Thursday, October 30, 2014

attentional tunneling links


---Cinema Compilation: Lens Flares

---Snowpiercer--Left or Right

---"The 35 Best Books by Cinema's Greatest Auteurs"

---Brand Evolution of McDonalds

---The History of Horror

---Casey Neistat's Unofficial Google Glass Review

---"As we grow more reliant on applications and algorithms, we become less capable of acting without their aid—we experience skill tunneling as well as attentional tunneling. That makes the software more indispensable still. Automation breeds automation. With everyone expecting to manage their lives through screens, society naturally adapts its routines and procedures to fit the routines and procedures of the computer. What can’t be accomplished with software—what isn’t amenable to computation and hence resists automation—begins to seem dispensable.

The PARC researchers argued, back in the early 1990s, that we’d know computing had achieved ubiquity when we were no longer aware of its presence. Computers would be so thoroughly enmeshed in our lives that they’d be invisible to us. We’d 'use them unconsciously to accomplish everyday tasks.' That seemed a pipe dream in the days when bulky PCs drew attention to themselves by freezing, crashing, or otherwise misbehaving at inopportune moments. It doesn’t seem like such a pipe dream anymore. Many computer companies and software houses now say they’re working to make their products invisible. 'I am super excited about technologies that disappear completely,' declares Jack Dorsey, a prominent Silicon Valley entrepreneur. 'We’re doing this with Twitter, and we’re doing this with [the online credit-card processor] Square.' Apple has promoted the iPad as a device that 'gets out of the way.' Picking up on the theme, Google markets Glass as a means of 'getting technology out of the way.' The prospect of having a complicated technology fade into the background, so it can be employed with little effort or thought, can be as appealing to those who use it as to those who sell it. 'When technology gets out of the way, we are liberated from it,' the New York Times columnist Nick Bilton has written. But it’s not that simple. You don’t just flip a switch to make a technology invisible. It disappears only after a slow process of cultural and personal acclimation. As we habituate ourselves to it, the technology comes to exert more power over us, not less. We may be oblivious to the constraints it imposes on our lives, but the constraints remain. As the French sociologist Bruno Latour points out, the invisibility of a familiar technology is 'a kind of optical illusion.' It obscures the way we’ve refashioned ourselves to accommodate the technology. The tool that we originally used to fulfill some particular intention of our own begins to impose on us its intentions, or the intentions of its maker.

As software programs gain more sway over us—shaping the way we work, the information we see, the routes we travel, our interactions with others—they become a form of remote control. Unlike robots or drones, we have the freedom to reject the software’s instructions and suggestions. It’s difficult, though, to escape their influence. When we launch an app, we ask to be guided—we place ourselves in the machine’s care." --Nicholas Carr

---trailers for Fassbinder: Romantic Anarchist (Part 2), Avengers: Age of Ultron, Citizenfour, The Hunger Games: Mockingjay Part 1, and Goodbye to Language 3D

---5 Skills That Will Make You a More Valuable Filmmaker

---Anatomy of a Scene: Dear White People and Birdman

---Between Two Ferns with Brad Pitt

---"We've all been raised on television to believe that one day we'd all be millionaires, and movie gods, and rock stars. But we won't," Durden says. "And we're slowly learning that fact. And we're very, very pissed off."

---Our Fight


---"Gone Grrl" by David Bordwell

---10 Slo-Mo Movie Moments

---"We are on red alert when it comes to how we are perceiving ourselves as a species. There’s no desire to be an adult. Adulthood is not a goal. It’s not seen as a gift. Something happened culturally: No one is supposed to age past 45 — sartorially, cosmetically, attitudinally. Everybody dresses like a teenager. Everybody dyes their hair. Everybody is concerned about a smooth face.

I have not mutated myself in any way. Joel and I have this conversation a lot. He literally has to stop me physically from saying something to people — to friends who’ve had work. I’m so full of fear and rage about what they’ve done." --Frances McDormand

---The Art of Voiceover

---What Is Noir?

---Winning the Scene

---Pulp Fiction's deleted scenes

---David Lynch in Four Scenes--A Tribute

---Polanski Makes Macbeth

Sunday, October 12, 2014

native ad links

---"The figurative demolition of the buildings mirrors both the literal destruction of the twin towers and the figurative decimation of our financial system" --Garin Pirnia

---"The Forty-Year Rule: Chinatown"

---"Resource wars can take religious guises or political guises but if there was enough going around none of them would happen. You're in a drought in a pretty well functioning state, but imagine if you're in a drought in a loose network of failed states and the place is awash with AK-47s. Gosh, this is getting to be a gloomy thing. But, overpopulation may usher in the Endarkenment. Civilizations do end. That's why there are new ones. It's a zero sum game." --David Mitchell

---"Movies aren't finished.They're abandoned." --David Fincher

---The Pixar Theory

---making Leon: the Professional

---The Real True Detective?

