Winged Migration and the Making of Winged Migration

After screening the documentary Winged Migration, tonight UT Arlington graduate student Matthew Lerberg discussed the film and how it was made including the ecological implications raised by it. It was fascinating to learn about how unnatural this award-winning “nature” documentary is while blatantly claiming to be the opposite. The film seems to situate itself in such a way that it is more about humanity than about the migration of the birds suggested by its title. Matthew discussed the manner by which the film actually proliferates the dialectics of human and animal through its imagery and specifically the methods by which the film was made. Though the title would suggest that the film is about the migration of birds, the crew actually imprinted the birds (meaning they raised them from birth so as to not be afraid of humans and taught them to follow machines like ultralights and hovercrafts), caged them, and took them to certain places along what would have been their natural migration route. Unfortunately because of this imprinting, the birds can never migrate naturally and ended up having to live on a farm.

This discussion has really led me to question the “naturalness” of nature documentaries. Though with imposing humans and human technologies the idea of nature is already questionable, the contrived basis for this film is actually disturbing. In one scene, for example, the filmmakers plant a broken down truck along a deserted highway in Monument Valley and deflate its tire to make it look like a flat. Then, as the cameras role, they release their imprinted geese and lead them onto the road after a semi drives past. Of course, the crew members leading the geese are never shown and the horns and noises used to call the birds are never heard thanks to the editing. Basically, to get the footage they wanted, the filmmakers staged nearly every scene in the film yet still call it a documentary. In the process, they broke the very ecological rules of respect the film obviously attempts to promote and reified detrimental ideas of man versus animal and nature versus culture.

Babel

Babel tells four intertwining stories set over four continents. When I went to the theater to see the film, I admit that I was a bit pensive. Having seen director Alejandro González Iñárritu’s Amores Perros and 21 Grams, I was somewhat worried how he would pull off another tragic tale of interconnected lives (especially one which runs across the globe, his others were more focused in one place) without beating the horse to death. Repetition sometimes gets old, but Iñárritu beautifully connects the overarching narrative in a film where powerful supporting actresses Adriana Barraza and Rinko Kikuchi doubtlessly steal the spotlight from the big-name likes of Brad Pitt and Cate Blanchett. Linking the stories through a single gun, Iñárritu’s Babel argues against stereotypes, prejudice, and injustice in a powerful and emotional manner by allowing viwers to identify with people who soon become victims of the ignorance of others.

The theater experience watching this film was an extremely interesting one. Perhaps it’s only because I saw it in the American South, but the reactions from other viewers were disturbing and absolutely disgusted me. In a film that blatantly shows the tragedies of prejudice and hate, viewers still balked at the cultural differences in an obvious attempt (be it conscious or unconscious for them) to maintain an “us versus them” attitude. Anything that wasn’t consistent with southern culture quickly became a reason to dislike the non-American characters portrayed. For example, when Iñárritu shows the Moroccan family eating dinner using their hands and no utensils, at least half of the audience responded with groans of repulsion. No one, however, vocalized any disdain when Brad Pitt’s American character insolently chastised his wife or when she disrespectfully showed her distaste for Moroccan culture during a meal. The most tragic and disenfranchised characters were not the American ones, yet this audience stubbornly reinforced American hegemony. During the more emotional moments, several viewers shed tears, but unfortunately this film-going experience made me further agree with the film’s harsh portrayal of the unabashed ignorance of Americans.

Volver

After watching All About My Mother and Bad Education, I can definitely understand Pedro Almodovar’s auteur status with Volver and the narrative and visual motifs shared among his films. Volver tells the story of Raimunda (Penelope Cruz) as she navigates life as a newly single mother alongside her female relatives. The circular narrative forms strong connections between Raimunda, her adolescent daughter, and her supposedly deceased mother. These three seemingly tragic characters show their strength in the relationships and the things they are willing to do for each other. A story of triumph, suspicion, and especially survival, Almodovar shows the strength of women in maintaining a consistency in life despite the constant harm caused by the men who interfere.

Much more mature and much less comic than All About My Mother, Volver highlights the sophistication and evolution of Almodovar as a filmmaker. Almodovar’s early films and even All About My Mother to an extent, seem to purposefully try to simply surprise viewers. Volver, on the other hand, does not rely so heavily on such tactics, instead relying more on acting and cinematography to establish a relationship with viewers. Almodovar often utilizes slow tracking shots and especially facial close-ups allowing his actresses to speak solely with their eyes (and Cruz does so spectacularly). The witty, almost biting dialogue drops out completely at times, letting the camera tell the story. Almodovar’s direction leaves little to be desired, and I look forward to seeing more of his work.

Joyce Wilson Lecture

In her presentation on campus, fine art photographer discussed her body of work in a sort of inspiration photo-journey. She discussed her emphasis on portraiture, the role of the body in her images, and the methods used to create such images. The texture of lighting seemed prevalent throughout her work as it emphasizes a kind of layered aesthetic. Perhaps most interesting to me was Wilson’s explanation of what she calls the red triad. I had never heard of this technique before. She described it as the use of red colors in three distinct parts of an image which then form a triangle. Triangular groupings of focal points and triangular eye movement keeps viewers interested, their eyes moving around and around the image, so using red to accent those points certainly seems effective. I can see this being used in film as well especially with directors who focus on expression through specific colors. Recently, Pedro Almodovar comes to mind with his use of bright colors and specifically red in key scenes throughout his emotional films. This may be something to consider in more depth in the future. Overall, though some of her presentational aspects seemed corny and sappy, I really enjoyed listening to Wilson discuss the details of her work, how she works with her subjects, and how other artforms have influenced her photography.

