Movies aren't just a collection of scenes. Just as a song needs to gracefully transition from verse to chorus, a traditional Hollywood film needs to gracefully move from scene to scene. Unless it is the filmmakers' intention to create a jarring, disorienting cut from one sequence to the next (perhaps, mirroring a character's confusion within a story, like Leonard's journey in "Memento"), an audience is more likely to enjoy the ride if these transitions feel seamless and emotionally honest.
Usually, the brunt of this job is handled by creative uses of sound mixing and music, which can emotionally tie scenes together into a cohesive experience. A diegetic sound effect from one scene, such as a background fog horn or the sound of the wind, can be subtly and subliminally carried over into the next scene, which could take place in a completely different setting. Also, non-diegetic sound elements, like the orchestral score, can bleed over from one sequence to the next, editorially and emotionally tying together two very different sequences, ensuring that the audience continues their journey with the filmmakers.
One visual way to help bridge the gap from one sequence to another is to extend the logical path of a camera move from the last shot of a sequence into the first shot of the subsequent sequence. Let's look at these two scenes from Brad Bird's "Ratatouille."
Did you see it? It's almost subliminal. Watch it again. The last, craning shot of Colette and Linguini kissing has the camera rotating counter-clockwise, which blends brilliantly with a shot inside Anton Ego's cold, stark office; the first shot of the next scene has just a taste of the exact same camera rotation, but rapidly decelerating to a level horizon (while continuing to travel backwards). We move from one scene (our dopey hero getting a big romantic kiss) to a completely different scene (the cold, dark, bitter office of Anton Ego) with a clever visual continuation of a camera move, not to mention the beautiful transition from one musical theme to another by composer Michael Giacchino.
The counter-clockwise rotation of the camera that began in the courtyard sequence continues through the cut, settling on the portrait of Ego inside his office, leveling off and settling to a zero angle dutch mere moments after cutting into the scene.
This kind of physical choreography would have required a staggering amount of preplanning and careful execution, had "Ratatouille" been conceived as a live-action film. Not only would each camera move have required extensive previsualization (answering questions like, Can we fit a crane into that location? Do we have enough room to swing the camera that far in the interior location? How will we be able to match the rate of rotation on each end of the cut? etc.), but it also backs the live-action filmmaker into an editorial corner. This type of transition, which would require significant resources to pull off, locks the editor into this narrative decision: these two scenes 100% positively, absolutely need to live side by side, or else the production would have wasted valuable resources creating the shots to achieve this effect. And, when editing a film, especially a blockbuster-type Hollywood movie with lots of locations and lots of characters, one needs to have the editorial freedom to move entire sequences around.
But in the animated world, the continuation of a camera move from the last shot of a scene into the first shot of the next scene, is a relatively trivial matter. Even after the major editorial decisions have been made, and animation finalled, it is the simple, imminently doable task of creating new camera moves by the layout department to blend these two very disparate scenes together.
This example illustrates some of the fundamental shot design and editorial differences between live-action and animation. With the exception of expensive reshoots, the live-action filmmaker is required to pre-plan his long-term editorial choices, should his or her choices be anything more sophisticated than a cut, while the animation director retains a certain amount of freedom to make these kinds of decisions well into post-production.
Sometimes, you need some heavy hitters from the world of visual effects to make John McCain interesting. From the June 25, 2008 episode of "The Colbert Report:"
That kid Johnny K. sure has a bright future ahead of him in visual effects.
For some reason, the actual "The Colbert Report" segment has gone mysteriously missing from the Comedy Central website as well as Hulu, so I've embedded John's clip from YouTube.
Well, I guess it was a matter of time. The other day, I received one of those fun emails from a very large online video service (let's say it rhymes with Shmoo Poob) indicating that one of my clips violates the copyright of a movie studio, and was pulled from the service. Never mind the fact that its usage is well within "Fair Use" specifications, and that the clip was being used for educational purposes, and it may have actually caused a viewer or two to rent or buy the movie in question.
