A Higher Purpose for Social Media

By Lindsay Wachs

In a world where Kim Kardasian has 12 million followers on Twitter and a video of a sneezing baby panda has 129 million views, the popularity of such trivial subjects asks us to consider the higher purpose of social media. Can the average Internet user do something meaningful on the web rather than cater to our most basic entertainment needs? 2011 may mark when social media turned that corner. The average user employed social media to shed light on what sites like Twitter and Facebook can accomplish. These sites were used as a call to action and to highlight unrest in Egypt. For 30 years, Hosni Mubarak was president/dictator of Egypt. As speculation about his health began to rise, there was talk about his successor likely selected by Mubarak. The Egyptian people did not stand for this. On January 25, 2011 Egyptians took to the streets to protest him, his regime, and the weakening constitution. Within a month, Mubarak resigned, but the protestors have continued to speak their minds, sparking protests in many other Arab countries which are now collectively being called the Arab Spring. These sites have become  the primary means in which protestors spread the word and organize themselves for various marches. The real beauty of it is that a small few were able to organize thousands by using these tools for outreatch. Once on the streets, protestors were able to garner media attention using YouTube. Personal cameras, like the kind issued on most standard mobile phones, became the primary means through which social movement received its coverage. Hundreds of videos of various rallies and gatherings were captured and uploaded to YouTube, where their messages were further relayed to other Egyptians and citizens all over the world. Among the videos of people in the streets, many were exposing police violence against protestors. At the height of the movement, the word “Egypt” was in 1 of every 200 tweets worldwide[i], proving that social media can be used in new and more productive ways that go beyond watching a cat play the piano.

The U.S. government itself has come to understand the effect these sites can have. Instead of sending soldiers to countries where it could end up being a bureaucratic nightmare, they have instead begun providing protestors with encryption software, allowing them to post their images on the web without fear of implication and subsequent retribution that the images will be traced back to them where they could then be punished.[ii] Showing support for a cause no longer means that one has to be physically present at a rally or protest. Instead, millions of views online combined with the organizational effort of a few can create major change simply by spreading their messages to the millions of everyday social media sites users.

Social media sites have not only changed the way we interact with each other, but also the way we protest and state our opinions about the world we live in. Social media sites are now tools being used for a greater purpose. They have become new and important ways of showing support and starting social movements, like the one in Egypt that then fueled the Arab Spring.  If these sites continue to be used in this meaningful way, soon even images of protests and revolts could have more hits than a baby panda sneezing.

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[i]“Egypt Protests Fueled by Social Networking.” 27 January 2012. Online video clip. cbsnews.com Accessed on 5 February 2012. < http://www.cbsnews.com/video/watch/?id=7291353n&tag=mncol;lst;5>

[ii]“Inside Syria.” 31 October 2011. Online video clip. nbc.com Accessed on 5 February 2012. <http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/21134540/vp/45112932#45112932>

The Working Girl

by: Caitlyn Durkin

Ever since I read it a year ago, I haven’t been able to forget the message in a film theory article voicing the idea that women in our culture are portrayed having an eternal struggle, forced to choose between love and having a career. This article, “Postfeminism and Popular Culture,” honestly made me wonder if this was the future I was headed toward as a woman pursuing a career in film. These words infiltrate my experience as a viewer and focus my retinas a little tighter when I’m watching movies that are made by female directors, wondering whether these theories hold true, wondering what these women went through to get their views to show up on screen. I read about women in television or major motion pictures having to “cleverly” rewrite lines that continue to portray female characters in a very traditional light, without actually saying the things that they want to say. It reminds me of watching The Celluloid Closet, where directors had to sneak in homosexual innuendo to say what they wanted to say without being overt. Never before have I been so pleased with a medium’s ability to resonate what I feel is the most modern voice as current television shows such as Mad Men and 30 Rock. These shows are television I can appreciate; not necessarily because they evoke overt girl- power messages, but because they explicitly reject stereotypes, implicitly provide social commentary, or simply make fun of these older social norms.

The article mentioned above is by Suzanna Dana Walters. It discusses how unhappy and unsatisfied women who have “gone too far” with their attempts at achieving the American Dream once were, believing that they could “have it all” with as in the early 90s television show, The Trials of Rosie O’Neill. These shows were stating that women become “like men” and take on “double duty” at home and at work. The article moves to the way the set of problems in 1994 when shows like Rosie O’Neill were aired, where women were punished for “wanting it all,” caught in the midst of the Superwoman syndrome (pressure to perform well in multiple roles) and Cinderella complex (women’s fear of independence and unconscious desire to be taken care of). These women were denying traditional values of stay-at-home moms before them, and as such were vagabonds, a “lost soul, an ambitious career woman who has lost touch with her femaleness—motherhood” (121).

I found myself on film sets this summer where older women were telling me, “hang out with your boyfriend instead of being on set with your dream director, because if you put work before your loved ones you’ll end up all alone like me.” I heard this more than once in different ways, such as the time I was told I should rethink my dreams of being a producer because having “chosen” my boyfriend that fulfilling the advice of having a life outside of being an overworked, unpaid production assistant, that I should really rethink my future. I felt like I had done something terribly wrong and still in some ways do, though I’m not sure what the “right” thing would have been. While I understood both points, as you shouldn’t put yourself before all of your loved ones or you’ll end up with nothing in this industry (or in life in general), and if I can’t work those long, unpredictable hours then I should rethink a 9-5 career, I wonder how much of what these women were saying was fueled by repeated identity politics that tell them what their “real” role should be. They were forced to choose, and someday I would have to as well. I began to think about how I should start prioritizing similarly. I felt discouraged seeing these continued portrayals of women who aren’t fulfilled by the business world, that somehow it wasn’t destined for us the same way it was for a guy, and that because we want to be moms one day that we suddenly can do nothing else if we become one. I don’t think we stop to think enough that this whole internal struggle we are supposed to feel may not be as prominent in our opposite-gendered counterparts’ lives, so why should we be expected to have it? Don’t happy characters in movies often become happy because they live a balanced life where they have achieved their goals and had someone to share it with?

