Filmmaker Maris Curran created “The Master Quilters of Gee’s Bend Alabama,” a quiet and intimate documentary about a group of Alabama women and their traditional craftwork — which has recently been celebrated in the world of fine art.
It’s an interesting piece to study because the techniques portrayed in it seem very attainable. There is no Hollywood-worthy camera movement here, no motion graphics masterpieces, no expensive camera crews or equipment. Most of the shots are quiet, moody, place-based moments of listening and looking that elicit a strong emotional effect on the audience.
The film opens with quiet, almost still-life scenes of quilts and trees, as well as some slow, poetic voiceover in a Southern drawl. It transports you to the scene — to the Deep South on a sultry summer’s day.
The slow introduction also slows time. Quick cuts and fast action wouldn’t communicate the pace of life here, nor the pace of quilting. These women make their art slowly and with precision, and the editing of this piece is clearly a nod to that. In addition to slow cuts, motion within the frame is also very slow. Scenes such as gently swaying trees and quilts, bridges stolidly standing, and a man trotting by on horseback (47 seconds) are all nods to not just the artwork but the lifestyle of the main characters.
We see our first quilting, and human faces, about one minute into the piece. That’s a long time to wait and breaks many of the rules of filmmaking and journalism. There’s no quick hook here or jarring lede. However, in this case I think it works. This is not a character-led story, but a cultural and artistic one.
At the one minute mark, we are introduced to numerous characters. But we do not learn their names nor are we properly introduced. We see only to their faces and their hands. I am of two minds on this — in one respect, I think it captures the community nature of this work. But on the other hand, it adds to the lack of personal recognition (and financial renumeration) that we soon learn is part of this story. We learn their names later, but without the standard fullness and titles that we would usually give to masters of their craft or industry.
There is a beautiful collection of varied shots from about 1:00 to 1:30. It includes the standard repertoire of wide, medium and tight – from faces to landscapes all the way down to the eye of the needle. This is accompanied by voiceover storytelling and gospel singing. The singing continues through much of the piece — much of which I felt to be performative and that, while beautiful, was less engrossing than the short clips of interviews, most conducted while working.
At 2:06 there is a series of beautifully composed shots with a distinct visual language: lines, geometric shapes, and humans taking the time to notice those lines and live in them. I think the filmmaker is showing us the art these women live around, and are able to reproduce through their quilting. It’s subtle, but deep and meaningful shooting. It requires forethought, planning and a kind of journalistic hunger to find the sparks of creative expression in the world and help explain why a small, rural place has this outsized impact on the world of fine art. I think this is the major accomplishment of this piece. Other examples of this work can be found at 10:00, and in the countless visuals of quilts.
There can be downsides to this kind of esoteric, emotional work. There are hints toward newsy, problematic issues at 12:40 and 13:12. But the pace and style of this piece does not allow for the sort of journalistic inquiry I think was called for there. I think that if a film cannot answer the questions raised — or at least attempt to — then those short, mysterious answers that leave the audience with more questions than answers should be left out.
In general, this is a worthwhile look at the kind of filmmaking I’m interested in: Telling intimate stories in an atmospheric, real-world environment. Plenty to learn from here.
This American Life’s (TAL) “Escape” episode, Act 1, is about Mike Phillips, a 27-year-old with spinal muscular atrophy (SMA) that has left him bedridden and unable to speak on his own much of the time.
TAL’s use of the reenactment style with dramatically angled Point of View (POV) shots transports the viewer into seeing and experiencing the world through Mike’s eyes as he lives his life – horizontally. In addition, the documentary maker adds strategic Extreme Close Ups (XCU), Extreme Long Shots (XLS), Rule of Thirds composition, filmmaker problem solving (using a voiceover from Johnny Depp for a protagonist that can’t speak), cinematic shots, Cinéma Vérité, interview and journalistic styles to aid and complement the primary reenactment and POV approach, all meant to take the viewer on journey through Mike’s experiences, emotions, setbacks and achievements as he struggles to gain independence and maintain his relationship with his able-bodied girlfriend.
Ira Glass opens first on camera, and then with narration (in somewhat of a journalistic style minus the corny sing-sing cadence) following natsound as Mike’s quest for freedom to live his life as fully and independently as he can. But his health condition makes him reliant on his mother’s care, which causes tension and conflict with Mike, his mom and Mike’s girlfriend. The unanswered is ‘Will Mike gain his independence?’ There’s also a subplot that takes us through a break-up with his girlfriend and Mike’s desire to reunite. Hence, a second unanswered question, ‘Will Mike get back together with Sara?’ – which coincides with the quest for independence.
The first five shots are an abrupt yet intimate introduction into Mike’s life using POV, Cinéma Vérité, artistic and bold Rule of Thirds composition, ambient sound, hard edits and XCUs to introduce the viewer to the story as the filmmaker tells us to “look at this.”
The first shot at :45 screams POV and sets the stage for the entire piece. We are looking up at a ceiling fan and hearing its monotonous whooshing ambient sound. It’s Mike’s POV lying on his bed. The film shooting and editing techniques made me feel the glacier pace of time that accompanies the boredom and tedium of being bedridden and struggling with a physically debilitating disease. I experienced the seconds ticking away like years.
