'This Is How You Make a Movie' Pairs Film Techniques With Popular Films
Chances are that if you love movies as much as I do, This Is How You Make a Movie will be a worthy addition to your film book collection.
While most of us have a favorite genre and/or filmmaker, we might not even be aware of why we feel a certain way towards these particular films, even our favorites.
And yet all of the decisions that go into a film – not just those from directors, but from the actors, editors, and entire filmmaking team – are right there on the screen, just waiting to be decoded by viewers.
The best films in cinema use a multitude of filmmaking techniques that highlight the subtextual elements of their stories, which add even deeper meaning than the words or images could do alone.
For example: how does the opening slow pan in Peter Bogdanovich’s The Last Picture Show perfectly introduce us to the world of the film’s rural and sleepy suburban town?
How does director Steve McQueen use the rule of thirds to highlight electricity between the characters in Shame?
And why does Andrea Arnold’s decision to use a 4:3 aspect ratio in American Honey make sense to emphasize the individuals in the film?
If these kinds of questions interest you, then keep reading, as I got my hands on a newly published book titled This Is How You Make a Movie, which explains the terms, processes, and techniques seen in classic and contemporary films, to help you watch and understand films better.
The Design (The Outside)
If you’re anything like me, you might own 5, 10, or even more books on film. Most that you’ve read, some that you’ve lightly read, and a few that you haven’t really committed to at all.
They all either explain the general history of film or how to make a movie in more production-focused terms. So what makes this book different than the rest?
Two things: For one, it’s beautifully designed. And second, it's such a succinct book, which focuses on breaking down filmmaking terms like a dictionary would, and provides examples from films to illustrate those points.
It has a coffee table design and a hardcover treatment. Coffee table books need to be visually appealing since most of their life is being prominently displayed while closed.
Its publisher, Laurence King (based out of London), is in the business of making beautiful-looking books and gifts on film and art, which applies to this book as well.
This isn’t a dog-eared, paperback textbook you might still have kept from college. It's a simple, intelligently designed book, and is meant to be displayed on a table or anywhere in your home.
Its two-tone color-pairing makes for a wonderful harmony. And its sans-serif fonts are smartly chosen, giving a modern touch.
And finally, its size and weight are accessible. You can pick it up and put it down, reading a few sections at a time, all at your leisure.
The Content (The Inside)
As I mentioned before, this isn’t a chronological step-by-step guide for how to make a movie. This is great because all of the books that do that are also limited by the technology that they advise you to use (which sort of video camera, and the editing software that’s already outdated).
This is How You Make a Movie is more or less an encyclopedic look at the techniques and terms that are used in the best films, which the book’s author, Tim Grierson, succinctly and elegantly breaks down.
The book includes 5 sections:
- Acting
- Directing
- Lighting & Camera
- Editing
- Writing
Within these sections are further sub-sections. So in acting, we get breakdowns of "method acting" – popularized by Marlon Brando in A Streetcar Named Desire – through improvisation, seen in Knocked Up and Girls Trip.
And again, these are simply, succinctly written. 1 or 2 paragraphs with negative space to hammer the approachable design home. So you truly can take this book in sections at a time.
Classic films from City Lights, The Godfather, Star Wars, and The Shining, to more contemporary works like Moonlight, Good Time, We Need to Talk About Kevin, and Deadpool.
Directors like Stanley Kubrick, Alfred Hitchcock, and Charlie Chaplin are also nested alongside the more diverse filmmakers of today, such as Barry Jenkins, Andrea Arnold, Kathryn Bigelow, and the Dardenne Brothers.
My favorite section of the book (which I didn’t know before reading) was in the Lighting & Camera section, which discussed “Chiaroscuro." Chiaroscuro, as I learned, is a lighting technique in which the protagonist is prominently in focus against a fuzzy background fuzzy (or, with a shallow depth of field).
Lighting can enhance this even further, which Gordon Willis did in The Godfather’s "I'll make him an offer he can't refuse" scene. The effect goes back to Caravaggio and Rembrandt, and how those masters introduced this technique in their paintings.
I didn’t know this before reading this book, and now I get to make that observation the next time I'm watching The Godfather with my family and friends.
