'Boyhood' and 'Filming'

What's so interesting about the whole concept of 'Boyhood' is the idea of it being filmed over the course of 13 consecutive years, watching one little actor grow up and become a bigger part of the world, something we all experience. This gimmick is what makes 'Boyhood' as a movie so connectable to the audience, as we have all experienced this constant idea of growing up and making a name for ourselves in the great ocean that is planet Earth. 'Boyhood' takes this concept to a whole other level, utilizing separate camera angles and shots throughout the progression of our main protagonist's life.

When Mason is a little kid, the vast majority of camera angles being used are along the lines of high shots. Because Mason is a younger child growing up in a larger world, the angles being used are meant to depict his size relative to the rest of the world. One of the clearest examples is the scene in which Mason and his sister, Samantha, are starting out the window, watching Patricia Arquette and Ethan Hawke argue outside on the porch. From the high angle, the relative impact of the kids is minimal, and because they're so much smaller than the other characters being depicted, it gives off the metaphorical meaning of insignificance that the children feel.

When Mason is around middle school age, we get a lot more full-body shots as we start to understand his physical development. The most significant scene and shot we get in this stage of Mason's life is when he's riding his bike home in the back alley of his hometown, with his soon-to-be middle school love interest. This is one of the larger examples in the film of longer shot, as we see Mason and his 'girlfriend' for almost a full 2 minutes while they're going down the alleyway. Because we see his full body, not only does it connect with us to see his physical development, but we are given a deeper metaphorical viewpoint into Mason and how his conscious and psychology is slowly developing.

Then, we get to high school, eventually freshman year of college. At this point, we no longer have any high shot, no longer any high angles that are meant to have us see Mason in any sort of insignificant light. As a result, we get a lot more close up shots; as Mason has matured, so has his ability to think abstractly and see the world in a completely different light. Therefore, we get many more views of Mason starting abstract into space, or communicating with his girlfriend, Sheena, or simply being with and sharing a beer with his father. We see a lot more of the close-up mental state of Mason, and this variance in shot type is what makes the whole psychological development so easy to follow.

Overall, it's very interesting to see the progression of angles and shot types over the length of the film. We go from seeing Mason as this insignificant little kid in a bigger world to being a more philosophical, free-thinking male who knows what's good for him. We are exposed to this over the 13 year period of filming that gives us the insight into the growth and development of a young child. and really outlines the true concept of 'Boyhood.'

MYST 7 - Atlantis: The Lost Empire

From the period 1989 to 1999, animation mastermind Disney released a series of movies known as the 'Disney Renaissance.' The apparent 'golden age' of Disney filmography was a series of 2-dimensional animated musicals that were extremely popular and highly respected and honored in the field of animated cinema, and these movies represent the apparent 'golden age,' or highest peak of popularity, of the Disney license and name. This Renaissance created huge stimulation and success for the Disney image, and was a huge factor in their cultural integration and growth of power throughout the centralized movie industry. This list is a powerhouse example of animated films, and contains some of the most prominent examples of the greatest epic Disney films of the peak era, with gems such as 'Tarzan,' 'Hercules,' 'The Lion King,' 'The Little Mermaid,' and 'Beauty and the Beast,' just to name a few.

However, this Renaissance was truly the peak point for the Disney brand name. After this 10-year period, there were a large number of animated Disney films that simply fell under the radar. Because of a decline in popularity after 'Tarzan,' the final movie of the Renaissance, the animated Disney label fell to the popularity of CGI and the instigation of Pixar as THE major front-runner of the Disney name turned the 2D animation studio to dust. It's a shame, too, because there are some beautiful gems of movies in the early 2000s of Disney filmmaking that simply disappeared under the Pixar name (I won't be reviewing it, but Disney 'Treasure Planet' is one of those movies. Seriously. If you haven't seen this movie, it's incredible. Go watch it). Thus, when the transition was made, some of Disney's other movies were lost along with the popularity.

'Atlantis: The Lost Empire" is one of those very movies.

Going into it, I had heard of it, but I had not heard very positive things from critics regarding the quality of the movie, so suffice to say, I wasn't expecting a whole lot from this picture. Most of the complaints that I heard regarding the quality of 'Atlantis' was often in comparison with many of the films from the Renaissance, and how 'Atlantis' was no 'Lion King,' or no 'Hercules' (although, let's face it, any animated movie has a tough time against the Renaissance. That's like putting any modern rapper in a rap battle against prime 2Pac and Biggie. It's just not fair).

