Sorry to be really lame, but I don’t think I have time to publish a worthwhile post this week.  I have a decent excuse, though:

The second Penn Film and Media Pioneers conference will be held this weekend.  I am participating in a panel on “Theory and Practice” (I really don’t know what that’s supposed to mean) where I will be sharing some of my work on Orson Welles.  I’ve been working to get ready for that and while I hope I’ll find time to write a post for this week, my incredible ability to procrastinate will inevitably get in the way, so let’s keep our fingers crossed that I’ll be back next week.

For those of you who are interested, let me offer you an idea of some topics I hope to cover in the coming posts:

- a review of the new HBO vampire show, True Blood;

- my take of Penn Film and Media Pioneers (special guests include Jon Avnet!);

- a discussion of my thesis work on Orson Welles;

- why I believe film education can save the world;

- thoughts on the dangers of genre;

- random musings and digressions, etc.

So, I’ll be back soon with a more substantial post.  Until then, I recommend that everyone pick up Martin Scorsese’s The Age of Innocence (starring Daniel Day-Lewis and Michelle Pfeiffer) and watch it at least three times.  This film serves up a sumptuous visual feast that is such a joy for the eye-senses (the way you can smell, feel, and taste just by looking at something) as well as for the intellect, if you’re willing to engage it.  Believe me, this is a film worth studying.

Thanks for reading!

Sara

It’s been a while, hasn’t it?  How have you been?  You look good……what are you doing?  Pilates?  Yeah, I hear great things.  I know!  I wish I had the time…

Me?  Oh, well, not a whole lot actually.  I moved back to Philadelphia to start my senior year and got caught up in the business of coming back to campus.  I mean, it’s only been……wow, almost two months?  Really?  Wow, I’m sorry I’ve been so out of touch.  I’ll try not to let it happen again, but you know how it gets.  Moving back into my apartment, the Jewish holidays, working on my thesis……it’s been a little disruptive.  I’m settled in now and will hopefully stay in closer contact.

Classes are okay, thanks.  I’m managing to stay on top of my work this year, which is a big accomplishment for me.  I have two interesting film courses: The Road Movie and Film and Literature.  The latter is a graduate seminar, which is a little bit intimidating for me, but the professor is one of the most brilliant film scholars and my thesis advisor, so it’s one of my favorite classes.  The Road Movie is an interesting course; I’m not familiar with the genre as an area of study (unlike film noir, which I feel like I’ve beaten to death at this point) so I’m learning a lot!

The problem is that while I’ve been working hard to make sure I’m up to scratch in my courses, I’ve been neglecting my thesis.  No, it’s not mandatory for Cinema Studies majors, but almost everyone in my program wants to go into Hollywood production, so the thesis isn’t super relevant for them.  And a lot of people don’t want the extra work.  Trust me, it’s intimidating for me as well.  I’ve been doing an independent research project for……let’s see, this will be my third year……so I really don’t have a choice.  I have a pretty good idea what its focus will be; I’ll have to tell you about it sometime when I get my thoughts sorted out.

There’s been so much cool film happenings on campus!  Most recently, three experimental German filmmakers gave a talk and screened some of their films (one works in Super8!).  They are all women, which is particularly exciting because we too rarely celebrate the work of women filmmakers.  Penn will, however, be welcoming Mira Nair this fall and I can’t wait!  I’ve been waiting to see The Namesake (even when Kal Penn taught a course here last year, I never found time to see it) so this is the perfect opportunity.  Most exciting was when Frederick Wiseman—the “grandfather” of American documentary cinema—screened his films and gave talks.  He is an inspiring filmmaker and listening to him talk about his process was eye-opening, to say the least.  No, you’ve never seen a Wiseman film?  Rent High School and then move on to Titicut Follies—that film was banned for many years and you can see why!  Well, have you heard of Michael Cera?  He and Kat Dennings screened Nick and Norah’s Infinite Playlist for a mostly-Penn audience.  That film was disappointing.  I know!—I was so excited about it too.  There were some excellent moments—look for Norah’s stumbling-drunk best friend and Nick’s charming gay bandmates.  Sure, I’ll let you know about Philadelphia film events.  Rachel Getting Married is having its Philadelphia premiere next week and I can’t wait to see what all the buzz is about.

Have I found a job yet?  Hahahahah……oh wait, seriously?  No I haven’t found a job!  In this economy?  Yeah, I really don’t know what I’m going to do……are dot-coms still doing well?  I’m putting together some interesting ideas about potential employment, but haven’t started a serious search yet.  Do you have any ideas?  Well, let me know if you do.  I’ll keep you posted on my progress.

Listen, it was great catching up with you!  We should definitely do this more often.  I’m more or less free on Wednesdays, so let’s try to meet then.  Don’t be mad if I flake out—it’s not personal, I just have trouble managing my time.  Anyway, you take care and we’ll talk soon.  And let me know if you see any interesting movies!

All best,

Sara

First off, let me apologize for completely skipping last week’s entry. It was my last week of work before I head back to Philadelphia for—oh lord—my senior year of college, and things were very crazy-busy. I think I owe my biggest apology to my friend Cherie who was studying for her DAT (the MCAT for wannabe dentists) all last week and was hoping to use my blog as a method of procrastination. Yeah, I dropped the ball there.

I also started to experience some blogger self-doubt—questioning whether anything I had to write was really worthy of being read. This is supposed to be an online community of bloggers writing about their specific roles in the film industry. Thing is, I’m obviously not a member of the industry. Not yet, and perhaps not ever. So I wonder what those of you who come to my blog are hoping to read. What perspective do you want to gain from a cinema studies student writing her thesis and looking for a job? Definitely don’t hesitate to suggest topics or ask questions or start conversations—this way, I feel like what I’m writing has some relevance.

On with the blogging: One of the many, many reasons why I value movies as important cultural resources is that they reflect our lives and how we live them. I firmly believe that children today learn how to behave in part from what they see onscreen. That said, movies aren’t always honest about what they show us. Decades of codes and conventions and cues that help us read what we see have settled into comfortable clichés that no longer hold any real meaning.