Walters talks about a piece on an NBC Nightly News show in the 90s about the problems of a “working woman,” and how women were working through this dilemma. It never mentioned how this work/family dilemma was a problem for men, but presented it rather as a problem that women could now “work out with the paternalistic help of benign and benevolent corporate America” (123). She explains the theories that women went rampaging off to work only to find that they were skimping out on family, or that women went off to work and realized it wasn’t that great after all (123). The article points to shows that have seemed liberal and instead portrayed “good” women as stay- at-home moms and the career women were desperate for a man, lonely, bitter. Women often wrestled with the work/family dilemmas in shows like Thirty Something (134). She feels that women’s shows of the 70s like Mary Tyler Moore, Rhoda, and Maude were starting to morph feminism to a new level, which she claims was the “golden age” for feminist televisionl, but in the 80s the era of disappearing mothers began. “Although most single parents are women, if one only watched television one would think that lots of men are bravely raising their kids alone” (135). While still presenting their own sets of problems, the medium came a long way since the days of I Love Lucy, who were homebound women struggling to escape, always being put back into their place by the Ricky Ricardos (139). Despite I Love Lucy’s writer, star, and studio head, Lucille Ball, these portrayals weren’t exactly progressive. While Walter’s article was written nearly 10 years ago, the messages still resonate with me.

Mad Men is written and directed by women (7/9 writers, 5/13 episodes directed in the third season), and the outset of this show defines the premise. As the head of Menken’s Department store steps into the boys world that is Sterling Cooper, Ms. Menken is ousted from the office on the grounds that she is a woman stepping outside of her “place” in the world by challenging the men to sell her company in the light she envisions. Don Draper goes as far as to ask this client why she isn’t married.

“Don’t you think getting married and having a family would make you happier than all the headaches that go along with fighting people like me?” he asks her.

“If I weren’t a woman I’d be allowed to ask you the same question. And if I weren’t a woman I wouldn’t have to choose between putting on an apron and the thrill of making my father’s store what I always thought it should be.” To this he asks if work is a thrill to her.

“That, and… I’ve never been in love,” she replies.

He goes on to define what “love” really is: “You mean a big lighting bolt to the heart where you can’t eat and you can’t work, and you just run off and get married and make babies. The reason you haven’t felt that is because it doesn’t exist. What you call love was invented by guys like me to sell Nylons.”

While this show is set in the 1960s, this show is commentary on many modern themes, such as this one, where women are sold a concept of our feelings, forcing us to believe that this commodity is the role we should fulfill, because some internal switch is turned on and we know that this is where we belong. In fact, in an interview, writers for the show admit that this show is based on many issues that the writers face themselves. Beside being wildly entertaining, the show feels comforting to me that our stories are being told, implicit or not. Author of the Wall Street Journal article, “The Women of Mad Men,” Amy Chozick, writes, “the writers, led by the show’s creator Matthew Weiner, are drawing on their experiences and perspectives to create the show’s heady mix: a world where the men are in control and the women are more complex than they seem, or than the male characters realize.”

The show is mostly centered around Don Draper, but a main part of the series is its complicated female characters. “It’s less skewed than it appears,” says consulting producer Maria Jacquemetton, who is married to fellow writer Mr. Jacquemetton. At the time of the article, the show was nominated for 16 Emmys and had an overwhelming number of viewers. “A lot of people think women can only do women shows,” says Jennifer Getzinger, who started as script supervisor for the show and is now directing it. In many ways this is a show written by and about women, for men, which makes it all the more intriguing.

Tina Fey, Kay Cannon, and many other women help to make 30 Rock the success that it has been. Perhaps the writers of 30 Rock do what Lucy was doing in her day by poking fun at the discrepancies that women were feeling in their lives, intending to empower them. But Tina Fey feels empowering to me more so by basing the show on the company in which she works, rather than her battle between work and home life. When she breaks up with a guy, she doesn’t go into acting as a crazed work-a-holic, nor does she become depressed and useless without her pilot boyfriend. Instead she accepts her spinster-hood (as seen on the “It’s never too late for now” episode), which is eventually sucked out of her by co-workers that cheer her up. When she wants to feature a new feminist writer for the show, she ends up hiring a misogynist woman that talks baby talk and offers lap dances in the office. This satire of feminism challenges and embraces the claims that the show may not be feminist.