Good God, were those critics wrong.

'Atlantis' takes place in 1914 America, where we meet linguist Milo, son of an extravagant explorer convinced of the existence of the lost city of Atlantis. When he discovers his father's ancient journal, a map to Atlantis known as the 'Shepard's Journal,' Milo embarks with a legendary crew to explorers to set off and find Plato's lost city. This was Disney's first ever entry into the science-fiction canon, and for a first time attempt, the execution was simply stunning.

First of all, this is the most beautiful animated movie I think I've ever seen, ever. There's no lag, no cut, no issues with frame rate, and much in the manner of a 'Matrix,' the movie retains a blue depth throughout the entire movie. Playing with different concepts such as light, variance, and a mix of 2D and 3D animation, especially in the underwater fight with the Leviathan, portrays this beautiful, sophisticated elegance throughout the movie. It's beautiful to look at, beautiful to listen to, and even more beautiful to feel engaged in. Overall, in terms of the editing, this is the most beautiful Disney film I've ever seen, and you're looking at a kid who grew up watching classic Disney.

The movie also feels like a quality Disney film. There's zaniness, flamboyancy, and the non-princess Princess of this Disney epic is absolutely stunning. There are all of the elements of what people usually associate with quality Disney work, and none of it is missing throughout the piece. Introducing us to a plethora of characters throughout the different aspects of the story, we get the comedic bomb-squad Eastern European, the quirky Frenchman digging specialist, and even more. There's that Disney aspect of fantasy and over-the-top animation, and all of that is apparent throughout the intricacy of the atmosphere.

The Atlantean landscape is by-far the coolest part of the movie. It's incredible to see so many different parts of the different mythical landscape come to life, and the fact that Disney takes the time to engage the voice actors and keep the consistency of the plot moving along is what keeps the movie so active and engaging throughout the beauty of the surrounding scenery, more beautiful than the vast majority of Disney films, and arguably just animated films in general, that have been created thus far.

However, what I think is the most interesting and impressive part of this movie is how little it is like any other Disney film out there (maybe except 'Treasure Planet,' there are similarities there). There isn't any music, there isn't a princess in a castle, there isn't a little village, and while love is a good part of the story, the overarching theme becomes more about greed, human nature, and the destructive capabilities of monopoly. It's a very smart film, and does away with the traditional machine of Disney movies, trying to touch more upon the philosophical nature of the human psyche with regards to greed and desire. That sophistication is what drives the most unique and entertaining aspect of 'Atlantis.'

Unfortunately, as beautiful as 'Atlantis' is, it's not without it's faults.

The biggest issue that I had when watching this film is that I couldn't decide whether or not 'Atlantis' wanted to be a family-friendly romp. Usually, this isn't much of a big deal, but 'Atlantis' seemed to be jumping back and forth with respect to its tone. On one hand, Milo is the weird, quirky kid that every little kid wants to relate to, with big dreams of Atlantis and exploring and becoming a big part of the world around him. However, the movie also constantly references alcohol, sex, and makes more than one specific reference to gun violence, so much so that it feels so much more mature than any other Disney movie before. Personally, I have no issue with it, but it did make me feel a little more uncomfortable that mass gun violence used against the Atlanteans was in the same movie that talked about Milo's 'self-discovery.'

Also, as beautiful as some of the scenery was (I don't take back what I said. This is Disney's prettiest movie), sometimes the story wasn't nearly as interesting. There are a decent amount of cliches that pop up in a few parts of the movie, and while cliches, especially in the Disney world, are nearly unavoidable, the ones here were almost totally overdone. Whether it's the stereotypical 'militant badass goes bad' or 'hero falls in love with native' or 'loser's life changes because of one thing on one specific day,' there are cliches, and they aren't unnoticeable. While most of the time, they don't really matter because the story is engaging, at the same time, it does make the viewer wish that Milo could get to the Atlantis expedition in some way OTHER than being Disney's stereotypical social reject. Or, something maybe one step higher.