I’m watching Enchanted as I write—a delightful movie with a gorgeously sunny chanteuse in Amy Adams. I go crazy for that Oscar-nominated final ballroom song, although it is completely ruined when Patrick Dempsey starts singing (I’m not a McDreamy person). This film made me think of what has become, for me, one of the great puzzles of making movies: the Missed Kiss.

You all know what the Missed Kiss entails. Preceded by solemn conversation that decomposes into silly, empty sentences as the two parties involved realize that a liplock is imminent. They lean in toward each other, slowly, hesitantly, lashes fluttering downward, hearts racing……

And then someone wimps out. They were both right on track for a solid smooch (a feat indeed, when their eyes are closed and they’re moving that slowly). Then, one or both pulls away, usually for some lame reason—generally an internal struggle that helps to drive the rest of the plot. They turn from each other, bracing themselves for one of two inevitabilities: majorly awkward silence or embarrassing filler phrases.

I’ll stake my first-year salary (assuming I actually land a salary somewhere!) that the Missed Kiss just doesn’t happen in real life. Maybe it used to, when courting rituals were more defined and a stronger sense of propriety was instilled in the youth. I’ve never heard of anyone actually playing out a Missed Kiss, unless they were doing what they thought they were supposed to do, as based on the experiences movies show us.

There are many, many strange and different kinds of kissing that happen in real life. There’s the wonderful-for-you-two, annoying-as-hell-for-everyone-else kind of PDA you really only see in the streets of France. There are real kisses that happen between real people who don’t try to wring the drama from every minute they’re alive, kisses that actually contain traces of 1930s Hollywood romance. And then there are drunk kisses, which is really the most common kind at college. Mistake kisses, can’t-believe-I-did-that kisses, dare kisses, impulse kisses, but no Missed Kisses—the general rationale being kiss first, ask questions later. Sorry, but I think the only Missed Kiss in the movies that actually makes sense is from the genius Superbad: Jonah Hill’s Seth tries to find his crush’s lips, but falls drunkenly into her face, giving her a black eye. Now that one I’ve actually seen happen, at many a campus frat party.

The Missed Kiss has become in recent years one of the most overused groan-inducing plot devices—right up there with the I’m Not Gay (Not That There’s Anything Wrong With That) Speech and the Tom Hanks Accent. It indicates, in my opinion, a laziness on behalf of the artist responsible. The Missed Kiss should have been retired after the MTV Movie Awards did a Dawson’s Creek parody of a slow kiss between Dawson and Joey that takes the length of a room and the entirety of that mind-numbing theme song to complete. Once Samuel L. Jackson interrupted the imminent kiss by bursting in through the window and smashing the radio playing the ubiquitous tune, the Missed Kiss was done.

Or so we thought. Filmmakers have continued to resort to this and other tired tricks, maybe to give the actors a break from, you know, acting. They are stand-ins—rather than finding creative, expressive ways to get the point across, old favorites are called up as automatic replacements for genuine emoting. Everyone can recognize the Missed Kiss, so no further effort need be made to convey the characters’ internal struggles and external obstacles. Something stands in the way of true love—comedy, and this something is overcome; tragedy, and it will remain a mile-high roadblock. Yes, the Missed Kiss really says all this, but it is now just a pale echo left behind after decades of use.

There are few movies that show unique individuals relating to each other in something other than movie language. And I think there’s a part of today’s audience that’s getting fed up. Maybe this is why documentaries are becoming more and more popular. We crave something more substantial than cliché. We want something real to chew on.

Thanks for reading!

Sara

I’m pretty fired up this week and have had trouble channeling that energy into a coherent and cohesive entry, which is why I’m late in posting my blog. For the record, this thing is supposed to go up weekly, on Wednesdays, JUST in case there are some loyal followers out there. Anyone who knows me will agree that this is a dangerous opportunity I have been granted—the power to immortalize my thoughts by launching them into cyberspace, where they will sail forever on an unbroken trajectory. I’ve seen Spiderman and I know that with great power comes great responsibility, so I’m trying to check my ego and understand that this license to post does NOT mean I can be irresponsible about my blog content. For instance, I doubt the general public will appreciate it if I confide that the blinking Word cursor has suddenly and inexplicably shrunk to half its normal size. I’m having computer problems today… But that’s not why you come to Film Industry Bloggers.

Bloggers are widely criticized for their inflated sense of self-importance. Why, why WHY should we, do we give a fuck about whatever the hell is going on in YOUR life? Who are you to write anything, to THINK about anything? What credits YOU to have this opinion?

To be fair, many bloggers do suffer from this extended bout of ego. Having a forum for your ideas gives you authority, albeit a questionable, come-from-nowhere authority that is so true to the spirit of the Internet. You are suddenly legitimized. I blog, therefore I am.

That being said, who are we to tell someone that their thoughts are invalid? What grants any of US the authority to lampoon thinking beings for doing what Descartes pointed out was critical to existence itself?

These ideas are especially relevant to me this week, for several reasons involving (in no particular order): Alan Rickman, American Film Criticism, and Tucker Max. Actually, that was in alphabetical order.

I’ll start at the end. If you’re not familiar with Tucker Max, I’ll sum it up for you in a nutshell: he is an asshole. I’m not being mean—I know this because Tucker tells me: “My name is Tucker Max, and I am an asshole.” Anyway, to avoid stealing any of her thunder, I’ll just say that The Script Reader (who generally has a kick-ass blog) wrote a fantastic one last week about the in-production Tucker Max movie. She gave it—what she read of it—a miserable review, which makes sense because she sounds smart. Not elitist smart—and actually, let me break here to point out that I hate hate HATE it when intelligent people with opinions are criticized for being elitist and pretentious. Fuck, they’re offering their thoughts up to the slaughter and the public gleefully tries to knock them off their so-called “pedestals” to bring them down to the level of everyone else. It’s a sad state of affairs when thinking people aren’t allowed to do even that and self-glorifying idiots get off by trying to take them down.. Look, I appreciate She’s the Man—a decidedly stupid movie that is nevertheless one of my favorites—much more than probably Amanda Bynes herself. I loved the first and third Pirates of the Caribbean movies. I was raised on Animal House (thanks, Dad). I laugh louder at wildly obscene viral videos than most of my friends. I also adore Orson Welles and I can write intelligently about Abbas Kiarostami. Does that square with your self-proclaimed populist views—a shallow rationalization for being an online bully?

