The cover of Beyond Issue 14: Possible Worlds is a thing of beauty - a front and back wrap around painting by Jeremiah Ketner. I never get tired of looking at it. It makes me happy. His new Small and Round website is also a thing of beauty. Go. Look.
I asked Doug some questions in response to his world animation series. I am increasingly frustrated with seeing things that are made for a certain format in an inferior format - a film made for the theater seen on a computer monitor or television screen. I wonder sometimes if it is better to see these things through levels of windows darkly -like paintings reproduced in books - or not at all since form is content.
Doug responded:
I am a firm proponent of the very real aesthetic differences between film and video; no matter how good the quality of the latter, the texture, grain, greyscale and resolution does not compare. Also film displays via a shutter and video displays via scan lines, so the actual delivery of the image (and subliminal feel) is different.
That being said, I'm a proponent of watching movies however one can, with the implicit understanding that anything less than celluloid is inferior and if you really like the movie in question, you'll keep an eye out for a film projection of it. I go to a lot of film screenings here in Los Angeles of movies that I already own on DVD, just to see and experience them on celluloid, which is always a new--and often revelatory--experience. (Contrary to what you might expect, it's the slow, quiet, meditative films that suffer the most on small screens.)
Of course, there is a line to be drawn somewhere between quality and opportunity. Occasionally, I'll come across a DVD that I think is so sub-par that I really can't watch it in good conscience. On the other hand, I have a few ultra-rare movies on video that I know I will die before I ever get a chance to see them on film, so I slug through them, keeping in mind that I'm only seeing a rough facsimile and not an original.
You'll definitely get better resolution through a monitor rather than a standard TV. But video projectors are really coming down in prices, too, even though they can still be prohibitive. But some stores sell them with a built-in DVD players for around $800. Projectors won't increase the resolution, but they will totally amplify the atmosphere (and save space by getting the idiot box out of your living room).
I also asked about watching the subtitles rather than the English audio track.
As to subtitles, I always prefer subtitles because it preserves the original voices and nuances of the film in question. I myself don't feel like subtitles are a distraction, but I've watched well over a thousand subtitled films through the years, and I think my brain has adapted to the process pretty fluidly. Sometimes, I honestly can't recall if a film was subtitled or not. No doubt it's a learned skill.
But as I mention on the blog, I do appreciate good dubs for little kids who can't read or can't read fast enough. I do think kids should be exposed to subtitles early on, though, and hopefully accept them as a natural aesthetic. I still have fond memories of showing my four year old niece "Hedgehog in the Fog" and reading aloud the subtitles to her like a storybook. She loved it. My brother and his wife read the silent intertitles of "Prince Achmed" to their kids, and had a grand time. Every now and then, my niece stills asks me, "Uncle Doug, remember "Hedgehog in Fog"? She never says, "What was that weird movie you showed me with subtitles?"
Doug writes about film in our magazine and at his blog, Film Journey.
We called Issue 14 Possible Worlds and it became a collection on what hope could create. The voices were varied - from incredible photographers, illustrators, musicians and writers to the birds in our alley -everyone had something to say about seeing what was possible.
Contributing Editor Deegy continues the conversation. He lives in Vancouver, working at a crisis shelter for youth. He is a lover of community, music and art and can't kick the habit of cooking all things Jamie Oliver.
I dwell in Possibility -
A fairer House than Prose -
More numerous of Windows -
Superior - for Doors -Of Chambers as the Cedars -
Impregnable of Eye -
And for an Everlasting Roof -
The Gambrels of the Sky -Of Visitors - the fairest -
For Occupation - This -
The spreading wide my narrow Hands
To gather Paradise -Emily Dickinson, American poet (1830-1886)
I escaped to a greasy spoon diner after work yesterday, had some eggs, sausage and toast, and finally cracked open the book, The Impossible Will Take A Little While, this time to forge past the introduction. Diane Ackerman's essay A Slender Thread, around a call she fielded at a suicide hotline, really encouraged me. She writes:
As Emikle Sola once said, some mornings you first have to swallow your toad of disgust before you can get on with the day. We choose to live. But suicidal people have tunnel vision - no other choice seems possible. A counselor's job is to put windows and doors in that tunnel.
Her thoughts struck home, as our shelter encounters many suicidal young people every month. A few of my co-workers have even chased some clients from the door to the nearest bridge and pulled them to safety. Thankfully, like Ackerman, we do have the opportunity to punch some holes of light into these tunnels of despair, and on the odd occasion have a chance to hear that some of these youth, at some point, do move beyond their suicidal ideations with some help and counselling. Last night, one youth I had worked with months earlier, who still drops by for food and to talk from time to time, stopped by in a drunken stupor to thank me for helping him find a counsellor who he really connects with. It was a strange encounter, knowing he was still dealing with much pain but was a little farther along since he first came to us, when he was so eager to jump off the nearest bridge.