:45
A hard cut immediately follows to show an XCU of Mike’s his left eye with a reflection of his computer screen on his eyeglass lens. In a not-so-corny journalistic voiceover, Glass narrates how Mike communicates by blinking his eyes and tapping his finger on a device to spell out sentences on a computer screen. A medium shot follows connecting the first two shots like a puzzle, giving the viewer a witness POV, which his further enhanced with Cinéma Vérité/wide shot and then an XCU of Mike’s finger. TAL is deliberately telling the viewer to “look at this” with these filming and editing techniques.
:501:031:051:09
Also, the staccato music used in the above shot, accompanied by the ambient sound of Mike’s finger lightly tapping out his words, convey both the fragility and tedium tied to Mike’s modes of communication and delicate connection to survival.
I found the POVs in this piece are some of the most effective techniques used by TAL in telling Mike’s story so well. I felt nearly physically transported into Mike’s POV by seeing the world at his dramatic angles – like this one showing Mike’s mom coming into his room at 16:22:
16:22
Or this one (below) at 16:37 as Mike’s mom pushes him through a grocery store. This scene is also accompanied by heavy, pounding music to signify a particularly depressing time of Mike’s life when he and his girlfriend broke up – which Johnny Depp narrates/voices over reading from Mike’s emails .
16:37
There’s also a dreamy cinematic POV shot of a stroll through the park as Mike’s girlfriend pushes him. We see what Mike sees – the sky. The filmmakers use pleasant/romantic music to complement the mood and footage filled with natural and pleasing light – conveying a sense of harmony when the relationship was going well. We also see smooth tight, medium and wide shots of the park stroll. The overall feel is gliding and carefree, also depicted by the choice of camera motion, (either a gimbal or dolly) and the feeling expressed is effortless and gliding – much like that of a happy couple enjoying each other’s company.
9:10
In addition, TAL gives the classic interview style a unique twist, while practicing some genius filmmaking problem solving, by employing a surrogate-voice of Johnny Depp. As described earlier, Mike can’t talk most of the time and he communicates typing out words on a laptop suspended above his bed. He does this letter-by-letter using a software program that transmits completed sentences in a robotic voice simulator. He also uses emails and blogs to write about his personal experiences.
As Glass points out, this is “painstakingly slow” and poses a problem for editing and airing the piece. One sentence takes about three minutes to type out. In addition, the artificial voice is also dehumanizing and doesn’t do Mike justice. To solve the problem, Glass asks Mike if he would like a surrogate voice.
At 2:08 Glass syas, “So, if we were to replace your voice with somebody’s, like, what would you want it to be?”
“I totally want either Johnny Depp, or Edward Norton, whoever is available, because either way, they are both badasses,” Mike replies (at 2:24).
2:24
Apparently, Norton wasn’t available.
“Ladies and gentlemen, reading from Mike’s emails, Mr. Johnny Depp,” Glass announces.
Hence, TAL gives Mike a human voice, employs an imaginative spin on the interview approach, problem solves the audio dilemma and empowers him all at the same time with the voice of a fellow bad asses (Depp) – as we quickly realize Mike’s well-earned place in that exclusive ‘bad ass’ club. To me this can be best summed up as nothing short of brilliant on the filmmakers’ behalf. I felt that sense of joy that comes with well-deserved empowerment watching and hearing this problem-solving technique unfold in this part of the episode.
Elsewhere in the piece, TAL uses old home movies and photos as a reenactment technique depicting Mike’s childhood growing up with SMA. Seeing the footage (with time stamp) lends both authenticity and bittersweetness as we watch the little boy release a balloon go into the sky (3:35), while the voiceover describes his loss of physical abilities as the years go by.
3:35
Moreover, the ‘show don’t tell’ images and footage the documentary makers use throughout the piece are dynamic – adding further connection to the protagonist. For example, sometimes Mike uses his eyebrows to signal the words yes and no. Between 19:18 and 19:23 we see an extremely distinctive matched action sequence to show (not tell) this when Mike is outside having a conversation with his girlfriend. The matched action XCU, tight and medium shots show his eyeglass lenses going up and down as propelled by the motion of his eyes moving.
This same sequence also evokes a sense of tenderness as we steal a glimpse into a moment between the couple, concluded with Cinéma Vérité shots, such as the one below at 19:49. This entire sequence is edited so well, I almost felt like an intruder. Like, if I made a noise, Mike and Sara would turn around and wonder what the hell I was doing there. When a piece draws me in so close to the characters that I forget which side of the screen I’m on, it’s hard to forget. You can absolutely feel the closeness between the two. The scene’s striking primary colors also draw the eye in and are naturally appealing.
19:49
In a darker part of Mike’s journey, TAL uses Extreme Long Shots (ELS) engulfed in darkness with a single spot light on Mike as a form of reenactment to reveal Mike’s near-death experiences. The ELS, coupled with the lighting evokes a sense of isolation, stillness, morbidity and death (13:05).
