#motion pictures

(2006) Directed by Steven Shainberg

Director Steven Shainberg and writer Erin Cressida Wilson imagine the world as a kinkier, gentler nation, having collaborated on Secretary(an alarmingly sweet-natured S&M love story) in 2002, and this 2006 furry fantasy starring Nicole Kidman. I absent-mindedly ignored this picture the first time around, somehow overlooking the “imaginary portrait” phrase in the title. The story is not about photographer Diane Arbus’ life, but about a life that might come to mind after viewing her bizarre body of work.

In that context, Shainberg’s picture is an occasionally brilliant display of imagination and romantic sensitivity, as opposed to a highly suspect bio-pic. Critics absolutely shredded it, most of them intimating that they simply couldn’t take any of it seriously. Perhaps that’s because they were taking things too seriously; it’s almost as though no one recognizes a fairy tale anymore. Granted, this is a bedtime story best suited for a sleepover at John Waters’ house.

For those not familiar with Arbus’ photographs, simply recall the twin girls in The Shining, and know that the spooky pair are representative of the Arbus catalog of carnival performers, street people, the mentally and physically handicapped, and just plain weird outsiders and eccentrics. The absence of any Arbus photographs in this movie may be a disappointment for some, but making up for that loss is an abundance of the bizarre characters she encountered during the 1950s and 1960s. For this fantasy, her contact with one outsider evolves into far more than an encounter.

After a few desultory efforts with a camera she borrows from her husband Allan (Ty Burrell), a commercial photographer to whom she is a personal secretary, Diane (pronounced Dee-Ann) the bored housewife/assistant becomes Arbus the inspired artist. Her muse is the man living on the upstairs floor of their apartment building. He’s Lionel Sweeney, an eccentric recluse suffering from a particularly acute case of hypertrichosis, known in the sideshow world as “wolfman syndrome.” Robert Downey, Jr., plays Sweeney, and whether it was originally intended or not, he owns this picture.

Sweeney is a mystery at first, discovered after Arbus finds a key in a drainpipe and ventures upstairs to unlock a strange little door that opens into a loft/curiosity shop. This is where the refined, erudite, and sartorially vain Sweeney has afternoon tea, makes a living selling wigs made from his continuously growing hair, and entertains a coterie of freaks, transvestites, eccentrics, and New York City’s most outré night people. Arbus and Sweeney are at once established as that rare couple who seem intimately connected long before they are intimate. She tells him secrets about her exhibitionist tendencies; he takes her out for nights among the town’s secret enclaves and introduces her to future subjects—not to mention a world with which she is instantly obsessed.

Although this narrative arc blends Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland with Jean Cocteau’s version of Beauty and the Beast, the erotic details call for a Velvet Underground soundtrack that never arrives (that’s taking nothing away from Carter Burwell’s excellent score). Just as the real-life Arbus claimed that art was “a secret about a secret,” this film makes a fetish of fetishes. Yet of all the kinky forays here, the oddest conceit suggests that Arbus’ curious gaze at all the freaks is secondary to Sweeney’s unrelenting, love-struck study of Arbus.

Though it is certainly true that Downey impishly luxuriates in all that head-to-toe hair, and he tricks out his lines with the resonant, mesmerizing tones of a carnival hypnotist, his penetrating eyes are the real side show here. He portrays Sweeney as a creature with the ultimate defense mechanism; no lingering cameras or gawking circus crowds ever gleaned from Sweeney what he can capture with a mere glance. He knows both how to look and what to look for, and with Arbus he has an ideal subject.

Sweeney’s intellect allows him to see the poetry and delightful symmetry in this romance: Arbus thinks she’s the documentarian. Sweeney’s romantic side allows him to spill the beans about their arrangement. Lovingly observing her fascination with his crowd of fellow eccentrics and side show types, he tells Arbus: “All my life I’ve been waiting for a real freak.”

