It's 2015. People don't really read anymore. At least not like they used to. Kids are growing up now with phones in their hands. Look, a Snapchat update. Hey, someone updated their Twitter feed. Whoa, look how many vacation photographs he has on his Facebook.
Garbage.
Even if kids pick up a book, it's usually to hide their phones behind it. If it isn't being used as a ruse to fool the teacher, the thing is inevitably at the background of the mind as the kid thinks of what they'll say back to their friend as they feel the vibration in their pocket.
More garbage. But I digress.
So, in this new era of absolute shallow, trivial, social media-driven existence, it's imperative that filmmakers rise to the challenge of actually informing young minds in a constructive manner. After all, the majority of kids today would much rather watch a film than read a novel. Often, film is the first medium that will expose them to a new series, trilogy, universe, and as it is so often said to the point of insane redundancy, "you can only make a first impression once." For filmmakers, they need to inspire children and drive them to learn more. More. More.
Michael Bay: A man who values explosions over character development
Unfortunately, however, with the rather inexpensive alternative to building physical sets, props, and costumes, computer technology has allowed a lot of filmmakers to become extremely lazy. Films have turned into movies and have become obnoxiously loud, in your face, and tent-pole properties that need to make half a billion to a billion dollars to be considered successful. People may be having fun in the theater, but once they leave, they largely forget what they just saw and move about their lives. The first impression is extremely short-lived.
One of the better, more recent examples of a film series that has largely failed is The Hobbit trilogy. As most know, The Hobbit is a much shorter book than any of The Lord of the Rings novels but yet has three movies. Clearly, its former length of two films was lengthened to three because of the success of the original Lord of the Rings trilogy. And, yes, the film industry is a business affair and the studios and people involved need to make money but do we need to beat the characters we love to death in films that are churned out annually for not much else than a huge paycheck?
This is where it's important to remember that films can still be a form of artistic expression. We can, and need, to erase the idea that they must be these huge, crazy events. As cliche and cheesy as it sounds, they can still be made with heart and be successful. To take it one step further, if they're made with heart, they'll be successful regardless of the box office returns.
One of the better, more recent examples of a film series that has largely failed is The Hobbit trilogy. As most know, The Hobbit is a much shorter book than any of The Lord of the Rings novels but yet has three movies. Clearly, its former length of two films was lengthened to three because of the success of the original Lord of the Rings trilogy. And, yes, the film industry is a business affair and the studios and people involved need to make money but do we need to beat the characters we love to death in films that are churned out annually for not much else than a huge paycheck?
This is where it's important to remember that films can still be a form of artistic expression. We can, and need, to erase the idea that they must be these huge, crazy events. As cliche and cheesy as it sounds, they can still be made with heart and be successful. To take it one step further, if they're made with heart, they'll be successful regardless of the box office returns.
But before I lose the reader in motivational ramblings, I'd like to turn the topic more toward Lewis and Tolkien. These are two authors who have created incredible worlds that have the potential to teach a lot of people a lot of amazing things about life (to put it vaguely) when their work is translated to the medium of film. So, how and should this transition be done without turning into a director who doesn't really have much to say (see: Michael Bay)?
Guillermo del Toro: A man who acts as a beacon of light in these dark times
One of the best ways is to treat special effects as, well, not special. Guillermo del Toro has stated numerous times that he uses them in such a way that they simply blend on-screen with the actual, physical elements of the scene. They aren't special. They're just there. They're also used rather sparingly, with almost as much of the film being occupied by real costumes, sets, props, animatronics, etc. A pleasing balance in most of del Toro's films is present because he knows how to appropriately mix special and practical effects.
This is where the gap in years between The Lord of the Rings trilogy and The Hobbit trilogy is most striking. As hard as it is to hear, the former films started filming in 1999. That's sixteen years ago. Back then, an emphasis was on practical effects because films were limited by technology. And here's the thing: that's okay. As a younger kid, I was able to connect with those films because they simply felt more real than The Hobbit trilogy. I knew that the majority of what I saw on film was actually there and I was inspired. With Bilbo and his recent outing, however, I felt less inspired and more disappointed.
Make no mistake, though. I very much enjoy computer-generated effects, but when I can easily see that the plates the dwarves are throwing around (in the first film) are so obviously fake (especially because of the ridiculous decision to film in 48 FPS), I'm simply thrown out of that universe. Why not, you know, just throw real plates around? I guess there's the whole issue of an actor being injured on set. You know, insurance and all that...