So while I’ll defend to the death Tucker Max’s right to say what he will, my opinion (and people: it’s just my opinion!) is that he’s poisonous. The Script Reader expressed her opinion and got slammed for it by the Tucker Max Morons, most of whom haven’t read the script and are therefore not totally qualified to disagree with her take. The thing that disturbed me most was that many of them read like this comment, submitted by “Dee”:

“Another idiotic blogger using a blog to proclaim that she/he is devoid of talent. Being overly critical of someone else’s work in a blog is like a finger painter blasting an artist. Blogs are just perfect as the showcases of the socially maladjusted who probably can’t get anyone to converse with them in person. After reading this trash I can’t wait to see the movie.”

Like a finger painter blasting an artist……who says a cat may not look at a king? And why, Dee, is your criticism justified where The Script Reader’s is not? If bloggers are the socially maladjusted of the world, then who are the parasites who glom onto the blogs and chew away at it? I would watch your finger-pointing, Dee and everyone else whose self-righteous berating made me want to throw my laptop across the room.

Film critics all over the country are losing their jobs for exactly this reason: the general public doesn’t seem to appreciate that one person is permitted to share his or her opinion. Granted, that subjective view is legitimized somewhat when it has the backing of an establish periodical, but it still remains highly subjective, and I would argue that there are few film critics who truly believe themselves to be the World’s Foremost Authority on anything, much less film. They love film and they love talking about film; take what they say with a grain of salt and move on. Maybe you’re still miffed that the critics didn’t like Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Man’s Chest when omigod that movie was awesome! Authority figures only have as much power as you give them and instead of whining and crying about the New York Times critic being too elitist and out of touch, you could be thinking your own thoughts.

One of the wonderful and, as mentioned, dangerous things about the Internet is the way it empowers and legitimizes people, no matter how unqualified, illiterate, or bat-shit berserk they may be. So the perceived hierarchical criticism of film—the people’s art—is giving way to a more democratic web-based system. Not everyone can write for Slate, but everyone can be a blogger!

I’m actually excited about this. I think anything that gets people to think harder about movies and make the effort to form their own viewpoint is vital. I just wish that Internet writers would take a second to proofread before they post. I honestly fear that someday we’re all going to talk Newspeak, like in 1984 (if you haven’t read the book, this is a good link to click). And after saying that, I know I’m going to get killed if I made even one tiny spelling mistake in this post. Because there are those of you lying in wait, ready to pounce on anyone who dares to have an original thought.

I didn’t get to Alan Rickman, did I? I’ll write about him later. For now I’ll close this entry, because I think I’ve done enough to showcase my social maladjustment. It’s time to resume my search for someone with whom I can converse.

Your blogger-in-arms,

Sara

P.S. Sometimes, I link words or phrases to sites that are relevant and help explain what’s going on in my ramblings. I’ve been finding that there are blue underlined words appearing in my blog entries without my consent. This site is trying an Amazon.com sponsoring thing and so, Amazon is making its own recommendations on my time. They are not nearly as relevant as the links I put up, although sometimes more entertaining because they make less sense. Anyway, just wanted to make you aware.

I’ve decided that I’m only making a half-hearted apology about last week’s bout of Nietzsche. General consensus among my more devoted readers—numbering, at this point, about five—is that they liked the blog, but didn’t understand the Nietzsche. That’s fair, but I’m not sorry for including him. You can expect more crazy philosophical ramblings from this blogger, so readers, ye be warned!

Okay, on to the question at hand. A couple of posts back, I received this challenging comment:

“… as a person studying the cinematic arts, what influence to you think the availability of inexpensive motion picture equipment and Internet distribution will have and/or is having on the future of cinema? I guess in order to put your answer into context, I’d also have to hear your definition of what is and is not cinema.”

In thinking about this question, I decided to throw out the theory because: a) my theoretical understanding is not fully developed, and b) that’s not the answer this sort of question demands. I can’t pretend to be any sort of expert; all I have are my own ideas. Essentially, I suppose, that’s the purpose of this blog—to offer up my own thoughts in order to add something to the conversation.

Let’s begin. I guess the first thing to make clear is that “cinema”, as I see it, is a subset of the “moving image” category. Moving images can be found not only in film, but also television programs, commercials, YouTube clips, flipbooks, etc. Walk through the Museum of the Moving Image in Astoria, Queens and you’ll understand that this grouping encompasses so much more than studio-produced feature films.

I’ve been thinking about what makes a film a film since I returned from Cannes. Probably the overload of inaccessible, art-house cinema has forced me to contemplate film’s relevance. I asked myself whether, in the spirit of that lonely tree falling in the forest, if a film is playing and no one is watching, is it still a film? I believe that film cannot exist without an audience—be it an audience of one or one million. Someone has to be watching in order for film to fulfill its purpose. Otherwise, it’s just film stock, or a video cassette, or zeros and ones in cyberspace—all of which have no more meaning than an “Off” switch. They contain the potential to become cinema, but that is something very different from cinema itself.

Film has this wonderful, transformative power that sets it apart from all other types of visual art. It doesn’t just exist in space, as does a painting or a sculpture or a giant tapestry clinging to weathered stone walls. Film exists in time, and that is the great distinction. A movie has to be played in order to exist; otherwise, it’s just a story people have heard. It sits in this strange plane where it is simultaneously transient and immortal. It exists in one state of being for a fixed duration, made possible only through the actions of an outside agent (e.g. a projectionist or a DVD player). And then, when it’s not screening, a film remains part of this world, but in an entirely different form. Film is forever, this is true, but the flickering onscreen magic only truly happens in particular moments.

I feel like I’m wandering away from the main point here. My argument thus far has been that—unlike a painting which, after its moment of creation, fills a specific space and remains unchanged—cinema cannot function without its viewers. A film occupies multiple states of being at once.