 (1964) John Frankenheimer

In this very unique espionage/caper film, which details actual events concerning the French underground’s work during WWII, Paul Scofield plays a craggy, pock-marked S.S. terror who’s loading a Nazi troop train with crates marked “Degas,” “Renoir,” and “Picasso.”

The idea is to get France’s priceless collection out of Paris and into Berlin, what with the Allies just a few miles outside of the city. A civilian railway inspector (Burt Lancaster, gritty and stoic like you won’t believe) has other ideas. He and the French Underground unit he secretly directs have a so-crazy-it-just-might-work plan. It’s so crazy, in fact, that it takes a while for Lancaster to get on board (pun intended) with the underground crew.

A wonderful conceit in this story is that the underground detects that the Nazis’ obsession with bureaucratic efficiency is an Achilles’ heel on their collective jackboot. Anytime there’s a railway delay ( a complete ruse always designed by the underground), some German officer attempts to raise hell. Lancaster simply puffs his cigarette, waves some official papers from the high command, and wearily sighs, “It’s your war. I’m just trying to run a railroad.”

As tense and fiercely energetic as the action is, and as impressive as the stunts may be, there remains a pervasive element of gloom.  An impressive supporting cast (Michel Simon, Jeanne Moreau, Wolfgang Preisse) conveys a general air of resignation. 

But it’s the rail yard, with its constant noise, steam, and random machine gun executions, that establishes most of the despair here. It functions as an alternative location for Eraserhead with Nazi troops thrown in for effect. Jean Tounier’s black-and-white cinematography, which evokes a stark realm of shiny surfaces, grime, black puddles, and gray skies, must have influenced Schindler’s List.

(1969) Directed by Sergei Paradjanov

“In the temple of cinema there are images, light, and reality. Sergei Paradjanov was the master of that temple.”  Jean Luc Godard

It makes for challenging viewing at times, but this astonishing and baffling picture is a deeply moving example of artistic determination and originality.
Now at its 50^thanniversary, there is nothing else like it in all of cinema. Paradjanov’s work inevitably inspires viewers afterwards to share, in near ecstatic terms, what they witnessed. 

Although the “story” ostensibly details the life of 18th-century Armenian national poet and troubadour Sayat Nova, there is no plot and no narrative. Except in a few instances, the camera does not move, and there is no dialogue. Events do not unfold chronologically. Using even the very loosest definition of  “motion picture,” it is accurate to say that a screening of The Color of Pomegranatesdoes not constitute a night at the movies.

In many scenes, which are usually static tableau in which characters move in and out of frame, Paradjanov uses a motion picture camera to recreate religious icon paintings. It is impossible to determine which scenes depict the life of Christ and which deal with Sayat Nova, and so it may be Paradjanov’s intention to conflate the two. More puzzling than the icon tableau are those moments when truly beautiful men and women calmly and resolutely stare directly into the camera while conducting enigmatic rituals or making odd gestures.

The art direction and carefully choreographed action are lovely to behold (credit to designer Stepan Andranikyan and cinematographer Suren Shakhbazyan), but Paradjanov adds an overtly surreal element to these tableau. Objects levitate or disappear, apparel unfolds from bodies, and water flows out of walls. The score, consisting of horn blasts, lutes, lyres, and gorgeous choral pieces, has an ancient quality that lends a somber or sacred tone. A narrator reads Sayat Nova’s poetry, and although his words somehow manage to make the proceedings still more baffling, it is apparent that we are witnessing a deliberate, shamelessly personal blending of cinematic surrealism with Eastern-Orthodox Christian traditions. The result is transcendental.

That isn’t all that Paradjanov deftly blends. The sensual quality of some of his characters is subtle, but when cleverly juxtaposed with religious icons and scenarios, certain gestures evoke a mild eroticism that creates considerable tension. Paradjanov expresses yearning, despair, and ecstasy through this method, and it is easy to forget that these are mostly static images with no dialogue or plot. Combined with excerpts from Nova’s poems, many scenes recall the sensual, ecstatic, and transcendental works of the Sufi mystic poet Jalaluddin Rumi. 

