For my analysis of sound-image and image-image relationships in editing, I chose the climactic scene of Do the Right Thing (Spike Lee, 1989), in which the character Radio Raheem is killed by two police officers. For this scene, arguably the most powerful in the movie, editing between image and sound is used masterfully to convey the drama of a man’s death in real time on a hot summer night.
Throughout, the piece is marked by fast cuts between perspectives, in ways that imply a single omnipotent eyeline. Therefore, the initial scene has the camera below head level as the police struggle to pull Radio Raheem off of Sal, the pizzeria owner, in a way that is deliberately disorienting and that emphasizes the closeness of the crowd. As the scene evolves, the shots go from floor-level to torso-level, using graphic matches at times: for example, a shot of one character’s hands being handcuffed cutting to the arms of the police entangled around Raheem’s neck. In one of the more dramatic cuts, the police release Raheem’s body and the camera immediately cuts to an upward angle from the ground, catching Raheem’s body in mid fall, then framing the cop who kicks him in the right upper 2/3 section of the screen. Immediately upon the death itself, the cuts become longer, emphasizing the end of frenzied action and the enormity of realization.
Sound is used to great effect as well, all of which is diagetic. Initially the blaring of Raheem’s radio making it difficult for the characters to speak, then the noise of the crowd, and thereafter the artfull transitions from noise to silence: a shouting crowd, followed by the same crowd muffled and ultimately silent, as the camera lingers on Raheem’s body in the back of a police car driving away.
The shots are seemless, and Lee’s skill is reflected in his ability to put together such a complex scene as though it were the stream-of-consciousness of a bystander. Highly saturated colors are used, making the scenes warm, with lighting choices that reflect the prominent perspiration on all involved. In short, the editing makes the scene as "real" as it is possible to appear.
Monday, December 9, 2013
Wednesday, December 4, 2013
Thursday, November 7, 2013
Trip to Museum of Moving Image
At the Museum of the Moving Image, starting at the top as advised, I immediately gravitated toward the sound exhibits on the third floor. In particular, a screening room in which a single scene from Apocalypse Now was played in connection with the editor's recollections of the process of adding sound to that scene. The clip therefore was played several times, each time with a different sound element added: Dialogue, Helicopter Noise, Weapons, Foley, and Music. The difference between the feel of the same scene with and without each element was striking, and served to reinforce the sheer importance of proper sound mixing.
Reinforcing this lesson, I did a sound demonstration dubbing different available soundtracks to a scene in Casino (Scorsese '95). Choosing different pieces of music, from Bo Diddley to Phillip Glass instrumentals, the emotional impact of the scene was changed dramatically, and the reasons the filmmakers ultimately chose Love Is Strange is obvious, when compared to more inferior choices.
Wandering the museum's impressive collection of equipment, the sheer changes that have overtaken the industry are obvious, particularly the changes that have followed the digital revolution. Looking at the artifacts brought home to me just how cumbersome the process of editing sound was before the rise of DIY technology, and just how many steps, and how much expertise, went into Golden Age Hollywood movies that appear seamless today.
Thursday, October 24, 2013
Soundwalk
My sound walk began at 12:30am on St. Mark's Place, when, my obligations ended and I was able to start walking towards the trains at W4th St. The initial sounds I heard, which could be regarded as Soundmarks, given the neighborhood, was the low chatter and clinking utensils of all the different outdoor restaurants, all of which together settles into a kind of background hum.
Occasionally, the sound of a radio, or the music from a restaurant, would draw my attention, becoming foreground noise.
Over all, and remaining constant in every part of the city, was the low steady rumble of cars, much louder than I am used to thinking about it. But this noise is pervasive and therefore quickly becomes invisible, despite one's best attempts, like a universal hum from the beginning of the world.
Walking past Broadway into the little network of streets that surround Washington Square, two men came unexpectedly walking past the park, playing guitar, becoming, in the silent streets, the definition of foreground sound. After that, the only sound was my shoes on the street, a very insistent click-clack.
Throughout, because of the late hour, there were pockets of dead silence (other than the rumble of the cars), no people, and no sounds of living things. The default background sounds being machines: cars, air conditioners, the low clicks of traffic lights changing, the buzz of streetlights.
At W8th St, foreground noises resumed, particularly large cliques of people, drunk, playing on their cell phones and, occasionally retching. A bouncer yelled, "All you ladies get your ID's out," as a police car "woop-woop"ed a few blocks away. The traffic noises continued at a low rumble, and at 34th the foreground noises became dominant, first CBS FM at the Papaya stand, then endless laughing, giggling, and the occasional ringtone.
My sound walk began at 12:30am on St. Mark's Place, when, my obligations ended and I was able to start walking towards the trains at W4th St. The initial sounds I heard, which could be regarded as Soundmarks, given the neighborhood, was the low chatter and clinking utensils of all the different outdoor restaurants, all of which together settles into a kind of background hum.
Occasionally, the sound of a radio, or the music from a restaurant, would draw my attention, becoming foreground noise.
Over all, and remaining constant in every part of the city, was the low steady rumble of cars, much louder than I am used to thinking about it. But this noise is pervasive and therefore quickly becomes invisible, despite one's best attempts, like a universal hum from the beginning of the world.
Walking past Broadway into the little network of streets that surround Washington Square, two men came unexpectedly walking past the park, playing guitar, becoming, in the silent streets, the definition of foreground sound. After that, the only sound was my shoes on the street, a very insistent click-clack.
Throughout, because of the late hour, there were pockets of dead silence (other than the rumble of the cars), no people, and no sounds of living things. The default background sounds being machines: cars, air conditioners, the low clicks of traffic lights changing, the buzz of streetlights.
At W8th St, foreground noises resumed, particularly large cliques of people, drunk, playing on their cell phones and, occasionally retching. A bouncer yelled, "All you ladies get your ID's out," as a police car "woop-woop"ed a few blocks away. The traffic noises continued at a low rumble, and at 34th the foreground noises became dominant, first CBS FM at the Papaya stand, then endless laughing, giggling, and the occasional ringtone.
Thursday, October 3, 2013
I’m a NYC based visual artist, dabbling in photography, illustration, and videography. Much of my work focuses on the juncture of the mundane and the absurd, delving into the vast grey areas of life in which the humorous and tragic sometimes unintentionally meet. In my visual art, I’m inspired by people like Harvey Kurtzman, John Severin, George Grosz, Charles Schulz, William Blake, Joe Coleman, and I find that my photographic and video art follows similar “visual” principles. For that reason I tend to be influenced by more “gritty” or natural filmmakers, like the young Martin Scorsese, James Toback, Sidney Lumet, or more stylized versions of the same, like Nicholas Winding Refn. When doing a project, I tend to look for the most striking visual encapsulation of my overall idea, and then use the writing, acting, and cinematography to build on it.
As overall inspiration, I look to everyday moments in which the problems of mundane life can be shown to reflect broader, impersonal social realities. I’ve always felt successful when people come away from viewing my art with the feeling that they’ve seen something completely relatable to their own experience, yet skewered in a way that highlights its lurking absurdities.
As overall inspiration, I look to everyday moments in which the problems of mundane life can be shown to reflect broader, impersonal social realities. I’ve always felt successful when people come away from viewing my art with the feeling that they’ve seen something completely relatable to their own experience, yet skewered in a way that highlights its lurking absurdities.
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