But really, reading This Is How You Make a Movie does make me appreciate my favorite films and the artistry in them even more, which is what it will do for you.
So, are you going to pick up a copy of this book for yourself, a family member, or a friend? It's the perfect way to learn more about why you love your favorite film, by better understanding the techniques that went into the technique (or vice-versa).
A beautifully designed, succinct, and smartly written book will always have a place in my film book collection, as it should in yours too.
You can order This Is How To Make a Movie now here at Laurence King's website.
'In the Earth' Is a Hallucinatory Pandemic-Era Horror
It was fitting that Ben Wheatley's new movie In the Earth–a horror film set during a deadly virus outbreak–premiered at this year's Sundance Film Festival, as the fest itself was virtually-held while our own world moved through the very real Coronavirus pandemic. In the Earth, which comes out this Friday, even has the credit of being the first feature film to start and complete production during last year's quarantine (while adhering to the UK's strict social distancing guidelines).
In this regard, it's fascinating to see the final result of the film, which uses its own production limitations to tell a story of a similarly scaled-down size: that of a scientist (Joel Fry) who teams up with a park scout (Ellora Torchia) to head into to the woods to procure equipment to find a cure for a deadly virus. Of course, what the find instead is that they are not alone, and that horrors beyond what they can imagine lie waiting for them.
Personal Expression
Director Ben Wheatley has balanced between making artistically independent and commercially-contrived films throughout his career. 2016's artfully absurd High-Rise delivered a totally unique cinematic vision of its source novel, yet is pretty inaccessible to most audiences, and undeniably strange. On the other hand, his most recent film outing, Netflix's remake of Rebecca, was a painfully conventional and disappointing exercise.
Read our review of 'High-Rise' here.
While In the Earth does hit the expected conventions one would expect and hope for in a horror movie, Wheatley's creative and assured directorial vision remains in display here, and perhaps thanks to the film's micro-budget scale. The film feels more personal and intimate, and we're able to develop a closer connection to the actors, which all pays off when the film moves into its second act and tip-toes into the nightmarishly absurd.
Personal Expression: 3 out of 5 stars
Daring
There are a few elements at work in In the Earth that make this a totally daring film. For one, the film mixes a few different sub-genres of horror: that of a slasher hunting in the woods, mythical folklore evil, and then surprisingly with its ecologically supernatural horrors. It's an ambitious undertaking to evolve to such an unexpected other-worldly enemy, as well as to do so with such daring vision, as the film climaxes into a strobe-filled psychedelic freak-out.
And then of course, the larger real-world fact that the film was shot during quarantine of a very-real pandemic is perhaps the most daring aspect of all, which speaks to the filmmakers' dedication to independent filmmaking.
Daring: 3 out of 5 stars
Craft
With its limited scale, In the Earth has a noticeably restrained vision (which at first, gives the film a Blair Witch-style of familiarity). However, the film does know how to stretch their production and dollar in the right ways, such as with the scenes of gruesome axe-related special effects work, and sequences that show more literal depictions of the folklore evil that's hinted at early on. However, it's when the real reveal happens halfway through and when hallucinatory, oscillating trips occur, that the film shows its true visual ambitions, making for an even greater movie and horror experience.
Craft: 3 out of 5 stars
Impact
In the Earth has stuck with me since I first saw its premiere back in January, and likely for a few reasons: the climactic light and color rave-like sequences still stick in my head. I'll also remember the movie for being one that was made about a pandemic, during a pandemic. But I think the biggest impact comes when it chooses to reveal its ecologically-conscious enemy at play. Without looking to reveal the twist, it made me think of M. Night Shyamalan's The Happening (in a good way), and still makes me think about how we relate to our natural surroundings.
Impact: 4 out of 5 stars
Conclusion
In the Earth is a very welcomed treat for this year, as the world continues to vaccinate and as we slowly move out of this pandemic, back into the real world. It's wild to see a film that's not only about a pandemic, but one that was made during one as well. And to also watch a movie with such a surprising, daring and experimental vision–along with its poignant thoughts on how we relate to the environment–In the Earth is the best horror of the year so far, and an appreciated warning of what dangers lie in the woods if we don't remain careful.
