A history lesson and an answer to a question about Star Wars

I have met, in my travels, younger people who are interested in film, but they have seen almost none of the classics. Sometimes they have never heard of them. Not only is this sad, but it could stop them from becoming the best filmmakers they could be.

A sadder thing is that it is not just students but working professionals who know little of film’s past. I once spoke with a former film executive who, in a meeting of fellow executives, discovered that he was the only one in the room who had seen Casablanca. 

I believe students of film should watch, and study, films from every era of the medium—and it’s best if they watch these films chronologically. That way they will be able to see when and how an innovation has been made. They will know why the close-up was so powerful when D.W.Griffith learned how to use it. 

If students watched these films in the order they were made and released, no one would ever have to explain why it was cool that GreggToland showed a ceiling or used deep focus in Citizen Kane. They would get a sense of what it may have been like to see these things for the first time.

Last summer I was a guest speaker at a summer camp for teenage filmmakers where I showed a short film I made, in which I mentioned Star Wars. After the film, a boy close to the very age I was when Star Wars came out asked, “Why did people like Star Wars so much?” Time stopped.

Here was this kid who looked so much like many of my friends back in 1977 but saying something no kid would have ever said in 1977. It was a surreal experience for me and I am sure I left my body.

Now, when I say Star Wars, I mean what younger people call A New Hope or Episode IV.  I call it Star Wars and it was Episode I. In its original release Star Wars had no Episode IV in the opening title crawl. Trust me, if it had, all of us 12-year-old boys would have had a lot of questions. Many people remember a later re-release of the film where the New Hope title was added to the crawl.

But I digress.  Why was Star Wars so cool? It is an interesting thing to be at the beginning of something that has that much impact on the world. I wasn’t there for the first issue of Superman, or the Beatles on Ed Sullivan, but I was there for Star Wars and it was one of the coolest things I have experienced in my lifetime.

Many have commented of the Hero’s Journey aspects of the film, based on what Joseph Campbell had observed was a recurring structure in mythology, so I will not talk about that here—except to say that story pattern has worked since the beginning of storytelling and that it certainly worked for a vast audience in 1977.

But there are other things in addition to this ancient story form that gave the film such power. First of all, things were dirty. This may seem small, but it’s huge. If you look at the way high tech and sci-fi realities were depicted pre-Star Wars, you will see that things are immaculate. The future was always shown to be clean. Pristine. Perfect. 

But in Star Wars the robots got dirty and had dents. The main character Luke Skywalker had a hovercraft that had pieces missing. There was something beautiful about how something so high tech, when it was beat-up and dirty, communicated so clearly that it was still a teenager’s first car.

Today there is a cell phone called a Droid, but back in 1977 no one had a cell phone and droid was not a word. Android was a word. Robot was the standard word for these automatons, but droid was brand new (as far as I know). Not only was it a new word, but also it was a way cooler word than robot.

These droids also had great personalities. They were more like the comedy teams of Laurel & Hardy or Abbot & Costello (if you don’t know those references, you should) than robots. Before this, most robots had no real personality. They were machines, after all.

There were Huey, Dewey, and Louie from the film SilentRunning, and they were cute, but were light on real personality. The Star Wars droids were characters that happened to be robots. It was amazing to a mid-seventies audience to see anything like this.

The design for one of the droids was inspired by the design of a robot from the classic silent film Metropolis. Good thing Lucas knew his film history.

There were also the amazing effects. I once called Star Wars a special effects film to a kid I was tutoring, and he replied, “Star Wars isn’t a special effects film!”.

He’s right. Star Wars was THE special effects film. No one had ever seen anything like this. It was the first use of the computerized motion control system, which ushered in a new era. Even something simple like a lightsaber was amazing. There was no such thing as a lightsaber before Star Wars. I’m sure you know that, but imagine being a kid seeing this crazy light-up sword for the first time.

And don’t get me started on the great Ben Burtt and his sound design. His sounds seem so natural that you can’t even imagine a blaster sounding any other way. Before Ben Burtt all sci-fi sounds were electronic bleeps and bloops with no warmth.

So many of these creative choices influenced special effects and sci-fi from that day to this.