---the honest trailer for Transformers: Age of Extinction

---The Coen Canon

---Allan Arkush introduces Animal House

---deleted scenes from Twin Peaks

---"Noir has become a self-fulfilling prophesy. If there’s no such thing as noir, there certainly is a neo-noir, self-consciously referencing, aping or otherwise alluding to the collective belief in the original myth. See Chinatown for the classic example of a film embracing, and messing with, noir narrative tropes of the seedy detective ultimately defeated by the insurmountable odds of official corruption, or Sin City for the most brazen (and tiresome) aping of the style, sunk by the bloat of its own attempts to make the noirest noir of all. . . . By now, ‘noir’ is a built-in filter setting on my iPhone camera, which should give a hint of how watered down and ubiquitous the sense of noir is. I am not arguing that noir does not exist at all, rather that the recognisable brand of ‘film noir’, as useful as it may be in generating historical interest in a range of low-budget crime thrillers that might otherwise have disappeared but instead have accidentally accrued the status of important analyses of postwar American psychology, is overstated in its significance, scale and coherence. Instinctively, we wanted there to be a noir, so we found it, without empirical proof that postwar American cinema was being led from the front by a wave of hardboiled, high-contrast pessimism." --Dan North

---Electric Sheep: How Female Power Is Limited By Consumer Culture

---The Group Hopper

---"But if the atmosphere of total disaffection stays the same, the plot of the contemporary office novel is inverted: where a century of books explored the uneasy integration of people into organizations—their hiring and moving up in the ranks—the recent office novel begins with layoffs. A bathetic specter of uselessness comes to haunt even the most scornful employees, and a certain nostalgia for the slim meanings and the modest sociability that the corporation used to offer slips in. Ferris even ends his novel with a sentimental reunion of laid-off employees, who recall wistfully how much they actually derived meaning from the relationships they had with each other in the office they once hated. Something of this fear of uselessness pervades other novels of our time—for example, Ben Lerner’s Leaving the Atocha Station or Sheila Heti’s How Should a Person Be?—where steady work is hard to come by, and affectlessness, generalized dread and wasted hours serve to reinforce a sense that the consolations of organizational life are not only no longer that consoling, but are just no longer there to be had." --Nikil Saval

---Don Hertzfeldt Simpsons

---a clip from Birdman

---"'Dear White People' opens with its lead characters watching a news report about a campus riot at a hip-hop-theme party where white students cavort in blackface. If that’s not disturbing enough, they are not simply watching TV, but each is staring directly into the camera with uncomfortable intensity. It’s as if they’re watching us as we watch them, a visual motif that Mr. Simien and his director of photography, Topher Osborn, use throughout the film."

---trailers for Set Fire to the Stars, Citizenfour, Before I Go to Sleep, FocusInterstellar, The Water Diviner, and Inherent Vice 

---"What if authors were commissioned to write thoughtful essays about ads that inspired them?" --Amanda Walgrove

---VFX breakdowns for Guardians of the Galaxy and X-Men: Days of Future Past

---"Other than the natural light, Lynch loves something else about Los Angeles: what he calls, again in the Blu-ray interview, 'this business of a sort of a creativity in the air, you know, where everybody’s willing to go for broke and take a chance. It’s a modern town in that way' Betty and Nikki certainly fit that description, and Lynch is sympathetic toward them, but he doesn’t seem to harbor much affection for the executives pulling the strings. In one of the main subplots of Mulholland Drive, director Adam Kesher (Justin Theroux) is pressured by mysterious figures to cast an actress he’s never heard of as the lead in his new film. He has no idea why this is happening, but eventually he relents. Everyone in Hollywood has a boss, and Lynch’s focus on the lower-level pawns is telling: does he feel as exploited by the higher-ups as his female characters do?" --Michael Nordine

---an excerpt from Denis Johnson's The Laughing Monsters

---"16 Cartoonists Who Changed the World" by Monte Beauchamp

Sunday, October 5, 2014

Gillian Flynn's Gone Girl and the need to control the narrative

72 pages into Gillian Flynn's novel Gone Girl, Nick Dunne bitterly realizes just how derivative our lives can be:

"It seemed to me that there was nothing new to be discovered ever again. Our society was utterly, ruinously derivative (although the word derivative as criticism is itself derivative). We were the first human beings who would never see anything for the first time. We stare at the wonders of the world, dull-eyed, underwhelmed. Mona Lisa, the Pyramids, the Empire State Building. Jungle animals on attack, ancient icebergs collapsing, volcanoes erupting. I can't recall a single amazing thing I have seen firsthand that I didn't immediately reference to a movie or TV show. . . . You know the awful singsong of the blase: Seeeen it. I've literally seen it all, and the worst thing, the thing that makes me want to blow my brains out, is: the secondhand experience is always better. The image is crisper, the view is keener, the camera angle and the soundtrack manipulate my emotions in a way reality can't anymore. I don't know that we are actually human at this point, those of us who are like most of us, who grew up with TV and movies and now the Internet. If we are betrayed, we know the words to say; when a loved one dies, we know the words to say. If we want to play the stud or the smart-ass or the fool, we know the words to say. We are all working from the same dog-eared script" (72-3).