Conclusion: 3.25 out of 5 stars
100 min. 'In the Earth' opens in theaters and starts streaming this Friday.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3Lqkfo7IymU&ab_channel=NEON
'Shiva Baby' Review: Fans of 'Fleabag,' This Film's For You
In Judaism, "sitting shiva" is the week-long mourning period that is observed following the passing of a first-degree relative. In Shiva Baby, a millennial undergrad feels the same sort of deep mourning, albeit over the current state of her young life. When Danielle (Rachel Sennott) returns home from NYU to attend a funeral, she knows that she's also entering the lion's den of an overbearing family. The equal parts eager and concerned "How are you?" triggers her anxieties of her uncertain future.
Danielle easily soothes family members expectations with talks of post-grad ambitions (either business or law school). In reality, she's concealing the fact that she's academically middling and currently involved with a sugar daddy in the big city. It's not until the arrival of an unexpected guest that Danielle's shakily constructed life starts to crack. It all sets the stage for an event where everything is set to come out.
Personal Expression
Shiva Baby is such a refreshing and enjoyable new comedy due to how totally authentic the characters and situations all feel. It's not altogether surprising, given that the film is based on the experiences and observations from writer and director Emma Seligman's own life, here making her directorial debut. Seligman's shrewd observations of the Jewish culture along with a new millennial identity make for a wonderfully cringe-worthy but very real culture clash. From the specificity of detail in the shiva setting and the hilarious characters who attend it, down to its stark portrayal of young people owning their newfound sexualities, Shiva Baby is the type of equal-parts defiant and personal filmmaking that make for the best kind of directorial debuts.
Daring
While set to a fairly conventional narrative structure (that of a person returning to the home they once left and by doing so, are forced to confront their true selves), Shiva Baby merely uses this foundation to then make daring leaps from. Danielle (played note-perfect by newcomer Rachel Sennott) brings a new young woman character (made popular by Lena Dunham's Girls and Phoebe Waller-Bridges' Fleabag) to the big screen, who, for all of her flaws and poor decision-making, remains unapologetically herself. By her casually decided choices of engaging with a sugar daddy as well as exploration of bi-sexual attractions, Danielle subverts every expectation that both her age and gender are typically met with. In doing so, Shiva Baby shows a very real and untraditional character of female empowerment.
Craft
Shiva Baby smartly uses its single setting location to bring many elements of filmmaking together to control its tone–that being a cringe-worthy one every truth that Danielle skirts only raise the stakes to becoming a pressure cooker of discomfort (halfway through the film when she bursts out of the house to get air, we are desperately grateful for it as well).
This hilarious suffocating experience n is controlled by the entire filmmaking team: Hanna A. Park's measured and then energetic editing controls each new wave of discomfort wonderfully. Maria Rusche's cinematography captures the jam-packed nature of this house (building to a near-hallucinatory climax that reminded me of Rosemary's Baby). And of singular note, composer Ariel Marx's score is quite actually the thing that stands out that gives Shiva Baby its anxiety-inducing identity, an off-beat tension that reminded me of Jonny Greenwood's score for Punch Drunk Love. All elements swirl to make for a cringe-worthy setting, which is pretty rad to see this all-female unit.
For our exclusive interview with Ariel Marx, click here.
Impact
Shiva Baby is sure to stay on your mind long after watching it (as it has for me). Seligman's self-assured vision, in which all of the elements of stress and tension had me on the edge of my seat wondering how Danielle would escape the next lie, are hilariously constructed. I really can't remember the last adult comedy that felt so edgy, raunchy, risky, yet smart. Along with the fact that this type of character, unsure how to move forward at this point in their life) is typically now only seen in TV (Fleabag, Girls), it's refreshing to find it in a film (I hate to break it to you Judd Apatow, but The King of Staten Island didn't feel anywhere near as enjoyable as Shiva Baby).
Conclusion
I absolutely love recommending a film like Shiva Baby, a directorial debut that is both successful in its own right and makes me look forward to what lies next for the whole filmmaking team. Especially as theaters slowly re-open and new releases continue to struggle to find mass distribution, it's such a gift to get the chance to be able to see a new film like this one that also happens to be one of the funnier adult comedies to come out in recent times. Get behind this one, baby.