Overall, this is one of my new favorite movies. Aesthetically, it's gorgeous, it's engaging, it's cute, and it's a Disney movie that doesn't feel like it's trying to overdo itself. While there are cliches that exist in key points in the story, and while it really doesn't know whether it wants to be adult or child oriented, the movie nevertheless keeps an engaging plot line, maintains the classic Disney feel, and makes a very interesting commentary on the human nature of greed and desire. While Disney may have had it's 'Renaissance' already, there are a number of Disney films such as this that, unfortunately, have fallen out of popularity in the shadows of princesses and ape-men. And it's a shame, too, because these are some beautiful pieces of cinema that will never get the true respect they deserve.

I give 'Atlantis: The Lost Empire' an 9/10.

'Short Term 12' and Dialogue

One of the most defining aspects of a movie is its ability to convince the audience that it isn't a movie. Some of the best modern films are the ones that make you forget you're watching a movie and are instead experiencing a story through the eyes of the people you're watching. A script can make or break a movie. If the writing in a movie is incredibly realistic and convincing (i.e Schindler's List), then the movie becomes more of an experience than it does a piece of cinema. However, if the dialogue sounds like it written by someone with zero education just trying to make something out of nothing (i.e Baz Lurhmann's crap-tastic Romeo and Juliet), then the movie just becomes a chore to sit through and forces the audience to suffer along with the characters in the movie having the most negative backlash possible.

What made 'Short Term 12' so wonderful was the dialogue. And it's why this is one of the best movies I've seen in a very long time.

The subject of troubled teens is a really tough one to try and piece together. A lot of the time, when you start delving into deeper subjects such as abuse, neglect, and abandonment, especially in the realm of the modern teenager, there are 15 different cliched paths that open up in front of you. It takes a specific mindset of a director to try and work with the subject. Whether it's the abusive father, or the neglectful mother, or the uncontrollable anger, these are sad topics, but unfortunately modern film-making has made them very, very fragile to the openness of the modern cliche.

What makes 'Short Term 12' so much different from these other films is the angle that the film takes. We open with this new character, Nate, and immediately, the audience is thrown into the idea that Nate is our main character, and we are opening up to a story about his development and his interactions with these kids slowly improving over time. This is a huge cliche, and it makes for a very boring movie. If you want this sort of cliched trauma inflicted upon teenagers, watch 'Cyberbully.' Trust me. It's a grind.

However, Nate is far from the main character of this spectacle. The main character we are supposed to be focusing on is his partner and in-charge Brie Larson, who plays a woman broken by her past and trying to remedy it by surrounding herself with teenagers she can try and protect in the way that she wasn't. Normally, this would be a cliche in-of-itself, but what '12' does so ingenuously is lead the audience on, pretending to go a cliched route, then throwing you completely for a loop.

One of the most poignant examples of the dialogue in the movie is a very dark, grotesque scene about halfway through. Jaden, the picturesque 'gothic rebel' in the picture, is sitting with Brie's character, and it outlining a story about an octopus who befriends a shark, who constantly takes apart the octopus bit-by-bit in exchange for friendship. It doesn't take long for the audience to realize that Jaden isn't talking about sea creatures here; the shark is her father, and the octopus is Jaden. I almost walked out of the room, this scene hurt so badly to watch. There's a lot of silence in this particular moment of dialogue, mostly because of the audience's awareness of Brie's characters' horrible relationship with her father in the past. Because the dialogue carries an instigation of silence, the traumatic realization is very difficult for the audience to perceive, and it allows us to get a psychological insight not only into the constant pain that Jaden has to suffer at the hands of her merciless father, but also into the origins of empathy that Brie's character has for someone in Jaden's situation.

We see another example of this development with the character Mason. He's cool, funny, intelligent, has beautiful hair, a sick beard, and an attitude of a little kid. He's meant to provide comic relief throughout the movie, and often makes us smile when we see him on-screen with his (surprise!) girlfriend, Brie Larson. However, one of the most poignant moments of the film's dialogue comes during an instigation between Larson's character and Mason outside of a hospital, when we see Mason take on a different, more serious facade, telling his girlfriend in the heat of her psychological meltdown 'you need to LET ME INTO YOUR HEAD sometimes.' Psychological problems are an apparent theme throughout the majority of the film, not only the in troubled teens but also in the people who work in 12. Because we are given serious insights into the way that the characters interact, the psychological remedy of the dialogue really helps to give the aspect of seriousness and believable nature to character development and understanding.