13:05
In another part, TAL speeds up footage and use XCU shots to reenact and create a sense of anxiety, jitteriness and confusion when Mike became too reliant on pain medication. The music in this sequence is also forbidding with heavy base tones to amplify the mood. This starts at about 13:38.
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The interview style is also used throughout the piece with Mike’s mom, girlfriend, brother and former assistant. This aids reenactment with witness POVs in sharing Mike’s story.
Interview with Mike’s mom at 4:28.Interview with Mike’s brother at 5:56.Interview with Mike’s girlfriend at 8:07.Interview with Mike’s former assistant at 13:31.
Overall, I feels TAL’s Escape, Act 1 episode is primarily a form of reenactment style and strong POV, reinforced with a variety of the other styles, filming and editing techniques found within the Visual Language to to tell Mike’s story. As usual, TAL leaves us with the big takeaway on an important message, or lesson learned. This one comes straight from Mike (via Depp voiceover) concluding he “only recently became aware of how tenuous my life is. So, I don’t really have time to waste on fear.” TAL uses a uniquely framed shot showing the tension and conflict in Mike’s relationship with his mother as he contemplates what he hopes his life to be in the future. The framing is a deliberate ‘show, don’t tell’ at 23:28.
23:28
As far as the unanswered questions… Does Mike gain his independence from his mom? Does he get back with Sara? This is a piece well worth watching to find out.
Last month, REI published a multimedia story called the “Brotherhood of Skiing” about a nationwide club for black skiers. The National Brotherhood of Skiers began in 1973, and today it consists of 53 different African-American groups – thousands of skiers – from across the U.S. I stumbled upon the video portion of this project because it was recently a Vimeo Staff Pick. Even though it is clearly a promotional video, the producers employed a range of techniques to make it both highly informative and engaging.
This film relies heavily on archival footage and newspapers to amplify what the interviewees are describing. The interview subjects tell their own story (there’s no voiceover), but much of the video follows the “story without words” model. Even without the interview, the audience could tell from the music and selected archival footage that the gatherings went from a period of uncertainty – a single bus going up the mountain paired with images of the national guard – to a heyday, illustrated by hundreds of people dancing at a Colorado ski resort. The producers chose a narrative structure that “hooks” viewers by developing an unanswered question for the first two minutes of the story, “will the group be able to ski (safely)?” Then, it cuts ahead to the 1993 dance party, and the viewer knows the club was not only allowed to ski, but it also prospered.
There are a lot of camera movements in this film that add a commercially polished look while complimenting the nature of the subject. The filmmakers were deliberate about why they shot each scene a certain way. Slow motion of skiers at 3:16 with a small depth of field elevates the act of skiing, adding drama. To these clubs, the shot suggests, this activity is more than just skiing. At 3:32, 3:37 and later at 5:30, it appears that the cameraperson is skiing down the hill next to the subject. The viewer is in the action, and you understand what the interviewees are saying – it’s just fun to go fast. At 3:45, I thought at first that the filmmakers used a drone to slide the camera vertically, but it could also have been done with a small gimbal like the OSMO DJI+. The same kind of camera movement continues through 4:10 (and is sprinkled throughout the remainder of the film). It’s a little shaky – more like I’d imagine the handheld gimbal looking than a drone. This would be a great tool to use for a scene like this, where the filmmaker is moving through and past an energetic crowd. The slightly unstable movement also compliments what’s actually being filmed: a lively celebration. At 5:28, I can’t tell if they’re still using a gimbal or if this could be a slider shot going past the subject putting on his ski boots. It’s an impactful moment of the interview that they rightly paired with a cinematic shot. Around 6:05, the video become unsteady again…but it’s footage of a family getting ready to go skiing. It’s like a home video. The type of shot they chose is once again appropriate for the subject matter. This is also just one of the POV techniques in this film that makes the viewer feel like they’re part of the action.
It follows that the interview shots are conventionally composed (tripod shots, framing that follows the rule of thirds). This signals to the viewer: hey, the only thing you need to pay attention to here is the person talking. From about the 2:00-3:00 minute mark, they also paid close attention to cutting with the music and choosing footage that matched the pace of the music. For example, at slower parts, they used shots of skiers gliding across the snow, and for faster more energetic parts of the song they chose clips like skiers jumping or dancing.
Not only did the filmmakers plan how they wanted every shot to look; they also creatively took advantage of what their setting provided. At 6:23, interesting camera motion is added through the cameraperson riding the conveyer belt with skiers. Then, they continue to take advantage of the conveyer belt to do a time lapse of different children riding up the hill. At 3:09, a new scene begins. The viewer starts zoomed way out from the mountain so the skiers are just dots. Then, we zoom closer (ski lifts) and closer (a group of skiers) and closer, until we meet an interview subject at 3:24. They’re sitting next to the interviewee, going up the lift right beside them. It’s a creative way to make the interview feel more personal while guaranteeing that the backdrop is adding something to the story. This technique of zooming in is used throughout the film to balance the bigger picture with individual stories. For example, a series of video portraits begins at 4:32. But these portraits transition to land on one man’s personal (internal) journey from growing up in Schenectady, NY (where people told him, “black people don’t ski”) to being part of the nationally-organized (external) ski club.