In terms of what constitutes a film, there’s no reason to be resistant to home movies and YouTube clips. Cinema studies is embracing television and media literacy; ultimately, it’s a matter of the moving image being recognized as a visual text that can be read, decoded, debated, analyzed, and explored in so many ways. There’s a wide valley between narrative and documentary cinemas, as well as between the specific films in each of those categories. Who’s to say that the difference between studio features and home movies is any more important?

Our view of “cinema” is largely constituted by means of exhibition; if it’s shown in the local multiplex, it’s definitely a film. But, to state the obvious, the Internet is changing everything, especially the means of distributing and exhibiting a film. Take the final moments of the trailer for Joss Whedon’s fantastic, only-available-online movie-thing, Dr. Horrible’s Sing-Along Blog: “Coming soon to a computer near you.” That says it all, don’t you think? It’s no longer just about what makes it to the big screen, thank god. I’m relieved because the tyranny of The System dictates the six or seven movies the general public gets to see at a particular time, shutting out the vast world of cinema that exists outside Hollywood and thereby dramatically limiting what we can see. It’s a dangerous way of doing things, in the opinion of this blogger.

I give thanks daily for DVD distribution; it’s the only way I’ll get to see American Teen or Trumbo—two of the best-reviewed indie movies currently playing, neither of which comes within 25 miles of my home. And while I’m waiting for Netflix to catch up to my ever-lengthening “must watch” list, there are websites like B-Side or IFC that provide alternatives to multiplex programming.

Look, the nature of film is changing, but it’s always changing. Can we really compare something on YouTube to The Godfather? The answer is not yet, but that Dramatic Chipmunk damn sure makes me laugh every time. As a medium for storytelling, a vehicle for spectacle, a text with something to say, film is whatever it needs to be and isn’t limited by its exhibition. A father obsessively seeking to capture every moment of his child’s third birthday party is a filmmaker too, and perhaps one whose work will ultimately be more meaningful than, say, something Michael Bay turns out.

Am I happy about these changes? I mean, it’s unnerving to me too. Quite frankly, the idea of watching a film on an iPod makes me nauseous. Watching anything on my computer makes me dizzy. I do, however, welcome changes that ensure that I don’t have to drive for hours (especially with these gas prices!) to see an interesting movie that doesn’t have saturation advertising to pull a giant opening weekend. As James Marsden’s character says in the it-has-its-moments Hairspray, “You can fight it, or you can rock out to it.”

Definitions are convenient and necessary; they allow us to negotiate this confusing and often troubling world. But, by definition, they are naturally exclusive—becoming ways to determine worth. The art world breeds elitists who determine what merits contemplation and consideration, exiling certain works and certain persons to the desolate wasteland of pale memories. Perhaps the Internet-inspired deconstruction of hierarchical criticism indicates that we can no longer justify this sort of exclusion; suddenly there are fans for every type of moving image and niche markets for particular stories or styles. It’s scary, certainly, to expand your definitions and let new ideas into your world, but it soon proves so ultimately, triumphantly, mind-blowingly rewarding that earlier hesitations become irrelevant rather fast.

In the next few years, will we see cinema studies classes focusing on home movies and the advent of YouTube clips? The answer is yes, and no. These questions are already starting to appear in all kinds of film classes and academic journals. If I had to boil my major down to a single idea, the discipline is about how we see the world and how we express this understanding. Under that category, the aesthetic choices my dad makes when shooting our summer barbeques become just as valid as Dennis Hopper’s decision to reject a traditional film score for Easy Rider. And this idea helps prop open the door to the limitless potential of film: to move us, challenge us, and transform us in ways we never before imagined.

Thanks for reading!

Sara

I have a confession to make: I am a little bit of a fangirl. I don’t know that the term really exists, but it’s my modified form of “fanboy”. According to UrbanDictionary:

1. fanboy
A passionate fan of various elements of geek culture (e.g. sci-fi, comics, Star Wars, video games, anime, hobbits, Magic: the Gathering, etc.), but who lets his passion override social graces.

I suppose that my definition of “fangirl” would exclude the lack of social graces but definitely include the geek culture part. And this is true of me. I’m a big Joss Whedon fan, Firefly and all. I went to see all three Lord of the Rings films on opening night. I actually read V for Vendetta before I saw it in theaters. I discuss Lost theories for hours after the show ends. And finally, I can get pretty into superhero movies.

Case in point: Despite needing to be awake for work the next day, I rallied together a group of my friends to accompany me to the midnight screening of The Dark Knight last Thursday. Now that I think about it, this statement contains two pieces of evidence supporting my fangirl-ness. First, I attended a midnight premiere screening—you better believe it, there were people dressed up as characters. That factor is not personally important to this fangirl, but she does appreciate it when others contribute to the general air of excitement in this way. So the second piece of evidence, obviously enough, is that I put in all this effort for a Batman movie.

I love Batman. I love the idea of revisionist comics, the ones that dig beneath the primary-colored do-goodery of established superheroes and deeply explore the subtext. Frank Miller’s Batman series is an example; these comics provide one of the richest sources for the last two Christopher Nolan films. I think we can safely assume that the Joel Schumacher movies were, at that point, just making up their own shit (that was for you, Kate) and running with it. They turned Batman into more of a cartoon than the comics did.

Do any of you remember the fantastic superhero monologue just before the grand finale of Kill Bill: Vol. 2? Bill waxes eloquent about the merits of Superman, over all other supers, and actually develops a compelling argument. But I really dislike Superman. I loved Smallville in the earlier years—the awkwardness of a young (and way hot) Clark Kent coming to terms with his changing body and newfound abilities was relatable for anyone in high school at the time. I found the premise of Superman Returns to be fascinating (Does the world still need Superman?), even though the film didn’t deliver. Generally, though, Superman is kind of lame. He’s just……super. Some of the revisionist comics nailed him as a poster child for American idealism and referred to Kal-El as “the big blue Boy Scout”. Not super interesting, right?