It's the fact that the dialogue throughout the movie doesn't feel forced, or fake, or that it was even written down on a script. You can't tell that the characters have memorized a script, but instead it just feels like a bunch of people ingenuously advertising themselves as someone else. The dialogue flows throughout the movie, interwoven with periods of silence during more serious scenes of the movie. One of the prime reasons the movie doesn't have any sort of 'breaks' is because there's a set tone of dark optimism present throughout the movie, and because silence and dialogue are so ingeniously woven like a thread, it feels natural.

Dialogue can make or break a movie. It made 'The Breakfast Club,' and it broke 'Paranormal Activity 3.' 'Short Term 12' is a beautiful movie, made beautiful by the natural taste of it's crisp script. None of it feels forced, and none of it feels unnatural, and we can empathize with every one of the characters because it sounds as though they carry these natural voices, and that they aren't actors. It's that convincing nature of character interaction and script that makes the movie so poignant, and keeps it from delving into the realm of cliche.

MYST 6: The Martian

I really, really, really hate space. The concept of space travel and space exploration is something that I could never do. There's something to be said about  the boundless, empty, semi-destructive nature of the universe and all that it contains, and it's terrifyingly realistic that the universe is like our oceans: we know almost nothing about anything at all. So, Matt Damon's penultimate nightmare in the 2015 epic 'The Martian' is something that would drive me to death beyond the brink of insanity. The concept of isolation, fear, desolation, and the ability to live alone in a world is completely foreign and unknown to the mental state of most people. In fact, this is the ultimate isolation, being left alone to fend for yourself almost 50 million miles away from home. Needless to say, Ridley Scott's epic about the terror of isolation and gripping fear is a very well-done piece of cinema, holding interest from start to finish, and Matt Damon's incredible portrayal only helps to serve.

Matt Damon is one of the finest actors in modern cinema. I'm sorry, as much crap as he gets for his mockery in 'Team America: World Police,' the actor is credited with such pieces of treasure as 'Good Will Hunting,' 'The Departed,' 'Bourne Ultimatum,' and 'Elysium.' The actor is no stranger to the big-name science-fiction roles often accredited with the likes of Chris Nolan and such, and because of his talent, he carries a strong-willed presence throughout the entirety of the film. He plays Mark Watney, based on Andy Weil's novel, a lone astronaut stranded on the surface of Mars after his operating crew leaves him behind in the midst of a superstorm. Alone and without an infinite supply of food and water, Watney needs to fend for himself until there becomes a possibility that he may ever return home.

The perspective and editing of the movie is by-far the most beautiful part of the movie. The Martian landscape is very, very well detailed, and looks true to the beauty of the red planet. The Mars in this film doesn't look fake, the way that space did in the old-school bomb 'Gravity,' but instead plays a lot more on capturing the true essence of the Martian landscape. As a result, there grows a very respectable portrayal of the location that, combined with multiple uses of long shots, carries out the portrayal of Watney as a lone human lost in the greatest, most powerful place to get lost in.

Also, the science behind the movie is satisfyingly accurate. While a lot of it is biological junk most of us forgot after freshman year of high school, the vast majority of it is proven to be accurate. Damon's character goes on a long tangent about the possibility of creating his own water, growing potatoes in soil fermented with his own dried feces, and duct-taping a hole in his space station shut. Along with the dry sarcasm that we've all come to love and respect from Matt Damon, it makes the astronaut character much more understandable, and as a result it makes his growth from fear to confidence to fear to confidence that more us-like and scary for us as viewers to watch.

However, it's these scientific tangents that serve as this epic's hamartia.

The science is BORING. I don't know about the rest of you, but I'm a guy who's into literature, English, political science, and philosophy. In fact, I've never taken a biology class in my entire life, so all of his tangents about cell growth and genetic reproduction, I'm putting myself to sleep writing it down. I saw this movie in a theater late at night, and as a result, I fell asleep during the middle of this movie, because it soon became nothing more than a scientific tangent. Let me explain.

The movie works as a sort of 'reverse bell curve.' The beginning is really interesting, especially with the portrayal of the superstorm and his sudden realization of isolation and total fear. There's a dark lighting combined with multiple close shots, and it really helps to create a sense of total panic and
fear. As well, the ending is incredible, making you cheer for Damon's character to succeed and ending with the classroom scene that's funny and entertaining, even to us as viewers, providing a moral about the dangers of the unknown.