If there had been no Star Wars, the special effects films so popular today would be vastly different in design, tone, and pace. Many of the movies, TV shows, and video games of today are still ripples from the splash that Star Wars made.

If you have grown up in a world that has always contained droids, lightsabers, and Wookies, then you can never know what is was like to be among the first people to see them. But what you can do is watch what came before and then see Star Wars; see if it doesn’t look better to you. This is true for any film. If you want to know why The Godfather was so groundbreaking, look at what came before.

 

Have you ever heard Martin Scorsese talk about film? It’s like he’s seen every film there is, and has committed each shot to memory. Steven Spielberg is the same way. These filmmakers have been able to make films that transform film because they know their history.

Film history is full of lessons. All you have to do to learn them is watch.

King Kong – They All Laughed

 When modern engineers see the pyramids of Egypt, they marvel: How could people so long ago, without heavy machines or modern building materials, build such impressive and enduring structures? Not for one second do they think that these pyramid builders were inferior because they did not have our modern technology.

This is true too of ancient Roman structures, bridges and aqueducts that still stand. Engineers do not shake their heads in pity at the achievements of these primitives.

No architect or builder enters Notre Dame cathedral and thinks that it’s such a shame that those poor fools in the past did such a poor job of it without the use of computer models.

No, when modern-day builders, engineers, and architects see these wonders, they are amazed that these geniuses of the past could do so much with so little.

So why do today’s students of film dismiss the past so quickly?

The fact that early filmmakers did not have such things as sound, color, wide-screen, steady-cams, non-linear editing systems, surround sound, small digital cameras with ultra-high resolution, or CGI, or whatever, is seen only as a limitation by many of the students I talk to.

They do not marvel at what the pioneers were able to do without our modern advantages; the early work is somehow inferior because technology has improved. But those early filmmakers, with so much less, were still able to produce classics.

Several years ago, I was giving a lecture at a university where most of the attendees were interested in animation and computer-generated effects. At one point I mentioned that they should watch the original 1933 version of King Kong and before I could get out another word they all laughed. It was, they thought, a ridiculous piece of advice.  

All these years later their laughter reverberates in my memory. How could they laugh at King Kong? I was stunned.

Sometimes I feel very lucky to have been born when I was because I got to live in an analog world. Stop-motion animation was still very much in use in the world of special effects and had changed very little since the very beginning of film. So what looks crude to younger eyes, because they have been weaned on computer-generated effects, does not look quite so crude to me.

I saw King Kong on television when I was five or so and it was magic. It was one of the things that got me interested in film. At that time, the film was nearly 40 years old and the effects worked as well on me as I’m sure they did on the 1933 audiences.

In fact, the King Kong animation of Willis O’Brien inspired a couple of generations of children to grow up and become filmmakers. One of those kids was Ray Harryhausen, who became a special effects icon. He was so popular that when people refer to his films they are “Ray Harryhausen films”: not the actor’s film, or director, or screenwriter, but the effects guy. No other effects artist can make that claim.

Peter Jackson says that King Kong is the film that made him want to make films. This is by no measure a rare claim for filmmakers, artists, animators, and effects people.

It is no coincidence that when comic book artist Art Adams created his series, starring an intelligent gorilla and his beautiful partner, that he called it Monkey Man and O’Brien after King Kong animator Willis O’Brien.

For me, and for the others who were inspired by Kong, he was a living, breathing creature. If stop-motion animation was “done,” just how Kong could seem so alive?

When I was a teenager and the technology would allow, I began to watch the animation one frame at a time to study just what O’Brien was doing. I learned a few things by doing that. When you watch Kong move, his fur seems to dance around and change erratically.  Seen a frame at a time it is clear to see that the hair changes from frame to frame because this is where O’Brien put his fingers to manipulate the model.

In fact, my friend Todd Masters and I spotted one or two surface gauges left in shots. Surface gauges are devices (a kind of pointer) used to keep track of a model’s position but are meant to removed before each frame is snapped. Even so, these “mistakes” did not take anything away from the illusion of life that O’Brien was able to imbue Kong with.

One day, I was watching the fight scene between Kong and a Tyrannosaurus Rex – at the end of the fight Kong breaks the jaw of the dinosaur. What I noticed after studying the fight was that Kong gets the idea to snap the jaw early in the fight – in fact he tries more than once to get a hold of his opponent’s jaw before he succeeds in his plan.

