Showing posts with label fincher. Show all posts
Showing posts with label fincher. Show all posts

Tuesday, March 15, 2011

The Social Network

I like David Fincher a lot, but I finally got around to seeing his The Social Network, and... I was underwhelmed, even bored by it. I can imagine someone liking TSN more than me, but I fail to see how anyone could think that the film's a complete triumph. I therefore simply don't believe (or believe that anyone else really believes) that TSN's losing the big Oscars this year resembles situations like Raging Bull losing to Ordinary People, Goodfellas losing to Dances with Wolves, or Pulp Fiction being Gump-ed.[1]

One caveat: I did spoil a lot of TSN's best lines for myself by reading reviews and paying close attention to ads, etc.. Still, TSN struck me as silly and superficial enough that I doubt that virgin ears for 4 or 5 key lines would have made that much difference. Indeed, I'm sufficiently unimpressed with TSN that it in fact hardly feels worth the effort it would take to figure out what's really wrong with it. Nonetheless, this note is a quick first stab in that direction.

TSN is at bottom a surprisingly by-the-numbers biopic (including beginning with an allegedly psychologically probative flashback that gets called back to repeatedly but most annoyingly with a pat quasi-moral at the end), albeit it's somewhat unusually focused on just a year or two of relatively young lives. For that to work at all, we need the cluster of young people the film focuses on to be incredibly interesting or attractive (recent films that do this sort of thing relatively well, albeit often with considerably less biopic-y baggage, include Almost Famous, Wonder Boys, Boogie Nights, and Good Will Hunting; a more classical example is The Paper Chase). But the characters of TSN aren't especially interesting people - as the film itself seems to realize - there's lots of unattractive whining in TSN (!) and there's precious little in the way of interesting creativity or insight on display (as opposed to shark-like pursuit of main chances).[2] But then why are we watching the film?

The answer seems to be that the film relies upon on us being titillated by Harvard, fast-money-making, maybe hype about social media, and the like. But if you're immune to all that (as I am) then the film falls surprisingly flat, and fails to address even the most prominent lacunae in its own story-telling. E.g., we're led to believe that one of Zuckerberg's key insights (not to mention his own lizard-brain-level motivation) is that the (vaguely Groucho Marxian) exclusivity of clubs matters: that the most desirable of social networks are those that are hard to get into, that might on another day of the week not have you as a member. But while Facebook began with that sort of exclusiveness in mind (you had to go to an Ivy or Ivy-wannabe to be on it, etc.), it very quickly became entirely open and in fact all about scale and inclusiveness and network effects and 'building the user-base without worrying about how to make money off it' - all ideas that are pure .com/Web 1.0, etc.. The movie shows this change happening, but doesn't really draw attention to it or explain its significance, presumably because doing so would (i) undermine the film's narrative about what drives Zuck. (and what his key special insight was), and (ii) constitute an unhelpful-to-the-film narrative of Facebook as conceptually indistinguishable from what other people were doing at the same the time. If the difference with Facebook was just execution/timeliness etc., which is to say a completely standard, business success story, then again there's nothing movie-worthily interesting here.[3]

There's also a kind of meta-moral to be drawn from my last two paragaphs: the showing and telling in TSN is everywhere out of whack. At the level of character we're told stuff that we need to just see, and at the level of ideas (about company development, etc.), where we need to be told stuff so that what we're shown can then be meaningful, the allegedly great script is silent.

After seeing TSN's superb trailer ('...and the Oscar for Best film at failing to live up to its own trailer goes to....' presented by Spike Jonze) I anticipated that rather than a simple (and, as I've explained, somewhat misguided) bio-pic, that TSN would be in addition an ambitious, generally skeptical look at (or x-ray of) 'how we live now', esp. at the new forms of sociality that Web 2.0 tech has enabled and the older forms it is destroying. But there's almost nothing of that in the film, hence TSN feels minor compared to what it could have been (and to what its promotional materials suggested it would be). Too bad.[4]

Moreover, neither the script nor the score for which TSN won Oscars struck me as especially remarkable. Both felt like stuff I'd heard before and better from their respective authors. Indeed, Reznor's score builds so directly on his previous work, including large chunks of The Slip and of Ghosts I-IV that I don't quite see how it retained eligibility as original material, given how strict AMPAS has been about that in recent years. Deep down, too, it's a bummer that, say, Paul Thomas Anderson and Clint Mansell don't have writing and music Oscars respectively while Sorkin and Reznor do (not that I've got anything against the latter two guys, I'm a fan of both, but seriously....).