The show doesn’t just center on Liz Lemon’s faults, but pokes at all of the archetypes on the show, as the characters are all parodies of ridiculous people in the entertainment industry. Tracy Jordan’s character helps to serve as satire for racial relations. Tina Fey’s character, unlike other feminist characters in the past who had to be like men and reject “feminine” qualities in order to be considered “feminist,” embraces these “faults” and helps make this show funny by not falling into Walter’s categories, however traditional these qualities may seem. This show does not uphold the issues that Walters’ essay voices. Instead it jokes about how irrelevant some of these “issues” should now be for women as these gendered flaws are satire. All of the characters on the show mock their sitcom predecessors, men and women alike. Alec Baldwin’s character (who is extremely conservative) is made out to be gay by two gay men for his Princeton football references. To me, the whole show is a refreshing take on the matter. The show is less concerned with political correctness, and more about breaking down continually reinforced images of people, re-contextualizing them instead of repeating them. This reduces the stigma associated with gender, race, and sexual politics and brings them to a place where women, men, and work are all more normalized than they have been in the past. It points to the fact that things have not progressed completely, without overtly saying it.

While portrayals of women in the workplace have changed over time, there is still reason to continue to be skeptical of the idea that we have moved into an “equal” cinema arena. According to the Directors Guild of America, the labor union that represents film and television directors, about 13% of its 8,000 directors are female. I’m not sure that this is a balanced scale. Nearly 80% of TV programs in the 2007 to 2008 prime-time season had no women writers, according to a study by Martha Lauzen, executive director of the Center for the Study of Women in Television and Film at San Diego State University. While there still is much ground to cover, I appreciate the shows that are making these changes successfully and portraying a world where we “can have it all,” despite the issues we continue to read and experience.

On Duration

by: Theo Rasmussen

Extended viewing of series or films is something relatively new to society. With today’s unparalleled ability to access digital media, many are subjecting themselves to watching upwards of six hours of a single series in a single sitting rather than waiting for episodes weekly. This form of consuming in mass is becoming more accessible and therefore common. This allows for a completely different digestion of the material presented. Not only does this new viewership call into question the pacing of the series, but it calls into question how human minds deals with the concept of ‘duration’. In particular, what are the psychological effects of spending an increased duration in the fantasy space which film creates? While the implications of this type of viewing may not be clear, the power of prolonged emersion is evident, and if the material resonates well enough with the viewer the experience is not unlike delving into a new world.

Directors as well as editors are often the most understanding of the power that duration represents. This is because their responsibilities depend heavily on understanding cinematic timing and pacing. A good example of the profound effect of duration is found simply by viewing uniquely long films such as Laurence of Arabia, or Gandhi. However, duration isn’t merely dealing with temporal realism, it deeply depends on subject material, which can seem to lengthen or shorten the perceived duration of the film. One just has to observe the audiences reactions of a film like Koyaanisqatsi or the Lord of the Rings trilogy to see how use of perceived duration may function; it is used to establish control over the audience. Therefore, duration is one of the primary ways one can increase the audience’s immersion in a film. This is something commonly used in the world of music; listen to classical music and you’ll notice that occasionally the composition will call for a single note to hold. The effect of this hold draws the listener into the piece. Additionally it primes the audience for the following notes or melodies; it gives time for the listener to fully immerse themselves. The same holds true for images in film and it is something that is not nearly acknowledged enough. This is particularly true in
the film world of today, where quick cuts are still growing in popularity. Time manipulation is one of the most used techniques in filmmaking; however its integration and the realization of its importance within the narrative is often minimal.

The topic of duration is nearly taboo in Hollywood. Albeit a powerful tool, it is one so powerful that many are afraid to employ it. This fear is one of the few in Hollywood that is justified, as the use of filmic duration incorrectly can be disastrous for a film. To point out an example, just look at the final sequence of the Lord of The Rings, Return of the King. Here single shots with little to no camera movement show the aftermath of the ring’s destruction. Unfortunately these shots lingered too long and no contrast or relief from them was provided. This contrast could have employed the use of the duration provided and contributed further immersion in the story, yet all the audience is given is another slow shot to end the film on. The lack of pay off distracted from the impact those scenes should have had. The sequence after the rings destruction is lackluster because it lacked significant meaning to attach to the prolonged imagery.

The fear of length communicated down to the earliest forms of preproduction. Scriptwriting for example, is seen by producers as something that should be short and fluid, one segment of dialog should not exceed four lines, scene description should be relatively short and the script should read fast, lengthy pieces of dialog and your piece is likely to get discarded for other more “quick” scripts. These are the rules writers follow in order to increase their chances of selling a script, it is no wonder then such use of duration is overlooked. Directors are constantly denied the extra time they deem necessary to communicate an aspect of a scene by producers looking to cut down on film length. Creativity is constantly being limited to fit the presupposed needs of the consumer as they are communicated by the producer. However, the frequency of people viewing at length, choosing immersion over “quick viewing” is evidence that discredits this notion. People are viewing entire series in one sitting; it’s a great sign that these fears of rejection are not confounded. Audiences eagerly await absorption into a fantasy space and are eager for new enticing material that they can view and become involved with.

Beat Happenings

by: Jared Berkowitz

Melodrama has been the driving force behind narrative within film since film’s earliest days. A shift took root as film began to depict realities such as war and poverty. These real-life horrors bred (and continue to breed) a counterculture which have questioned notions of normalcy. The American New Wave brought forth mavericks such as John Cassavetes to create an independent cinema as an antithesis to Hollywood ideals. Interestingly, the independent aesthetic instead came to define popular cinema. With the popularization of independent film, the works of John Cassavestes and the American New Wave become lost within a torrent of pop culture waste. However, Jim Jarmusch remains as a torch-bearer of the New Wave as explorations in minimalism and realism are re-engaged and expanded upon.

