Statement - BRAIN OF MALICE

The short film Brain of Malice is in production and will be completed this week. It is the story of a Man who, after learning of his lover's cheating ways, binge drinks and fantasizes about murdering her. One morning the Man is awakened by the community drug dealer, the Milk Man, and is served "Breakfast." Breakfast, we learn, is a term for society's mandatory, morning drug-ingestion process. After consuming the drugs, the Man's murderous mind runs rampant. He decides to carry out the killing of his ex-girlfriend and her new lover. After committing the crime, the Man comes to believe that he has been cursed, as crazy occurrences start to befall him.

Un Chien Andalou

I have selected Un Chien Andalou from the Broken Screen list because it gave birth to experimental and non-linear filmmaking techniques. The title translates to An Andalusian Dog. Released in 1929, Un Chien Andalou is a black-and-white short-subject conceived by Salvador Dali and Louis Bunuel. Bunuel directed the movie, which is listed in Broken Screen under Structural Manipulation: Subverting linear storylines through technical expression. Indeed, Un Chien Andalou does not portray a linear storyline, but presents a series of bizarre scenes that may or may not have any real narrative quality. The artistry of Un Chien Andalou lies in the disjointed, dreamlike staging and sequencing of the scenes. For example, a shot of a cloud moving across the moon is juxtaposed with a shot of a knife slicing through a woman's eye. A scene showing ants crawling out of a hole in a man's palm is intercut with shots of a woman prodding a severed hand lying in the middle of a road.

These seemingly meaningless images are not meant to serve a narrative. They feel more like a montage depicting completely irrational happenings, arranged without formula. As a result, time is manipulated to the point of apparent insignificance in Un Chien Andalou. Conveyed through title cards, scenes skip ahead eight years into the future; then to 3 am; then to sixteen years prior; then simply to "Spring." This seemingly random manipulation of time serves the film by creating a fantastical, spontaneous, and open-ended atmosphere in which the bizarre vision of Dali and Bunuel is allowed to flourish.

One scene that best depicts the irrational chronology of Un Chien Andalou is a sequence depicting an exchange between a bicycle-riding man and a woman. The biker, transporting a small striped box, crashes into the sidewalk, and the woman rushes to his aid. This dissovles to a shot of the woman opening the box and removing a striped tie. She sets these objects on her bed along with the man's clothing. Then she sits in her chair and gazes at the bed. Suddenly the man appears in the room, staring at his hand. Ants crawl from a hole in his palm. This cuts directly to the streets, where a severed hand lies surrounded by a crowd. A girl pokes at the hand with a cane, then reveals that she posesses the aformentioned striped box. The man and woman watch from above as the girl is suddenly run down by a car. The man marvels at the carnage, then turns on the woman with lust. He begins to grope her. As he does this, her clothing melts into invisiblilty (using dissolves) and the man grips flesh. The woman espcapes his grasp for a moment, and she is again clothed. All at once the man is shown pulling a piano containing a dead donkey and two priests across the floor. The woman runs out the door and shuts it on the man's outstretched, ant-spewing hand. Then the film jumps ahead eight years, this time showing the man in bed, dressed in the clothes laid there by the woman.

The nudity and disturbing images in this strangely executed segment, along with its irrational sequencing, evoke a nightmarish quality. Highly controversial for its time, Un Chien Andalou cannot be dismissed as a mere montage of random images. It is a collection of feelings generated by the content and presentation of these images.

SOUND SOURCES

A source of constant enjoyment in my life is farting. It cracks me up. The sound of farts is so comedic, and the fun associated with comedy has led me to use wind-passing as a source for this project. First I recorded a few farts and the ensuing laughter. Then in Garageband I modified the sounds into a rythmic pattern. Lastly I combined it with some of my own music recordings. What I've got so far is a soundscape in which echoing farts act as percussion in a fuzzy guitar and drum whirlwind, with a few unintelligible but totally human exclamations bouncing around.

SOUND

I love music and I love to talk and laugh and listen. Needless to say, sound is essential to my existence. I think most human beings will understand when I say that our lives have certain sonic qualities. They are channeled emotionally. There are sounds that drive us crazy and sounds that make us want to dance. The sound of a crying baby makes me very upset deep down. A laughing baby, however, will make me extraordinarily happy. Some sounds will even invoke hunger in me, for example the simmering of a meatloaf just out of the oven. The five senses work together that way. Sound, as well as sight, helps define our space. Environmental sounds color the backdrop of our lives. I try to fill this backdrop will my favrotie music and the laughter of the people that I love. To me no sound is sweeter than the latter. Except maybe insane farts, but these just lead to more laughs. I also enjoy hearing and comparing heartbeats and breathing during certain activities. And rollicking rollercoaster wooshes. And gasps. I see it as applying our own organic rhythms to help us live in a sonic world. Vibration is key. Rhythm may be even more essential. I haven't figured it out yet. Has anyone?