Scene changes are indicated using essentially the same formula each time. This reflects what we’ve learned about teaching your audience how to read your story (or, in this case, follow your video). At 4:18, for example, a scene switch is indicated by a change in music, a new visual setting, and a new interviewee. This music and visual setting switch pattern happens in multiple places to que the viewer in to a scene switch, including 3:08, 6:14, and 8:56. There are also some creative transition choices that play off the archival footage. For example, at 2:00 there’s a camcorder-style blue screen to transition into footage from the ‘90’s, and they play up the old-school look again to transition to the credits at 9:46 with a rewind noise and computerized font reading “video calibration.” I think leaning into this style by deliberately using typically “corny” transitions helped the pairing of 4K footage with historical footage play out more seamlessly.
The video is a little reflexive at times, which added to the feeling that the viewer could be out there skiing right alongside everyone. This happens first at 3:24, when you can clearly see the cameraperson in the reflection of the interviewees ski glasses (around 3:42 you can see the camera reflection in a different interviewee’s glasses). At 5:38, you can hear the interviewer ask a follow-question, and then laughing at the response. I think this works in this film because it’s so celebratory; as a viewer, you want to be there chatting with happy people on ski lifts and laughing at their jokes.
“REI Presents: Brotherhood of Skiing” is definitely worth watching, if only for the 90’s ski outfits. But seriously, there’s also a lot to learn from a film-making perspective. They concisely structured the narrative for a story that spans decades, employed a wide range of camera movements with intent, and used multiple interviews to tell both personal stories and a broader historical perspective.
Rosa – These Storms is a short interview-based film about Rosa, a young Mayan woman who has encountered strict familial expectations, grief, and loss on the path to pursuing her once-impossible dreams. The film is produced by Living on One, a social impact production company based in the U.S.
Rosa – These Storms is an example of an interview-style documentary: the cinematic B-roll, non-linear narrative, and spacious pacing drew me into the story and Rosa’s perspective. My favorite videos are when I forget the camera is there and feel fully immersed in another person’s emotions and perspective. Here are eight film-making techniques that drew me into Rosa’s world.
1. Framing and witness point to show separation (1:23)
This medium shot from the inside looking out establishes Rosa’s sense of separation between what she wants and what her family’s expectations are. The inside is very dark while the outside is bright with children running around; the window’s frame represents a very real barrier to Rosa’s dreams. This frame represents her point-of-view at that moment in time via the contrast between light and dark, inside and outside.
2. Medium long shot shows sense of isolation (2:40)
The camera was placed slightly below and behind Rosa to capture her sense of isolation after being kicked out of her family’s home. As she looks out into a vast, cloudy sky, the composition of this shot places her in the bottom left third of the frame to emphasize how she faced the unknown alone.
3. Extreme close-up to capture determination (2:51)
This was the shot that invited me into Rosa’s perspective and revealed her soul. “People told me I could get an abortion,” says Rosa before this shot. Then, the extreme close-up on her eyes, and the camera’s focus on the eye closest to the viewer, indicates her determination to raise this child even without family support. When we see her eyes, Rosa says, “I didn’t want to …”
4. Centered MS with a shallow depth-of-field to hold the viewer in Rosa’s vulnerability (4:51)
This was the shot that broke my heart. Rosa’s head and shoulders are centered in the frame for a medium shot and she is gazing right at the viewer. This composition and the shallow-depth-of-field tells the viewer, “You are here to bear witness to her grief.” The shot holds for seven seconds as tears roll down Rosa’s face; she glances away, then looks back into the camera. Silence stretches for five seconds; this forces the viewer to sit with Rosa’s vulnerability.
5. Medium, low-angle shot of the setting to establish a narrative turn (4:59)
The sound of rain fades in two seconds before the shot changes from Rosa’s direct gaze (see shot above). This is a well-placed J-cut to move the viewer from that intense emotional moment into a new ‘chapter’ in Rosa’s story. In this case, we are shifting time and place, moving back to Rosa writing at a table (which we see in the beginning).
6. Time-lapse to show the passage of time (5:31)
This time-lapse, framed as an extreme long shot, visually indicates time passing. The shot separates Rosa’s normal life at home—eating with her family—and her decision to leave home and pursue her degree in nursing.
7. Tracking shot with an audio fade conveys poignancy (7:56)
Rosa enters her high school graduation; as she walks past the camera, the frame tracks her movements from behind to place the viewer in her perspective at this key moment. Natural audio from the crowd fades out as soft piano music fades in, conveying the poignancy of this moment in Rosa’s life.
8. Warm, soft colors and lighting shows how Rosa’s life has changed (9:17)
This two-shot is a tender image of Rosa examining a patient, showing that she has achieved her goal of becoming a nurse. The striped, colorful curtain creates a natural frame in this shot, and the light pink sheet in the window helps create a soft glow from the natural light flooding in. The lighting and mood create a noticeable contrast from the muted and grey palette earlier in the film, visually indicating how Rosa’s life has become warmer and more vibrant.
Rosa – These Storms is a beautiful, cinematic, and emotional narrative that does what film can do so well – reveal another person’s soul.
