Author: ttrainor

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.

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.

 

-Tim Trainor

I watched “My Dead Dad’s Porno Tapes,” by Charlie Tyrell, an op-doc featured by the New York Times, and many other places. The 13 minute piece uses found footage, old videotapes and present day interviews to set an intimate tone that pays off when the stakes rise midway through the film.

First off, I should mention the importance of a good title. It’s probably a main reason why the documentary has the most recent views on The New York Times website. The filmmaker uses the title — and the porno tapes — to hook into the viewer’s more prurient nature. There is little payoff on that front in the narrative, but by the time we realize that, we are already invested in the outcome of the film. The pornography is not just a red herring, however. It, along with the father’s other “stuff,” help show he was a strange and complicated man. The details help show his unique character in a more cinematic and literary way, instead of just “telling” that he was strange and complicated.

The film has a cinema vérité feel for much of the first half, with found footage providing much of the foundation. But it also relies heavily on interviews with family members, and a more journalistic approach to uncovering new information helps to push the plot forward. Late in the film, many of the voices do turn reflexive, as well, reacting to new information.

The editing techniques are also unique. The cuts and transitions are quick but also soft, and they jump in time from remembrance to present day without jolting the viewer. When remembering the past, the film footage is often grainy and dated. (The first 2 minutes, mostly.) It communicates an era. When Tyrell films the present, everything is clear, crisp, almost immaculate. (4:38, for instance). That visual difference is a cue to the viewer that life has changed, and it helps make the absence of Tyrell’s father more pronounced. The quick cuts, both from found video and animated photographs, help tell a big story in a short period of time. Some of those scenes are composed (like at 7:22) both with materials and old photographs, which helps connect the main character’s childhood and adulthood.

It’s near this time when the film takes a tonal shift. To this point, the film had felt like a son lamenting his father’s death and almost humorously probing his leftover stuff to find clues of who that man was. But when he stumbles on something actually meaningful — a devastatingly sad yet crucial audio recording  — the film takes on a more serious tone. The reflexive outlook also emerges as the cuts slow down and the viewer gets a long, uncomfortable glimpse into one specific moment in time (7:41). Everything screeches to an uncomfortable halt, and the weight of that information feels heavier because of that decision by the filmmaker, who also quiets all the background noise. It makes you feel like you are listening through a peephole to something you’re not supposed to hear.

In addition, I think using the young photographs of the filmmaker’s siblings to animate their particular audio was a smart idea. (3:53, for instance). It imparted the idea of family, and because they are remembering their father from their perspective as children, it put the audience into that frame of mind.

Overall, I’d say the short film does an effective job of eliciting deep sympathy and understanding from the viewer, while also asking and answering big questions — but in a quick and airy way that keeps the audience from being overburdened. It’s a worthwhile piece that reflects well on the filmmaker and his capabilities.

-Tim Trainor