The All About feature in our issue on Beauty with an illustration by our friend Aaron Leighton.
Neuronatomist Jill Bolte Taylor talks about the insights gained during her own stroke. (18:44)
Savant Drawings (5:12)
The final two films in the conclusion of Doug's series on world animation:
• Motion Painting No. 1 (Oskar Fischinger, 1947)
Fischinger was a pioneer of experimental, nonrepresentational
animation (he was a major inspiration for Fantasia, a film he
worked on before parting ways with Disney), and this final
masterpiece is available on a DVD entitled Oskar Fischinger: Ten
Films, an excellent introduction to his career. Motion
Painting No. 1 is like an oil painting come to life, with
graceful lines and shapes growing and expanding frame by frame to
Bach's majestic "Brandenburg Concerto no. 3." In 1997, this visually
arresting 11-minute short film was added to the US National Film
Registry for culturally, historically or aesthetically significant
films.
• Le Roi et l'oiseau (aka The King and the Mockingbird) (Paul Grimault, 1980) I kind of fibbed at the beginning of this article; I'm sneaking a European DVD in here for adventurous readers. This film hasn't been released on video in North America, which is a crying shame since it's not only an exhilaratingly surreal fairy tale, but it was also a major influence on Takahata, Miyakazi, and legions of other filmmakers. Witness the film's elaborately stylized castle, giant robot, sweet romanticism and lyrical beauty. Sometimes copies of this show up on Ebay, or if you have a multi-region DVD player, you can order the French DVD from any number of e-tailers, but know that the DVD does not contain English subtitles. However, the visual and narrative sweep are so compelling, they probably won't be missed.
Part 1.
Part 2.
Doug Cummings of Film Journey, the Beyond magazine feature and the blog, continues his recommendations on world animation.
• The Man Who Planted Trees (Frederic Back) Like ever-shifting color pencil sketches, Canadian Frederic Back's work comprises some of the most beautifully rendered and thematically sensitive filmmaking around. This is merely one of his masterpieces, an enchanting fable about a man who single-handedly, through long years of quiet toil, reforests an entire region in France, which immeasurably improves the lives of its inhabitants. Based on the story by Jean Giono, this classic short film boasts a sensitive English narration by Christopher Plummer.
• Nausicaa of the Valley of the Wind (Hayao Miyazaki, 1984) Many Westerners know Miyazaki through his Academy Award-winning Spirited Away, but that's only the tip of the iceberg, and fortunately Disney has released a whole series of his films on DVD with good English dubs (for the little ones) as well as subtitles. My first exposure to his work was Nausicaa, his second feature and a sprawling science fiction epic of a post-apocalyptic world in which humans compete for dwindling resources against giant insects and destructive technologies. So many of Miyazaki's themes are here: ecological harmony, the need for human cooperation, flying ships and air battles, and a messianic figure uniting the world. The film was based on his manga, which he continued to write and illustrate well into the Nineties, which is available (and highly recommended) as a massive, much more elaborate seven-volume comic series.
• My Neighbors the Yamadas (Isao Takahata, 1999) Back to Takahata, who offers this brilliant and affectionate tribute to the modern nuclear family--think of it as The Simpsons with less scatological humor and much more heart. Drawn with a wonderfully minimalist sketch style, this examination of the pratfalls, surprises, iconic situations, and paradoxes of family life manages to be hilarious without resorting to cynicism, and inspirational without resorting to sentimentality. If you've ever wondered what daily life is like in Japan, you might be surprised to discover how amazingly similar it is to your own. A very special film.
(This series wraps up tomorrow.)
Doug of Film Journey continues his recommendations on world animation:
• Haibane Renmei (Yoshitoshi ABe, 2002) If Fireflies sets the standard for dramatic anime features, this astonishing 13-part miniseries--made for Japanese television--is the most novelistic anime I've seen. It's also a highly sophisticated spiritual allegory with a quiet lyricism worthy of such master filmmakers as Yasujiro Ozu and Robert Bresson. The protagonists are young girls mysteriously hatched from cocoons into a rustic village with its own system of rules, and the plot revolves around the girls coming to grips with their barely-remembered pasts, their relationships with each other, and their ultimate purposes in this new world. This is essential viewing; the series' creator, Yoshitoshi ABe, is definitely a filmmaker to keep an eye on. (For more info, check out Beyond friend John Torvi's review, here.)
• The Hand (Jiri Trnka, 1965) Moving, for the moment, outside the Japanese film industry, this classic 18-minute short film by by a great Czech stop-motion animator is a scathing, allegorical critique of totalitarian orthodoxy. It's available as part of a collection of films entitled The Puppet Films of Jiri Trnka. "Puppets" in this case are highly intricate figurines, and in The Hand, Trnka's last film, an anonymous Artist wants to create his art but a giant Hand demands that he sculpt a replica of itself. (If you'd rather watch the film online, click here.)