John Cassavetes’ 1959 release, Shadows, employed grainy footage, irregular editing, and improvised conversations reminiscent of the rhythmic qualities of “Pure Cinema” from decades before. For his film, Cassavetes raised $40,000 largely through contributions from friends and family, explored sex and race “within a narrative so elliptical, rambling and seemingly spontaneous it could barely be called a ‘story’”1. This spontaneity, reminiscent of jazz improvisation, was noticed by the New York bohemian Through handheld camera work, and abrasive close-ups, we gain an understanding of the characters and can contrast their experiences with our own. These filmic techniques are early examples of the American New Wave’s dismissal of the cultivated quality of the studio system. Though Cassavetes himself remained in relative obscurity, when Shadows was released it was “nothing less than the precursor to an American cinematic revolution”3.

Shifting gears and giving into the studio system, Cassavetes directed such disappointments as Too Late Blues (1961) and A Child is Waiting (1962). A return to independence was manifested with the release of Faces (1968). Cassavetes creates a sense of claustrophobia through low lighting, poor sound, extreme close-ups, and a self-destructive anxiety-laced narrative.

Though Faces was a success at the box-office, Cassavates had difficulty securing financing for his films after the financial failures of Husbands (1970) and Minnie and Markowitz (1971), and was forced to again self-finance what would arguably be his masterpiece. Emptying his bank account and mortgaging his house, Cassavetes finally released A Woman Under the Influence (1974), after a two year production period. Self distributed through Faces International, Cassavetes promoted the film by touring the country, booking theater after theater. The performances by Peter Falk and Gena Rowlands allow the film to juxtapose moments of serenity with explosions of marital chaos, insanity, and abuse.

Cassavetes had a fruitful later career, experimenting with his directorial style through The Killing of Chinese Bookie (1976) and Opening Night (1977). “I have the need for characters to really analyze love, discuss it, kill it, destroy it, hurt each other, do all that stuff in that war–in that word polemic and picture polemic of what life is…That’s all I’m interested in–is love”(Cassavetes).

Though Cassavetes offered an alternative to Hollywood’s rigidity, anti-structuralism was beginning to characterize popular cinema. With extreme notions of spectacle and massive production budgets being applied to “abnormal” narratives, the American New Wave transformed an independent aesthetic to a marketable product. Production studios like Miramax financed the films of such directors as Quentin Tarantino, Steven Soderbergh, and Kevin Smith. As these names moved out of obscurity and into the mainstream, Hollywood’s grasp on independent cinema tightened. Miramax was the first of the indie studios to be bought out, and in 1993, it became a subsidiary of Walt Disney Studios. Other major studios followed suit. Sony has Sony Pictures Classics,
20th Century Fox has Fox Searchlight, Universal has October Films, and the list goes on. “Beneath the Indie banner, one is more likely to find a list of studio execs…than an actual filmmaker…discussions revolve around…creative funding–rather than around the once-important aesthetics, or–God forbid–art”2.

Indie studios mirror the Studio system in that spec scripts are given to newly contracted young directors to churn out cliché narratives. Films like 500 Days of Summer (2009) and Lars and the Real Girl (2007) are the modern antithesis of the indie studio. Made by cookie-cutter filmmakers with little to no experience, they’re deemed independent by the passing reference to a Smiths song, or by employing such indie poster
children as Ryan Gosling or Zooey Deschanel. Lacking any form of minimalism, surrealism, or experimentation, these films are not independent but bastard children of the major motion picture.

Despite this unfortunate melding of Hollywood and independent cinema, there still remains an auteur who works within indie ideals. Jim Jarmusch “is the embodiment of modern independent film. Using primarily foreign financing and retaining ownership of his films’ negatives, Jarmusch remains resolutely autonomous”3. Initially evident in his first feature, Permanent Vacation (1980), his minimalist aesthetic and character-driven style was cemented with the brilliant Stranger Than Paradise (1984).

Reminiscent of Cassavetes’ style, Jarmusch utilizes minimalism in order to ascribe meaning to seemingly unimportant dialogue, and trivial moments of silence. Segmented into three acts, Stranger Than Paradise consists of only 67 shots, all of which are defined by a stationary camera, with the occasional pan. The film is devoid of whips and dissolves, simply fading to black after a scene. “Poetry is very beautiful, but the space on the page can be as affecting as where the text is. Like when Miles Davis doesn’t play, it has poignancy to it” (Jarmusch).

Expanding upon the influence of Cassavetes, Jarmusch is heavily influenced by bohemian culture and the New York underground. Similar to the Beat Generation of the 1950s and 60s, the New York Underground of the 1980s was a junction of film, art, and music, where the avant-garde was melded with popular culture. Jazz, blues, punk, new wave, and rap all complemented new avenues of postmodern surrealism and minimalism.

Jarmusch’s connection to Beat culture is furthered through his frequent collaboration with musicians such as Tom Waits and Joe Strummer. Beyond those two, Jarmusch has worked with Iggy Pop, Screamin’ Jay Hawkins, RZA, GZA, Jack White, and Meg White, all of whom are innovators in their genre, whether it be proto-punk, punk, jazz, R&B, rap, or garage rock.

“I always start with characters rather than with a plot, which many critics would say is very obvious from the lack of plot in my films – although I think they do have plots – but the plot is not of primary importance to me, the characters are”(Jarmusch). Though this is evident in all of his films, it is especially true of Coffee and Cigarettes. With actors encouraged to adlib, the film consists entirely of short vignettes of absurdly trite conversations, as if overheard in a café. This allows minimalism to force attention squarely upon the miscommunications of the actors. Like Cassavetes, Jarmusch strips away the Hollywood structuralism which calls for a narrative climax and cohesive dialogue, in order to obtain an aura of absurdity.