So, how could (should) something, like, say, The Great Divorce be filmed? If I were to direct and/or write such a film, I would review topics discussed in class. I quite like the rather difficult journey Lewis made in discovering his faith. I would, at the least, keep that journey in my mind as I film, thinking of ways I could subtly hint at it or ways I could insert its "feel" into the picture. I think it would also be wise to compare Lewis and Tolkien. Lewis seemed much more assertive in his writing and Tolkien much more subtle. In keeping this assertiveness and straightforward tone in mind, I would need to remember that I shouldn't let Lewis' message become "too loud," and devolve into another film that has little to say.
And this brings me to another form of film-making: hand-drawn pictures. There's a special kind of intimacy found in these types of films. A connection between the artist and paper is more immediate and personal. Sure, people still draw with tablets and Photoshop (I do the same) and are essentially doing the same thing as animators in the early 90s, but I feel as if something, some sort of magic, is lost once a storyboard or scene can be changed so quickly with tools most people don't even understand. Maybe I'm going "too far" here but at least with The Great Divorce, the analogy of people becoming more solid as they become closer to God would be more complete if those involved have a more immediate connection to the origins of their craft in the form of putting pencil to paper.
This is where the gap in years between The Lord of the Rings trilogy and The Hobbit trilogy is most striking. As hard as it is to hear, the former films started filming in 1999. That's sixteen years ago. Back then, an emphasis was on practical effects because films were limited by technology. And here's the thing: that's okay. As a younger kid, I was able to connect with those films because they simply felt more real than The Hobbit trilogy. I knew that the majority of what I saw on film was actually there and I was inspired. With Bilbo and his recent outing, however, I felt less inspired and more disappointed.
Make no mistake, though. I very much enjoy computer-generated effects, but when I can easily see that the plates the dwarves are throwing around (in the first film) are so obviously fake (especially because of the ridiculous decision to film in 48 FPS), I'm simply thrown out of that universe. Why not, you know, just throw real plates around? I guess there's the whole issue of an actor being injured on set. You know, insurance and all that...
So, how could (should) something, like, say, The Great Divorce be filmed? If I were to direct and/or write such a film, I would review topics discussed in class. I quite like the rather difficult journey Lewis made in discovering his faith. I would, at the least, keep that journey in my mind as I film, thinking of ways I could subtly hint at it or ways I could insert its "feel" into the picture. I think it would also be wise to compare Lewis and Tolkien. Lewis seemed much more assertive in his writing and Tolkien much more subtle. In keeping this assertiveness and straightforward tone in mind, I would need to remember that I shouldn't let Lewis' message become "too loud," and devolve into another film that has little to say.
And this brings me to another form of film-making: hand-drawn pictures. There's a special kind of intimacy found in these types of films. A connection between the artist and paper is more immediate and personal. Sure, people still draw with tablets and Photoshop (I do the same) and are essentially doing the same thing as animators in the early 90s, but I feel as if something, some sort of magic, is lost once a storyboard or scene can be changed so quickly with tools most people don't even understand. Maybe I'm going "too far" here but at least with The Great Divorce, the analogy of people becoming more solid as they become closer to God would be more complete if those involved have a more immediate connection to the origins of their craft in the form of putting pencil to paper.
Background scenery for The Secret World of Arrietty (2012)
In other words, The Great Divorce sounds like it should be an intimate, quiet film, and an approach similar to the work Studio Ghibli does would be ideal. Unlike Jackson who would inflate the budget for a film that really doesn't need it (see: The Lovely Bones), I could see Hayao Miyazaki producing, directing and/or writing a hand-drawn account of those struggling with their faith in a short but sweet 90-minute film. This might sound like a "no shit" idea but Hollywood has surprised us before (again, The Lovely Bones).
What I'm trying to say is that The Great Divorce would be best suited for an Indie-sized budget, with relatively unknown actors, and an attention to substance over style. In such a quiet but purposeful delivery, those watching would hopefully become connected to the film, be inspired to read the source material, and then continue to ask and answer difficult questions.
It's only fitting, then, that I go into further detail of how I would set up a specific scene for The Great Divorce, because, you know, I have so much experience making film. I'm being sarcastic, of course, but I do feel as if my mind's eye not being cluttered by the promise of money can allow me to think a little more clearly at times than most directors. In addition, I'd like to tie this topic to the first prompt of the semester in light of the popularity of films post-Lewis and Tolkien. As said before, it's important for filmmakers to understand how to approach the challenge of making a memorable first impression, especially when the allure of ruining that impression through the ease of computer-generated effects is always so present.