Finding the Source

Isolating a single source of creative inspiration isn't the easiest task, since there are always a large number of influential forces at play in one's mind. I try to recall the first feelings that tickle my brain when I become inspired by something. Usually these feelings are rooted in a basic love of some idea. As a child these ideas were probably best represented by the creativity I saw in books and movies. I enjoyed the idea of telling stories mostly. Stories can be told through books, movies, and music. The books of Dr. Seuss had an immense creative effect on me.

Taxi Driver

In 1972, destitute critic-turned-screenwriter Paul Schrader was down and out on his luck, living in his car. In these conditions he wrote the first draft of "Taxi Driver," finishing the script in just seven days. The script was optioned by producers Julia and Michael Phillips, who recruited Martin Scorsese, fresh from directing the gritty "Mean Streets," to helm the picture. Robert De Niro, star of "Mean Streets," and "The Godfather Part II," was selected by Scorsese to play the lead role of cab-driver Travis Bickle.
The story of Travis Bickle revolves around his disgust with the underbelly of New York City. Each night as he drives his cab, Travis witnesses prostitution and other vices that make him hate his surroundings. He feels that the city should be cleansed. Through narrated passages, we learn that Travis is a loner. He doesn't have any friends, except for a few cabbie aquaintances. He cannot sleep, and spends his time off in porno theaters, surrounded by the smut that he claims to despise. Travis's lonliness becomes the subject matter of the first half of the film, as he descends into madness trying to cope with it.
Writer Paul Schrader: "'Taxi Driver' dramatizes the all too human condition of lonliness, a human being who moves through the maddening crowd, jostled, brushed, ignored or abused, hassled or pandered, but who is somehow untouched by any of it because of his own secret world of fantasy and his inability to communicate with his fellow humans. In short, a lonely man, aching to recognized and loved, but unable to attain it."
When "Taxi Driver" was released in 1976, it garnered praise for De Niro's performance, as well as the performance of Jodie Foster, who was just 12 when she appeared in the movie as an underage prostitute. The movie also made headlines because of its edgy, ultra-violent climax. The film was considered Scorsese's first true masterpiece, earning him the Golden Palm award at the Cannes Film Festival.
Stylistically, the film has the grittiness typical of '70's New York films, such as "The French Connection" and "Mean Streets," but this is inherant of the setting. It is given a surreal quality by the cinematography and editing, however. Rain glistens on the street and on the cab, street lights cast their glow on the nightlife, while the huge, glistening facades of porno theaters loom above the vile characters beneath them. Travis is the focus of almost every single scene in the film. The monotony of his life is reflected in the tempo of the cab sequences. Oftentimes the same shots will be seen over and over again, then again in slow-motion, emphasing the rhythm his life. In "Taxi Driver," time seems endless. Day and night are cut together as though the editors has little regard for chronology, but this effectively illustrates Travis's state of being.
As the plot unfolds, we learn that Travis has fallen in love with a woman who works for the presidential campaign of Senator Charles Palentine. The sequences showing the woman, named Betsy, viewed from afar by Travis, are seductive slow-motion studies that are long in duration. Travis's narration reveals that he thinks Betsy is an angel, and Scorsese relates this onscreen by filming her like one, dressed in white and photographed indulgently.
Scorsese presents most of the action through Travis's eyes, giving us close-ups of Travis's chilling gaze in the cab's rear-view mirror.
The film's climax, in which Travis finally lashes out at the scum he despises, is so surreally violent that the film was given an X-rating. To get an R-rating, the cinematographer agreed to de-saturate the film stock so that the blood, which was dark red, would appear pink. This change, although not made with artistic intention, actually hightens the intensity of the sequence. With its strange color, and its mix of quick cutting and slow-motion, the climax is an explosion of violent fantasy.

