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′
Elephant Footprints, Amboseli, 2012 (final image of Brandt’s photo trilogy).
It’s an unlikely starting point for Nick Brandt’s nature photography and trilogy of books on the endangered wildlife of East Africa: directing a 1995 Michael Jackson music video “Earth Song.” A plangent cry against a human and environmental apocalypse set against the still haunting images of the then recent Bosnian war—the video prompted the director/photographer to begin a more than decade long mission to record the quickly vanishing animals inhabiting the immense game parks of Kenya—especially the greatest pachyderms, elephants, whose ivory tusks are the lucrative cash crop for high tech international poachers.
Brandt’s three books, the last one published in September of 2013, document a looming tragedy—that these great beasts of the African wilderness could soon be found only in zoos and private reserves. Continue reading ‘Nick Brandt’s Journey ‘Across the Ravaged Land’’
Shintaro Katsu as Zatoichi
In the mid 1960s, with the support of a large ethnic community, several of the major Japanese film studios sponsored flagship cinema screens in Los Angeles. Pre-eminent among them was the powerhouse Toho Co. home to the marauding, cinematic money machine, that supreme of all the Daikaiju — Godzilla. Toho was also the studio of the films of Akira Kurosawa: Throne of Blood, Yojimbo, Sanjuro, Red Beard, and High and Low, all starring Toshiro Mifune — a relationship of director to studio reaching back to his debut, Sanshiro Sugata, in 1943. Toho’s Los Angeles movie house (now a Korean church) on La Brea Blvd. below Wilshire was a necessary weekly stop for a generation of film students from USC and UCLA. The Toho La Brea films were projected on an enormous screen, mostly in the studio’s proprietary anamorphic format, Tohoscope. Even the non-subtitled Japanese newsreels that preceded the evening’s feature were shot in anamorphic aspect ratio in a proto shaky-cam mode. Continue reading ‘Shintaro Katsu and the Return of Zatoichi’
Danis Tanovic, flanked by John Travolta and Sharon Stone with his Oscar for “No Man’s Land,” 2001.
From mid-October to mid-December a committee of several hundred members of the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences views feature film entries for the Academy Award for Foreign Language Film. Most of the entries are fictional features, but animation and documentaries are also eligible, and in 2013 there were submissions in all three categories. The number of countries submitting varies from year to year but is on an upward arc. Last year 76 countries entered; one film was deemed ineligible. Two countries, Saudi Arabia and Moldava entered for the first time.
The general screening committee breaks down into three groups: red, blue, and white. Members register for one of the groups, seeing at least 16 of their group’s entries to be eligible to vote. They also receive credit on a 2 for 3 basis for films seen outside their chosen group. Members are encouraged to see as many films as possible. Some see over 50; many view more than 30. Double bill screenings are held on most weeknights and Saturday mornings. Continue reading ‘The AMPAS Foreign Film Short List’
DeBrie Parvo, 1927 (camera featured in “Man with a Movie Camera”).
Born David Kaufman, he changed it to Denis when his family moved to Russia during WWI, finally settling on the moniker by which cinema historians know him today: “Dziga Vertov.” There’s disagreement about the best translation from his native Ukrainian of this nom de cinéma, but it is often cited as “spinning top,” a reference to the unleashed momentum of the child’s toy, and to his own boundless energy. It’s also an accurate description for his 1929 documentary about the 24-hour life of a major Soviet Russia city: an industrial amalgam of Moscow, Odessa and Kiev.
The Parvo “over the city.”
Dziga Vertov was the eldest of three cinema brothers born in such quick succession in Bialystok, Poland in the last years of the 19th century that, were it not for their Jewish and Polish origins, it would be fair to call them “Irish Triplets.” Denis quickly rose to prominence after the war as a theorist for the burgeoning Soviet film industry, and in the early 20s brought his theories of “Kino Pravda” (Movie Truth) into screen reality with a series of agitprop documentaries.
Denis Kaufman, aka Dziga Vertov.
His work achieved full flowering in the “life in the city” documentary Man with a Movie Camera, a film in the tradition of other 20s examples of urban cinema sociology like Strand and Sheeler’s shorter Manhatta, Continue reading ‘The Spinning Top and the Parvo: MAN WITH A MOVIE CAMERA’
They have been called “the perfect soldier.” They neither eat nor sleep, are always vigilant, are rarely seen. Their forms are myriad, from the merely prosaic to the distinctly aesthetic, but their function is always the same— mainly to maim, not kill, to not only render their victims immobile, but to take others out of the fray, those who must deal with the carnage. Designated by the acronym, AP for “anti-personnel,” they are known by most of us simply as landmines.
More than 50 countries have manufactured over 350 types, though their numbers have decreased since the late 1990s. Human Rights Watch recently reports that:
A total of 161 nations are party to the Mine Ban Treaty, which was opened for signature in December 1997 and entered into force on March 1, 1999. The treaty comprehensively prohibits antipersonnel landmines and requires their clearance and assistance to victims. Members include all European Union countries, all NATO members except the US, all nations in sub-Saharan Africa, all countries in the Western Hemisphere except Cuba and the US, many countries in Asia-Pacific, and several nations from the Commonwealth of Independent States. Like the US, nearly all of the other 34 countries that have not signed the treaty follow its key provisions. Continue reading ‘Dallaporta’s Deadly Devices: Antipersonnel’