77 minutes. 'Shiva Baby' is not rated. Available to rent on Apple TV+ and Amazon.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8uT1M9WfqYA&ab_channel=Utopia
'The Human Voice' Review: Tilda Swinton Captivates in Almodóvar’s Latest
At just thirty minutes long (the length of a TV episode), Tilda Swinton commands every second of the small screen in Pedro Almodóvar's beautifully staged and winkingly meta new short film, The Human Voice.
With Tilda Swinton as the film's singular character, The Human Voice (which was also selected to play at last year's Venice Film Festival) is a devilishly playful bit of pop-art filmmaking that sees the director combine his source material’s wonderfully satiric silliness and makes it a meta viewing experience that comments on both film production and how we communicate as humans.
In The Human Voice, Swinton plays an actress unhinged, at first silent and vacant as she sulks about her decadent and deadening modern apartment, but then firey and alive at the sound of her iPhone ringing, her lover on the other end of the line.
Over the course of their on-off conversation (of which we only hear Swinton's side of throughout the entirety of the film) she switches from depressed and pilling boozer, to desperately needy partner, to rage-filled and scorned woman of the world all in a moment’s time.
It's a high task to have to create the entirety of a world when you’re acting alone, but if there’s anyone in Hollywood who can do the job, it’s Ms. Swinton, whose talents and stamina make the film captivating. What she does so effortlessly–communicating an entire story and relationship of a fictionalized, passionately troubled couple–is accomplished all by way of using a singular element: her voice.
And she does this with gymnastic range, pitching up her voice to harken back to old Hollywood romantic starlets, and then down-shifting gears into a lower register to convey darker colors. Her voice work on display here is as vital and deadly as any of Almodóvar's beautifully composed hardware and tools that are so artfully composed within the background.
The Human Voice does communicate a narrative story (kind of), but just as Almodóvar makes a point of regularly reminding us that the apartment is in fact a set within a soundstage, and the actor alone within it all, the film should really be watched and appreciated for what it is: an exercise in filmmaking where the audience gets the rare chance to deconstruct, study, and understand all the parts that go into the art of filmmaking, which feels so special to get during a crossroads in film production when everything was flipped on its head. Personally, I think it’s something worth shouting for.
30 minutes. ‘The Human Voice’ is now playing in Los Angeles at the Vineland Drive-In Theater.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=G3lGM39dKuY&ab_channel=SonyPicturesClassics
Gavin Brivik Interview: 'Wild Indian' Composer On Film Scoring
Premiering at this year's (virtually held) Sundance Film Festival, Wild Indian is a tension-filled drama that explores the aftermath of an act of violence, and the lives that are altered and emotions that are repressed following it. After seeing the film and feeling moved, I felt that I had to talk to the film's composer, Gavin Brivik, to learn more about his creative process.
Read our review of 'Wild Indian' here.
In terms of tone, it's a huge departure from a film like the 2018 cult-hit Cam, which is the film that composer Gavin is perhaps most widely known for scoring.
A Kansas City native, Gavin Brivik is an exciting young musician and film composer whose work in music scoring is already ambitious, experimental, and fearless.
I had the pleasure of meeting and chatting with Gavin on the heels of Wild Indian's release (the film is currently seeking distribution), and during our interview and Zoom call, we talked about everything from inspirations (Oneohtrix Point Never and Johnny Greenwood), his creative process (the creative opportunity of scoring to "themes" over picture), and the exclusive news announcing a vinyl release of the Cam score and soundtrack.
Check out the conversation with Gavin, and keep your eyes peeled for where this young talent will appear next.
https://youtu.be/EQdo6iL3asI
'Judas and the Black Messiah' Review: Daniel Kaluuya Electrifies
If you, like me, were previously unaware of activist Fred Hampton's story, writer and director Shaka King looks to educate audiences with his biopic Judas and the Black Messiah (now streaming on HBO Max). King brings Hampton's story to the big screen by telling the real-life events of how an FBI informant infiltrated Hampton's Black Panther Party, became the chairman's confidante, and ultimately aided in his politically-motivated death.