Anyway.
Camera movement would play a pivotal role during the entire film but would be emphasized during the interaction between the Tragedian, the Dwarf, and the Lady (again, to reference the first prompt). When focused on the latter of the three, movement would be non-existent or limited to very clean, steady shifts from left to right or right to left. However, while focusing on the former two, movement would be somewhat unpredictable, almost shaky. As the Dwarf's comments become more insidious and bitter, movement would reflect this gradual increase in anger and begin to become more unsteady. Conversely, shots that would go back to the Lady would be centered on her face, unmoving, portrait-like. This type of movement would underscore both her control (more solid state) and the Dwarf and Tragedian's lack of understanding (less solid state).
Music or any sort of ambient sound would be completely absent, allowing the viewer to focus entirely on the conversation. Sound would be manipulated, however, when the Tragedian speaks. It would most likely be deep and threatening whereas the Dwarf would have a higher pitched voice. Such a different pitch in tone would reinforce the Tragedian's dominance and the Dwarf's submissive qualities.
Other general notes would include strictly 2-D release (3-D is gimmicky and overrated) and, again, a focus on hand-drawn visuals and relatively unknown or completely unknown actors.
Actually, come to think of it, this type of story might benefit greatly from a Netflix-like approach, where each few chapters, or an interaction with a new character, could be an episode within the series. This more subtle approach would emphasize story in favor of profit. Plus, watching these types of character interactions on a smaller screen would further the intimacy of the experience. It would depend on the viewer of course - whether they would want to watch in a noisy family room or quietly alone in their bedroom - but the alternative of showing in a large theater would be full of many more potential issues: a crying baby, loud groups of friends, the kicking of the backs of seats, thinking of the price of popcorn and candy, cell phone interruptions, etc.
C.S. Lewis
Even the composition found within the frame would reflect the current mental state of each character. The Lady, beautiful and elegant and enlightened as she is, would be framed in, for example, the top-left third of the frame above the Dwarf and Tragedian. The latter two, however, would sit uncomfortably right against the edge of the frame, creating that dreaded "line of coincidence" that so many filmmakers, painters, and photographers avoid (unless of course they're trying to make a statement, as in this case).
I could go on and on but the point is that film has all of the tricks, tools, and elements necessary to relate Lewis and Tolkien's thoughts to the medium of the moving picture. Unfortunately, though, many filmmakers don't want to make a small, smart film like this. To the dismay of many, Peter Jackson has taken a delicate story (The Hobbit) like the one above and has turned it into a blockbuster that's big on effects, big on famous actors, and little else. Viggo Mortensen, who played Aragorn in the original trilogy, accurately summarizes Jackson's shift in this type of thinking and film-making:
I could go on and on but the point is that film has all of the tricks, tools, and elements necessary to relate Lewis and Tolkien's thoughts to the medium of the moving picture. Unfortunately, though, many filmmakers don't want to make a small, smart film like this. To the dismay of many, Peter Jackson has taken a delicate story (The Hobbit) like the one above and has turned it into a blockbuster that's big on effects, big on famous actors, and little else. Viggo Mortensen, who played Aragorn in the original trilogy, accurately summarizes Jackson's shift in this type of thinking and film-making:
Also, Peter was always a geek in terms of technology but, once he had the means to do it, and the evolution of the technology really took off, he never looked back. In the first movie, yes, there’s Rivendell, and Mordor, but there’s sort of an organic quality to it, actors acting with each other, and real landscapes; it’s grittier. The second movie already started ballooning, for my taste, and then by the third one, there were a lot of special effects. It was grandiose, and all that, but whatever was subtle, in the first movie, gradually got lost in the second and third. Now with The Hobbit, one and two, it’s like that to the power of 10.
Grittier, as Mortensen mentions, is what I, and many, prefer. Forget the overuse of synthetic, clean computer-generated effects and give us something that can be remembered, something that's real. Give us what's really important: the story. Give us the characters who suffer through truly terrible, universal problems. And, finally, give us the authors' answers on how to address or cope with these problems. Take us from the power of ten to the power of one.
Note: All images found on Google. Mortensen quote found here.