Granted, I’m not as literate in comics as many guys my age, but I feel confident in saying that the majority (pay attention to what that means—not ALL but certainly A LOT) of comic-book superheroes became “super” through an accident of some kind: a spider bite, some chance encounter with toxic waste, or government experimentation. Batman is completely different. Batman is a man with no “super” powers; he went through rigorous training to become this masked ninja of night; he made brilliant scientific advancements in designing his crazy Bat-gadgets. See, Batman in some ways actually represents the American ideal of a self-made man. Let’s ignore for a moment that he inherited a huge fortune from his parents. Through discipline and concentrated effort, Bruce Wayne elevated himself from simple playboy to the Savior of the Common Everyday Citizen, the Scourge of Gotham’s criminal underbelly. He is more like Nietzsche’s Übermensch (superman) than Superman ever was. Superman’s struggle is to become as human as possible, upholding the law, conforming as best he can to social codes. The Übermensch, on the other hand, is so perfect that he rises above arbitrary human “treaties”—the lies humans tell themselves in order to maintain some semblance of order. We develop these “treaties” (i.e. laws, constitutions, governing principles, societal conventions) that vary from group to group and so lose meaning when you venture outside the nest. Nietzsche’s conception of the “superman” was someone who could transcend the restrictions society places on itself, because he has no need for them. Nietzsche—he of the “God is dead” credo—envisioned the Übermensch as being essentially human and of this world, not like a divine prophet or any Messenger of God that comes from The World Beyond. So the Übermensch stands in direct contrast to, say, Superman himself who definitely hails from a world beyond Earth. Not so, Batman. Lacking “superhuman” abilities and identifying himself as a boy of Gotham, Batman is truly one of the people, but one who operates outside of the boundaries of law and society.

*DISCLAIMER: I am fully aware that this is an overly-simplified reading of Nietzsche, but hey—I’m blogging, not writing a thesis.

This all goes to prove my ultimate point: Batman is way more awesome and interesting than Superman (Lord, save me from fanboy wrath). And this contributes to the fact that these latest Batman incarnations blow all other superhero movies out of the water (don’t tell Tobey). I don’t have too much to say about Heath Ledger’s fearless, terrifying, extraordinary performance as The Joker—it’s all been said by every critic out there. It is absolutely brilliant and will last forever as a tribute to a man just coming into his own as an artist. The Joker will always remind us of what we could have seen from Ledger and, personal tragedies aside, the world is right to mourn the passing of an actor with the ability to show us life from all vantage points.

What strikes me most about Batman Begins and The Dark Knight is the role Gotham City plays as a driving force in the story. Gotham becomes a very real character with personality and personal demons. Batman’s fight is the fight for her soul. When you consider that “Gotham” is a nickname for New York City and you take into account the post-9/11 climate in which Nolan wrote and directed these movies, the stakes of this fight become very high indeed. This sleeker, darker, more complicated Batman is the superhero for our uncertain times. We are a more cynical people, more suspicious of supermen who seem too good to be true. After all, Superman eventually becomes merely a pawn of the US government in Frank Miller’s Batman comics. Batman cannot be corrupted because he doesn’t work inside the system, and Nolan’s films argue that the system is broken—not the people. The Dark Knight continues the theme in Batman Begins of condemning the powerful who have been ruined by power and championing the people. Batman doesn’t fight for “Truth, Justice, and the American Way”—he knows how meaningless buzzwords like that are. Instead, he fights to stave off the evil poisoning his city, on whose fate hinges the fate of our world. As Gotham goes, so goes humanity. Dark as they are, the two films leave hope that despite everything that’s wrong with the world in which we live, there is something within us that can make it right.

Okay, so then perhaps NEXT week I’ll get to the question, “What is and is not cinema?” No quote this week, because I’m afraid that I’ll have to dig into Walter Benjamin and Christian Metz to answer that question and then we’ll have an overload of citations. Besides, there’s more than enough Nietzsche in this one. Check out Also sprach Zarathustra (Thus Spoke Zarathustra), in which Nietzsche lays out his “superman” ideas—this is a really cool piece of philosophy. In the meantime, you should all go see The Dark Knight and think seriously about what Nolan is saying with his film and what Ledger is expressing through his performance. I promise, the discussion will be just as fun as the movie itself.

Thanks for reading!

Sara

I’ll get to Cannes in a moment, but I want to brag that I received my first comment from someone I don’t know (You’re awesome, Carol) because my blog apparently popped up in a Google search. I’m Google-able! That rocks. Inspired by this comment, I’d just like to put out an open call to any Cinema Studies/Film Studies students who aren’t really sure what the hell is happening after graduation: let’s talk about it. If you happen across this blog, feel free to leave comments, ask questions, and start messageboard discussions so that maybe, just maybe, we can help each other figure out our lives. (Since writing this, I’ve also received my second……see below for details.)

Back to Cannes: Putting aside for a moment the oppressive hierarchical structure of Hollywood that crushes the spirit of idealistic artists and movie-lovers, Cannes really was a blast. I got to watch tons of movies in the South of France, drink as much French wine as I could afford (which isn’t much, but I don’t really need much), hang out on the beaches, and scope out famous people—all while earning course credit. Actually, the course won’t be complete until I turn in my final paper, to which I have not devoted one solitary thought this entire summer. I’m pretty sure that just about everyone in the class will be writing their papers the night before they’re due, so the mere fact that I’m mentioning the assignment in this blog actually puts me ahead of the curve. Apologies to my professors if they’re reading this.

A typical day at the Cannes film festival for a Penn student went something like this:

8:00am – Crawl out of the bunk bed in your dorm room and HUSTLE so you have a shot at accomplishing something today.

8:45am – After walking for half an hour, arrive at the Cinephile tent and trudge to the end of the line. By the time you step into the tent, all the good invitations are gone, taken by people who won’t have half the appreciation for that movie that you would have. Reluctantly take an invitation to a random midnight screening rather than leave empty-handed.

9:10am – Buy ice cream to make yourself feel better. Go wait on line for whatever screening happens to be coming up next; at this point, you don’t really care what’s playing. Remember to get on line at least an hour early if you want a fighting chance, but don’t forget that there’s no guarantee you’ll actually get in.

Noon – Exit your first movie and make a break for the panini stand. Buy a tomato and mozzarella panini, the exact same thing you’ve been eating for every meal. Eat it while standing in line for the next film. Try not to let everything slide out from between the bread and onto the shoe of the person standing next to you.

3:00pm – Time to start begging. Run back to the dorm to change if you can make it, or take your tux/dress out of your backpack and attempt to find a bathroom. Pull out your sign and SMILE.