Nice acting tho', esp. from Andrew Garfield, who appears to me to be the real deal after seeing him play two very different characters in TSN and in Red Riding 1974.

I've still yet to see True Grit, Black Swan, or King's Speech, but of the Best Picture nominees that I have seen I'd definitely take Toy Story 3 and Winter's Bone over TSN. Finally, too, TSN isn't nearly as compelling to me as Zodiac was (in 2007, unfortunately for Fincher one of the greatest years in movie history).


[1] I take no position about King's Speech, my point is just that the analogies break down because TSN is no RB/G/PF. Indeed, in my view, TSN is more Gump than Pulp Fiction when you get down right down to it. Let's hope that this and Benj. Button don't represent a trend in this regard for Mr Fincher.

[2] In one scene Zuck. hails his own and his team's intellectual and creative capacities compared to those of his accusers. But too much tell not enough show! By that point I certainly hadn't seen anything that looked so amazingly creative or intellectually explosive. I mean, one could imagine a film about the amazing rise and reign of Pixar and the interaction of Lasseter, Doctor, Bird, et al., frickin' geniuses all I'm prepared to believe, but then show that genius and what they got and can do that their competitors didn't and can't, OK? Or if you want to make a movie about loopy Grigory Perelman and his proof of the Poincare Conjecture then you're well advised to give us a sense of how his mind works (so that he could solve problems that no one else could solve), and you're probably going to have to devise ways of cannily representing holes in space to do that. If you don't do that then you'll just be asking us to take the 'genius' stuff on trust, which will pall. And, for especially positive instances, think of what a great job fashion documentaries from Unzipped through to The September Issue do of just showing the audience that Mizrahi, Wintour, et al. really are extraordinarily gifted, as well as being superhumanly hard-workers.

[3] Compare too with cases in which something in science became a pure horse-race, so that the only questions to be resolved are (i) who gets the prizes and (ii) who was prepared to bend the rules to make sure that they do: think Venter vs. the NIH over sequencing the human genome, or Watson, Crick, and Wilkins stealing Rosalind Franklin's x-rays to pip Pauling on DNA. The spectacle of street-fighter, animal cunning being decisive even in this most esoteric, rarefied, intellectual, supposedly bloodless environment is inherently amusing and dramatic. Still, in my view, if you want to make a successful movie about any of these cases, you do well to either explore the underlying content and its importance in detail, or have some specific gripping personal angle in mind so that it's not just the horse-race we're focusing on (or both). We discussed content a lot in fn. 2. For examples of 'gripping personal angles', consider Franklin, sexism, her tragic early death and non-Nobel in the DNA case; and consider the overkill, Randian/Teddy Roosevelt-ish swagger of Venter in the genome case. For me, then, TSN neither went deep enough into content nor developed characters that were vivid enough, that had enough at stake really, to make for a strong film.

[4] See this piece by Tom Ewing, talking en passant about Google and Facebook as providing competing objective and subjective prisms/vortices, for more interesting thought about Facebook and its place in the modern informational ecosystem than anything TSN manages. Vaguely relatedly, note how odd it is that Google is never mentioned in TSN. Indeed, the film kinda, sorta insinuates that Facebook/Zuck. is the successor to Microsoft/Gates, and that nothing and no one of note happened between them in computer software, which is laughable. That said, there's evidently a case to be made that Facebook is the new Microsoft in that, like MS, it makes software that's genuinely irritating, indifferent-to-poor in many ways, but that network effects nonetheless force everyone (quite resentfully) to deal with as the borderline dysfunctional standard.