It is clear that the American New Wave was born as a complementary movement to the French New Wave. Dually influenced by distinctive elements of the American subculture, John Cassavetes began a film movement which captured both minimalism and humanism in a fashion harmonized with contemporary practices in music and literature. Despite a popularization of the independent model, the New Wave ideals are still being explored within the works of Jim Jarmusch. Through creative expressions of the mundane, humanism is explored and actively reflected upon. His example as a new wave auteur is exceptional considering it exists within a movement which has largely been watered down due to commercial exploitation.

Cinema Censorship

by: Theo Rasmussen

Censorship in cinema is holding the medium back. In an examination of Hollywood, one will realize that the majority of films debuting on the big screen adhere to the strict, somewhat arbitrary standards of the motion picture association of America, or MPAA. The MPAA is an incredibly small tight nit committee that essentially governs what people can and can’t see in theaters. They are the group that rates the film as PG-13 or R, for example. While ratings might not seem like a big deal as a consumer because they doesn’t directly change what you yourself go to see, it’s a rather large problem. This is because films are made adhere to the strict standards of the MPAA even in preproduction. Furthermore, this is hindering the growth and evolution of modern day cinema strangling the possible prosperity of the medium. These ratings are so important to Hollywood because they have a direct correlation to how much money a movie grosses. Larger budget films will often pander to the MPAA in order to receive a PG-13 rating; they aim for this rating to allow maximum viewership of the film. However without a doubt this has caused many films to suffer.

Primary viewership of films usually comes from a younger age group. However, the reasons for this focused age group are self-perpetuating. Instead of trying to capture a larger audience the continual focal point of Hollywood is the very same age group. Regaurdless, it is clear now that they are finding themselves making less money on young people ever year. As the price of tickets continue to rise, the viewership of young people continues to decline. Hollywood is looking the wrong direction, they need to broaden their perspective and start realizing the growing number of film enthusiasts of all ages and interests and cater to them as well. Instead of having the ultra-high budget film made to cater to a single audience with the hope that it may be broad enough to encapsulate a larger audience, Hollywood should be making an effort to produce smaller budget films that each capture their own specialized audience. If this method were put in place mass viewership of a single “blockbuster hit” would go down, but overall viewership in cinema would go up. By catering to specific audiences, the filmmaker makes the film important for the audience they have targeted. In contrast by today’s formula the over generalization of narrative in an effort to maximize viewership has instilled a stigma of boredom and blandness. By broadening its audience and creating more mature films, Hollywood could be sidestepping the decline in film viewership.

Director’s Digest: John Waters

by: Elena Bowen

Nearly three decades ago, John Waters had a vision. This vision was vile, perhaps even
foul, but it was a vision nonetheless. What the filmmaker described as “pot-humor”
evolved into a legacy of notoriously bawdy films, highly revered as cult classics. From
his first critically acclaimed film, Pink Flamingos (1972) to his most recent film A Dirty
Shame (2004), Waters maintains a consistent formula of shtick, sex and the raunchiest
language you’ve ever heard.

An exhibitionist at heart, Baltimore’s native son takes delight in everything that makes
us squeamish by offering audiences a brutal, often times outlandish look into society’s
underbelly – the crude, the oversexed and the downright ugly. Waters shamelessly flaunts
the human body in all its horrendous, gut-wrenching glory. Unlike many filmmakers,
Waters doesn’t shy away from harsh ratings from the MPAA, which accounts for the fact
that several of his films proudly boast an NC-17 rating. Rather than relying on the box
office for means of success, John Waters markets himself as a connoisseur of quirk a
truly transgressive icon that aims to provoke and bewilder you.

In the midst of all the raunchy, finger-lickin’ filth, there are underlying themes of
female empowerment. In a way, Waters utilizes sex to instill his characters with an
overwhelming sense of independence, allowing them to be as filthy as nature intended.
Rather than conform to society’s rigid concept of normalcy, Waters’ characters express
a total disregardand perhaps contemptfor all that is “normal”. They represent the
total antithesis to all that is dull, and revel in doing so; hence Divine’s character in the
infamous Pink Flamingos haughtily boasted and defended her title of “The filthiest
person in the world”. Society grossly inhibits our ability to indulge in the perverse,
causing these debauched fantasies that are incidentally liberated by these outlandish
characters that Waters creates.

Coincidentally, men are usually portrayed as incompetent morons with insatiable sexual
appetites in Waters’ films. Waters proves to be a firm believer in big hair and even bigger
mouths, often featuring malicious females as his leads.

Divine, the 300 lbs. drag queen starred in a handful of Waters’ films and has proven to
be a force to be reckoned with. Often times, Divine is regarded as the poster child of cult
films – stand aside, Frank n’ Furter. This delightfully foul diva clawed her way to the top,
swallowing steaming heaps of dog feces along the way. Essentially, Divine epitomizes all
that Waters has come to stand for.

Despite his iconic status as a subversive filmmaker and artist, Waters has delved into the
mainstream in recent years. Crybaby (1990) featured Johnny Depp during his heyday as
a teen idol. Waters most recent film A Dirty Shame (2004) included Johnny Knoxville,
someone who also made his claim to fame exhibiting all that is vile on MTV’s Jackass.