• Time Masters (aka The Masters of Time) (Rene Laloux, 1982) French animator Laloux made a name for himself with the psychedelic political allegory Fantastic Planet in the early '70s, and this later space opera (largely produced in Hungary) teams him up with the famed comics and movie illustrator "Moebius" (Heavy Metal magazine, Alien, TRON). A young boy is stranded on a remote planet buzzing with giant hornets, but an adventurer traveling through space comes to his rescue. The plot is perfunctory, but the imaginative settings and rich designs are combined with a funky art house vibe that lends it thorough originality.
From Contributing Editor, Doug Cummings:
With every Film Journey article, I find myself in a space battle. That is, what to add and what to cut, to be brief but informative, in-depth but accessible. And my latest article was no exception. In
"Original Frankensteins," I comment on seven giants in world
animation--Ladislaw Starewicz, Lotte Reiniger, Alexander Alexeieff,
Yuri Norstein, Norman McLaren, Stan Brakhage, and Don Hertzfeldt--but
could have included so many more major figures. Consider this post
an addendum; here I briefly mention (alphabetically) ten more films
currently available on DVD that represent the work of animation
masters. (So get your Netflix or Zip.ca or whatever queues
ready...and don't hesitate to share your reactions and comments with
Beyond.)
• Barefoot Gen (Mori Masaki, 1983) This adaptation of Keiji Nakazawa's famous autobiographical manga is based on his experience as a child in Hiroshima the day the atomic bomb was dropped. Though it doesn't shy away from relaying its share of eye-witnessed horrors--strikingly and nightmarishly illustrated--it also contains a surprising amount of broad, earthy humor and a strong critique of Japan's wartime political structure.
• Grave of the Fireflies (Isao Takahata, 1988)
Though Takahata was co-founder of the popular Studio Ghibli with
Hayao Miyazaki, he still remains the lesser known of the two
filmmakers, which is unfortunate. Without downplaying Miyazaki's
brilliance, it's safe to say that Takahata (who has a degree in
French literature) has focused more on everyday subjects, mature
themes, and visual experimentation, often to spectacular results.
Fireflies, which tells the tragic story of two young WWII
orphans trying to stay alive in firebombed Tokyo, is widely
considered his masterpiece. With a depth and sensitivity equal to
the best live action, this unforgettable film is a dramatic high
point for the animation genre.
(More recommendations tomorrow.)
Sometimes there is only so much that we can place in the paper version of the magazine and we are happy to continue to share our content here at the Beyond blog. All this week Doug Cummings our Film Journey writer adds to "Film Journey: Original Frankensteins" which appeared in Issue 16: Small. Enjoy and feel free to add your thoughts.
You may have read our interview with hip hop artist K'naan in the latest issue of Beyond. His thoughts on doing "more deleting and less saving" when learning about other cultures are still with us as we work on other bits for upcoming magazines.
After traveling in Mali for a few days, K'naan spoke of making music with local artists. In this video (Wrap Up) he speaks of being inspired:
This is the right vibe. Good spirit. Good people. A community of serious musicians who live for the music, who live for sound you know. A lot of people I've met are not necessarily thinking of platinum records or anything like this. They just live to make some music. They live to make sound. They travel around the world and meet other musicians and have clever little things to show to each other. Very passionate about their thing. This is where you find the truest of things in a way. It's not connected to commerce. I'm not mad at making money but it can't be that you create something genuine if your beginning is thinking about the outcome of a financial kind of gain from that thing that you create. At least, it's not going to be art.
In Issue 13: Beauty, Beyond magazine writers and contributors examine the tenuous connections between biology, memory, and remembrance. Like Barton Fink, going on about The Life of the Mind, we are often easily impressed with our own intelligence and forget the raw material is a gift.
A Beyond volunteer who works on an Neurology Intensive Care Unit tells of sudden and slow changes to the brain. The onset of disease, a wrong medication, an accident, an act of what seem to be some humourless and cruel god and we are changed.
In his book Shadow of Memory, writer Floyd Skoot describes his ongoing life with dementia:
We decry what we fear. We shroud it in myth, heap abuse upon it, use language and gesture to banish it from sight or render it comic. By shrinking its monstrousness, we tame it. So a new disease such as AIDS is known first as the gay cancer, or chronic fatigue syndrome is known first as the yuppie flu, officially trivialized, shunted aside. And there is little we fear so much as losing our minds. Synonyms for "demented" are "daft," "deranged," "maniacal," "psycho," "unbalanced." Or, more colloquially, "bananas," "flipped out," "nutty as a fruitcake," "out of one's tree." The demented are like monkeys, it would seem.I became demented overnight. Sudden onset is one factor that distinguishes my form of dementia from the more common form associated with Alzheimer's disease. For the Alzheimer's patient, who is usually over sixty, dementia develops slowly, inexorably. People have the chance to see these conditions progressing, to adjust in stages, grieve in advance. Mine developed without prelude and without time to prepare, momentously, the way it does in people suffering strokes or tumors, a bullet to the brain, or exposure to toxic substances like carbon monoxide. For me, it was how I imagine the day some sixty-five million years ago when a huge meteorite stuck the earth, turning summer to winter in an instant.