To tell this story, Judas and the Black Messiah needs to start by telling the story of Bill O'Neal (LaKeith Stanfield), a young troublemaker who, after a run-in with the law, is hired by an FBI officer (Jesse Plemons) to infiltrate Fred Hampton's (Daniel Kaluuya) inner circle within the Black Panther Party for the government's tracking. Taken in by the promise of expunging his record (and eyeing the opportunity to attain a lavish lifestyle), Bill starts attending meetings in which Hampton–or "Chairman," as his followers reverentially call him–inspired the masses through urgent, commanding visions and plans of growing Black Power messages in a post-MLK and Malcolm X world.
Daniel Kaluuya gives so much to embody the Chairman, bringing primal urgency in his wall-shaking speeches as well as quiet reflection in more intimate moments. It's clear that while Judas and the Black Messiah is driven by the central story of a rat in the henhouse, Shaka King naturally veers from this plot to show even more of Chairman's life, which includes a beautifully blossoming relationship with Deborah Johnson (Dominique Fishback). Their shared scenes, in which the two exchange ideas of inspired poetry and favorite speeches, are pure cinema magic (and Fishback is a revelation in the film). While Lakeith Stanfield does an admirable job of bringing the ethically-compromised Bill O'Neal to the big screen, the more the film goes on (with scenes that feel impactful, but standalone), the more it feels like his story of snitching feels less like the central reason we should be watching.
Sean Bobbitt's (Widows) cinematography captures this 60s era period with a distinct and beautifully cinematic vision. Jesse Plemons' presence adds further weight to the film, and Martin Sheen also appears (with noticeable makeup) as the power-hungry J. Edgar Hoover. And on a poignant final note, the film is framed by an interview with the real Bill O'Neal right before the credits roll.
The overall impact of Judas and the Black Messiah–which ends in a painfully powerful spree of gunshots–is overwhelming and deep, as I still think about the film regularly even after seeing it premiere at this year's Sundance Film Festival weeks ago. Through telling Fred Hampton's story, Shaka King channels the entire spectrum of the Black experience–from the beautiful poetry and unshakeable perseverance through the sadness and rage that protesting and oppression bring, which is very much felt in today's America. Through Kaluuya's bellowing speeches and Shaka King's direction, Judas and the Black Messiah will echo for a long time to come.
126 min. ’Judas and the Black Messiah' is rated R for violence and pervasive language. Now playing on HBO Max.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sSjtGqRXQ9Y&ab_channel=WarnerBros.Pictures
'Jockey' Sundance Review: A Look at the Last Leg of One's Life
In Jockey, riding a horse is where you're the freest. It's when you're off of the horse where the real struggles come, where you must confront the larger issues in life, such as the decline of your physical health and perhaps even the shortcomings of your own life.
These are the realities that the film's writer/director, Clint Bentley, knows well, having grown up in the world of horse racing, as a young boy, watching his father live as a jockey. It's with this reverential love and respect for his late father's life–a hard one–that makes his feature film debut, Jockey, such a deeply personal accomplishment.
Rather than center the film around the adrenaline-pumping moments in the saddle, Bentley focuses his directorial debut around the life of a jockey lived outside of racing–a tough one lived on the backside of the race-grounds which the career demands (think The Wrestler here). This is the life that Jackson (Clifton Collins Jr.) leads, a once-winning jockey whose prime is now behind him, who now struggles to keep up with the pack as he enters the twilight of his career. It's when Jackson attempts to get in shape for one last championship run that he is met with new debilitations, forcing him to recognize that the demands of the job may outpace what he's able to give.
Reflecting on one's physical limitations is also a ripe time to come to terms one's personal life, which is what Jockey does, and where it feels like it becomes a second film–that of a father/son movie. When rookie Gabriel (Moises Arias) arrives and approaches Jackson–bearing a striking physical resemblance to him–the two begin to foster a bond, in which Jackson begins mentoring him while he attempts to make his own final training run.
