lieutenant: A policeman’s lot is never a happy one. From Ed McBain’s 87th Precinct to Ian Rankin’s Rebus series, modern crime novels give an emotional resonance to police procedure by showing the psychological costs of being exposed to cruelty, chicanery, and death. American cop movies have gradually let more of this quality come through (Prince of the City, Heat, Dark Blue), and of course TV, from Hill Street Blues to The Wire, has turned the police procedural into urban melodrama. But the French got here first. For decades, their cop movies have been world-weary psychological dramas shot through with bitter realism. Think of Corneau’s Police Python 357, Pialat’s Police, Tavernier’s L.627, or any of Melville’s policiers.

Le Petit Lieutenant, which I saw on my last day, falls into that sturdy tradition. The premise—a string of attempted murders of bums and passersby—is played out with the usual clue-by-clue plotting, but we also witness the strained lives cops lead. Our two protagonists are the overeager recruit Antoine (Jalil Lespert) and his recovering alcoholic supervisor Carolina (Nathalie Baye in an utterly deglamorized performance). Xavier Beauvoi’s narration shuttles skillfully between their points of view, leading to a good deal of sympathy and suspense and a grim but plausible climax. One of several nice touches: the cops keep movie posters over their desks, and if I’m not mistaken, in some cases the posters serve as hints to the cops’ personalities. The ending leaves you as bereft of certainty as the protagonist.

Do Over (Taiwan): For a finale, I caught this extraordinarily ambitious movie by the twenty-eight-year-old Cheng Yu-chieh. Shot in anamorphic widescreen (very rare in Taiwan over the last twenty years), it belongs to the trend I’ve called “network narratives.” Across New Year’s Eve and New Year’s Day, the lives of several people converge and diverge in the fashion of Short Cuts and Magnolia. Each character’s strand evokes a different genre: gangster movie, romantic drama, twentysomething “relationship” comedy, and the movie about moviemaking. Each strand is also set off by a distinctive photographic style, from misty blue to grainy, blown-out noir.

A network plot often exhibits an interesting mix of realism (in life, strangers’ lives do become tangled) and artifice (chaptering, repeated scenes, and other overt narrational devices). The artifice becomes flagrant at the film’s end, when Do Over‘s title gets literalized and the plot lines are revised to yield alternative endings. The cleverness doesn’t get the upper hand, however, and this remarkable debut leaves you both satisfied and looking forward to Cheng’s next film.

After two trips to Vancouver’s festival, I have yet to go to any tourist destination. I’ve lived within a few square blocks, dashing among hotel, DVD stores, and the Granville Multiplex, with forays to the Pacific Cinematheque and the Vancity Theatre and sushi restaurants and crepe cafes. I’ve lived a film-wonk holiday across eight days and dozens of movies. Thanks to Alan Franey, the Festival Director, for inviting me and extending me so much courtesy. I’m grateful to all the help of his colleagues PoChu Au-yeung, Mark Peranson, Eunhee Cha, Steve Martindale, and Jack Vermee. I wish we’d had more time to talk! Over the last two visits, I’ve made new friends from all over the world, and I’ve enjoyed just sitting among exuberant audiences.

Tony Rayns has been programming Asian films at Vancouver since 1988, and I have to note the melancholy news that he’s stepping down as coordinator of the Dragons and Tigers competition. I’m unhappy as well that I can’t be at Vancouver tonight (Saturday) to see the results of the competition and participate in what will surely be a string of tributes to Tony. So here’s a weak substitute—my own appreciation online.

Tony Rayns at VIFF, 2006

In Tony Rayns deep expertise is joined to an unmatched passion and curiosity. His Vancouver programming was crucial in introducing directors like Kitano and Hou to West. He has also made films happen: Without the acclaim of Vancouver audiences and the prestige of the Dragons and Tigers prize, how many distributors would have backed later work by young directors over the last twenty years?Most critics prefer to stroll into screenings to watch films that miraculously appear, thanks to the work of dozens laboring behind the scenes. From the start Tony got his hands dirty. Apart from writing discerning and literate film criticism, he worked for film festivals, wrote presskits and program notes, translated subtitles, and pushed for offbeat films to be available on video and cable. Above all, he programmed films, backing his tastes with an expanding network of allies in the film industry. He helped create a climate of opinion that welcomed the burst of creative accomplishment that Asian film has offered over the last three decades.

Tony’s been a friend since the mid-1970s, and his influence on my tastes and thinking has been immense. I wouldn’t know a lot of what I know without his tireless proselytizing for once-obscure films and filmmakers. He’s sensitive to all a film’s dimensions—its social and artistic implications, its relation to the director’s personality and life experience. A late-night conversation with him, preferably over Asian food, is like being in the liveliest seminar you ever took.

