Amazon Prime Air
According to Natalie Sommer, an associate producer at 60 Minutes, before Amazon CEO Jeff Bezos ushered Charlie Rose into a secret room at Amazon’s corporate headquarters, he offered the reporter half of his fortune, and a trip to Las Vegas to spend it, if Rose could tell him what was in the room. Well, Charlie Rose is still working for CBS and PBS.
On a large, polished, wood table sat two 8-rotor drone helicopters emblazoned with an Amazon Prime Air logo, the vehicles of a futuristic concept to deliver your Amazon order, assuming it isn’t a heavy appliance like a television or toilet, to your home within 30 minutes after you place the order. That’s only half the running time of an episode of the CBS Sunday night news show.
Continue reading ‘Drones, Drones, Drones’
The many markers of the Appalachian Trail
Only a writer with a wit as sardonic as Bill Bryson’s would title a book about a more-than-2,1000-mile, five-month wilderness trek on foot through 14 states of the Eastern seaboard— A Walk in the Woods. A “walk”? A person still in touch with the real world would likely title it A Punishing Rite of Passage That Should Be Done Only by Those Under 30. Continue reading ‘Bill Bryson’s ‘Little Walk’’
Giant “Eye of America” camera in the workshop.
Today’s Millennials take the “selfie” snapshot and the immediate sharing of it on Instagram for granted. For them to imagine the lengthy, intricate processes of portraiture required at the birth of photography in the mid-nineteenth century—is, well, impossible.
One of the first photographers to move out of the studio confines and take his camera out into the world was Roger Fenton, who along with his assistant Marcus Sparling was commissioned by Queen Victoria to document the Crimean War of 1853-1856. Fenton’s mobile darkroom was a converted wine delivery wagon. The demanding wet collodion process he employed was, however, a major advance over the metal plate, direct positive monotype of Daguerre and the paper negative/positive print technique of Fox Talbot, the Calotype. Fenton worked in the Crimea only a few months– but returned to Queen Victoria in June 1854 with over 350 14”x18” glass plates. Continue reading ‘Butterflies and Buffalo: Dennis Manarchy’
Gordon Willis, ASC, “On Film,” 1994. (Photo by Douglas Kirkland.)
It is an irony worthy of the cinematographer who was dubbed “The Prince of Darkness” by Conrad Hall that one of his most controversial lighting schemes was for a set bathed in bright, shadowless, fluorescent light. Since Gordon Willis’ death from cancer on May 18 in his home in North Falmouth, Mass., critics and filmmakers have evoked his lighting of Marlon Brando and the many murky interiors in The Godfather as his signature style, and this technique has certainly been influential on several generations of younger cinematographers. But it was his lighting of the Washington Post newsroom set in All the President’s Men that was, in 1975, just as large a gauntlet thrown down in front of the Hollywood cinematography establishment.
Continue reading ‘‘Gordy’’
When Phyllis Summers fell down a flight of stairs on August 2, 2013, her millions of fans at first were shocked, and then lost in grief. She went into a coma and has remained so since. Family visitors to her Georgia Island bedside, including her husband, her lover, her son, and her rival, Sharon Newman, never see her face, except when Sharon does so in a fevered dream. There are some who feel that the highly sexualized Phyllis finally has gotten her due.
On October 17, 1994, then 29 year old actress Michelle Stafford debuted in the role of Phyllis Summers on the daytime television soap opera The Young and the Restless, a show that had already been airing for over twenty years on CBS. Originally conceived as a short time new character, Stafford’s Phyllis became unexpectedly popular; Stafford remained with the program for fifteen years, though she took a two-year hiatus in the late 1990s. She was nominated for daytime Emmys ten times and has won twice. Continue reading ‘Michelle Stafford: From Network ‘Soap’ to Webisode Comedy’
This low angle portrait of photographer Edward Weston was taken by filmmaker/photographer Willard Van Dyke in 1932. Weston was in the full flush of his creative years. A few years earlier, Van Dyke, a young photographer, had met Weston at the opening of an exhibition of Weston’s work at San Francisco’s Palace of the Legion of Honor; shortly after, Van Dyke became his apprentice. He introduced Weston to Ansel Adams and in 1932 the three and four other local photographers formed Group f.64. Van Dyke opened a small gallery in his home, calling it “683,” his street address on Brockhurst in Oakland, a backhand reference to the famous Alfred Stieglitz Manhattan gallery “291.” In November of 1932, the De Young Museum gave the group its first show. For the next decade Weston traveled widely through California and the Southwest, part of the time under a Guggenheim Grant. He also received a commission to illustrate an edition of Walt Whitman’s Leaves of Grass.