Camera Obscura Adventure

The principles behind camera obscura are surprisingly simple, but still manage to amaze viewers. The experience of seeing an image take shape in a pitch black room right before one's eyes is actually quite stunning. The light, coming from the outdoors, passes into the dark room through a minuscule hole and creates an upside-down image on the wall. It takes a few minutes for the human eye to see this, but after about five minutes, details of the outside world begin to appear. Since the image is upside-down and monochromatic, the experience is very trippy and surreal. One can feel their pupils and retina working to perceive the image, and this is almost psychedelic in nature. It is refreshingly to know that a simple ray of light shone through a mere pinhole can cause such an interesting phenomenon. Literally and figuratively, camera obscura is an eye-opening experience.

Sunlight from the outdoors isn't the only way to witness camera obscura. Well-illuminated indoor objects can have the same effect. For example, a still-life setup looks very dramatic when viewed in a camera obscura booth. At first, not all details are apparent. Vague shapes take form first. The most recognizable object was a model of a human hand. Next to it, there appeared to be several blobs taking shape. From what I perceived, two shapes were rectangular, one was globular, and the last was bottle-shaped. After leaving the booth and viewing the still-life, I realized that there were more shapes that my eyes hadn't detected. One was a cylinder, which I had mistaken for a rectangle, and another was a small sphere resting beside the hand. Had I stayed in the booth longer, these shapes probably would have become more apparent. For the most part, I managed to make out many of the major shapes.

A Landscape at Three Different Times in One Day

At mid-day this small building, containing electrical equipment, stands like a miniature castle in a public park. For the most part it is very well illuminated, however the sun's angle causes the facade to remain in shadow. The quality of light is very crisp, since this is the brightest time of day. Snow on the ground reflects sunshine, but because it's melting, most objects appear to have a wet sheen. The space is inhabited by geese and ducks that live in the reeds nearby, and walkers strolling through the park. There is moderate vehicular activity on this street, with a few cars passing every minute.

At sundown the park grows dark, but a timed light on the building keeps the entrance illuminated. There are too many trees and large buildings in the area for the sunset's orange glow to reach the park, but streetlights keep the surrounding area lit with a blue fluorescence. At this time of day, no one is in the park. The only signs of activity are cars going down the street, and the occasional jogger running by.

Once the sun has set, the park is pitch black. The main part of the building is almost completely in shadow except for the light above the entrance, which illuminates the short path leading up to it. Another timed light towards its rear illuminates that section. Streetlights cast a glow over the street where mainly taxicabs roam. Hardly any human activity is seen.

The most interesting time to view this area has proven to be mid-day, when there are people and animals inhabiting the park. I would describe the area to a blind person as a place of activity. Even without sight, one can sense the goings-on. The sounds-- people strolling and talking, geese honking, wind blowing, cars speeding by--as well as the wet sensation of the melting snow, all contribute to a feeling of activity made evident through the passage of time.

Ancient Egyptian Timekeeping: The Water Clock

The ancient Egyptian civilization, first springing up near the Nile delta around 5000 BC, had a very substantial understanding of time. It was the annual flooding of the Nile River that influenced ancient Egyptians to begin to record time. They needed to record time in order to determine when to plant and when to harvest crops. This relationship between the ancient people and nature reflected their spirituality, since they viewed the Nile as a pathway to the afterlife.
Ancient Egyptians used sundials to observe the 12 daytime hours, but in oder to tell time at night, a new method was needed. Under the reign of Ahmenhotep I, a man known as Amenemhat created a water clock. The water clock, also called a clepsydra, was a essentially a funnel made of alabaster that stood about 95 centimeters high. It had 12 sections carved into it, each with 11 perforations lining it. When filled with water, the clepsydra would take 12 hours to drain through a tiny hole in its base. To tell time, one had to observe the water level in the clock, and read the time according to the closest perforation. The timekeepers were priests and astronomers, who needed to know when to plan religious rituals, which were of utmost importance to the ancient civilization.

James Turrell

James Turrell's fascination with the influence of light on the human environment is the subject of much of his art. Turrell's ambitious crater project, started in 1972, is an attempt to immerse people in his grand vision: bringing the cosmos down to earth, and giving people a true sense of existing in time and space. This is an impressive undertaking, and an important one. In today's world, it appears that mankind has lost its connection with nature. Turrell's exhibitions allow people to enter atmospherically lit spaces where various illuminations influence behavioral and emotional states of viewers. This allows people to rekindle a relationship with nature, and experience interactions with light and time that they may take for granted in daily life. Stepping into Turrell's crater, one can feel the passage of time and earth's movement in space. Human life in the 21st century seems mostly disconnected from nature, and Turrell has effectively brought back to mankind these cosmic interactions.