Anywhoo, one of our most popular posts, "The Polluting Sky" is back online in its entirety.
As an aside, I recently had to apply this exact kind of foreground flaring to a shot I was working on just the other day. Funny.
Here's an interview that I did last year with Andrew Sibulsky, about my work on "Transformers." There were some really good questions, some of which Andrew culled from reader submissions on various cinema and computer graphics forums.
My favorite part of the interview was this question and answer:
Andrew Sibulsky: Over the last few years ILM has, by and large, produced work of an increasingly realistic manner, almost indistinguishable from live photography. Do you see the possibility of continued growth in the artistry and photorealism of shots, or are we reaching a plateau?
Todd Vaziri: I think the last couple years have been extraordinary for ILM for cranking out really photo-real work that is indistinguishable from live photography, that audiences don’t know what they are seeing – to a higher level than we’ve ever really seen before. I’m really talking about the last few years – "Pirates 2," "Pirates 3," "Mission: Impossible III," "Poseidon," and "Transformers." These films have a quality that goes beyond the 'wow' factor. If you show a normal moviegoer the finals reels of those films, I think that moviegoer would be really surprised at how extensive our work really is. I think people would be shocked at how many effects shots are completely invisible now. I mean, we had over 500 effects shots in "Mission Impossible III," and the average moviegoer probably thought there were a couple of dozen, or so. There’s a new level of photorealism going on here.
And it’s not just ILM – WETA, Sony, Rhythm + Hues, Digital Domain – we’re all hitting this nice stride of creating these amazing characters and assets that are truly believable, in the right context.
Do I see this slowing down or continuing to grow? I absolutely see it continuing to grow, because of the renewed emergence of shot design. Shot design is now the most important aspect of photo-real visual effects.
Let’s look at "Pirates 2," in particular Davy Jones. When you put the talent and the technology that has evolved over the years in computer graphics, there’s really no question that, even a few years ago, we could have achieved the photo-real quality of a Davy Jones. ILM and other companies have done it over the years. But what made Davy Jones so unique? What put it over the top? I firmly believe it was the shot design. Gore Verbinski and John Knoll and Hal Hickel, and most importantly, Bill Nighy – the actor who portrayed Davy Jones – created a methodology that was set up to shoot and animate his sequences, and it was just brilliant; it brought a level of spontaneity and magic to the scenes that would not have been there, had other methods been used.
You can tell, from "Pirates 2" and "Pirates 3" that everything was technically beautiful, but there was really something different, and it was this new way of thinking about shot design, how these shots are created. It wasn’t relying on old techniques, or being lazy and saying ‘We’ll figure it out in later’, after the sets have been struck and after we’ve left the locations. Shot design, from the very beginning of production, is absolutely important and you can see it also in "Transformers." How Michael Bay and Scott Farrar set up these shots in a very smart way, so that when it was time to animate and put our characters into the shots, it felt very normal and felt very natural. That’s what we were trying to accomplish with "Transformers."
The talent and there technology is there, it’s just a matter of how it’s used when it comes to shot design. If shots are planned in advance, or in a smart way, there’s really no limit to what we’re gonna be able to accomplish. And I’m not just talking about digital characters – humanoid creatures – it goes for anything: environments, fantasy worlds, whatever you can imagine, it has to do with shot design. Directors that are good at that are, like I said, Gore Verbinski, James Cameron, Steven Spielberg; they look at these visual effects shots not just as little parts of the film that amaze us, they look at it as part of the process. And when strong visual effects supervisors are there from the beginning, planning out and designing these shots, you’re gonna get some really amazing results.
The impact of Stan Winston's legacy on modern visual effects filmmaking is immeasurable. He will be sorely missed, but his remarkable creations will continue to inspire audiences and future filmmakers for generations to come.
Remember that clip of President Bush saying "he hadn't heard" that anyone was predicting $4 a gallon gas here in America, from the post 'Comically Out Of Touch'? Well, here's a little follow-up, courtesy of "The Daily Show" from June 10, 2008.