I love this interview-based, artistic video short because it uses creative editing techniques, double exposures, and overlays to take me into women’s inner struggles with the question of whether to have children or not. It is especially effective embedded in a larger multimedia story with reporting to give context, photographs to convey emotional truth and additional videos to take the viewer into each woman’s story.
Here are five techniques the producers used to convey each woman’s inner struggle.
1. Double exposure to convey inner reflection (00:02)
The video begins with a close-up shot of a woman’s silhouetted profile “double exposed” with soft, out-of-focus spots of light. The woman is also looking up and the lighting emphasizes her eyes. Taken together, I love how these elements convey a reflective inner dialogue.
2. Creative editing to convey a clash (00:18)
As the video editor, Frohne chose to use this “splicing” editing technique to convey one woman’s struggle with whether she would be able to have a career if she had a child, or if she’d have enough time to nurture a child if she prioritized a career. This decision is really effective in conveying this clash, this jolt between both questions, especially when overlaid on top of the speaker’s silhouette.
3. Overlay to convey a change in visuals (00:46)
Another creative editing technique Frohne uses is a fast, blurred overlay of a scrolling film strip to indicate a change in visuals. The film strip is overlaid on top of a soft, out-of-focus image of a baby, and a j-cut in audio leads the viewer …
4. Seeing faces to connect real people to the voices (00:48)
… to fully see a woman’s face for the first time in this video, about ¾ of the way through. Frohne’s decision to wait to “reveal” each speaker’s face was an effective way to first introduce viewers to each woman’s internal dialogue before showing who each woman is. The first half of the video made me feel as if I was in each speaker’s head; by this point my role is as a witness to each woman’s struggle.
5. Fast cuts to emphasize a big question (00:58-01:00)
“What do I do with this precious life?” asks one woman toward the end of the video. Fast cuts between vibrant visuals punctuate the speaker’s emphasis on this big, philosophical question. The fast cuts also convey a sense of the many answers to this personal question.
What amazes me is how the video can convey complexity and struggle in just over 1 minute. Check out this video, and the larger multimedia piece, for an example of how creatively edited videos, vibrant photographs, and original reporting can take us into another person’s perspective, provide context and explore complexity.
This film is about Marie Wilcox, the last fluent speaker of the Wukchumni language, and her efforts to keep the language alive. Here are 6 ways the filmmakers document Marie’s story to reveal steadfastness and her commitment to family and history.
1. Using a slider to introduce motion in a film full of subtle movements. (00:39)
The filmmakers use a slider throughout the video to bring a sense of smooth cinematic movement to an overall still film. One example is the second shot of the film, a wide shot behind Marie that dollys-in on her sitting at the computer. This dolly shot serves to bring the viewer closer to what occupies Marie’s time. The composition of this shot is also lovely, using the white fridge and white corner to frame Marie. The quality of light is soft and the scenes are all somewhat dim, suggesting a reliance on natural light.
2. A four-shot sequence to introduce crucial information (00:43)
This is a foundational element of filmmaking done well: the filmmakers use 3-4 shots to create tight sequences throughout. Here is one example:
SHOT 1: WS, dolly-in from behind (same as image above) – establishes the scene
SHOT 2: ECU of the keyboard – shows in-the-moment action
SHOT 3: MS of Marie looking at the computer screen – shows who is acting
SHOT 4: CU of scrolling through the computer screen – shows what is being typed
3. A motivated tracking shot to connect the new character with Marie. (5:49)
As a new character enters the room, a motivated tracking shot follows the glass of water to Marie as the youth hands her the glass. Though the viewer doesn’t know who this is yet, this action (and the tracking motion) conveys a tenderness between Marie and the youth.
4. An unmotivated tilt to reveal a relationship. (6:10 – 6:20)
This lovely unmotivated shot begins on the new character’s face, lingering for two seconds, before slowly tilting down and focusing on Marie, ending in a close-up, over-the-shoulder shot. This shot establishes the relationship between the two as Marie’s voiceover says, “Me and my grandson are trying to record our dictionary from A to Z.”
5. Sound/picture juxtaposition to establish remoteness. (6:48)
It would be easy to see this as a pretty landscape shot, but Marie’s words color this shot with a tinge of loneliness. She says, “No one seems to want to learn…”
6. Ending the way it began: a reverse dolly shot to exit Marie’s world. (8:25)
This shot matches the frame from #1 (see first image) but in reverse to draw the viewer out from Marie’s world. The film ends on a medium close-up of Marie recording a story in the Wukchumni language – the same shot as the opening frame. It’s a neat way to bookend Marie’s story.
I appreciate the different ways the filmmakers introduced movement into this story full of subtle, yet significant, actions. Paired with the lesson plan, it creates a compelling educational experience for students and the general public.
The Backwater Gospel is animation and filmmaking at its best. It still surprises me to this date that this was an undergraduate project. Everything has a grungy wooden texture from the dusty town to gritty townspeople’s skin. It’s rustic, the laws of the old west seem to apply. Everything is very purposefully chosen. Shots include very clean silhouettes, exact placement and framing of buildings to characters. Interactions and body language are pre-determined. What I love about animation is that everything can be exactly the way you envisioned, and this precision applies here.