Many of Tony’s contemporaries—I know plenty—have given up on contemporary cinema. Who can blame them, after a trip to a multiplex? Too often, cinema seems over. But this has only made Tony dig deeper, watch more widely, and remind us that this art form is still frisky, unpredictable, and occasionally rapturous. The French have a word for it: animateur, the person who sends a jolt of energy into a culture. Like André Bazin and Henri Langlois, Tony is one of the animateurs of world cinema, and everyone who loves film is in his debt.

David here:

A correspondent asks: Why am I spending so much time at the Vancouver Film Festival watching Asian movies?

Well, I have dabbled in other regions. Most recently, I enjoyed Eugène Greene’s short Signs, a metronome-and-protractor movie that nonetheless harbors a sharp sting of emotion. More straightforwardly entertaining was Aki Kaurismaki’s Lights in the Dusk. You’ve seen the story’s premise before, both in film noir (femme fatale dooms hero) and in other Kaurismaki films (loser comes stubbornly back for more trouble, and gets it). But it’s as usual filmed in a laconic, Bressonian way, and we get another Kaurismaki protagonist who is blank-faced, obstinate, more than a bit thick, and, despite everything, quixotic.

Still, Asian films have come first for me, as for many others here. Why? The evidence is clear: Since the 1980s, movies from Hong Kong, Taiwan, Japan, Mainland China, South Korea, and more recently Thailand, Malaysia, and the Philippines have offered an almost unrivaled range of accomplishment. (Want names? Tsui Hark, John Woo, Wong Kar-wai, Kitano Takeshi, Kore-eda Hirokazu, Hou Hsiao-hsien, Edward Yang, Jia Zhang-ke, and on and on.) The energy hasn’t flagged, and Vancouver has been in the forefront of supporting this tidal wave of talent. Tony Rayns’ brilliant programming has set an international standard, and the festival’s Dragons and Tigers competition for first features have brought many young filmmakers to world attention.

So herewith some more outstanding Asian revelations from my final Vancouver days:

Hana: Kore-eda keeps surprising us; each film is quite different from the one before. In a downtrodden neighborhood of Edo (the old name for Tokyo), people live in mud and dung, struggling to get by. Some of the loyal 47 ronin wait impatiently to avenge their executed lord, while a young man hangs around trying to find his father’s killer. But the fact that the youth is a fairly inept warrior tips you off to the essentially comic vision underlying this warm movie. Add in a bully who isn’t actually a bad guy and a gallery of low-life neighborhood types, who pass the time rehearsing a play that unwittingly satirizes the samurai ethos. The result is a film that probes the righteousness of vengeance with tact and vulgar humor. Everybody I know wanted to see this again, right away.

My Scary Girl (Korea): The Trouble with Harry meets The Forty-Year-Old Virgin. Dae-Woo has never had a date, but he decides to start with his cute neighbor. He doesn’t know that she’s a Woman with a Past, not to mention a fairly worrisome Present and an ominous Future. Romantic comedy shifts to black comedy, and bowling pins mix with lopped-off fingers. It’s a crowd-pleaser, and Hollywood will probably rush to remake it. But will an American director have the guts to keep the very logical but not wholly happy ending?

I Don’t Want to Sleep Alone: Taiwanese director Tsai Ming-liang has provocative ideas and burnished imagery, but sometimes I’ve thought he’s too clever by half. This movie, his first in his native Malaysia, won me over because it seems to play to all his strengths. Four people intersect around, under, and on a mattress, with an extra character as a kind of comatose sentinel. Tsai’s gorgeous imagery isn’t just pretty for its own sake. Like Tati, he can design compositions which are actually funny, and his long takes give us time to probe the textures and crannies of staircases, a building site, and ordinary streets. The film’s last shot is alone worth the price of admission.

No Mercy for the Rude (Korea): This time the hitman is a mute (or is he?) vowing to kill only the really bad people, and hoping to accumulate enough pay to afford an operation on his “short tongue.” He falls in with a street kid and a hooker, and as the seriocimic plot unfolds we get the very Asian insistence that childhood innocence can be recovered even in the midst of carnage. The film indulges in some flights of fancy—a hitman’s picnic, a hitman who’s a ballet dancer—before coming to its satisfying end in, of all places, a bullring.

Faceless Things: Warnings about gay sadomasochism to the contrary, this doesn’t offer much you can’t see in Warhol or Waters. What it does provide is three shots. The first, nearly 45 minutes long, provides virtually a one-act play about a motel tryst between a businessman and his teenage lover. The second shot shifts us to an anonymous sexual encounter that is admittedly fairly off-putting, but handled with the mix of casual framing and off-kilter suspense we find in, again, Warhol. The very last shot is very brief and puts the other two into a new context. Director Kim Kyong-Mook is only in his early twenties, but his ambition and daring make him a filmmaker to watch.

My last night has come all too soon. So just to make sure that the Europeans are still at work, I’ll check on the French cop movie Le Petit Lieutenant. I’ll end with another Dragons and Tigers entry, the Taiwanese movie Do Over.

Maybe a Chinese dinner afterward. Film isn’t the only thing that Asians do well.