The fourth of four posts looking at the cinematography and themes of Rob Zombie's "Halloween." Read Part 1, Part 2 and Part 3. To close out our series on "Halloween," a look at some of the way Zombie and Parmet photographed various faces.
The third of four posts looking at the cinematography and themes of Rob Zombie's "Halloween." Read Part 1 and Part 2. Another technique used by director Director Rob Zombie and cinematographer Phil Parmet for "Halloween" was their camera placement for certain shots. Not only did they place the camera very close to the ceiling, but they used wide enough lenses capture the ceiling in such a way that it dominated the frame. This technique was primarily used to add unease to establishing shots (including an inverted framing, with the camera low, framing the floor in Smith's Grove), but it was also used in the nail-biting scene of Laurie hiding inside the ceiling of the Myers' house. In that case, the ceiling isn't simply negative space to fill the frame, it's actually masking where Laurie is hiding.
In our final post, we'll look at the filmmakers' framing of faces in "Halloween." Click here for Part 4.
The second of four posts looking at the cinematography and themes of Rob Zombie's "Halloween." Read Part 1. For "Halloween," Director Rob Zombie and cinematographer Phil Parmet created eerie senses of claustrophobia and unease by regularly framing extreme foreground elements, typically out of focus, to drive home this visual theme. Pushing depth of field to extremes and using the entire 2.35 frame for their compositions, Zombie and Parmet created the most anamorphic-y non-anamorphic film of recent memory.
In our next post, we'll look at another distinctive and innovative framing technique from "Halloween." Click here for Part 3.
The first of four posts looking at the cinematography and themes of Rob Zombie's "Halloween." Don't worry, the other three posts won't be as wordy as this one. I finally got around to watching Rob Zombie's "Halloween," a re-imagining of John Carpenter's classic 1978 horror film. As a diehard, longtime fan of Carpenter's original vision, I was both excited and skeptical about Hollywood diving back into the "Halloween" mythology.
In one respect, I was happy that the producers were not diving into yet another sequel. The original film's seven sequels did nothing but advance a go-nowhere mythology surrounding the legend of Michael Myers. The sequels, with the possible minor exception of "Halloween 4," didn't get it. Michael is a deranged lunatic, a human being that is driven by evil. Of course, Carpenter's original was never intended to be a launching point for a franchise - the original film was a story that had an ambiguous ending, which was perfect for that particular film. It was a moment in time, and Michael's true nature and intentions was intended to be be left to the imagination, not needlessly over-explained in ridiculous sequels.
The theatrical trailer to Rob Zombie's "Halloween."
So the very concept of a remake of Carpenter's original left me skeptical. Could the simple, mysterious concepts of the 1978 original be translated into a modern horror film? Some of the pillars of suspense from the original film are planted in the time period in which it takes place. Could those ideas be translated successfully for a 21st century audience, whose taste in horror films has suffered greatly since the great horror films of the 1970's?
Michael Myers
The announcement that Rob Zombie would helm the remake filled me with optimism. His first two films, "House of 1000 Corpses" and its sorta sequel "The Devil's Rejects" showed audiences Zombie's horror aesthetic, which draws heavily on the great films from the 1970's. Zombie has been greatly influenced by the work of giants like John Carpenter, Tobe Hooper, William Friedkin, as well as goretastic B-movies of the same time period.
Zombie has clearly shown his ability to create incredible images, as "Corpses" and "Rejects" clearly illustrated. As for his ability as a filmmaker in crafting a compelling story, one could see the clear progression of education between the promising-yet-sometimes-amateurishly-paced "Corpses" and the much-more-watchable-yet-still-deeply-flawed "Rejects." And as a professed fan of the core ideals of the original film, it wouldn't be hard to argue that if any modern filmmaker should get the chance to remake "Halloween," it should be Zombie.
top: Michael's mother watches old family films of young Michael Myers (Daeg Faerch). middle and below: young Michael Myers and his doctor, Sam Loomis (Malcolm McDowell).