After being adapted into a play and later, into a feature film fresh and revamped with the
fresh faces of today’s teenage celebrity, Hairspray (1988) has gained attention in recent
years. While his newer films don’t have the same, grittiness as Female Trouble (1974)
or his first feature, (appropriately titled) Mondo Trasho (1969), they certainly maintain
a standard of gross-out appeal and sheer silliness, making his films more accessible to
modern audiences.

These films are definitely worth a second (or third) look. You may find yourself
dumbstruck, wondering if you really did just witness someone having sex with a chicken
or if your eyes are deceiving you. Society’s conditioned us to reject what we deem as
impolite, yet John Waters unapologetically transcends the border between obscenity and
art. Waters snubs our stifling society by offering an alternative, granting us a generous
amount of what we depraved humans craveinbred convicts, full-frontal nudity,
bestiality and feces. We’re inclined to indulge in the obscene, albeit in the privacy of our
own homes.

Whatever happened to all the knife-wielding serial killers?

by: Elena Bowen

Whatever happened to all the knife-wielding serial killers?

It can be argued that American horror films have been suffering a steady decline sincethe late 1980s. Essentially, Universal Studios single-handedly ushered us into the so-called “golden age” of horror in the 1930s. This paved the way for horror icons suchas James Whale’s The Invisible Man (1933) and Frankenstein (1933) in which Boris Karloff masterfully portrayed Frankenstein’s creature. It was during this era that horrorgained credibility as an outlet for audiences to indulge their innermost fears. People were no longer going to the cinemas to be entertained by airy melodramas and the occasionalmusical – audiences wanted to be terrified. From these humble beginnings, the horror genre broadened to include campy B-movies that dabbled in all that was supernatural, creepy or just plain weird (See: Nathan Hertz’s Attack of the 50 Foot Woman or Irvin Yeaworth’s The Blob).

In the late 1970s and 1980s, the industry experienced a surge of new and innovativeways to stir audiences that went beyond the scope of zombies, swamp-creatures and demonic children (oh, my). At this point in history, filmmakers began to deviate from thetraditional threat of the supernatural and began appealing to the rowdy teenager in all of us with the industry’s newest innovation – slasher films. These films promised audiences something exciting; namely, sex, gore and lots of it (and more than often, they’d feature a young Jamie Lee Curtis mere inches from being hacked to bits). Iconic characters suchas Freddy Krueger and Michael Myers made their claim to fame by gutting teenagers and instilling society with a deep-rooted fear of sociopaths and homicidal puppets alike. Things were looking good for horror until the mid-1990s, when it appeared that Hollywood had simply fallen short.

Somewhere between Friday the 13th Part VIII: Jason Takes Manhattan (1989) and A Nightmare on Elm Street 5: The Dream Child (1995), horror films had begun to get a bit stale. The already simplistic formula of deranged-killer-stalks-wayward-teenagers became more diluted well into the early nineties, each sequel slightly more retarded than the installment preceding it. As the quality of the films progressively worsened, filmmakers sought out more outlandish plots to engage audiences who had all but lost interest in Freddie & Jason’s tiresome antics. These sequels failed to achieve the popularity of the originals and can only be described as appalling, at best.

As if an ongoing series of awful sequels weren’t enough to add insult to injury, filmmakers have abandoned creativity altogether and turned to “updating” films of the past, perhaps in vain attempts to revisit the genre’s success. It’s come to the point where modern audiences have simply forgotten the genre’s roots and are being duped intoseeing these mediocre remakes that plague the box-office. Surely, the average fourteen-year-old isn’t familiar with the original My Bloody Valentine (2009), Prom Night (2008) or The Texas Chainsaw Massacre (2004).
However, many of the releases that have managed to generate interest amongst audienceswere actually remakes of various foreign horror films. Foreign filmmakers excel at the fine art of gore and all that is eerie. A slew of foreign films ranging from Spanish filmmaker Juan Antonio Bayona’s El Orfanato (2007) to Hideo Nakata’s Ringu (which inspired a surge of Asian horror remakes in the early 2000s including The Eye and Ju-on) have been nabbed by desperate American production companies hoping to mimic thesuccess of the originals.

In this sense, the entire genre has been reduced to a series of stale, predictable sequels and rehashed remakes, providing modern audiences with nothing more than cheap thrills and minimal chills. It’ll be a sad day for horror films when the only viable options at the box office are Saw XXI and Freddie vs. Jason vs. Alien vs. Predator (vs. Kramer?). What does this mean for horror? Senseless violence and recycled plots will only get us so far. With the fourth installment of the Scream series currently in production, one can only hope they have more to offer than David Arquette’s receding hairline.

Netflix

by: Kelsey Carter

It’s hard to believe that Netflix, the online DVD rental service, is over a decade old
now. On the other hand, it’s even harder to believe that Netflix was at one time not a part of
my life. Truly, a service that allows me to skip out on film screenings for my classes is one
that I’m not ashamed to be hyperbolic about. (Seriously, the choice to walk across a cold
campus to watch a movie in a dingy classroom versus watching the same film on “instant
watch” in my bed isn’t a very difficult choice to make. I almost always go with the latter.) In
addition, Netflix is a large contributor to our increasingly film-conscious society. I suppose
one could argue this isn’t a necessarily good thing—if there’s anything we don’t need more
of, it’s a bunch of pretentious home bodies discussing the merits of classical cinema—but
it’s a phenomenon large enough to warrant observation. Netflix has changed the experience
of renting and watching movies by allowing a patron to select a title, have it delivered, and
watch it on his own schedule. Whereas theaters require planning ahead (looking up show
times and accounting for travel) and traditional rental stores have a cap on the amount of
days a movie can be checked out, Netflix capitalized on a demand for convenience, letting
customers watch hundreds of movies streaming online and hold on to DVDs as long as
they’d like.