I like this line of thinking, not only because it comes across as true, but also because the novel and the mostly impressive movie (both written by Flynn) both benefit and suffer from her postmodern hyperconsciousness about her story as narrative. Since both Amy and Nick are writers (spoiler alert), they both compete for control of that narrative (just as the youthful Amy had to defy her parents' prettified version of her life in the Amazing Amy series). The novel is most successful when we learn that Amy has been rigging the story all along. Her diary has a doomed Sylvia Plath-like chirpiness in its celebration of the Dunnes' initial marriage, but once Amy finds herself hijacked by circumstance, forced to live in a nightmarishly bland post-recession suburban Missouri, playing the cliched role of a put-upon wife with a loutish philandering husband, she concocts an impressively elaborate revenge (blood cleaned off the kitchen floor, a man-cave full of porn and expensive golf clubs bought on credit, a suspiciously staged crime scene, etc.) that should get Nick put in jail and eventually executed under the Missouri death penalty. The high point of both the movie and the book is when we learn of all of Amy's machinations, realize that we have been fooled just as the police have, and discover Amy cheerfully hiding out in a cheap hotel complex as if in a scene from It Happened One Night. Not coincidentally, Gillian combines that reveal with Amy's thoughts on the "Cool Girl," a topic that Anne Helen Petersen explores here. The "Cool Girl" is a trope that emphasizes the extent in which women will mold their personalities to appeal to men. They reshape themselves to fit crass male fantasies, and Amy has finally gotten sick of playing that game (explored more in the book than in the movie). Thus, her triumph consists of gleefully defying the role-playing as she rigs circumstances back in New Carthage to place her husband behind bars.

But, just as in Sylvia Plath's "Lady Lazarus," Amy either needs to die (as she initially plans to do) by jumping into the Mississippi river, or she must hide out indefinitely.  After choosing the latter plan, however, two thieves steal all of her money. Here, Flynn brings in Desi Collings, a rich man obsessed with her since high school (humorously played by Neil Patrick Harris) to bail her out. Desi can provide Amy with the swank surroundings (a highly isolated mansion with many security cameras) until she figures out what to do next.

It was around this point in both the novel and the movie--when Amy frames Desi with kidnapping and rape, murders him with a box cutter in bed, and then returns, luridly covered with blood, to the arms of her cursing-under-his-breath husband, as the breathless paparazzi disseminates the sensational story to a thousand media outlets--that I began to wonder about plausibility. Would the police really buy two stories of Amy's victimization? Don't all of the implications of the diary seem spurious now that she's returned home? Gillian keeps the tension alive by bringing her two leads together to live in an uneasy semi-murderous tabloid wedlock, but by now the excellent Rosamund Pike has developed a deranged Fatal Attraction-esque shine in her eyes, and both the movie and the novel have difficulty continuing. Nick and Amy reach a state of terminal dread as the narrative locks into stasis (or as Flynn keeps her options open for a sequel). As the later chapters in the book shorten, you can see both Nick and Amy reach around for some satisfactory conclusion that doesn't fall into the cliche. Flynn was raised by a film studies-teaching dad who acquainted her with Psycho early on, so we shouldn't be surprised to see the famous shower scene in reverse, as Amy persuades Nick to take a shower with her, in this case so that he can't bug their conversation and she can wash off Desi's blood after she's murdered him.

In the novel, Nick writes a memoir entitled Psycho Bitch, but of course Amy's pregnancy won't allow him to publish it. We can sense the characters (and Flynn) trying to wrap things up as Nick tells his wife that she's not happy with the idea of his divorcing her because "You're thinking it won't make a good story" (393). He also writes, "Amy thinks she's in control, but she's very wrong" (401). Later, he notes "My life has begun to feel like an epilogue" (407) and "She [Amy] is my forever antagonist. We are one long frightening climax" (413). Gillian does give Amy the last word: "I don't have anything else to add. I just wanted to make sure I had the last word. I think I've earned that" (415), but all of these knowing nods in the novel come across as contrived and thin after awhile. I was surprised to see all of David Fincher's virtuosic directorial precision (including a nice matching action cut of Amy leaning in to kiss Nick that moves to the police swabbing his cheek for evidence of DNA) suddenly constrained by a half-hearted scattershot extension of events. Maybe Flynn wants to keep her central couple locked in the marital cage, threatening each other forever, as one way to avoid a derivative ending.