Another thing to take note of: Jeremy Renner is a smoker. Compare his smoking behavior in Hurt Locker to his smoking behavior in Dahmer and you can see that there is a keen insightful mind at work behind it – Dahmer doesn’t smoke like Sgt James and vice versa. He said that he was VERY specific in HOW he smoked in Dahmer, he had a whole performance-art piece going on there – there’s something theatrical, almost fey, in how he holds the cigarette – he’s in a movie in his own mind. Sgt James just smokes because he smokes – it’s addiction, pure and simple, old-school. But with Dahmer it is quite different. I would imagine that Renner himself doesn’t smoke like either of these guys – that HIS smoking is different from what he created with these two characters.
"There are, in general, two kinds of filmmakers: those who walk in the street with their head up, and those who walk with their head down. The former, in order to see what’s happening around them, have to raise their head often and suddenly and to turn it left and right, embracing the field of vision with a series of glances. They see. The latter see nothing, they look, fixing their attention on the precise point that interests them. When they shoot a film, the framings of the former will be airy and fluid (Rossellini); those of the latter, tight to the millimeter (Hitchcock) … Bergman is rather in the first group, that of free cinema; Visconti, in the second, that of rigorous cinema."
Technicolor Process 1 (Additive System) - The Gulf Between (1917): A prism beam-splitter behind the camera lens exposed two consecutive frames of a single strip of black-and-white negative film simultaneously, one behind a red filter, the other behind a green filter.
Process 2 (Subtractive System) - Toll of the Sea (1922), The Phantom of the Opera (1925), The Black Pirate (1926): The frames exposed behind the green filter were printed on one strip of black-and-white film, and the frames exposed behind the red filter were printed on another strip. After development, each strip was toned to a color complementary to that of the filter—red for the green-filtered images, green for the red-filtered.
Process 3 - Mystery of the Wax Museum (1933): Every other frame of the camera negative was printed onto one strip of specially prepared gelatin film (or “matrix”) to create a red record, and the remaining frames were printed onto a second strip of blank film to create a green record.
Process 4 - The light passing through the camera lens was split into two beam paths by a prism block. Green light was recorded through a green filter on panchromatic film, while the other half of the light passed through a magenta filter and was recorded on bipack film stock with two strips running base to base. On this stock, the front film was sensitized to blue light only, backed by a red gelatin layer which acted as a light filter to the panchromatic film behind it.
NOTE(You can delete this if you want to reblog it. This is really huge, I’m so sorry omfg): The Technicolor process took years and years of input and persistence of the company’s part. This is nowhere near accurate to everything there is to know, mostly because you can read the exact same thing on Wikipedia. If you’re interested in it you can read this and several other articles on the internet which were of enormous help to me.
"I think someone who shoots films for the images alone does so for his own benefit. After all, the perfection of an image, the power of an image, is an extremely personal notion, where as telling a story is, by definition, an act of communication. Someone who attempts to tell a story necessarily needs an audience."
“There is an aesthetic crisis in writing, which is this: how do we write emotionally of scenes involving computers? How do we make concrete, or at least reconstructable in the minds of our readers, the terrible, true passions that cross telephony lines? Right now my field must tackle describing a world where falling in love, going to war and filling out tax forms looks the same; it looks like typing.”
This. I face this challenge in every script that I develop that uses technology.
I actually spend an inordinate amount of time thinking about this problem, and I don’t hear people talk about it enough. The problem is even more acute for filmmakers than for fiction writers, who are allowed more leeway in describing the non-physical. In film, I think there have been successful attempts at dealing with it expressionistically (Ryan Trecartin comes to mind), but I’ve yet to see anyone tackle it in a realistic way that felt completely right.
Quinn Norton’s talk continues:
It’s the same problem filmmakers have with hackers – during the height of their drama, they sit there, inert, typing. This is why fiction keeps inventing high drama metaphors of traditional physical life for the shared internal life of the net, ala The Matrix and Snow Crash.
Such dramatic metaphors may touch upon the experience of using computers. But how can these activities be shown directly, in all their specificity and concreteness, without the intervening abstraction of metaphorical representation? As home internet access became commonplace in the mid-90s, cinema struggled to find ways to show these new realities on screen. The general approach was to create fantastical graphic user interfaces. Under the assumption that film was a primarily visual medium, the name of the game was converting the largely text-based world of the computer and the web into comprehensible images. The results were often ridiculous:
To some extent this is really just an intensified re-surfacing of a very old problem. Filmmakers have always had to figure out ways of depicting written communication on screen. During the early sound era, there quickly developed a standardized set of devices for handling letter writing in an audio-visually dramatic way: voice-over of the letter writer reading the letter aloud, superimposed closeups of the letter itself, etc. Similar conventions arose for showing learning or information gathering. Some of those devices we still use today in depicting the internet. One recent example that comes to mind is in The Place Beyond the Pines, where a character’s online sleuthing is shown via a montage of computer screen text closeups laid over the character’s screen-illuminated face.
But the problem posed by digital life is far larger and far deeper than the one posed by letter writing.
"Our condition has become one in which our natural mode of perception is to view, feeling unseen. We do not so much look at the world as look out at it, from behind the self. It is our fantasies, now all but completely thwarted and out of hand, which are unseen and must be kept unseen. […] Viewing a movie makes this condition automatic, takes the responsibility for it out of our hands. Hence movies seem more natural than reality. Not because they are escapes into fantasy, but because they are reliefs from private fantasy and its responsibilities; from the fact that the world is already drawn by fantasy."
— Stanley Cavell, The World Viewed: Reflections on the Ontology of Film