In such instances, Paradjanov is blending the sensual with the sacred, the spiritual with the mystical. He ultimately blends Armenian culture and Christian lore into a single, mystical vision. The vision may defy interpretation, but the images are nonetheless indelible. They are in the truest sense a mystical meditation: calm and rigorously organized, yet irrational and ultimately ecstatic.

There are links to this kind of cinematic artistry. Paradjanov happily admitted to an influence by Pasolini (certain scenes in Pomegranates recall The Gospel According to St. Matthew), and there is plenty of influence in evidence by Cocteau, Ray, and Dovzhenko here as well. In turn, Paradjanov influenced his contempories. His work gently hovers over Fellini’s Satyricon andCasanova. Some of the more experimental efforts by Derek Jarman recall a few of Paradjanov’s techniques, and Peter Greenaway’s Prospero’s Books looks in places like a direct homage to The Color of Pomegranates.

Still, in terms of style or effect there is no cinematic effort that comes before it and suggests such a thing, or any that may be placed after it as a next step. This amazing work seems to have simply landed here, which is true of many pure products of the imagination. For imagination, Paradjanov was never lacking, as his memorable comment on what it means to be a director suggests:

“It’s like a child’s adventure. You take the initiative among the other children, creating a mystery. You mould things into shape and create. You dress yourself as Charlie’s aunt or as Hans Christian Andersen’s heroes. Using feathers from a trunk you transform yourself into a rooster or a firebird. You torment people with your artistic delight, scaring mother and grandmother in the middle of the night. This is what directing is. You can’t learn it. You have to be born with it.”

(1962) Directed by Peter Ustinov

Robert Krasker’s (The Third Man,Brief Encounter) excellent black-and-white cinematography, much of which was shot on the high seas, lends a first impression of your standard rousing naval adventure. It’s misleading. 
The screenplay adapts Herman Melville’s novella, which should indicate to anyone even slightly familiar with the author’s body of work that this will be a devastating account of human failings and dilemmas.

Billy Budd (Terence Stamp, in the role that initiated his rise to international stardom) is a handsome young sailor—make that a slightly androgynous, stunning example of the Greek ideal of human beauty—whose simple-mindedness borders on mental deficiency. In the eyes of his shipmates (at least those below decks) Billy is just a wholesome country lad probably not ideally suited to life on the British man-o-war the H.M.S. Avenger. 

At quarterdeck, the ship’s officers and Post Captain Vere (Peter Ustinov, surprisingly restrained) regard Billy as an admirable seaman who’s perhaps too good for his own good, and that’s all there is to it. However, for Master d’Arms John Claggart (Robert Ryan, as scary as he’s ever been), there are no good sailors. There’s just a crew of ne’er-do-wells who must be controlled by flogging and/or hanging.

Claggart is a sadist with an innate skill at manipulating his intellectual inferiors, and the British navy is a target-rich environment. When Churchill made that remark about rum, sodomy, and the lash, he must have had Claggart in mind.

In any case, Claggart can’t believe that Billy’s unassuming remarks and gentle answers to commands are anything other than a sly effort to mock his superiors. He knows how to break those types, but just imagine his baffled rage when he finally determines that Billy is the genuine article, or more infuriating, an innocent soul.

Claggart fairly vibrates with hatred, but a new type of sailor calls for a new type of manipulation, and he is cunning enough to meet the challenge. In some of the best scenes, the fascinating exchanges between these two recall, not accidentally, Christ being tempted in the desert.

The third act manages to be still more emotionally harrowing. I won’t spoil it, but suffice to say that a moral dilemma ensues. Captain Vere feels duty-bound to follow the law, although his officers sense an imperative to seek actual justice. This scenario might have been a facile ethics lesson (like an episode of “Star Trek”) but Peter Ustinov and DeWitt Bodeen’s brilliant screenplay emphasizes the madness of rigid legal systems.
It’s also clear that any one of these naval officers could argue either side of the debate. Sharpening their understanding merely sharpens their pain, and it might be that particular note of realism that lifts this tale out of the realm of melodrama.