I watched Zombie's unrated director's cut (which is longer and significantly different from the theatrical release), and was quite pleased to see his unique take on the Myers' origin story. There is a lot to praise in the film, and, unfortunately, still several holes in Zombie's filmmaking maturity. While his ability to craft compelling story arcs has improved, "Halloween" still suffers from the lack of a strong narrative that drives each scene. Much like his previous films, sequences feel placed together, rather than part of a longer story arc. And for a horror film, which relies heavily on a driving momentum of suspense, having disparate and detached scenes that don't flow together into a cohesive film can really wreck the experience.
That said, there is much to like in Zombie's re-imagining of the Myers story, particularly the extraordinary cinematography by Phil Parmet, who also shot Zombie's "The Devil's Rejects" and "Werewolf Women of the SS" (featured in "Grindhouse").
Stray and unorganized observations:
After looking at anamorphic images fairly intensely for the past few years (starting with "M:i:III," then "Transformers," then "Lions for Lambs," then "Indy 4," I've grown to love the abstract, unrealistic depiction of reality that these lenses create. The anamorphic look (combined with the otherworldly, dream-like feeling of extended steadicam sequences) was absolutely essential to Carpenter's original vision of "Halloween." Although Zombie and Parmet used spherical lenses (shooting Super35), their film is gorgeous - dirty, claustrophobic, and surreal. It most certainly is the most anamorphic-y non-anamorphic movie I've even seen. The filmmakers used the entire 2.35 frame to its fullest, sometimes biasing a character to the far reaches of the frame, sometimes filling the frame with characters, and sometimes leaving desolate negative space which, emotionally, creates tension. Plus, their sometimes subtle use of dutch angles certainly helps unsettle the audience.
Smith's Grove Sanitarium, just before Michael's escape.Michael Myers, with a victim at the Truck Wash.
Whereas Carpenter's vision included only a short (yet compelling) prologue of Michael's adolescent crime of murder, Zombie gives us a full view of the life of little Michael Myers before his first murderous rampage. Unfortunately, these early scenes (that take place during an unspecified time period) are the most cartoonish and amateurish in the film. The acting, rhythm, and characterizations are simplistic, and barely worthy of student work. William Forsythe and Sheri Moon Zombie's performances are buffoonish and broad, which makes Daeg Faerch's sutble, subdued performance as little Michael Myers look that much better.
Annie (Danielle Harris), Laurie Strode (Scout Taylor-Compton), and Lynda (Kristina Klebe) walk home from school.
In Carpenter's film, Dr. Sam Loomis (Donald Pleasance) spent most of the movie trying to persuade Haddonfield authorities that Michael posed a terrible threat to their little town. The little boy who killed his sister 15 years ago was loose, and only Loomis knew his true nature, which led to some of Pleasance's greatest lines:
I met him, fifteen years ago. I was told there was nothing left. No reason, no conscience, no understanding; even the most rudimentary sense of life or death, good or evil, right or wrong. I met this six-year-old child, with this blank, pale, emotionless face and, the blackest eyes. The devil's eyes. I spent eight years trying to reach him, and then another seven trying to keep him locked up because I realized what was living behind that boy's eyes was purely and simply... evil.
Carpenter's film gave us a brilliant performance by Pleasance, using all of his skills to convince the sleepy town of Haddonfield that they had a serious, potentially deadly problem on their hands. In contrast, Zombie's film shows us that Myers' adolescent crimes were much more severe. After beating up a bully to his near death, he murders his stepfather, sister, sister's boyfriend, and a sanitarium nurse, all while he was 11 years old, which was all heavily televised and publicized (including a long sequence of television reporters relaying the horrific scene to viewers). When he ultimately breaks out out of the sanitarium, he brutally killed several guards. Now, really, does Dr. Loomis (Malcolm McDowell) really need to persuade anyone that Myers is a serious danger? Wouldn't Myers' crimes be legendary and remain in Haddonfield's minds? Wouldn't Myers' escape make headline news in this day of 24/7 news networks? By beefing up Myers' adolescent crimes to such an extreme, Zombie ultimately undercut the drama in the second half of his film. The townspeople's ignorance of Myers' crimes is intellectually bogus.
