{"id":35526,"date":"2016-12-10T19:52:53","date_gmt":"2016-12-11T01:52:53","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.davidbordwell.net\/blog\/?p=35526"},"modified":"2016-12-13T16:20:35","modified_gmt":"2016-12-13T22:20:35","slug":"friendly-books-books-by-friends","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.davidbordwell.net\/blog\/2016\/12\/10\/friendly-books-books-by-friends\/","title":{"rendered":"Friendly books, books by friends"},"content":{"rendered":"

\"calf-600\"<\/a><\/p>\n

Moses and Aaron<\/strong> (1974).<\/em><\/p>\n

DB here:<\/p>\n

When the stack of books by friends threatens to topple off\u00a0my filing cabinet, I know it’s time to flag them for you. I can’t claim to have read every word in them, but (a) we know the authors are trustworthy and scintillating; (b) what I’ve read, I like; (c) the subjects hold immense interest. Then there’s (d): Many are suitable seasonal gifts for the cinephiles in your life (which can include you).<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Happy birthday, SMPTE<\/strong>
\n\"smpte-cover-250\"<\/a>Starting off in 1916 as the Transactions of the Society of Motion Picture Engineers<\/em>, this peerless record of American moving-image technology has gone through many changes of name and format. It\u2019s now The SMPTE Motion Imaging Journal<\/em>. Its back issues have been a treasure house for scholars studying the history of movie technology, and it has outdone itself for its 100th<\/sup> Anniversary Issue<\/a>, published in August.<\/p>\n

It includes survey articles on the history of film formats, cameras and lenses, recording and storage, workflows, displays, archiving, multichannel sound, and television and video. There\u2019s even an overview of closed-captioning. The issue costs $125 for non-SMPTE members, and it\u2019s worth it. Many libraries<\/a> subscribe to the journal as well.<\/p>\n

A highlight is John Belton<\/strong>\u2019s magisterial \u201cThe Last 100 Years of Motion Imaging,\u201d which includes twenty-two pages of dense timelines of innovations in film, TV, and video. They stretch back beyond 1916, to 1904 and the transmission of images by telegraph. John\u2019s article is provocative, suggesting that we might think of digital cinema as returning to film’s origins in handmade images for optical toys.<\/p>\n

Lucas predicted that digital postproduction brought film closer to painting, and for more and more filmmakers that prediction is coming true. I was startled to learn that 80% of Gone Girl<\/em> was digitally enhanced after shooting.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Yes, sir, that\u2019s our BB<\/strong><\/p>\n

\"3penny-400\"<\/a><\/p>\n

Die 3 Groschen-Oper<\/strong> (1931, G. W. Pabst).<\/em><\/p>\n

During the 1970s, Bertolt Brecht\u2019s name was everywhere in film studies. He epitomized what an alternative, oppositional, or subversive cinema ought to be. Cinema, even more powerfully than theatre, was a machine for producing illusions. So in his name critics objected to happy endings, plots that tidied up reality, characters with whom we ought to identify, messages that masked the real nature of bourgeois society. Films made all these things seem part of the natural order of things.<\/p>\n

The Brechtian antidote was, as people used to say, to \u201cremind people they were watching a film.\u201d This was done by rejecting what he called the Aristotelian model and replacing it with the \u201calienation effect\u201d: a panoply of distancing devices like intertitles, characters addressing the camera, actors confessing they were actors, and a display of the means of cinematic production (including shots of the camera shooting the scene).<\/p>\n

\"bb-on-film-250\"<\/a>The promise was that once viewers were banished from the imaginary world of the film they would exercise their intellects and coolly appraise not only the fiction machine but its ideological underpinnings. Godard was the chief cinematic surrogate for Brecht, and La Chinoise<\/em> (1967) became the big prototype of Brechtian cinema\u2014unless you preferred the more austere version incarnated in Straub\/Huillet\u2019s Chronicle of Anna Magdalena Bach<\/em> (1967) and their adaptation of\u00a0Othon<\/em> (1969). The ideas spread fast, helped by the user-friendly\u00a0Brechtianism of Tout va bien<\/em> (1972).<\/p>\n

