And yet, there is unity in the montage. The only thing all the spectacles have in common is that they’re all being observed by the character/s. They all share objectification – spectaclification? – since they all sit just outside the character’s immediate orbit. The character is not in their scene, but always just outside it. Only their gaze connects them, and this helps us understand why the music is a non-diegetic soundtrack to their mind: it’s the sound of them trying to figure out what their view means, at the distance they’re at, while we’re using the same music to try to figure out what our view of their view means at the [even greater] distance we’re at.
"There are many, many nouns for the act of looking – a glance, a glimpse, a peep – but there's no noun for the act of listening. In general, we don't think primarily about sound. So I have a different perspective on the world; I can construct soundscapes that have an effect on people, but they don't know why. It's a sort of subterfuge. When you photograph something it's a direct appeal to their most conscious sense and so they know that they're being a affected by what they see. Sound kind of sneaks in the side door."
Watching these films, you realize there’s a simple reason Rogers was without peer as both a dancer and a comedienne. Timing. Where most good comedic actresses (and dancers) hit their lines at just the right moment, Rogers seemed to anticipate the next line by the slightest fraction of a second, while in actuality perfectly retaining the rhythm of the exchange. She somehow implied she had already read her partner’s mind and was beginning to embody a response, before taking any action. Just as she did when dancing with Astaire.
CLOSE-UPS By 1963, more than 90 percent of US households have a TV. It’s an obvious place to advertise movies—and the new TV ads influence theatrical trailers. Widescreen vistas don’t look as good on smaller screens, so tighter, more condensed shots begin to appear.
One of several movies on this list whose creation was tumultuous enough to merit a whole book, “Tootsie”‘s gestation took about four years from start to finish, making for plenty of trade journal fodder throughout. The starting date for production was pushed back from February to April of 1982, a delay necessitated by a multi-month quest to come up with the right makeup and look for Dustin Hoffman in disguise as female actress Dorothy Michaels. On the set, Hoffman clashed endlessly with director Sydney Pollack. “For whatever reason, I think Dustin feels that directors and actors are biological enemies, the way the mongoose and the cobra are enemies,” Pollock told “The New York Times” in 1982. “I think if he would give a director half a chance, and not assume that the director is trying to kill him, he would see that most directors want exactly what he wants, which is the best possible picture.” Nearly a dozen writers pitched in, but bad feelings most strongly lingered between Hoffman and the late Larry Gelbart, who quipped of the experience “Never work with an Oscar winner shorter than the statuette.”
So Twilight Sparkle does the only thing she can to save Equestria – she follows the bad pony into the mirror. And, just in case you've ever wondered what an interdimensional wormhole looks like, here's your answer: it's like a million children have vomited Haribo into a branch of Claire's Accessories, but with more weird photobombing pig things....
Next, in a scene that definitely wasn't added because Hasbro knows that a lot of the My Little Ponies: Equestria Girls revenue will come from adult male brony fetishists, Twilight Sparkle gets down on her hands and knees and lets her dog mount her. Silly Twilight Sparkle! On this planet we put string around our dogs' necks and … no, wait, that's playing into the bronies' hands too. Disregard.
JP: Who and what do you see as your key creative influences and points of reference (cinematic and beyond) and why?
AB: Oh, who knows, I don’t remember anymore. As a kid you live in constant thrall to your influences and they’re always on the tip of your tongue. They’re all still in there now but they’ve just become like reflex. My ways of thinking about movies are, for better or worse, deep seated enough that I don’t bother to check on the fundamental principles anymore for continued soundness…
Successful films are made over and over again for the purpose of profit, generally at the expense of creative ingenuity or original storytelling. To wit, these franchises often derive from other media (and vice-versa): comic books in particular, but also videogames, action figures, young-adult fiction, board games, and television shows. They may be collated into roughly five types:
- Literary – franchises that originated in literature or printed media
- Comic – a subset of literary franchises, but this type warrants emphasis given that comics by and far make up the bulk of cinematic franchises
- Toyetic – franchises that originated as toys, specifically action figures, board games, videogames, or theme park attractions
- Televisual – franchises that originated as television shows or cartoon series
- Filmic – franchises that originated as a film and were made to proliferate primarily in cinema if not additionally in other media
When a franchise is successfully transitioned into cinema, it inherits greater renown and profit; when unsuccessful, the result is a sort of cinematic orphan, pitiable in its stunted resemblance to its more imperious blockbuster brethren. It is this sort of film that we deem the failed franchise, and the breadth of these is far-reaching.[via]