3:12pm – Smile begins to fade. Demoralization sets in.

5:00pm – No luck yet. Hotfoot it to the closest theater and slip in the back.

7:00pm – Exit the theater, puzzling over the film you just saw. It was a stark and brutally honest look at the realities of human nature. The frequent close-ups at odd angles were particularly effective, as was the ten-minute-long opening sequence in which absolutely nothing happens. The complete and total lack of a musical score is still a bit jarring, even after eleven near-silent movies.

7:10pm – Grab another panini and eat it while begging again.

9:00pm – Two hours later and someone hands an invitation to that girl dressed like a burlesque dancer who showed up three minutes ago. Why, cruel world, why?

9:30pm – Panic. The carpet closes in forty minutes.

10:00pm – Ten minutes to go, and FINALLY someone hands over an invitation to the gala screening. Overjoyed, you prance up the red carpet, feeling like a million bucks.

Midnight – This movie was good, but not great. Why was it selected for the official competition? Whatever, you got to see the film’s premiere with the director and all the actors. The rush is pretty cool. You start to head back with everyone, only to realize that you have one movie left to go. Turn around and walk right back into the Palais.

2:25am – Wow…this was the most amazing film you’ve seen at Cannes. Why were they hiding it in a midnight screening? So edgy, so exhilarating, so fun…THIS is why you came to the film festival! Feeling a second wind start to hit, you race over to the beach, hoping there’s still one unopened bottle left. You’ve earned it.

Navigating this particular film festival is exhausting. You can take it as easy as you want, but then you’re letting a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity pass you by. It feels great when you realize that you’re watching films that the majority of the world will never get to see. A huge part of the Cannes magic is discovery—the thrill of a truly organic viewing experience, where you enter with no prior knowledge and exit having witnessed a revelation. Of course, the majority of the movies are less than stellar, but sifting out the golden dust makes everything worthwhile. Fortunately for me, critiquing a bad film is almost as fun as watching a great one, so I usually enjoyed myself no matter what. I think this is an apt place to insert this week’s quote, which I hope remains true for many years to come:

Any kind of cinema is possible at Cannes.

- Thierry Fremaux, General Delegate of the Cannes Film Festival

Spotting the perpetually-tuxedoed Fremaux was one of the highlights of my festival; in Cannes, he was my biggest celebrity crush. The sight of the gallant and multi-lingual Fremaux striding to the mic stand before the lights went down signaled that you were about to see something special. I remember going to see a documentary about Warner Brothers Studios (You Must Remember This, to be shown on PBS) that was shown in one of the theaters populated mainly by Cinephiles. I was shocked to see Fremaux bounding to the stage of a relatively unexciting screening. Sure enough, Fremaux didn’t disappoint and introduced the film’s narrator, Clint Eastwood. I was maybe ten rows away from Dirty Harry, but the more exciting part was that I brushed against Fremaux on my way out of the theater. I wanted to tell him what a great job he did with this year’s festival, but I chickened out.

In total, I saw twenty-four movies over eleven days. Most of them won’t make it to the States in any legal form, which is a tragedy. In case any of them do, theses are some of the most memorable:

- Il Divo was the last film I saw and it’s just BRILLIANT. It’s a very confusing but riveting true story about corrupt Italian politician, Guilio Andreotti. The cinematography is tremendous—a richer, more refined and thoughtful version of the Trainspotting aesthetic—the good kind of whiplash. It also features the most arresting performance I’ve seen by an actor in a long time; Toni Servillo received no love from the Cannes jury and this is a crime almost as egregious as Andreotti’s many Mafia dealings.

- Israel has one of the most exciting new film industries in the world today. Last year Etgar Keret’s Jellyfish took the Camera D’Or and this year, Ari Folman’s Waltz with Bashir stunned everyone. This animated documentary is a triumph of film form; it breaks with the usual linearity of a documentary and instead joins interview segments with recovered memory dream sequences to produce a stunning, subjective work about a man piecing together his past. In my opinion, the film may be too regional to translate, because you have to understand what it is to be an Israeli citizen-soldier to connect with the protagonist. Regardless, it’s a fantastically innovative movie and a strong anti-war statement.

- French directors Michel Gondry and Leos Carax and Korean director Joon-ho Bong each produced a short film about life in Tokyo to create this feature, aptly named Tokyo! The Frenchmen pulled off masterful, creative pieces while Joon-ho Bong’s very intimate story was relatively boring. I don’t anticipate a successful theatrical run, but it’s a lot of fun for people who enjoy shorts.

- The Third Wave is a documentary that absolutely everyone should see. It chronicles five or so months in a village in Sri Lanka after the tsunami tragically swept away normalcy and security from the lives of the survivors, not to mention family members and friends. We see independent volunteers drawing from within themselves their last reserves of willpower to bring the village back to life. Unusual for the call-to-action, cry-for-help documentary genre, The Third Wave doesn’t shy away from the ugliness of aid work, as when resentful villagers turn on the people who saved them. It is an inspiring and beautiful story of the power we each hold to change the world.

- There are two close contenders for my craziest viewing experience. I know this because I nearly walked out of both of them after ten minutes, but was rewarded for staying put. Both were midnight movies—a strange tradition at Cannes that brings a touch of the cult scene to this prestigious festival. Na Hong-Jin’s The Chaser is a genre-defying, heart-racing, adrenaline overload that cleverly subverts convention to deliver a cat-and-mouse story turned on its head. I thought I had the whole movie figured out within the first five minutes, but all my guesses were proven wrong again and again. It’s a thrill ride with definite intelligence, drawing an interesting parallel between the wanted man and the impotent police force that can’t find him guilty. Less awesome but more ridiculous was Jennifer Lynch’s second feature, Surveillance. I still have no idea if she was serious when she made that mess, which features some of the most absurd casting decisions I’ve ever seen, but if that’s the case then this is just a horrible movie. If she weren’t, then it’s absolutely hilarious—although I was the only one laughing in the theater. I’ll just tell you that it stars Bill Pullman, Cheri Oteri, French Stewart as a cop (ha!), and a little girl who could give Dakota Fanning a run for her money in the Silent, Sad Little Blonde Girl with Big Eyes Competition. Surveillance was fun, but I’m not sure that was its intent.