Brecht became part of Theory. In\u00a0French literary and theatrical culture of the 1950s, his ideas on staging and performance had claimed the attention of Roland Barthes and other Parisian intellectuals. Godard was alert to the trend early, it seems; he had fun in Contempt<\/em> (Le m\u00e9pris<\/em>, 1963) citing the two BB\u2019s (the other was Brigitte Bardot, b\u00e9b\u00e9<\/em>), and letting Lang quote a poem by his old collaborator and antagonist. By the time Anglo-American film theorists were ready for semiotics, Brecht was offering support. Didn\u2019t his anti-illusionism chime well with the belief that all sign systems were arbitrary and culturally relative?<\/p>\n

My summary is too simple, but then so were many borrowings. Soon enough any highly artificial cinematic presentation might be called \u201cBrechtian,\u201d though usually minus the politics. In\u00a0the academic realm, Murray Smith\u2019s book Engaging Characters<\/a><\/em> (1995) pointed out\u00a0crucial weaknesses in the anti-illusionist, anti-empathy account. By then, the certified techniques were becoming part of mainstream cinema. Thereafter, we had Tarantino\u2019s section titles and plenty of movies breaking the fourth wall. Brecht might have enjoyed the irony of using the to-camera confessions of The Wolf of Wall Street<\/em> (2013) bent to support cynical swindling. Isn\u2019t The Big Short<\/em> (2015) a sort of Hollywoodized lehrst\u00fcck<\/em> (\u201clearning play\u201d)?<\/p>\n

Brecht\u2019s writings should be read and studied by every humanist and certainly everybody interested in film. They\u2019re clear, blunt, and often sarcastic.<\/p>\n

This beloved \u201chuman interest\u201d of theirs, this How (usually dignified by the word \u201ceternal,\u201d like some indelible dye) applied to the Othellos (my wife belongs to me!), the Hamlets (better sleep on it!), the Macbeths (I\u2019m destined for higher things!), etc. <\/strong><\/p>\n

Now Marc Silberman<\/strong>, our colleague here at Madison, has completed a trio of books that make the master\u2019s work available. \u00a0Bertolt Brecht on Film and Radio<\/a><\/em>\u00a0includes essays, scripts, and the Threepenny Opera<\/em> lawsuit brief. There’s also\u00a0Brecht on Performance<\/a><\/em>\u00a0and a complete revision of that trusty black-and-yellow volume<\/a> dear to many grad students: Brecht on Theatre<\/a><\/em>. The latter two collections Marc worked on with collaborators. All are indispensible to a cinephile\u2019s education. As Brecht imagined a bold political version of music he called misuc<\/em>; can we imagine a cenima<\/em>?<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

From BB to S\/H<\/strong><\/p>\n

Speaking of Straub and Huillet, every decade or so somebody comes out with a book about them. This time we have to thank\u00a0the admirable Ted Fendt<\/strong>, in the twenty-sixth volume in the series sponsored by the Austrian Film Museum<\/a> (as well as the Goethe Institute and Synema). Like the Hou Hsiao-hsien volume\u00a0(reviewed here<\/a>), Jean-Marie Straub &\u00a0Dani\u00e8le Huillet<\/a><\/em> is\u00a0fat and full of ideas and information.<\/p>\n

\"s-h-cover-250\"<\/a>There are interviews, tributes from filmmakers (Gianvito, Farocki, Gorin), and Fendt\u2019s account of distribution and reception of their films in the Anglophone world. This last includes charming facsimile correspondence, with one Huillet letter pockmarked by faulty typewritten o\u2019s. As you\u2019d expect, she is objecting to making a 16mm print of Moses and Aaron<\/em> (1974) from the 35. (\u201cNo, definitively.\u201d)<\/p>\n

Starting things off is a lively and comprehensive survey of the duo\u2019s careers by Claudia Pummer<\/strong>, with welcome emphasis on production circumstances and directorial strategies. The book wraps with a detailed thirty-page filmography and a substantial bibliography.<\/p>\n

My thoughts about S\/H are tied up with their earliest work, when I first learned of them. So I loved, and still love, Not Reconciled<\/em> (1965) and The Chronicle of Anna Magdalena Bach<\/em>. I also have a fondness for Moses and Aaron<\/em>, Class Relations<\/em> (1983), From Today until Tomorrow<\/em> (1996), and Sicilia!<\/em> (1998). I find others out of my reach, and several others I haven\u2019t yet seen. People I respect find all their work stimulating, so I suspect it\u2019s really a matter of gaps in my taste.<\/p>\n