The problem is the middle.

Nothing really happens, to be quite honest. More of it becomes us trying to understand Damon's exact situation, and it becomes some kind of game of Ping-Pong between Damon talking about how screwed he is, compared with NASA trying to accept the fact that they've, once again, proven why we SHOULDN'T do things like send people to Mars. Back to Damon. Back to NASA. Back to Damon. Back to NASA. It just goes back and forth and back and forth between the two, and because the science isn't really relatable to an audience that isn't full of biochemists and astrophysicists, it becomes more of a pain to watch than anything.

Overall, the movie is very entertaining, and holds a lot of ground with Damon's character's sarcasm and optimism. The movie is clean, looks visually stunning, and carries a lot of scientific prowess. However, even with Damon's fantastic mask all over the movie, some of the parts become so scientific, they almost become insufferable to watch. However, Ridley Scott did an incredible job bringing this space epic to life, it furthers Damon as the cinematic master that he is.

I give Ridley Scott's 'The Martian' an 8/10.                                                                                            

'Memento' and 'Cinematic Braiding'

 This is one of the finest, smartest, most intellectual, most philosophical, and most engaging pieces of cinema on Planet Earth. This is pre-Batman Christopher Nolan with an actor almost completely unknown to modern cinema. Speak what you may; ask any modern young adult who Guy Pearce is, and I guarantee they can't give you 'Neighbors' or 'Memento.' Which is too bad, because this movie needs more praise, more awards, more absolute perfection than it already has.

'Memento' is the story of Leonard, who suffers from anterograde amnesia, which means he has short-term memory loss and cannot remember anything that happened after a man named John G. raped and murdered his wife. Destined to avenge her murder, the movie tells the story of Leonard's journey of self-discovery and vendetta for his wife, hunting for John G. and fighting to keep his wife's memories alive.

However, the way this movie is edited is unlike almost any other movie out there. It's unique, it's branded, and it's braided, and it's not conventional. That's what makes it so special.

Ingenious director Christopher Nolan took a very unique spin on editing 'Memento.' There are two different kinds of scenes that the audience will be be presented with. On one hand, the movie STARTS with ITS ending, portrayed in color. It then jumps to the beginning of the movie, shown in black-and-white. Constantly jumping back and forth between black-and-white and color sequences, the two scenes finally converge in the middle; the ENDING of the film is the MIDDLE of the story.

Confusing, huh?

Think of it like this. With the black-and-white scenes, we are watching the movie chronologically, whereas with the color sequences, they end with the beginning of the previous scene, with each one building on the last. It's a little confusing and a little surprising when you initially begin the movie, but soon makes sense the deeper into the film you get. Why do this, you may ask?

It's actually ingenious. The movie is edited in this specific fashion to make it more interactive for the audience. As previously stated, Leonard suffers from anterograde amnesia. Hence, he is only able to remember bits and pieces of the present, if anything, and because he can't make new memories, it's impossible for him to remember absolutely anything that happened within the last 2 minutes. Therefore, Christopher Nolan films the movie in the same fashion, slowly revealing to the audience member pieces of the story by piecing them together, almost as though we are suffering the same sort of mental activity that our protagonist Leonard is going through. It's this editing that makes 'Memento' one of the most unique pieces of cinematography in the industry.

'Memento' also heavily utilizes repetitions of various 'close' shots. One of the most particular is the constant reference to his right hand, which brazens a tattoo that reads 'Remember Sammy Jankis.' Sammy Jankis was one of Leonard's clients who was apparently suffering from anterograde amnesia as well. What's so interesting about the use of this shot is how often it's used; much of the time, directors will use close shots to convey emotion, but here, it instead constantly forces the audience to see it and constantly be reminded of this 'Sammy Jankis' character, both for his condition and for what he represents to Leonard. It's this constant repetition that makes the use of the close shot so effective throughout the movie.

This is also done with many of Leonard's 'photographs.' Leonard communicates different details to himself through different pictures he takes through his camera, and the notes he takes are constantly shown throughout the movie. However, the way that Chris Nolan lets us know of the importance of the pictures is by doing the reverse-chronology I was talking about above. We don't see him completely write down the notes without any sort of context, but instead we are presented with a majority of the photographs at the beginning of the movie and are slowly shown what they mean through discovery, in the same way that Leonard has to do it. See the interactivity, it's what makes the movie so incredibly engaging from start to finish.