In any case, I am thankful for the directors that Netflix has exposed me to. Netflix’s
taste algorithm has certainly improved over the last few months of my subscription,
allowing for more accurate recommendations. At times I’ll admit that I feel embarrassed
to have so much confidence in a rather intangible suggestion-machine, and that having my
favorites boiled down to the adjectives “cerebral, dark, mind-bending, and suspenseful” is
humbling. Alas, Hal Hartley was a director that I was unfamiliar with prior to the magic of
Netflix’s “Top Picks for You.” Indeed, my five-star ratings of Romy and Michele’s High School
Reunion, Reality Bites, Terminator 2: Judgment Day, Clarissa Explains it All, and Tank Girl must have hinted at my ridiculous love for the ‘90s, for teal and pink, for too-dark makeup
and pseudo-occult fashion (fauxccult?). Additionally, Hartley’s Trust contained a lot of
visual gags that reminded me of what I love in early John Cusack films of the ‘80s. Netflix
knew I’d like Trust because it compared me to members who have similar tastes. After its
end credits, I wanted to hug Netflix. I wanted to crawl into my computer’s monitor and give
its iconic white-on-red lettering a big kiss. Since that capability is not yet available, I settled
on watching the rest of Hartley’s movies.

Our dalliance doesn’t stop at movies, either. Netflix had added numerous television
shows to its website, allowing me to watch the entirety of Party Down before Starz decided
it wanted the show to have a cult-status (thankfully it’s since been put back up). I also gave
Parks & Recreation a second chance; it’s instant-watch status helping me to confirm that
no, it wasn’t a mere The Office spin-off. I can watch 10 episodes in a row without worrying
about commercials. Watching the series’ episodes sequentially rather than with the
interruptions of advertisements has affected the intended experience of TV. Subscribers are
subsumed into the show’s running storyline and are able to catch plot holes that would otherwise
be forgotten during week-long gaps of live TV.

Without a doubt, Netflix has enriched my life. It’s given me joy, laughter, tears,
friendship, companionship… if you don’t have an account, I suggest stealing borrowing a
friend’s. They haven’t blocked simultaneous instant watch viewings (yet?).

The Celebrity Score: A Joy or Ploy?

by: Leo Robertson

In today’s media, where we see the convergence of virtually any art form with another, it
is no surprise that your usual brand of A-list Hollywood actors and directors are no longer the
sole source of appeal for upcoming films. With the inclusion of more and more different non-
film mediums being pulled into the machine that is the cinema, it was only inevitable that the
artists behind those mediums would become as equally, or more, privileged than actors and
directors as reasons why an unreleased film can be declared a “must-see”.

In recent years there have been increasingly more dedicated musical performers being
pulled off the stages and into the studio to supplement a films score and sweeten its flavor. One
particular recollection from my years of budding cinephilia is the memorable opening shot of
Paul W.S. Anderson’s Resident Evil. The movie may have been a mostly forgettable affair, but it
certainly succeeded in engrossing viewers during its initial moments with the camera’s slow push
into the diegesis. An undeniably integral part of what pulled me in was the shot’s marriage to the
soundtrack’s Main Title Theme, performed by Marilyn Manson. That, to this viewer, was an
instance of perfectly using musical celebrity to enhance an image. The recognizably electro-
metal sensibilities of his work instantly added the desired layers of style and mood to what was
intended as a building moment of sharp and deliberate dread depicting the moments leading to a
horrific viral outbreak in an isolated laboratory. In other words, his presence supplemented the
films production without overpowering it. As of late, however, this smooth exchange is
becoming more problematic as artists begin to do less contributing and more foregrounding.
Scott Pilgrim vs. The World is a work which, before being adapted to the screen for Edgar
Wright, very consciously drew upon a myriad of different mediums to build its central themes
found in Bryan Lee O’Malley’s original comic. When it came to the screen, Beck was put in
charge of composing the music to be performed by the protagonist’s band, Sex Bob-Omb.
Potentially any rock band could have been selected; but the grainy, analogue nature of the tracks
they produced were of supreme relevance that film’s 8-Bit aesthetic. Thus, what was important
was that Beck, like Manson, complimented the misé-en-scene. In this case, that was also helped
along by the central arc focused on a fictional band – who took onscreen credit for the music and
kept Beck further invisible during the running-time. If Resident Evil was made better by its
score, Scott Pilgrim vs. The World could not have existed without it.

The same can almost be said of Joseph Kosinski’s Tron: Legacy, whose tendency to
take cues from the music mirrors Scott Pilgrim vs. The World. Unlike Edgar Wright’s final
product, however, it does so to such a degree that it becomes hard to deny the music as a
character in and of itself – almost separate from the film. Its soundtrack is composed by French
electronic duo Daft Punk, whose track contributions were emphasized in the marketing campaign
not only through use of their very recognizable name, but excessive use of their image on posters
and in trailers. Going so far as to even have minor roles in the film, they come very close to cramping the film’s ability to sell itself in its own right. But the saving grace was once again the musical and visual aesthetic of the band; a techno-taste that was extremely appropriate to the film’s cyberpunk subject matter. Hence, despite taking a more pronounced role than Beck did in Scott Pilgrim vs The World, Daft Punk still manages to be a legitimate part of its visual trappings. The appeal of the celebrity soundtrack is clear, but at which point do these unique draws simply become gimmicks?