(1943) Directed by Mark Robson

For many cinema enthusiasts,  RKO producer Val Lewton’s shimmering, melancholy “dark fantasies” are completely mesmerizing. Martin Scorsese has noted that the producer’s series of horror movies, which feature preoccupations with gloomy ambiguity and obsessive fatalism, was an unrecognized but profound influence on post-war American and European cinema. Though often marred by substandard acting and hampered by low budgets, these productions are small victories of style over constraint. If you wonder what Lewton might have accomplished with unlimited resources, consider that M. Night Shyamalan’s pictures (for better or worse) are largely blends of Spielberg spectacle and Lewton subtlety.

Often working with sterling technicians such as cinematographer Nicholas Musuraca and director Jacques Tourneur, it was an asset, as opposed to a hindrance, that Lewton relied on shadows, suggestion, and distinctly bizarre narratives to chill audiences. By terrifying viewers with their own imaginations, he practically created a sub-genre of thrillers aptly called “psychological horror.”

The grimmest, and in many respects the most sophisticated, of Lewton’s pictures is this despairing tale of a young woman tangled up with a satanic cult in Greenwich Village, of all places. (Apparently Bell, Book, and CandleandRosemary’s Baby owe a debt to Lewton, too.) The production is far ahead of its time in dealing with such melancholy themes as the occult, suicide,  and prostitution—as well as in complementing all that gloom via Musuraca’s camera, which is obviously establishing the early visual components of RKO’s trademark noir style.

Mark Robson, having learned a few tricks as an editor or director for some previous Lewton pictures, applies his share of flourishes to the matters at hand (leaving us to wonder what happened years later with The Valley of the DollsandEarthquake). The main attraction, however, is the unrelenting romanticism with which this extremely unusual, complex Manhattan tale is told. That’s to be expected from a picture that opens with the John Donne quote: “I run to death, and death meets me as fast,and all my pleasures are like yesterday…”.

1985, Directed by Paul Schrader

A joint venture by producers George Lucas and Francis Ford Coppola would never look like this were it not helmed by Paul Schrader, a writer and director whose various works comprise a kind of shrine to the outré, the peculiar, and the despairing. The Schrader/Harold Pinter collaboration for The Kindness of Strangers, along with Schrader’s screenplays for Obsession and Taxi Driver, are prominent elements in the oeuvre, but this highly stylized biography of Japanese novelist and playwright Yukio Mishima is actually a shrine.

That may be because Schrader sees in Mishima’s brooding, odd works the expression of a kindred spirit, but also because he finds a sense of inevitability in the novelist’s life. Schrader is not vaguely interested in explanations, but focuses instead on presentation. Eiko Ishioka’s fantastic sets, John Bailey’s stunning cinematography, and a transcendent score by Philip Glass render a dreamlike scenario that at times seems less motion picture than multimedia installation.

Flashback narration (by Roy Scheider) linking the so-called four chapters of Mishima’s career provides an apt metaphorical device, because it’s impossible to distinguish portions of Mishima’s novels from moments in his real life. This formal style seems influenced by (if not derived from) Peter Greenaway’s films of the same period, so don’t go into this expecting a standard biopic.

It is time to get real about virtual reality. From film to game development, VR has tiptoed its way across industries, introducing a new wave of creativity nurtured by the growth of advanced technology. Created by the Schools of Motion Pictures & TelevisionandCommunications & Media Technologies, Academy of Art University’s VR program provides students the guidance and tools to unlock a storytelling experience that’s making its rounds across the entertainment industry.

“360 video production is the new frontier, representing a dramatic evolution of cinematic language,” Jack Perez, VR instructor and film director, said in an interviewwithAcademy Art U News. “Both filmmakers and audiences are suddenly ravenous for this heightened level of immersion. We want our students to ride the crest of this new wave.”