Overall, this movie is incredible. If you haven't seen it, this is not a suggesion: this is one of the best movie, literally ever. Guy Pearce is incredibl, the story is incredible; this is the best example of a modern Film Noir that outlines concepts of memory, reality, and trust, and by the time the credits roll, your mind will be bent so far back, you may start suffering from anterograde amnesia yourself.

Formal Film Study - Tim Burton's Book Adaptions

I'm a Tim Burton junkie, and I have been for a vast majority of my life. I don't know why, nor will I probably ever, but there's always been something so fascinating about the dark tones of the Tim Burton universe that turn every single happy-go-lucky fantasy into a dark, twisted world of Oedipal complexes, Michael Jackson impersonators, acid trips, and a headless horseman. Tim Burton is a man with a flair far more 'flaring' than many other directors, even the hot-shot headliners like Martin Scorsese and Christopher Nolan. But I'll tell you one thing. When Tim Burton gets his hands on something, you know you're in for a wild ride.

I'm an avid reader. Over the past 2 months I've finished almost 6 books, almost 15 if you include the past 5 months. I like books, a lot. My favorite book of all time is F. Scott Fitzgerald's romantic political masterpiece, 'The Great Gatsby.' Not the trash-laden pile of gunk with horrible cameos by Toby McGuire, but instead the beautiful story of tragedy, romance, and murder most foul. And Tim Burton, even in his zaniest sense, is my favorite director, because even with his slip-ups in the realm of Planet of the Apes and Dark Shadows, he's developed masterpieces like 'Edward Scissorhands' and the irreverently beautiful 'Corpse Bride.'

So now, I present to you, the most wondrous and whimsical analysis of the weird, wonderful world of Tim Burton's book adaptions: Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, Sleepy Hollow, and Alice in Wonderland.

(Disclaimer: Yes, I am aware that Sleep Hollow was a short story, not a novel. However, it is a piece of literary heritage that was adapted for screenplay. In my world, it's good enough.)

The first thing that you'll notice about all of these different stories, whether they were books, short stories, or works of literary masterpiece, none of them are particularly dark or scary. The most controversial of these works would be the Sleepy Hollow story, but if you go and read it, there's not a lot of gruesome material nor is there any kind of whimsical or odd-sort of atmosphere. All of the books carry this wondrous apparel of fantasy, and none of them give off any sort of negative, over-the-top vibe. This is the first marker by Tim Burton.

Even in the not-Alice in Wonderland 'Sleepy Hollow,' there's an obvious air of Tim Burton flair. The Tim Burton flair is categorizes as zany, whimsical spiral pillars, Johnny Depp and Helena Bonham Carter (the former appearing in all 3 films, the latter in 2), colorful environments with a tinge of noir-like atmospheres and personas, and this vibe that something is always 'wrong.' This is especially apparent within the world of 'Charlie and the Chocolate Factory,' most obviously with the low shot that defines the factory itself; this is also done with the Mushroom Forest in 'Wonderland' and with the haunted manor of 'Sleepy Hollow.'

Here's where the contrasts begin to show. Wonka's factory in the Roald Dahl novel is brimming to life with colors and rainbows and wisdom that entails the fantastical and reflects the images of a child's dream. The factory in the Burton film, on the other hand, stands as a stone-white monolith, a total contrast to the whimsy and wonderful personality of its vivacious owner. As a result, there comes this apparent tone of fear and unknowing, which contrasts the wonder that Dahl spends all of the original novel playing out throughout the songs and poetry of the Oompa-Loompas. What Burton is doing here is taking the original character of Willy Wonka and playing much more onto the concept of his isolation and his fascination with chocolate, instead of making him the more hug-able, more understandable, whimsical adult figure he is portrayed as within the novel.