Weston had many lovers and models during the 1920s and 1930s, especially Marguerite Mather and Tina Modotti, but when he met Charis Wilson at a concert in 1934, he knew right off that he had found the love of his life. He was still living with fellow Group f.64 founding member Sonia Noskowiak but they soon parted. He and Wilson spent the next decade traveling and working together. She was also his muse and model. Shortly after they began their relationship, Weston photographed her in a series of nude studies on the coastal dunes of Oceano near Santa Barbara. Continue reading ‘Willard Van Dyke and His Mentor Edward Weston’
The Casa Malaparte “A House Like Me.”
In Jean-Luc Godard’s 1963 film Contempt, starring Brigitte Bardot, Jack Palance, Michel Piccoli, and director Fritz Lang, the house is first seen from above. Piccoli and Lang are making their way down a densely overgrown path toward the dark red edifice framed at the end of a steep promontory overlooking the Gulf of Salerno. They have been discussing the script of “Odysseus,” the film that Lang is shooting on the island of Capri.
From this point forward, up to the movie’s final right to left panning shot across the flat rooftop to the open sea beyond, the house becomes the fifth character in the movie’s drama, with Lang directing the film within a film, quietly enduring the rants of Palance’s Joseph Levine-like producer: a vulgarian interested only in Bardot’s body and protecting his money. Palance’s Jeremy Prokosch proclaims histrionically, “Every time I hear the word ‘culture’ I bring out my checkbook.” Continue reading ‘‘A House Like Me’: Curzio Malaparte and Jean Luc Godard’
Sergey Maximishin, photo by Tatiana Kuznetsova.
There has long been, to my mind, a schizophrenic strain in Russian photography. It may be consequent of the still-brooding legacy from the seismic shift in all the Russian arts after Joseph Stalin came to power in the mid 1920s. The heady formalist experimentation of the previous Lenin years, with its shared aesthetic of the German Bauhaus, fell victim to the “Iron Fist” of the Georgian born dictator and his fantasies of a heroic proletariat embodied in the rubric “Soviet Realism.” It teeters even in the uneasy balance of formalism and propaganda in the films of Sergei Eisenstein. This decades long face-off between Formalism and Soviet Realism during the Stalinist years, and even through the darker years of the Cold War era, has found an unlikely coming together, a surprising synthesis, in the work of Sergey Maximishin, a contemporary photojournalist whose newsworthy images are filled with the composition, color, light, and action that are hallmarks of Russian art: formalist photography, and the dramatic humanity of Socialist Realism. A quick look back at 20th century Soviet photography gives some context for Maximishin’s stylistic integration. Continue reading ‘Sergey Maximishin: In the Russian Tradition’
Until the 1983 expansion of New York’s Museum of Modern Art, with its airy escalator ride and open view to the sculpture garden below, access to the painting galleries was via a simple staircase. On the landing, midway up to the second floor, hung the above canvas. It is Oskar Schlemmer’s painting of students on the stairway of the Bauhaus, the experimental multi-disciplinary art school of 1920s Weimar Germany. It was difficult to enter MoMA’s painting galleries without a close encounter with this seminal work. It was a beacon, signaling to every MoMA visitor just how much the museum’s modernist aesthetic was tied to the Bauhaus and of MoMA’s founding director Alfred Barr’s “life-altering” 1927 visit to the school’s Dessau campus. Continue reading ‘Oskar Schlemmer: The Bauhaus Stairway and the Triadic Ballet’
There is a magic bubble of invulnerability that can seem to enclose a movie crew filming out on the streets, more so than on the artifice of a stage set. For just a few moments, as the cameras turn over, there exists a kind of parallel reality that lives inside that bubble. It burst on February 20 above a 100 year old, single-track railroad trestle over the Altamaha River near Doctortown, Georgia. The fallout injured half a dozen crew members of a feature film on its first day of shooting; it also killed the 27-year-old camera assistant, Sarah Jones.
No more details are needed here; we already know them. The ongoing revelations about this totally preventable incident have swept social media and trade press on an international scale—a cry of support to Sarah’s memory, but also a cri de coeur, a recognition by frontline filmmakers around the world, of our shared vulnerability— this, ironically, at a time when cutting edge digital artists are creating ever more spectacular visual effects and stunts, not in the streets, but in darkened rooms on computer work stations far removed from the hazards of physical production.
The struggle to create a cinematic illusion of reality, side by side with the all too real world, with the chaos of people living their lives indifferent or even hostile to the presence of the film crew, can create a sensory experience that is schizophrenic. Controlling that illusory reality out to the very edges of the frame constitutes a brief triumph of movie artifice. During the course of a day’s production, filmmakers move in an out of that artifice/reality bubble dozens of times. The sheer volume of the filmmaking equipment employed, the often very vocal demarcation of the shooting space by a harried assistant director or PA, easily creates a sense of magical, even mandarin-like power. “WTF, get that guy out of there. Doesn’t he know we’re trying to make a movie,” blares out of a bullhorn as some hapless gent stumbles out of a bar or a soccer mom exits a Starbucks juggling her soy latte. Continue reading ‘For Sarah: Sept. 22, 1986–Feb. 20, 2014′