In addition to offering VR classes, the Academy brings students closer to the VR world by engaging them with professionals in the field. In December 2016, Academy of Art University hosted its second VR Summit to demonstrate the latest technologies and practices emerging in the industry. The summit featured a panel of guest speakers from leading companies such as Jaunt, Oculus VR, and Zeality, and premiered projects created by advanced VR students.

“There is nothing to stop students from making the next VR masterpiece in a better way of doing something that no one else has figured out yet,” Andy Wood, production manager at Oculus Story Studio, said at the VR Summit. “Academy of Art University has a lot of VR equipment that students have access to, and it’s exciting to see what students can do with that.”

As the Academy continues to bring students closer to more immersive media, graduates university have already earned recognition for their work in the tech space. In September 2016, Oculus Story Studio announced its short VR film Henryhad won an Emmy award for “Outstanding Original Interactive Program.” Directed by Pixar veteran Ramirio Lopez Dau, Henry tells the story of a lonely hedgehog who throws himself a birthday party. The film proves there is emotional connection fostered in VR that is different from what users experience when they watch movies or TV. Among the Academy alumni who worked on Henryare Alyce Tzue (‘14, MFA), Bruna Berford ('14, BFA), Kyle Remus ('15, BFA), Moe Myint Htet ('13, BFA), Beibei Gu ('14, BFA), and Sophie Evans ('15, BFA).

We spoke with Berford and Gu about their work on Henryand how their time learning at the Academy shaped them for the professional world!

ArtU: What were your role and responsibilities in supporting the production of Henry?

Bruna Berford ('14, BFA): I joined Oculus Story Studio back on January 2015, to work as an Animator on Henry. As part of the role, I tested the rigs, explored character personality doing quick animation tests, helped translate the 2D animatic into a VR layout and animated long sequences of the main character Henry.

Beibei Gu ('14, BFA): I worked as a Surfacing Artist on Henry. I was introduced to the team by the lovely director of Soar Alyce Tzue, who’s also a good friend of mine. I worked on the project for roughly three months. My main responsibility was UV mapping and painting texture maps, then apply them to the character and environment in Unreal Engine.

ArtU: How did your experience at the Academy of Art University prepare you for the work demands of Henry?

BB:Taking the Pixar classes at the Academy for two straight years was fundamental to me, as they prepared me to face a real top quality animation environment—[giving me the chance to] receive critiques and to take my work to a higher level, focusing on my ideas and performance and not only the physicality part of animation. The transition from being a student to being a professional animator was smoother.

Also, being part of collaborative projects at the Academy helped me improve what I consider to be the basic foundation of professionalism: to be part of a team, to communicate well with my co-workers, to follow deadlines, to be responsible for what I do and organized on a working environment.

BG:I have to say Academy of Art University was the start of it all. StudioX was the reason why I got to where I am today, and Derek Flood was the person who recognized my talent and shaped it into the skill set that got me all these amazing opportunities. 

I want to let anyone who’s considering joining StudioX at the Academy right now know how lucky you guys are, and don’t ever let that chance go. The projects you’ll be working on right now might seem so insignificant, the experience could get frustrating and make you doubt if it’s worth your time, but stick it out, you won’t regret it. Without the two years I spent in StudioX, I’d never got the chance to work with Oculus Story Studio.

ArtU: How does this Emmy win impact the conversation surrounding the VR experience?

BB:Storytelling in VR is in its infancy and having this recognition, that we can indeed create an emotional connection with a virtual character and transport the viewer to another world, is groundbreaking. This Emmy puts VR storytelling on the map and shows the world that this is just the beginning. It encourages other VR storytellers to explore and push the boundaries of entertainment, and that is huge.

BG:VR has been a major topic throughout the last couple years. With the Emmy win, I definitely got asked a lot of questions about what exactly is Henry. So even though VR was already a popular uprising topic before, it has certainly raised more curiosity among people who usually don’t play much attention to CG or technology.

Learn about how you can get involved with the Academy’s Schools of Motion Pictures & TelevisionandCommunications & Media Technologies!