This is done in a similar fashion with 'Alice in Wonderland.' Wonderland, as it is described in the novel, is a strange and odd place. Not necessarily negative, but from the massive table in the bottle-opening scene to the Tea Party of Time Travel, there's a very childlike feel to the 1865 original book (which I've read. In fact, I've read the two books, as well as pieces of the short story), similar to the whimsical nature of the Wonka factory. However, in the Tim Burton remake of this story, Wonderland carries a very different feel. Not only does there appear to be a haze over the tyrranical Wonderland, but everything with the twisty trees and British undertones and what appears to be rubble makes this new Wonderland more of a dystopia than the actual place of 'wonder.' As a result, Burton has taken his own spin on the 'wonder' of Wonderland, turning it into a place of terror and fear.

Finally, the environment of 'Sleepy Hollow' is less so. The Irving short story describes the town of Sleepy Hollow as quiet and sound, nevertheless with an air of unknown and a little atmosphere of discomfort. Tim Burton doesn't do to the town of 'Sleepy Hollow' what he does to the Willy Wonka Chocolate Factory or Wonderland, but stays a little more true to the story, making sure that there's not a lot of 'over-the-top' but instead more of an idea of darkness. However, this is not to say that the Burton flair we've been discussing for the entirety of the essay is gone; there is a little more whimsy to this story. The entrance of the Horseman is an over-the-top depiction of childhood nightmare, and the forest does carry a little bit of the 'twisty-tree' atmosphere I was discussing earlier. Of the 3, this is the least 'altered,' but you can feel Tim Burton's presence throughout the story (see my review of Big Eyes).

This leans into my next major discovery with Tim Burton's work. He's a huge, huge fan of the long short. Whether he's giving a major depiction of the wondrous world of the Red Queen, or he's trying to put little Alice against the footstool during the metaphor of self-worth, he uses long shots, and he uses them a lot. This is good because Tim Burton is all about atmosphere; there's a big similarity between the initial presentations of the Red Queen's Castle and Wonka's Candy Factory, both of which utilize a similar low shot that puts the protagonist below it, giving the instigation of the power contained within the center character of conflict.

In 'Sleepy Hollow,' this is done, but less so. The obvious is the manor scene, where there's a depiction of the size of Ichabod Crane relative to the rest of the dark graveyard location. Therefore, we see how pitiful Ichabod looks against the manor and the dark forest, which helps to signal that he is powerless against the supernatural and reinforces much of Tim Burton's constant metaphors of what human beings are capable of doing versus inhuman objects with much more power, either fantasy, science fiction, or in our case, absolutely 'wonderful.'

So, there's an obvious method that Tim Burton uses when he's adapting a book. A lot of the time, Burton is heavily criticized for taking lighter children's stories and giving them a more mature, darker flair that contrasts the openness of how they were with a younger, less mature audience. However, I think there's a big statement wrong with this sentence. Tim Burton movies are like fine wine: it's an acquired taste. There's a very specific mode that Tim Burton uses when he takes these classic stories and makes them strange and wonderful and dark all at the same time, and it's unique.

(NOTE: Many will say that Henry Selick does the same thing, i.e 'Coraline' and 'James and the Giant Peach.' But let's face it. There stories were weird and creepy BEFORE Selick gave them the big screen debut. With what Burton is working with, he needs to TRY and make them as creepy as he has.)

Tim Burton doesn't try to change the books or the stories. If this were true, there wouldn't be so many constant references back to the books that stay so on-par with the stories. For anyone who disagrees, please buy copies of each of the books and read them, then go back and watch how faithful Tim Burton remains with the story. Especially in the world of modern movies, this doesn't happen very often, if at all (take The Maze Runner or Gulliver's Travels). As a result, it's refreshing to see a director who doesn't want to take away from the story at all, but instead give it a personal flair that it didn't contain before.

This isn't to say that what Burton is doing is perfect. Burton's formula is very simple: take the book, find the main center of conflict (THE FATHER in 'Charlie,' ALICE'S INNOCENCE in 'Alice,' THE HORSEMAN in 'Hollow), make it a little darker in atmosphere, and let the story grow around it. He's done this formula with these 3 movies, and the end result, while not necessarily what the author had in mind, are very faithful to the stories and give them a much more mature perspective and edge than what they previously contained.

Why is this a good thing? Think about it. These are KIDS' stories. These books and short stories aren't meant for a mature audience of older adults that want to watch a happy, bubbly, fun portrayal of a girl's magical journey through a land of candy and rainbows. They don't want to see, as wonderful as Gene Wilder is, a bouncy musical about a boy in a candy store. What they want is psychological toying, a sense of darkness and grit, and something that won't make them fall asleep 30 minutes in.