--------------------The word dementia has its root in the Latin dementare, meaning "senseless." Yet I have found my senses heightened following the loss of intellectual force. My responsiveness to odor is so strong that sometimes I think I've become a beagle. Intense spices--Indian, Thai, Mexican--feel exaggerated in their richness; I can become exhausted and confused by eating these foods. My skin often tingles, sometimes for no discernible reason, sometimes in response to the slightest stimulus. The same process that stripped me of significant intellectual capacity and numbed my mind seems to have triggered an almost corresponding heightening of sensory and emotional awareness. Sometimes this can be a maelstrom, sometimes a baptismal immersion. So when "demented" breaks down into "de" for "out of" and "ment" for "mind"--literally "out of mind,"--I interpret the verbal construction as having positive connotations. Not loony, but liberated. Forced out of the mind, forced away from my customary cerebral mode of encounter, I have found myself dwelling more in the wilder realms of sense and emotion. Out of mind and into body, into heart. An altered state.
This is actually biology at work. Dementia is, after all, a symptom of organic brain damage. It is a condition, a disorder of the central nervous system brought about, in my case, by viral assault on brain tissue. When the assault wiped out certain intellectual processes, it also affected emotional processes. I am not talking about compensatory or reactive emotional conditions; I mean the same assault zapped certain emotion-controlling neural tissue, transforming the way I felt and responded, loosening my controls.
It has not been customary to recognize the neurology of emotion. For the nearly four centuries since Descartes's Discourse on Method (1637), scientists have tended to focus their attentions on the mental processes of memory, thinking, or language production. Measurable, readily testable, objective material. Emotions, primitive vestiges of our evolutionary history, were thought of primarily as distractions to mental activity. And were difficult to assess objectively, either from within or without.
But in the last two decades, neuroscientists have made clear that, as Dowling says, "Feelings and emotions--fear, sadness, anger, anxiety, pleasure, hostility, and calmness--localize to certain brain regions." Dowling notes that "lesions in these areas can lead to profound changes in a person's emotional behavior and personality, as well as in the ability to manage one's life." This is what has happened to me.
Intelligence is only part of the story of human consciousness. The longer I dwell in this new, demented state, the more I think intelligence may not even be the most critical part. I have become aware of the way changes in my emotional experience interact with changes in my intellectual experience to demand and create a fresh experience of being in the world, an encounter that feels spiritual in nature. I have been rewoven.
Ah yes, we are new to the wide world of independent publishing but we still want to shout our hurrahs to those who are trying to make their voices heard outside of the mainstream.
Our feature, Reprint highlights content from other publishers, encouraging peace on paper and goodwill to all those who believe in making the effort to keep publishing creative and eclectic. In this issue, we tipped our hats to Sun Magazine. With over thirty years of publishing behind them and a policy of no-ads and reader support, we look to Sun for inspiration.
In this month's issue, Sun features a timely interview with historian Howard Zinn on The Role of Artists in the Time of War (pdf file):
Later, I came to think about the power of those in charge of society and the relative powerlessness of most other people, who become the victims of the decision makers. I thought about what tools people might have to resist those who have a monopoly on political and military power. Art, I saw, gave them a special motivation that couldn’t be calculated. Social movements all through history have used art to enhance what they do, to inspire people, to give them a vision, to bring them together and make them feel that they are part of a vibrant movement.Very often, people who are not acquainted with the industrial workplace, people who have not worked in factories or mills, think that working people are not interested in literature. But working people have always had a life outside the workplace, and in that life many of them do read and become self-educated. Sometimes, at work, early-twentieth-century laborers would take whatever opportunity they had to talk to one another, to read to one another, to draw upon the great voices of literature for inspiration. In A People’s History of the United States, I quote from the memoir of a garment worker, who tells how she and her co-workers would read Percy Bysshe Shelley and quote these remarkable lines from his poem “The Mask of Anarchy”:
“Rise like Lions after slumber
In unvanquishable number —
Shake your chains to earth like dew
Which in sleep had fallen on you —
Ye are many — they are few.”
What a remarkable affirmation of the power of the seemingly
powerless: “Ye are many — they are few.”What a remarkable affirmation of the power of the seemingly powerless: “Ye are many — they are few.”