- Synecdoche, New York: Charlie Kaufman on crack. This is either a good or bad thing, depending upon who you are. For me, it was electrifying. I thought Samantha Morton was good as Pre-Cog in Minority Report, but wow, wait until you see her as the fiery Hazel.

- Atom Egoyan is a Cannes darling and a truly wonderful director with a very distinctive style. His latest film, Adoration, is complex and thought-provoking, though at times a little too enamored with occupying the gray area that accepts all opinions as valid. No one deconstructs a linear narrative like Egoyan and watching his story unfold its layers like a rose in bloom is such a joy. After two weeks’ worth of minimalist filmmaking, I definitely appreciated the rich score and gracefully sweeping camera movements.

- Maradona by Kusturica is pure, bombastic fun. Two of the world’s biggest egos—one an internationally acclaimed filmmaker, the other perhaps the world’s greatest footballer—make a movie about hero worship and the political, cultural, historical, and athletic importance of Argentina’s Diego Maradona. Highlight: a couple is married by the Church of Maradona; instead of throwing a bouquet, the bride kicks a soccer ball.

The thing about all of these movies is that I have no idea when I’ll ever be able to see any of them again. Some of the lucky ones have distribution (Glory Hallelujah—Waltz with Bashir got picked up by Sony Pictures Classics, home of other grown-up animated fare like The Triplets of Belleville and Persepolis) but some will never make it to American theaters. Maybe in a few years they’ll get to Region 1 DVDs and Netflix will offer them. Or, as will be the case with The Chaser, they’ll get an Americanized makeover courtesy of Leo DiCaprio and screenwriter William Monahan, who already won the Oscar for his remake of Infernal Affairs. The American public’s typical relegation of foreign films to the dusty bin of Movies We Wouldn’t Watch on a Desert Island drives me crazy.

I will consider this a successful blog if, after reading it, someone is inspired to go find a foreign-language movie and watch it with an open mind. Of course, really the only people reading this now are friends and family, so hopefully I can guilt someone I know into watching The Lives of Others with me.

**UPDATE**

I wrote this entry a few days ago, so as I’m about to post let me just reassure everyone that I finished my paper on time! Also, next week I’ll be getting to Rob’s comment from my second entry (“No, I wasn’t on Yair’s yacht”) because he asked an amazing question and I can’t wait to get that discussion going.

Thanks for reading!

Sara

…in answer to the question every guy my age asks me when they hear I was at the 2008 Cannes Film Festival. (For the record, it’s an Entourage reference.) I’m sure, however, that my first international film festival was just as surreal and overwhelming as the first day Vince and his boys arrived in LA. For as long as I can remember, there were three big international events I dreamed of attending: the Olympic games, FIFA World Cup, and le Festival de Cannes. Now I can cross Cannes off the list while my brother and I brainstorm ways to pay for a trip to South Africa in 2010.

I spent the fall semester of my junior year in Lyon, France and even then I didn’t make it over to Cannes. It seemed to me a mythical place—the only way I would ever get to the Cannes Film Festival was if I were a British schoolchild, because they’re the only ones who ever get to find magical, hidden worlds. I hadn’t accounted for the many strange opportunities offered by the University of Pennsylvania. As far as I know, Penn is the only American college to boast an organized trip to the festival—one that counts as a full-credit course, no less. The way I understand it, a Penn professor who had been attending the festival for years and years managed sometime ago to finagle passes for a group of eager students, and we’ve just been showing up ever since. And thus, my dream became reality.

The funny thing about getting what you’ve always wanted is that it’s never exactly what you’d expect. Don’t get me wrong—I was absolutely thrilled to be at the Cannes Film Festival and I never stopped being grateful for the opportunity, which is granted to so few. I will say, however, that all that glitters is not gold and there’s more to Cannes than cocktails and cameras. The festival’s mystique was tainted for me when I learned that the heart of Cannes beat for the marché, or marketplace, where execs could decide whether to buy a film after spending three minutes in the theater. The initial thrill of getting to walk the red carpet for a world premiere faded somewhat when I realized that, minus the film’s stars, everybody else on that carpet was like me—a nobody. The important people were busy making deals in the marché. By the end of the festival, the surreality of the place was getting to me and I was ready once again for normality. Even the Lost Boys eventually grew tired of NeverNeverLand. Cannes, you must understand, is like no place else.

Your passport, your compass, your North Star is your badge—the thing you wear around your neck that tells you where you can and cannot go. All the Penn students were given ‘Cinephile badges’ (except for one genius guy who submitted a short film and got a ‘silver badge’ that directed him to shorter lines). These are the lowest of the low; you’re practically an Untouchable when you put them on. The Cinephile charity cases have our own special tent where, thanks to the benevolence of the more privileged, we may be able to get cast-off tickets (known in the Cannes-verse as invitations) if we get up early enough and stand in line long enough. We have our own special theaters far, far away from the Croisette (the main drag of Cannes) so that the movie stars don’t have to look at us as we scurry along to scrounge our next invitations. If you want an invitation to the Palais—the Emerald City of this crazy Oz—to walk the red carpet, you literally have to stand on the street and beg.

It works like this: you don your best black-tie attire (stiletto heels and all), hold up a less-than-dignified sign proclaiming your insignificance, and smile at haughty professionals as they try to determine which of the dozens of panhandlers is most deserving. You can stand there for hours and in doing so, you develop a sense of solidarity with the other beggars. There’s an understood Cinephile code rising from our mutual adoration of movies. For instance, if you’re lucky enough to score invitations, you don’t turn around and try to make a profit off the poor sucker next to you. No sir—what you do is you keep holding up your sign until everyone who wants to can enter the Palais. When you’re on the bottom, you have to stick together to survive.

That doesn’t mean that I didn’t encounter my fair share of unsporting behavior. On our first day, I watched two women con a friend into dropping way too many Euros on opening night invitations. One portly, middle-aged Frenchman attempted to rip invitations out of my hands after trying to kiss me. And then there are the universally attractive, well-dressed security men and women (a visible manifestation of the festival’s hiring policy). They had the gall to turn away one of our students simply because they didn’t like her dress. I didn’t have too much trouble with security, because I can speak some French and managed to convince them that I belonged wherever I was going—which, most of the time, I didn’t.