This is why Tim Burton is a genius. These are kids' movies, and they should be treated as such, even if their material pushes the boundaries of the maturity barrier. Not only are these movies entertaining for kids, but they hold a certain level of adult-ness that keeps the older audience attracted to the screen. Yes, it's strange, yes, it's weird, and yes, it's not perfect, but it's that weird source material and dark psychological twist that keeps audiences coming back for more.

Overall, I love Tim Burton. I always have, and I hope I always will. I think he gets a lot of crap for the stuff he puts out, the way he handles certain source material; to an extent, I agree. But he's a weird guy with weird tastes, and that's been apparent since his first day on the job. Whether you love him or hate him, you have to admire his guts and his drive: this is the guy who took one of the most beloved children's books of all time and turned it into a dark, creepy story about daddy issues and compensation. Hell, he did it and not only was it critically successful, like it or not, it made money. 

Keep it up, Burton. You don't scare me.

Citizen Kane and Movie Shots

Ah, yes. Citizen Kane. Often regarded as not only ONE of the best films of all time, but THE best film of all time, this movie was groundbreaking for it's time, often regarded as one of the greatest films to mark the 20th century. Unlike many other films of its time, this was an epic mystery-thriller tale that embodied almost a Great Gatsby-feel of wonder, romance, and timeless entity that marked it as unique for it's time period and defines why it has lasted so well in the modern world of cinema.

For myself, the most defining part of this movie were the shots. Many of the shots were custom-fitted for their scenes, trying to depict some sort of concrete ideology that would be cemented in what the film itself is trying to portray. Take the image to the left. This is a low shot, which typically is supposed to represent power and some idea of force within one character on screen. Almost NO movies in this time-period were able to create any sort of likeness to this symbolization of film and identity, and not only does Kane manage to pull it off, but the end result is gorgeous. By purposely cutting a hole in the floor and filming the scene from the ground up, the same sense of convening power for the man in the room is very, very prevalent and allows for the viewer to see the character in an almost poetic-sort of state of mind.

This same sort of metaphor is furthered in the famous 'Hall of Mirrors' scene to the right. There's a curious use of camera shots here, which combines a full-body depiction of Kane himself surrounded by an infinite number of reflections. The metaphor here is very interesting. In doing the shot this way and placing thousands and thousands of Kanes together next to each other, it furthers the spiritual development that Kane is slowly exposing himself to the world as the darker, truer human being that he is, as well as he is able to see himself in a new light. In doing so, lest he has let us believe for the entire film, Kane is not an invincible man, as the mirror, with its thousands and thousands of reflections, depicts him as weaker, as less significant, and stylistically speaking it drives further the emphasis that Kane is developing as a character.

Now, unfortunately, Citizen Kane's shots are not perfect. The one that stuck out to me was one of the first shots of the movie, where the audience is treated to an extreme close-up of Kane's lips uttering the important phrase 'Rosebud.' Now, this scene is really, really, really, really gross. No one wants to have to look at Kane's facial hair, regardless if the attention is on what he says. As a result, the audience is so distracted by just how disgusting his lips look and takes away from the true essence of what he's trying to say, especially because the 'Rosebud' phrase is the backbone of the movie's entire plot line. Personally, I think the better way to go about this particular part of the movie would be a close up of Kane's face, seeing his eyes stare into the background as the audience tries to understand his last reach of reality before Charles Foster Kane's life comes to an end.

One of the best examples of a close-up carrying the entire message of a movie is the scene of the yacht sinking in Martin Scorsese's masterpiece "The Wolf of Wall Street." As antihero Jordan Belfort comes to the realization that his life may be cut short, he desires to take the most powerful drug he owns in the last few moments of his life. As the camera focuses in on his face, the audience not only sees the desperation of how badly he wants the drugs, but also how his life, his crimes, his wife, his kids, his felonies, how everything is finally falling apart the way it was always supposed to in the end, and as a result, the total paranoia in his eyes is captured, and the sends the most powerful message of the film that inevitability cannot be escaped.

Overall, the most powerful part of Citizen Kane is its shots. While not all of them are perfect, they were revolutionary for the period and the decade, and it will continue to embody the film industry as a landmark for years and years to come.