The soon to be released Rubber, about a tire that comes to life and goes on a killing spree,
has the potential to take this concept and make the final step into inconsequence. Rubber is not
just scored by electronic celebrities Mr. Oizo and Gaspard Augé (of Justice fame), but is actually
directed by Mr. Oizo himself – real name Quentin Dupieux. A stretch does not have to be made
on this blogger’s part to illustrate its dubious intention: the film’s official website ends its ‘About
The Film’ section with “RUBBER is a smart, funny, and wholly original tribute to the cinematic
concept of ‘no reason’.”

In an interview by Shockya.com, Dupieux was asked point-blank why he made the film.

“I don’t know!” he answered. “The reason was I was supposed to shoot another
movie…”

A later question asked how much he thought of the audience while in production.

“We did it for fun, so I was not thinking about the audience, I was having fun for me.”
And finally, when asked why he chose the tire as protagonist, he answers:
“Random! It was random, I just had the idea.”

Said interview did little to assuage my wariness. Yet none of this seems to detract from the fact
that a celebrity with a built-in fan base is scoring the film and therefore, people will see it – no
matter how outlandish the content. Already, friends of mine have declared their intention of
paying the admission, firmly stating the promise of an audio spectacle as their incentive. The fact
that bands would gain more recognition as a result of working on a film is a given, but that a film
should rely wholly on gaining its recognition as a result of a band is something else. If the film
itself is without meaning and the selling-point is the music, at which point does it stop being a
movie and start just being a vehicle for a new album?
To be fair, Mr. Oizo does have a stylistic integrity which has spilled over into his past
visual endeavors. It has yet to be released so naturally I’ve yet to see it for myself, and I very
much enjoy “unexpected cinema”. Nor is this in any way a condemnation of these musical
genres, or of the artists behind the genre themselves. I like Daft Punk. I like Justice. And I like
Mr. Oizo. But this doesn’t mean, when I finally see Rubber, that I’m going to like Quentin
Dupieux.

On Quick Cut Editing

by: Theo Rasmussen

It’s films like The Bourne Supremacy that have changed film audience’s perception of cinema. With an average shot length of 2.4 seconds, films such as that one have led to a recent trend of faster cuts, particularly in today’s Hollywood cinema. This change has gained a lot of attention and arguably has built up some resentment, just as other developments have caused controversy in the past (sound, 3D, color). It is not uncommon to hear this new fast paced style receive the blame for a lack of quality in today’s films. It has even sparked the notion, that somehow this new rapid pace was necessary in order to match a supposed decrease in our collective attention spans. However, music videos on MTV originally popularized the trend of quick cutting back in the 80’s. Were our attention spans already weakened then, even without the handheld devices that supposedly ravage our brain today? Was the MTV generation just being catered to? Or was a new artistic style emerging and coming to fruition on account of the popularization of music videos?

The average shot duration has unarguably decreased drastically since the early days of film; but why has it done so, and what does that say about film? Instead of solely examining the result and restating that longer takes are less frequent, one should look at what the cause of this might be. The argument that somehow computers have decreased the attention span of all human beings is an argument I am not buying — our brain has not devolved in 10 years just because the internet is popular now. Moreover, I am not willing to believe that the change in audience has influenced Hollywood’s decision making. Since when has Hollywood catered to what the audience wants? They’ve always been satisfied simply telling the audience what it prefers, not the other way around. It does not matter if the audience prefers longer takes, or shorter ones. Hollywood is telling its audience that it likes what it sees – that it wants these shorter takes.

However, the driving force behind this trend is not just one factor but several. Editing film has become incredibly easy and fast compared to the days of physically cutting celluloid. The ease of editing, as well as the current low cost of editing has allowed the editor more artistic control. In older films shots were sometimes longer not by choice, but by ease and by necessity. Who is to say that if the pioneers of film were given modern filmmaking tools they wouldn’t make their cuts drastically shorter? Not to mention the ease of stitching together shots instead of filming a complex and often costly sequence. Furthermore this “cheat” can arguably compel the audience more than the “real” way of filming a sequence. A good example of this is modern fist fights in movies compared to older films. The time spent on choreography can be eliminated by the use of quick flash cuts. This sometimes even creates a feeling far more impacting then traditional cuts. For example, the fight that comes off the strongest in the film Ip Man, where the main character battles ten other martial artists, contains the greatest number of takes and the fastest cuts. This films excellent use of quick cutting puts the audience in the intense mindset of the main character and comes off as one of the most memorable scenes in the film. Even in older films this style is present. A great example being the film Master of The Flying Guillotine which boasts short quick cuts that emphasize the action and confusion of fighting.

Whether you prefer faster or slower cutting it all comes down to personal preference and artistic decisions by the director and the editor. As this method is still relatively new, it is apparent there are many directors and editors experimenting with styles that were not formerly possible or practical. This mantra of the quick cut should be accepted as legitimate and its effects should be understood to a greater extent before being bashed on account of not adhering to “the way it’s always been.” It should be seen as a movement in film historically and analyzed in terms of the advent of greater technology, not blamed for a lack of “filmic integrity.” I believe even faster paced films are what’s to come from Hollywood. This style will be brought to its limit before a more balanced view of editing will be brought back as a trend in cinema.