Whether you like them or not, they\u2019re of tremendous historical importance. Without them, Jim Jarmusch and B\u00e9la Tarr, and of course Pedro Costa and Lav Diaz, would not\u00a0have accomplished what they have. And especially in December 2016, we ought to find their unyielding ferocity inspiring. Remember them on Dreyer: \u201cAny society that would not let him make his Jesus film is not worth a frog\u2019s fart.\u201d Brecht would have approved.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Stone’d<\/strong><\/p>\n

\"page-400\"<\/a><\/p>\n

To the minimalism of Straub and Huillet we can counterpoint the maximalism of Oliver Stone, the most aggressive tabloid American director since Samuel Fuller (although Rococo-period Tony Scott gives him some competition). After two books on Wes Anderson, Matt Zoller Seitz<\/strong> has brought us a booklike slab\u00a0as impossible as the man’s films. Can you pick it up? Just barely. Can you read it? Well, probably not on your lap; better have a table nearby. Does its design mirror the maniacal scattershot energy\u00a0of films like JFK<\/em> (1991), Natural Born Killers<\/em> (1994), and\u00a0U-Turn<\/em> (1997)? Watch\u00a0the title propel itself off the cover.<\/p>\n

\"stone-book-cover\"<\/a>The Oliver Stone Experience<\/em> is\u00a0basically a long interview, sandwiched in among luxurious photos, script extracts, correspondence, and the sort of insider memorabilia that Matt has a genius for finding. We get not only pictures of Stone with family and friends, on the set, and relaxing; there are bubblegum cards from the 40s, collages of posters and filming notes, maps, footnotes, \u00a0and shards of\u00a0texts slicing in from every which way. Newspapers, ads, and production documents are scissored into the format, including a Bob Dole letter fundraising on the basis of the naughtiness of Natural Born Killers<\/em>. Beautiful frame enlargements pay homage to the split-diopter framings of Born on the Fourth of July<\/em> (1989)\u00a0and the shadow of the 9\/11 \u00a0plane sliding up a facade\u00a0in World Trade Center<\/em> (2006).\u00a0When Stone had second thoughts about things he’d said, Matt had the good idea of redacting the\u00a0interview like a CIA file scoured with thick black lines.<\/p>\n

The whole thing comes at you in a headlong rush.\u00a0Amid the pictorial\u00a0churn and several essays by other deft hands, we plunge into and out of\u00a0that stellar interview, mixing biography and filmmaking nuts-and-bolts. Matt\u00a0gets deep\u00a0into technical matters, such as Stone’s penchant for rough-hewn editing, as well as raising\u00a0some big ideas about myth and autobiography. There are occasional quarrels between interviewer and interviewee. Out of the blue\u00a0we get remarks like “Alexander was not only bisexual, he was trisexual,” which was not redacted.<\/p>\n

The book’s very excess helps make the case for Stone’s idiosyncratic vision. Matt’s connecting essays, along with the vast visual archive he’s scavenged and mashed up, made me want to rethink my attitude toward this overweening, sometimes crass, sometimes inspired filmmaker. He now seems a quintessential 80s-90s figure, as much a part of the era as Reagan, Bush, and Clinton. Stone emerges as a resourceful\u00a0defender of The Oliver Stone Experience, articulating\u00a0a radical political critique with gonzo verve.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Rhapsody in white<\/strong><\/p>\n

\"king-of-jazz-250\"<\/a>If lifting the Book of Stone doesn’t suffice for exercise, try another weighty and sumptuous item, King of Jazz: Paul Whiteman’s Technicolor Revue<\/a><\/em>, by James Layton <\/strong>and David Pierce<\/strong>. Last spring the Museum of Modern Art premiered one of the most ravishing restorations I’ve ever seen, a digital version of King of Jazz<\/em> (1930).<\/p>\n

This period piece is in its own way as wild as an Oliver Stone movie. From its opening cartoon of Paul himself as a Great White Hunter bagging a lion, it’s a virtually self-parodying account of how a black musical tradition got netted, trussed up, and caged for the swaying delectation of white audiences. (No need to mention the irony of the name of our King.)<\/p>\n

Along the way we have some straight-up songs (including some\u00a0by Bing Crosby) spread among extravagant dance numbers. The Universal crane gets a workout as well.\u00a0The music is infectious, the performers sweating to please, and the restoration–coming, I hope, to your screen soon–finally shows what two-color Technicolor could do. This is the definitive version of a film too often known in cut versions with shabby visuals and sound.<\/p>\n