Factory Girl

Filmed mostly in Shreveport, Factory Girl seems most interesting when thought about in terms of its extremely postmodern sensibility. Whether purposeful or not (critics seem to argue the latter), the film’s style, somewhat moreso than its content, quickly turns it into a very self-reflexive, self-referential text. The surface of the film is important to its interpretation and to the histories of the people it represents. The lives of its title character, Edie Sedgwick, and her idol/friend Andy Warhol are played out as their eccentric relationship blossoms and deconstructs. Switching back and forth from regular film to super 8-looking film, black and white to color, the film itself reflects much of the stylistic excess embraced by Andy Warhol and the characters whose only home was The Factory. The somewhat hokey dialogue in parts, the use of split screen technology, and the exceedingly surfacey feel all highlight the life and times of the film’s main characters.

Though overtly narrative and somewhat fictionalized, the film also feels like one part documentary and one part experimental in its challenging of the conventional tragic biopic. Some argue that it is very difficult to identify with any of the characters in the film, especially Edie. It tells the story of Sedgwick from trite, rich girl, art student to superstar fashion icon and muse of Andy Warhol to desperate, rejected, and penniless drug addict. The lack of sugarcoating makes some viewers feel as though the film alienates its characters, but any knowledge of the underground scene in New York of the time will testify to the honest (though a bit historically two-dimensional) lives of its characters.

In the end, I think criticism of this film relies heavily on the mindset in which one watches it. This is not the movie to watch if you want a happy little tale with a happy little ending. Instead, the film is brutally honest and up-front about Edie’s life and addiction (though, as always, some liberties were taken), and does not try to force the viewer into siding with her in the midst of her downfall. Overall, I felt sympathy for Sienna Miller’s Sedgwick and also at times for Guy Pearce’s Warhol who seems to be one of the many to blame for Edie’s disastrous end. So, see the film for yourself, don’t take to heart all the harsh criticism it has received, and make your own judgment. Don’t go see an “arthouse” tragedy film and expect something like Dreamgirls or Ray. Don’t listen to me though, I just have a soft spot for controversy and drug addicts…

My Country My Country

In her films, documentarian Laura Poitras hopes to make viewers question the nature of power and of power dynamics. She emphasizes the importance of people actually seeing, on film or with their own eyes, how power is used and how it can be abused in very critical situations and environments. My Country My Country, Poitras’ poignant Academy Award nominated documentary about an Iraqi doctor, humanitarian, and politician, certainly does just that.

Poitras intercuts scenes of Dr. Riyadh’s life and struggles with the on-going U.S. military occupation of Iraq leading up to the 2005 elections. Her emotional juxtaposition of the two different views allows viewers to connect and identify with Dr. Riyadh. The intimacy with which Poitras portrays the daily struggles of Iraqi life during the U.S. occupation through the eyes of Dr. Riyadh’s family highlights the injustices Iraqis must constantly face, injustices to which most Americans have little access because our perspective of the war is at all times mediated by our. news media and our ideologies. It is also interesting to note how these juxtapositions highlight the irony of the entire U.S. occupation of Iraq. It’s a shame that more of the Iraqi population went to the polls to vote on election day with lives in danger than did our own population. Poitras certainly forces her viewers to question the very nature of power and the assumptions made by people under that power.

Shortbus

I seem to have a general theme of sexual perversity among many of the films I’ve seen and written about for this blog. Well, what fun would it be if such a wonderful theme were to come to an end? None at all, at least that’s what I say. So, today the fun continues, and it continues with one of the most brutally truthful, openly erotic narrative films I have ever seen. Shortbus, the newest film by John Cameron Mitchell of Hedwig and the Angry Inch fame, tells intertwining stories of the sexual lives of a number of New York residents. The story centers around main character so and so, perfectly troubled gay couple James and Jamie, and Shortbus, a sexual arthouse of sorts, home to a diverse collection of liberal New York’s finest and strangest.

So and so is at first a happily married sex therapist (though she adamantly prefers the term “couples counselor”) who has sadly never experienced an orgasm. After counseling James and Jamie, she begins to explore her sexuality when they invite her to Shortbus in an attempt to help her expand her sexual horizons. Her visit to Shortbus quickly opens her eyes to an extensive world of unabashed eroticism. James and Jamie, on the other hand, struggle to keep their relationship together as James, a former hustler, battles depression and has trouble letting Jamie past the shield of his skin.

Conservative critics complain of Shortbus’ raunchy subject matter and moreso of its “explicit,” real sex scenes (yes, I said real). Denouncing the film as pornographic, these people fail to realize that while the film is about being unashamed of a kind of spectrum sexuality, it is not necessarily specifically about the act of sex. Instead, to Mitchell’s credit, the film concentrates on the lives of its characters who constantly search for themselves, for love, and lastly for pleasure. It is not nearly as concerned with penetration and money shots as it is with human connections and interactions. Consistent subjective shots and tear-filled reaction close-ups work to connect the viewer with the film’s main characters as they dig inside themselves, searching for something they may not fully understand yet. Deeply touching and honest, Shortbus moves viewers while refusing to judge its characters and the decisions they make.