Even in the day the scenes feel dark and it has the trademark of quick succession angular shots taken from the horror genre. The color palettes are black and white, blue washes, sepia tones, grotesque greens, sickly yellows, and dark shades of reds. At the beginning we see a man fall to his death, the undertaker then arrives as an angel of death, and quietly goes about measuring the man for his coffin setting the tone for the remainder of the film.
We go from long arid landscape shots, to grizzly close ups of the townspeople. The appearance of the crows expects that death will befall someone of Backwater. To prevent being taken, the God-fearing citizens walk zombie like to church for salvation day in and out. Their hymns are almost a slow sounding moan. In tandem, the town Tramp sings of the Undertaker while the Preacher purses his lips in disgust. The Tramp only smiles. In this film, it will only be the Tramp, the Undertaker, and the Preacher, who express satisfaction – but Death is the only winner in the end.
Beginning his sermon, the Preacher sets the story in motion, “One bad apple. That’s all it takes… Do you want to save that barrel? Then throw out that apple… But if you fail to destroy that apple… the punishment was Death.” During this speech we continually cut back to the Tramp, alluding that the Preacher is turning the town against their “bad apple”.
Still smiling, the Tramp interrupts the sermon announcing the Undertaker. The town then flees into their homes, we see close ups of boarded up windows and doors. Distorted wide lens shots are coupled with extreme and uncomfortable close ups and leaves the audience itself on edge of what will happen next. This of course is the stillness of Fear and Death – both key players in this story. We wait, along with the townsfolk for who the Undertaker has come for. One frame shots are interlaced with distorted ghostly figured, crucifixes, and violent imagery of the anarchy to come.
After seven days the Undertaker has still not moved. The Preacher rings the church bells and the town carefully leave the safety of their homes. The Preacher blindly singles out the Tramp, faulting him for the torment and fear of the unknown. “…we have been tormented because that son of perdition refuses to fear …The Lord wants us to destroy the bad apple… I say: the blasphemer shall be stoned!” The crucifix again appears, shot by shot: one cool palette shot of Death’s wings, then the fiery palette of the Preacher bringing the congregation to action. The chaos that ensues is a witch hunt for deliverance.
The Tramp is now the only character with any saturation of color, separating him from the crowd. The camera shots almost feel handheld and shaky. As the Preacher’s assistant leaves the final blow, we zoom out to see the crucifix repeated in the Tramp’s dead body.
Everyone waits in anticipation for the Undertaker to take the body and leave. The undertaker simply stays smiling, causing further panic. Ultimately in the fear of the unknown, the townsfolks turn on each other – “It ain’t gonna be me!” and begin to slaughter each other to save themselves. This violence leads to the full destruction of the town that come morning, leaves a blood bath. The Undertaker has sat in place this entire time, but finally moves. He whistles the Tramps song from the beginning and ends the film where he began – measuring a body for a coffin.
This film is beautifully shot. Wide landscapes make us feel the expanse of this world and Backwater’s tiny place in it. Shot from above or below make us equally scared or imposing. What I really love is the repetition of themes. The director chooses very intense and direct moments to show characters with pupils to humanize them such as when the Tramp is murdered, or the Preacher’s assistant realizes the mistake he’s made. In divergence, when characters lose their morality they’re eyes are either dark black pits, or white silhouettes. It’s certainly a comment on societal conformity, and primarily the hold fear can have on humanity. It brings to question believes, priorities, inclusion and exclusion, and the power of crowd psychology. Past that, I think this film can be taken with a grain of salt, simply as a must watch fantastic visual experience.
One of the main reasons I love this film is that it takes on a familiar coming of age story that you don’t often see in animated film. It fits perfectly with the simplistic line style of a suburban home that could be located literally anywhere in America. The warm sound of summer and playing with neighborhood friends down the street is pure nostalgia. Which is why it’s so wonderfully comedic, and at times upsetting, when the side plot is over the top traumatic. If I had to describe the feel, I’d say it’s if the film American Beauty was severely condensed and combined with an episode of South Park.
When I consider my favorite films, the top picks are media that play with expectations. At its center, this is a story of young unrequited love. Something that many can relate back to their early teenage years to the point of their first heartbreak. The film predominately uses wide-shot scenes on a plain white background, as if we’re watching the world unfold in a framed picture of a child’s drawing. They pan slightly, but usually retaining the housing backgrounds. Occasionally there is a slow zoom in, typically on Barry Flint’s scenes. This in effect is used to separate it from the more lighthearted feel of the storyline, and to “bring us into the real world” per say. Life is not so flat and simple. Few scenes deviate from this, such as when Christopher is walking with his best friend. It’s a slow panning shot as they travel down the train tracks, discussing love and how Christopher will ultimately win over Stacy with a daredevil feat. Or the slow motion shot of Christopher mid-jump as Stacy’s mom, not Stacy, answers the front door. Such weight is placed on these scenes, but on Christopher’s tale not Johnny. The character is literally being suffocated but the audience still wonders instead, “where is Stacy?”