One aspect of Zombie's film that worked really well was adult Michael's viciousness and intense physicality, in sharp contrast to Michael's sluggish, almost zombie-like movements in Carpenter's vision. As a result, Carpenter's Myers was surreal, almost nightmarish; Zombie's Myers was quick, grittier, and more real, stripping away the mystical side of him and making him appear more real, and in a way, more terrifying. Zombie's vision shows us that Michael is a human being, not a supernatural creature, which gives the film a gritty reality that is new to the story. I really enjoyed seeing Michael zip around and use his entire body (particularly in the truck stop restroom scene, and in the Myers' house as he tears out the ceiling).
One interesting aspect of Zombie's film that is presented is Dr. Loomis' dual nature concerning his relationship with Myers. In one respect, he truly loves him and wants him to get well. In another, he's clearly exploiting his relationship, as seen in his successful book about the Myers' case. Unfortunately, Zombie introduces this theme then tosses it away casually. This element of Loomis' character could have made his role much more interesting.
Only in the original films' sequels was a familial link between Michael and Laurie Strode. In Carpenter's film, there is no allusion to a familial link between the two. Only in "Halloween II" did the unnecessary brother-sister link get established. Unfortunately, the brother-sister link in Zombie's version begins from the very beginning of his film. Ultimately, their link adds very little to the story. The randomness of Laurie visiting the Myers house (which is what causes Myers to stalk Laurie) was enough motivation for me.
Laurie's point-of-view at the bottom of an empty pool.
Zombie carefully crafted his scenes within the Myers house with a lot of careful consideration, and this gave those scenes an extra layer of suspense. In several cases, he clearly showed the audience the geography of a certain room, a certain stairway, and how those areas relate to each other. When Myers begins his attack, and Laurie is struggling to get away, because we know about the geography of the scene, we feel the suspense that much more. I especially liked the nightmarish scenario that Zombie created outside the Myers' house, with Laurie falling into the drained backyard pool. I've never really seen a scenario like that in a horror film, and I thought it worked really well.
Zombie and cinematographer Parmet extended the cinematic style they created in "The Devil's Rejects" one step further. Their extraordinary compositions and lighting schemes worked amazingly well, and their style changed throughout the three acts of the film. The first act of the movie, Michael's childhood, is shot wild, with lots of handheld and creepy compositions, matching the strange metamorphosis of young Myers. The second act in the sanitarium is morose, static, and sad, matching the tone of that portion of the film, primarily set in the sanitarium. Finally, they return to their wild style from the first act for the third, except pushing the envelope much further, just as Myers does with his rampage. Their cinematography matches the narrative themes of the film perfectly.
And, finally, at long last, they actually got the mask right.
In our next post, we'll focus on some of the cinematic compositions from "Halloween." Click here for Part 2.
"Speed Racer," ahem, raced its way into theaters last weekend. And I'm sure somebody saw it. Here are some more completely random frames from the various HD trailers, again chosen by the Randomizer 2000(tm), now featuring ArbitraryBoost(tm).
Movies aren't just a collection of scenes. Just as a song needs to gracefully transition from verse to chorus, a traditional Hollywood film needs to gracefully move from scene to scene. Unless it is the filmmakers' intention to create a jarring, disorienting cut from one sequence to the next (perhaps, mirroring a character's confusion within a story, like Leonard's journey in "Memento"), an audience is more likely to enjoy the ride if these transitions feel seamless and emotionally honest.
The counter-clockwise rotation of the camera that began in the courtyard sequence continues through the cut, settling on the portrait of Ego inside his office, leveling off and settling to a zero angle dutch mere moments after cutting into the scene.
But in the animated world, the continuation of a camera move from the last shot of a scene into the first shot of the next scene, is a relatively trivial matter. Even after the major editorial decisions have been made, and animation finalled, it is the simple, imminently doable task of creating new camera moves by the layout department to blend these two very disparate scenes together.