Sunday, July 25, 2010

You Will 1993/1994

In the US there's an ultra-sentimental stream of TV advertising: many ads are explicitly designed to make the viewer very emotional or even tear up, all in the space of 30 seconds. AT&T’s ads in the '80s and '90s were consistently like this, distilling the essence of Capra, Spielberg, and Zemeckis perhaps, often plaintively imploring everyone to ‘reach out and touch somebody’ and the like. See, for example, this ad from 1988.
The apotheosis of this tendency was AT&T's, sentimental-about-the-future, ‘You Will’ series in 1993/1994, which David Fincher directed:

This blog post clarifies, however, that Fincher himself mainly handled just the visuals, and that another creative group was solely responsible for almost all of the crucial decisions about the V.O. and music, and ultimately, as it happens, played McCartney to Fincher's Lennon.
The 'You Will' ads' had a unique zing at the time (which led David Letterman to parody them), and they're impressively haunting in 2010: they're prophetic but also wildly nostalgic for an original sentiment directed forward at where we stand today. It's plausible that all of that complexity is traceable to the complementariness of Fincher's gifts and those of his collaborators on the audio side. Fincher's occasionally dark, cool, Blade Runner-ish images are progressively warmed by a Solsbury Hill-style, acoustic theme in 7/4. As that musical object rotates smoothly through its nonstandard period, it gathers different timbres, building harmonically towards a luminous crescendo.[1] That intense moment is over almost before we can grasp it or hear it clearly, which is to say that it embodies musically the inviting, bright future we've just seen. That future isn't here yet, but it's so close; as close as Tom Selleck's voice in your ear. (Typical, basic response in 1993: Holy crap! That moved me. I love this. Can I see that again?)
Note that the ads' prophecy isn't limited to the specific tech they project; the ads also hit the 'You' hard. That's an early tech-commercial use of the grammatical signature of personalization and decentralization that Web 2.0 tech seized upon in the mid-'00s (as, e.g., Time rather gaudily observed). Microsoft tried to strike the same, ahead of the curve, proto-Web 2.0-ish note two years later with 'Where do you want to go today?', but that campaign failed. Convincingly aspirational, sentimental advertising, like a great pop song, isn't as simple or easy as it looks. And timing matters in advertising just as it does in pop. Whereas AT&T's ads arrived just before (or just as) the first useful browser, Mosaic exploded out of the gates (giving us the first draft of the web as we know it today), Microsoft launched its campaign just after it had emerged popularly as an ominous, legally suspect, effective monopolist that was out to crush Mosaic's iconic progeny, Netscape.
Back to the specific vibe of Fincher & co.'s 1993 vision of the future. (I recommend watching the ads again at this point. You know you want to.) The everyday will be exalted and serenely perfected. As members of this new fully digitalized, networked world we will have vaguely God-like, near-magical powers, but we'll think nothing of it. Why would we? We'll still have people to meet, babies to tuck in, and the like (and how often do you think about basic utilities now?). But our Millennial IT mastery will allow us to symmetrize and harmonize gender roles, to transcend racial and ethnic difference, to overcome the opposition between work and life, and to end both the Babel of languages and the tyranny of distance. You personally will see the end of history, and abundance, prosperity, and perpetual peace everywhere. Really.
And the company that will bring all this to you: The Catholic Church.[2] No, wait.
One last point: Fincher's forthcoming film is The Social Network. Ostensibly about the rise of Facebook, the film's buzz and trailers suggest that it's also a generally skeptical look at 'how we live now', esp. at the forms of sociality that Web 2.0 tech has enabled. The eerie soundtrack to the film's trailer? A version of Radiohead's Creep, one of the songs of (maybe even the song of) 1993.

Maybe it's too much to ask for the ultimate symmetry of I Can't on The Social Network's soundtrack (say in Christopher O'Riley's piano version), i.e., given that Fincher was there for the You Will. In general, however, even though the estimable Trent Reznor has apparently been engaged to construct the soundtrack, it's hard to believe that he'll come up with anything better than versions of Radiohead's various anthems of anomie and estrangement (Motion Picture Soundtrack and How to Disappear Completely, just for starters) and of knowing who your real friends are (The Bends). Radiohead just is the ideal, slightly cerebral, skeptical, musical counterpoint to seductive images of cavorting coeds and of everything that billions of dollars can buy.