The comedic timing is fantastic. They implement both audio and visual jokes throughout. First the relationship between the narrator and the kids’ conversations is pure repeat/callback comedy. Delivery is everything and often the narrator sets up jokes for Christopher to unknowingly finish. Moments such as the early bird getting the worm or the heart shaped tree scene I believe can only be accomplished in an animated medium.
There’s also a certain anonymity to the faceless stick figures. It’s easy to project ourselves or people we know onto these characters. Which is why it’s so shocking as a viewer once these personas are contrasted by a stark and dark narrative. Their motions are basic, but you can fit personalities from energy, walk cycle styles, and if they feel more reserved versus outgoing.
Massie makes use of lighting to heavily set the tone of these scenes. “The storm coming” is literally building up to Johnny’s incident. The script continually alludes to how this slice of suburban life will ultimately take a turn. From saying it will be the last time Barry will smile, to at 4:28 directly tapping Johnny Flint on the nose stating, “we all die someday”. Christopher easily bikes away from the constrictor scene and into the next leaving clouds behind as both stories continue in tandem. It’s not until the “heartbreak” scene that the clouds catch up. At the exact moment Gabriel lifts up the stick, we hear a clash of thunder, the sound of Flint firing his gun, and Christopher puts his hand over his heart as if he’s been shot.
The two storylines of unrequited love versus the very disturbing event of a child being killed by his pet snake give us a duality of trauma. Both tales end in the same place. Both are heartbroken in severely different ways. The shot slowly pans out from a rainy blood bath, while light-hearted audio twinkling piano music is overlapped.
From this film I think we can take away a few key topics. 1. Delivery and timing are crucial. 2. Story can uphold a film even if your visuals are simple. 3. Don’t be afraid to contrast your visuals and your tone of content. Playing with audience preconceptions can be highly successful if accomplished properly. Overall this is a great little film that still centers around one unanswered question, “will the boy win over the girl?”
Looking Out could be a define as a story of rebirth and an homage to the human spirit. The editor begins with a false sense of serenity. Soft music and a black background. The narrator begins to speak over ambient waves lapping. Clips are slowly cross-fade into one another. It feels calm and collected as we watch our protagonist paddle across the screen. Were very purposefully being lulled into a sense of tranquility. As the narrator describes three aspects humans need to fulfill, our visuals match the voice over. This is repeated throughout the multiple cuts following. With “Autonomy” we view Pa alone. “Competent” jump cuts to a shaky cam shot. The visuals blur more, she appears to be moving faster. The audio brings in the splashes of her paddle as it smacks the water. This editing is giving us a sense of urgency, and we almost feel she’s struggling to prove herself. “Relatedness” then cuts the ambient sound and leaves us on an eerie musical note. Pa is alone, centered in the middle of a hazy shot where the fog almost mixes the sky and sea. There’s a tense isolation where the editor visually brings us into this wide empty space with our protagonist.
Throughout the film we see these methods repeated. Soft music and serene scenes are contrasted by stark jump cuts and loud sudden noises. The editor actually makes some really great abstract choices to change the tone of the narrative. This is probably my favorite shot of the film to see broken down. Light waves lapping audio hastily jumps to harsh buzzed sounds and white noise. A solo shot of Pa in her boat is duplicated and flipped. Jump cuts are interspersed with deep sepia tone instances that only last one frame each. The quick succession of screens and edited footage is purposefully uncomfortable to watch. Is she alone or independent? The visuals seem to foreshadow the duality of this activity as well as our protagonist’s personal relation to solo kayaking. They allowed themselves to have some fun and really experiment with the viewers preconceived expectations.
Act II:
How do you bring your viewer into a trauma? They take Pa to where her accidents occurred. Pa describes going unconscious as ambient music plays in the background. It’s almost as if we’re fading back in from this coma with her. A wide fly over connects to the story showing green fields, matching shots of Pa interacting with large hay bales, anticipatory music, and wind sound effects. Editors place a light echoing effect on Pa’s audio describing the accident, and it feels ghostly with white flashes and one frame cuts. The editing gives us a dream like state, it feels and sounds hazy. The traumatic memories and even the footage appears to have darker levels than the previous shots. Through archival photos she recounts her secondary accident sustaining brain injuries. The tone is slow and heavy, offset by soft audio of a heart monitor.
In the end, Pa regains most of her abilities but still finds speech extremely frustrating. The camera shots now become longer. The editor holds on these clips to make the viewer feel the time and effort Pa must put in to speaking. We’re with our protagonist as she struggles. As she improves her voice over is layered by matched actions of practicing speech. Lots of soft focus shots such as close ups on letters, practicing speaking, her moving lips, and a rack focus from the page to her face. Later a long singular shot is shown while Pa describes how it’s lonely at times. The feeling of isolation as she struggles to speak. The music is somber, again we’re held by the camera to be in this moment with Pa. Suddenly the music picks up as she mentions paddling. We cut to scenes of the sea and boat. It makes her feel strong, and we see her arms plunge the paddle deep into the water. Calm, happy music, and soft audio from the waves come in. A shot of her alone in the water has a completely different feeling from the introduction of the piece. Complimented by her voice over there’s a sense of independence versus isolation when paddling. We match shots from a close up, medium, and wide shot of sea kayaking. Here the editors show us that Pa alone in her boat is less isolation and more meditation.