The book is an in-depth contextualization of the film, the studio, and the tradition of musical revues, both on stage and in film. It records the production and reception, with rich documentation throughout. The story of assembling the restoration is there too, and it’s a saga in itself. David\u00a0is one of the\u00a0moving spirits behind the online Media History Digital Library<\/a>\u00a0and its gateway\u00a0Lantern<\/a>. James is\u00a0Manager of the Celeste Bartos Film Preservation Center<\/a> at the Museum of Modern Art. Their collaboration has\u00a0given us\u00a0both a lush picture book and a serious, always enjoyable piece of scholarship. \u00a0Their book proves the value of crowdsourcing: funded by online subscription, it was self-published. In this and much else, it can be a model for film historians pursuing questions that commercial and university presses might find too specialized. The result\u00a0is a model of ambitious research, writing, and publishing.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Visiting Radio Ranch<\/strong><\/p>\n

\"radio-ranch-400\"<\/a><\/p>\n

Gene Autry in The Phantom\u00a0Empire<\/strong> (1935).<\/em><\/p>\n

For about thirty years I\u2019ve been arguing that one fruitful research program in film studies involves what I call a poetics of cinema: the study of how, under particular historical conditions, films are made to achieve certain effects. This program coaxes the researcher to analyze form and style, study changing\u00a0norms of production and reception, and consider how filmmakers work in their institutions and creative communities, with special focus on craft routines, work methods, and tacit theories about the ways to make a movie.<\/p>\n

\"matinee-250\"<\/a>A sturdy example\u00a0of this approach has appeared from Scott Higgins<\/strong>. His Matinee Melodrama<\/a><\/em> fulfills the promise of its subtitle: Playing with Formula in the Sound Serial<\/em>. Scott has closely examined this widely despised genre, plunging into the 200 \u201cchapterplays\u201d produced in America between 1930 and 1956. They offer bald and bold display of the rudiments of action-based storytelling: \u201cIf Hitchcock built cathedrals of suspense from fine brickwork of intersecting subjectivities and formal manipulations, sound serials used Tinkertoys.\u201d<\/p>\n

Scott traces production practices and conventions, focusing in particular on two dimensions. First, to a surprising degree, serials rely on the conventions of classic stage melodrama, such as coincidence and more or less gratuitous spectacle. Second, the serials are playful, even knowing.\u00a0Like video games, they\u00a0invite viewers to imagine\u00a0preposterous\u00a0narrative possibilities, not only in the imagination but also on the playground, where\u00a0kids could mimic\u00a0what they saw Flash Gordon or Gene Autry do.<\/p>\n

Matinee Melodrama\u00a0<\/em>investigates\u00a0the implications of these dimensions for narrative architecture, visual style, and the film and television of our day. Scott closes with\u00a0analysis of the James Bond series, the self-conscious mimicking of serial conventions in the Indiana Jones blockbusters, and the Bourne saga, and he shows how they amp up the older conventions. \u201cLike the contemporary action film generally, the Bourne movies participate in a cinematic practice vigorously constituted by studio-era serials. That is, they blend melodrama with forceful articulations of physical procedure in scenes of pursuit, entrapment and confrontation.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Poetics, frank or stealthy<\/strong><\/p>\n

\"red-detachment-400\"<\/a><\/p>\n

The Red Detachment of Women<\/strong> (1971).<\/em><\/p>\n

Scott\u2019s book acknowledges the poetics research program, and so, even more explicitly, does a new collection edited by Gary Bettinson<\/strong> and James Udden<\/strong>. The Poetics of Chinese Cinema<\/em> gathers several essays that usefully test and stretch that frame of reference.<\/p>\n

One standard challenge to the poetics approach is: How do you handle social, cultural, and political factors that impinge on film? I think the best way to answer this is to treat these factors as causal influences on a film\u2019s production and reception. More specifically, in the production process, what we now call\u00a0memes\u00a0function as materials\u2014subjects, themes, stereotypes, and common ideas\u00a0circulating in the culture or the filmmaking institution. In the reception process, they provide conceptual structures that viewers can use in making their own sense of the films that they\u2019re given. And such materials will necessarily include other art forms; films are constantly adapting and borrowing from literature, drama, and other media.<\/p>\n