[1] In roughly half the spots the crescendo features a wailing female vocal that's similar to aspects of Clare Torry's famous vocal part on Pink Floyd's The Great Gig In the Sky (from Dark Side). It's inspired to think of knitting together Gabriel and Floyd musical ideas, and musically executing that thought so well is impressive. AT&T and Fincher alike must have been thrilled.
[2] Less facetiously, The Great Western Railroad Co.. From 1845, "[T]he ultimate miracles of railways are obvious... The globe is in the course of being inhabited as one city or shire, everything known to and everything touching everybody. The consequences cannot yet be foreseen fully, but there is no reason to doubt that on the whole, the result must be good. It will give force to public reason, and thus give great advantages to civilizations over barbarism, and to truth over error." See Jerome Blum, In the Beginning: Advent of the Modern Age, Europe in the 1840s (1994), Chapter 1, esp. pp. 4-5 for this and many other pie-eyed encomia.

Tuesday, June 08, 2010

Clip joint: rain

This week swanstep brings us faces and scenes that launched a thousand drips.

Breakfast at Tiffany's (1961).

Big rain scenes may have been all right once, so the story goes, but lately they've been overdone and overused, and are now utterly dead to us. Hollywood has drowned, devalued, and Oscar-baited with the climactic deluge for at least the past decade, and the on-going transfiguration of film into post-produced mush spiked with graphic-novel cliché has white rain against a black background (go 2 mins 20 secs in) as its calling card. Recent rom-coms' puddles too overflow: John Cusack has starred in The Rain for the last 20 years, and 'Is it still raining? I hadn't noticed.' (go 1 min in) remains a contender for 'Line most likely to make a date eat his or her own head.'

And yet, and yet, rain scenes aren't going anywhere. Rain is an unrivalled, naturally justified diffuser of light and sound. It shortens visual and aural focus alike, so that rain, like darkness, intensifies and excites by subtraction (only multi-modally). And whereas darkness evokes the vulnerabilities that attach to our sleep cycle, rain speaks romantically to our origins. In the rain we're kids, maybe even momentarily embryonic: slippery, open to pleasure, but also unformed and exposed to danger. Rain even tweaks some people's sense of themselves as creatures whose distant ancestors emerged from the sea (which is how poet Don Patterson explains his weakness for films that start with rain).

Which rain scenes have floated your boat (and might make for a better, wet movie future), and why? Are you a sucker for the first drops, the gentle drizzle, or the hard blast? Streaming down an upturned face or beating against a window-pane? Establisher of metaphysical mood or action element? Kurosawa's ink or Donen & Kelly's milk? H
2O, data, or frog? Just don't tell us you hadn't noticed.



1) Kurosawa's breakthrough film, Rashomon (1950), uses characters sheltering from a storm as a framing device. The inky rain itself establishes metaphysical mood: everything is dark, nothing is settled. The characters tell stories to each other to pass the time, and by the time they finish, the rain will have stopped, and the framing device will be in play.



2) In Gold Diggers of 1933 (go 5 mins in if you must), Busby Berkeley uses pettin' in the park (bad boy!) in the rain, America's girl next door, Ruby Keeler, now dewily gorgeous (bad girl!), and a demented 'baby' to lift spirits at the rock-bottom of the Great Depression.



3) Attn: Richard Curtis. You need to write a musical, not just a rom-com, if you want to get away with weather-contravening hyperbole. A drenched Gene Kelly goo-goos 'From where I stand, the Sun is shining all over the place' then nails one of the greatest, most purely pleasurable sequences in film history in Singin' in the Rain (1952).



4) In Foreign Correspondent (1940) (go 1 min 55 secs in), Hitchcock synthesizes the modern, rain-soaked action sequence out of the materials Eisenstein and Murnau bequeathed to him. Craned, moving cameras wittily cover the unfolding action, and their shots are cut together with closeups of guns, faces, and ultra-violence. Not obviously improved upon until:



5) The chase scene in Se7en (1995). It begins with Somerset and Mills in a hallway, hearing rain fall - as though the city's so dismal, it's pouring inside -, and knocking on what is in fact John Doe's door. We hit the rain proper at 3 mins 40 secs, and achieve maximally gluey torrent-hood at 5 mins 30 secs.