The connection created by Clifton Collins Jr. and Moises Arias here is sincere, and Clint Bentley captures it with tenderness. Family is a central theme to Jockey, that of the one we are given and the one that we make. In another noteworthy recognition to the film, Molly Parker also joins the story as Ruth, Jackson's horse trainer, providing another layer of makeshift family dynamic.
A decision that Clint Bentley makes that gives Jockey its heartfelt effect is by blending the actors into a very raw environment in which they act opposite non-actors–real jockeys who share their life's stories, adding incredbile realism to this world (Chloé Zhao's The Rider comes to mind here). Scenes of debilitated jockeys sharing their stories in support group settings offer a continuous discovery, more than a pre-written script could. And moments like these–which Jockey has throughout–allows you to buy into this world so totally and completely.
Of final note here, is that the overall beauty that Clint Bentley captures gives the film the cinematic touch that it needs to transcend. While the life of a jockey, lived in a trailer is totally unglamorous, stunning camerawork by Adolpho Veloso captures beautiful moments of early sunrises and dusk sunsets in brilliant pink and blue golden hour hues. And when the film does see its jockeys racing, the ethereal music composed by The National's Dessner Brothers takes on a heavenly, spiritual nirvana–a moment when everything else falls away.
If you're looking for a meditative film about mortality and entering the twilight of one's life, as well as if you want to see a more intimate look at the world of horse racing, then Jockey is for you. The film makes one of its deepest statements when Ruth offers Jackson the sage advice that "You have to tell a horse when it's time to quit." And although that day in which we'll inevitably have to quit comes for all of us, Jockey shows that an indomitable spirit never will.
'One For The Road' Sundance Review: A Gorgeously Travelled Journey
One For The Road begins with a familiar setup: two friends embark on a road trip so that one, cancer-stricken, can make amends with people from his past. Director Baz Poonpiriya takes this starting point and breathes dazzling cinematic life into it, making One For The Road so much more than just a buddy road film but rather a joyful, sorrowful, romantic, and nostalgic meditation on life, love, and loss.
When NYC bartender and ladies man Boss (Tor Thanapob) receives a call from old friend Aood (Ice Natara) with news that he is dying, Boss agrees to meet him in their Thailand hometown so that he can join Aood as he visits ex-girlfriends to make amends for past behavior. This road trip, in which Aood pops cassettes into the car with exes' names on them while deleting their contacts from his phone after each visit, spans One For The Road's first act. As the pair continue on their chaptered present-day visits, the film intercuts with flashbacks of their previous New York City friendship–which includes Boss' former love Prim (Violette Wautier). This all builds to the reveal that Aood has one last secret he intends to disclose to Boss, which threatens to destroy their friendship as his life nears its end.
One For The Road is an incredibly wide-ranging and liberated film, in both emotional range and narrative. Poonpiriya is such a confident and expressive filmmaker; when the film is joyful and going for a joke, it's completely silly and when it's sad, it down-shifts into a somber, melancholic manner. And while these shifts in emotional exploration do feel discohesive, the leaps in the film's narrative exploration keep it from being a flat-out flawless film. But there's so much richness and abundance and ideas Poonpiriya is expressing–which are also so well-executed–that we get swept up in it regardless.
The most obvious wow-factor is the mesmerizing cinematography (which, is probably to be expected for a film produced by the legendary cinematic master Wong Kar-wai). Poonpiriya's vision is exacted by cinematographer Phaklao Jiraungkoonkun. The film dazzles with vibrant colors, gorgeous widescreen compositions, and fluid movements that capture sequences of lusciously made cocktails and stunning locations, including the coast of Thailand and New York City.
One For The Road should be celebrated for its beautiful vision, as it's one of the most gorgeous films I've seen in some time. While the film would arguably be better if it were more focused on a single identity, the fact that Poonpiriya so easily and confidently shifts genre and moods to fit the nature of the moment was a move that I find I enjoy. There's so much cinematic richness here that I found myself won over, especially in the film's final act, which is the most emotionally resonant and affecting.
This is a gorgeous memory film that captures life events so naturally and beautifully. It's a meditative look at our mortality and saying goodbye to the ones we love. Let yourself be swept up in this film, where intricately crafted cocktails, beautifully harmonious colors, and incredible camerawork will leave you drunk in love.