\"poetics-cc-250\"<\/a>Both of these possibilities are vigorously explored in several essays in The Poetics of Chinese Cinema<\/em>. For instance, Emilie Yueh-yu Yeh<\/strong> traces how Taiwanese and Japanese cultural materials are reworked by Hou Hsiao-hsien in his Ozu homage Caf\u00e9 Lumi\u00e8re<\/em> (2003). Peter Rist<\/strong>, a long-time student of Chinese painting, shows how Chen Kaige deploys cinematic means to revise landscape traditions to create a\u00a0\u201cContemplative Modernism.\u201d Victor Fan<\/strong>\u00a0 shows how the Hong Kong classic In the Face of Demolition<\/em> (1960) adapts and revises a mode of narration already established in Cantonese theatre. In a clever piece called \u201cCan Poetics Break Bricks?\u201d Song Hwee Lim<\/strong> considers how digital technology feeds into a poetics of spectacle, specifically around slow-motion techniques that were emerging in pre-digital filmmaking.<\/p>\n

Tradition is a key concept in poetics, and the editors explore important ones in their own contributions. Gary Bettinson studies the emergence of Hong Kong puzzle films in works like Mad Detective<\/em> (2007) and Wu Xia<\/em> (2011). Are they simple imitation of Hollywood, or are they doing something different? Gary shows them to have complicated ties to local traditions of storytelling. Jim Udden focuses more on stylistics in his account of Fei Mu\u2019s 1948 classic Spring in a Small Town<\/em>, remade by Tian Zhuangzhuang in 2002. By examining staging, cutting, and voice-over, Jim shows that the earlier film is in many ways more \u201cmodern\u201d than it\u2019s usually thought and is somewhat more experimental than the remake.<\/p>\n

It might seem that the \u201cmodel\u201d operas and plays of the Cultural Revolution, epitomized in The Red Detachment of Women<\/em> (1971) would resist an aesthetic analysis; they\u2019re determined, top-down fashion, by strict canons of political messaging. But Chris Berry<\/strong>\u2019s contribution shows that they\u2019re amenable to close analysis too. Like Soviet Socialist Realism, they may be programmatic in meaning, but not in every choice about framing, performance, cutting, and music. Indeed, the fact that people\u00a0both inside and outside China\u00a0(me included) still find them pleasurable probably owes something to their \u201cRed Poetics.\u201d And in true Hong Kong fashion, many filmmakers in that territory\u00a0plundered those soundtracks with shameless,\u00a0drop-the-needle panache.<\/p>\n

I should probably add that I have an essay in this collection too. It\u2019s called \u201cFive Lessons from Stealth Poetics,\u201d and it surveys things I\u2019ve learned from studying cinema of the \u201cthree Chinas\u201d: Hong Kong, Taiwan, and the Mainland. What attracted me were the films themselves, but in exploring them I was obliged to nuance and stretch the poetics approach. Readers of this blog know the trick: in talking about particular movies, I also try to show the virtues of the approach I favor. In other words, stealth poetics.<\/p>\n

\n

This is a good moment to pay tribute to Alexander Horwath<\/strong>, moving into\u00a0his final nine or so\u00a0months\u00a0of directing the Austrian Film Museum. He has been a major figure in European film culture, through his inspired programming and leadership in publishing the books and DVDs issued by the Museum. We’re very grateful for all he has done for us and for film historians around the world.<\/p>\n

P.S. 11 December 2016:<\/strong> Thanks to Mike Grost<\/a> for a title correction and John Belton for a name correction!<\/p>\n

\"kojheader-600\"<\/a><\/p>\n

King of Jazz<\/strong> (1930).<\/em><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Moses and Aaron (1974). DB here: When the stack of books by friends threatens to topple off\u00a0my filing cabinet, I know it’s time to flag them for you. I can’t claim to have read every word in them, but (a) we know the authors are trustworthy and scintillating; (b) what I’ve read, I like; (c) […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[145,46,187,51,57,22,37,31],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-35526","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-directors-hou-hsiao-hsien","category-film-technique-music","category-film-technology","category-film-theory","category-hollywood-aesthetic-traditions","category-national-cinemas-china","category-national-cinemas-hong-kong","category-national-cinemas-taiwan"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.davidbordwell.net\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/35526","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.davidbordwell.net\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.davidbordwell.net\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.davidbordwell.net\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.davidbordwell.net\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=35526"}],"version-history":[{"count":41,"href":"https:\/\/www.davidbordwell.net\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/35526\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":35636,"href":"https:\/\/www.davidbordwell.net\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/35526\/revisions\/35636"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.davidbordwell.net\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=35526"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.davidbordwell.net\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=35526"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.davidbordwell.net\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=35526"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}