I did have one run-in near the festival’s close. After Indiana Jones, one of the most highly coveted invitations was for Charlie Kaufman’s directorial debut Synecdoche, NY. (If you don’t know what “synecdoche” means, look it up, because this is one of the more brilliant titles in recent years.) I grew more and more discouraged as every other Penn student grabbed an invitation. It appeared that I would be the only one left behind. I was despairing, until two angels showed up in the guise of pre-teen French boys and pressed two golden tickets into my hand. My friend Joanna and I flew up the red carpet and into our nosebleed seats, craning our necks to see Phillip Seymour Hoffman or Catherine Keener. Hurrying to make sure I didn’t miss a moment, I left my bag with her and walked out to the restroom. A guard motioned me over to one door leading to a hallway adjacent to the theater. This same guard was barring the doorway when I tried to reenter. He didn’t remember me and I had left my invitation in the seats with Joanna. I was screwed. I tried to explain in French; he wasn’t buying it. I started to get more shrill—at which point, it was difficult to continue in French, but what I was yelling sure didn’t sound like English. I gesticulated wildly to plead my case, but I guess he thought I posed a threat because he started to push me out the door. I pushed back, feeling like I was on the front lines in May ’68 Paris, pumping my fist in the air and protesting my right to watch the new Charlie Kaufman film from my plush-lined vantage point. Needless to say, dear readers, I triumphed over The Man and made it back to my seat before the lights went down. Synecdoche, NY—totally worth the struggle.

Succeess at Cannes for the lowly Cinephiles depends upon resisting the rigid Hollywood hierarchy. We’re renegade agents—sneaking into theaters, lying to authority, using the system to our advantage. Ultimately, it’s not the studio executives who are watching the films; it’s us—the Common People.

Next week I’ll leave Cannes class struggles behind and write about the strictly cinematic side of the festival, because some people actually go there to see movies. As for my weekly quote—well, you probably won’t be surprised:

History does not teach fatalism. There are moments when the will of a handful of free men breaks through determinism and opens up new roads.

– Charles de Gaulle

But why think about that when all the golden land’s ahead of you and all kinds of unforeseen events wait lurking to surprise you and make you glad you’re alive to see?

- Jack Keroauc, On the Road

Concerning my participation in this community blog, I think of myself as a classic Charlie Bucket outsider – young, idealistic, nose pressed up against the candy store window while more privileged people get to gorge themselves on the wonders within. I’m not technically a member of “the industry” nor do I necessarily wish to be. I’m a film student….with absolutely zero filmmaking aspirations. I adore films from afar, but do not participate in their creation. It’s a little uncomfortable sometimes, particularly when I’m forced to explain what exactly I’m doing with my $50,000-a-year education.

Example of a typical conversation concerning my academic career:

Interested party: So Sara, what’s your major?
Me: Cinema studies! It’s awesome.
Perplexed response: Oh…….so, what? You just watch movies all day?
Me: Not exactly……
Smug response: Wow, that sounds tough. I wish all I have to do for (insert pre-professional classes or actual grown-up job) is watch movies.
Me: I mean, I’m doing just as much reading as everyone else, but my readings are films. I go to the library and do two hours of critical reading and analysis. And it’s NOT easy……you have to watch movies in a completely different way……
Not convinced: I mean, do you even write papers? Do you do any real work?
Me: …….I’m at the fucking University of Pennsylvania, what do you think?

Yeah, I’m embarrassed to say that my mounting frustration has caused me to pull out the Ivy League card on more than one occasion, making me sound like a pretentious tool. Film studies only became a ‘thing’ in the post-Easy Rider era and has yet to be taken seriously as an academic discipline. I remember the phone conversation freshman year when I told my dad I was changing majors from International Relations to Cinema Studies….with a minor in French. That required a bit of justification. Problem is, I go to Penn: home of the Wharton School of Business and probably one of the highest concentrations of pre-law and pre-med students. If you’re not distinctly pre-professional in some way, you can feel a little lost. And I’m definitely not headed for Hollywood. So it’s easy to think you’re being written off as self-indulgent when your studies aren’t giving you set career plans.

I try not to care. I have so much fun with my major, and I think that’s as it should be. I know very few students at Penn who derive as much enjoyment from their studies as I do, and most of them are film students. Let me say again: it’s not exactly a cakewalk. We have seriously challenging papers and complicated research. We have more class hours than most, when you factor in screening time. We’re forced to schedule our lives around two-hour blocks of time and, believe me, all the viewing hours can take a physical toll. I’m convinced that my sleep cycle is completely out of whack because of how much time I spend staring at screens. But none of this poses too great a problem, because I love what I’m studying.

Now I’m in my final year of school. I’ll enter the real world in May with only a B.A. in Cinema Studies to guide me……I have no clue what comes next. And you know, that’s exactly how I like it. It’s terrifying in some ways, but also thrilling to not know where life will take me after May. Until then, I have a thesis to write and this gig with Film Industry Blogs to keep me busy. I’ve never blogged before, so bear with me while I loop through the learning curve. If you’re interested to know what’s ahead, I’ll be writing about my classes, my job search, my ideas, my summer work, my visit to the Cannes Film Festival, my take on specific movies, and whatever else may prove itself blog-worthy. I’ll also try to throw in some cool quotations, such as the Kerouac gem above (seriously, how much more collegiate can you get?), in case you’re wondering what I’m reading.

Ultimately, the point of my blog is this: I won’t be making nose marks on the window forever and I can’t wait to see what happens when I get on the other side.

Thanks for reading!

Sara

Sara will graduate from the University of Pennsylvania in 2009 with a BA in Cinema Studies.   Currently, she has no idea what she wants to do with the rest of her life, though she will gamely field the question.   She has been conducting independent film research for two years and presented a paper on Orson Welles’s The Stranger at the 2008 Society for Cinema and Media Studies conference.    Sara’s personal mission is to convince everyone that, no, being a film major doesn’t just mean that you sit around and watch movies all day.