Act III:
A beautiful overhead shot highlights Pa’s ability to go anywhere she wants, island hopping, in between gaping rocks, and a swell of music to denote her autonomy. Even when Pa is out kayaking alone, she’s encircled by the environment. There’s a connection being created visually to her surroundings. The editors are setting up the conversation around pollution and environmentalism. We began by making the viewer care about this character, now we’re invested in hearing her message. We see a matched action as Pa points upwards, then zoom out to a shot of birds up on a cliff. A shot follows a puffin’s flight as it soars out over the ocean. The next shot of Pa mirrors this, her paddle almost like wings of her own. The editing visualizes that like the bird, they can both fly forward. Descriptions of love and care for nature are complimented by beautiful aerial and environment shots. The wide zoomed out shot then moves to a mid, then close shot – a zooming in to the kayaks. Pa is a part of something bigger than herself. She is surrounded by a team of like-minded people and the music follows this sense of belonging.
Act IV:
The tone changes again as “There’s rubbish all over the place.” We see trash scenes that hop from one to the next, each one cutting faster than before to give the audience a sense of unease. The music is somber, and Pa states she’s “horrified” by the mess they find. This is overlaid by shots of the team collecting the rubbish others have left behind. “It’s pretty hard to clean a beach and not feel good about it.” Team member smile, the music picks up, and these choices yet again change how the audience feels about the scenes unfolding.
There’s a montage of beautiful nature centric shots. It allows the viewer to reflect on the content of this story and inspired by Pa. We see a wide shot as she climbs a cliff side and shot by shot close in on her ascent. Pa’s story is about the Human Spirit, resiliency, and protecting the sea she desperately cares for. “She spends her time not looking in but looking out”. The music is upbeat and inspiring, we fade smoothly from shot to shot. It’s cut to make us feel as though we’re walking side by side with Pa. The team creates this connection to the character that leaves you feeling motivated.
The story ends on the note to help Pa, and to help yourself. Be a better human for the environment, yourself, and others. The cinematography, audio, and the end comment all reflect this throughout the film. The production really exemplifies how easy it can be to guide your viewers emotions through clever editing techniques and sound design. In short, employing contrasting editing properly can create intrigue, suspense, and immersion for your viewers.
The 2018 film “At Eternity’s Gate” directed by Julian Schnabel offers a clear example of outré filmmaking, and a fascinating look at how breaking the basic rules of cinema can create a jarringly impactful experience.
The film portrays the last seasons of Vincent Van Gogh’s life — but it is no cookie-cutter artist biopic. It is made up of specific scenes, seemingly lifted straight from the paintings you recognize from Amsterdam or Paris museums or your high school art history book. It has the deep effect of having brought stillness to life.
A lack of narrative structure is unique enough for a major motion picture. But then take into account the camera perspective and lack of focus in this film, and you’re in experimental territory. The “focus puller” received top billing in the credits, and that person’s work was truly integral to to the film. Here’s an interesting interview from the “lenser” —a job I wasn’t sure even existed. (In the trailer, check out the 47 second mark for a short example).
That’s because when Van Gogh has one of his “fits,” the perspective of the film begins to change, and the focus blurs from the edges on in. Eventually it takes over the entire frame. In critical scenes, the film is noticeably — almost completely — out of focus.
Yet somehow this risk works and the filmmaking choice imbues meaning and emotion. The audience feels inside the character’s eyes, and also out of control and at the mercy of the world around them. You also understand what it wold be like to “see” things differently and strangely, and what that would mean for you as an artist.
If you’ve read Van Gogh’s letters, you know what a confused, misunderstood, unwell, unwelcome, sensitive and kind person he was. The film does an excellent job of not just communicating that to the audience via writing and dialogue, but using the technology of the camera to put the audience inside the emotion. The cinematography is the vehicle for doing that — another trick they use is “split diopters,” sort of bifocals on the lens, which helps increase that sense of indescribable focus and shape. (1:37 in trailer)
Another technique that caused a noticeable reaction is the way secondary characters talk directly into the camera — straight down the lens — from what feels like just inches away. (In the trailer, the 18 second mark is a good example of that) It communicates the feeling and look of an interrogation, but it also makes the speaker look warped, almost inhuman. That’s another bit of characterization there, I think, of Van Gogh’s otherness and inability to connect with people and their inability to connect with him. I don’t know lenses well enough to know what technically is being used there, but the effect is very pronounced.
I’m a big fan of Schnabel, the director, but I know him more as a painter than as a filmmaker. And he definitely brought a multi-disciplinary approach to this work. His background in all types of arts — and into the inner mind of an artist and free thinker — is what makes this film work. That on top of the impeccable casting of Willem Dafoe as Vincent — he looks like a Van Gogh self portrait that just jumped out of its frame.
The film is still playing in second run theaters — I saw it at The Academy in Montavilla. A quick Google shows it playing at Cinema 21 and elsewhere. If you need to wait until it’s available on streaming services, make a point to watch this fascinating, original piece that shows you can break new ground in a well known, almost cliché story — if you think and shoot differently and take some creative risks with strong reasons for doing so.