 

 What O’Brien did was give Kong a plan – Kong was thinking. Even though on the surface the animation may seem crude by today’s standards, what worked about the animation is timeless. I have seen more than a few modern computer-generated creatures that have less going on internally. These creatures are slick and polished on the outside, but vacant on the inside. They do not think. They do not feel. But King Kong did.

There is something to be learned from those who came before. They were able to do such much with the computing power of their own brains, imagination, and feelings.

To be fair to animators, many of them, more than most young filmmakers I have met, tend to know and respect the history of their craft. For them innovation and history walk hand in hand. (That said, I have met students who say they want to be character animators and have never heard of the legends in their field.)

It baffles me that in this, the Information Age, so many people don’t bother to take advantage of the vast knowledge at their fingertips. YouTube and Netflix are just sitting there, with all the treasures of the films of the past – and their lessons to be learned. The problem is that things that were once so bright and shiny that they lit up the world become dull and tarnished with the dust of time. Time has a way of making old things look useless, but look deeper.

Recently, audiences were amazed as a ghostly image of Tupac Shakur appeared on stage to work with living performers. This “hologram’ was initially hailed as a modern marvel – but though there was some modern technology involved, the basic technique is a 150-year-old theater trick for creating ghost effects on stage. Someone involved in this task knew and respected history. 

If you can learn to brush off the dust of time and look beneath the surface you may get a glimpse of genius. At the very least, you’ll learn not to laugh at the hard work of pioneers.

P.S. Ella and Louis sing They All Laughed (1957)

Movies I Like: Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan

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If you weren’t around in 1982 you missed a crazy-good year for film. I have often said that it was the last great year for movies. Some disagree and I have heard all of the arguments to the contrary. But I tell you there was something about that year that I have not seen repeated since. The number of great, classics, influential or just plan fun movies to be released in 1982 is stunning. Here are just a few:

Blade Runner, Sophie’s Choice, The Thing, An Officer and a Gentleman, The Verdict, Diner, 48 Hours, Tootsie, Gandhi, Poltergeist, Fitzcarraldo, Tron, E.T., and The Dark Crystal. 

That’s a few of them and I suspect that even you younger readers have heard of one or two of these. This is not to say that I love every film listed above—I only mean to point out the quality, number, and variety of the films you had to choose from in ‘82.

It was so much fun to go to the movies then. One of the summer movies released that year was Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan.

Star Trek II was, of course, the sequel to the fantastically successful, but disappointing to fans, StarTrek: The Motion Picture.

Star Trek II is considered by many to be the best film in the Star Trek franchise. I think that’s probably true because it is the only Star Trek movie that is A MOVIE first and foremost. It aims to engage and entertain those who are not diehard fans. It tells a story—not only that, it tells a good story and it tells it well.

The Wrath of Khan’s story was conceived by producer Harve Bennett, who wrote an outline for the film, and then brought on writer Jack B. Sowards to write the screenplay.

The film’s director was Nicholas Meyer, himself a novelist and no slouch as a writer. (He had already written and directed a film called Time After Time about Jack the Ripper escaping into the 20th century using H.G. Wells’ time machine, so Wells must track him down. It’s a fun movie.)

 When Myer was brought in, the script needed help and he rewrote the movie in 12 days, though he did not take a writing credit. The story was a kind of sequel to an episode of the original Star Trek television series called “Space Seed,” where the crew of the USS Enterprise does battle with Khan—a genetically enhanced human being. 

Ricardo Montalbán as Khan

Star Trek II starts with what looks like a dangerous mission: a starship must decide whether to cross into an area called the Neutral Zone to rescue a ship in trouble, but to cross into this Neutral Zone is an act of war. The person in the captain’s chair decides to risk war and attempt a rescue. This is seen as an act of aggression by the enemy (the Klingons) who attack the starship. During the attack, many of the bridge officers are killed, including Mister Spock.

When all is lost, a door slides open, and a figure enters and calls for the lights to be turned up—this is Captain (now-Admiral) Kirk. With his entrance the “dead” rise and brush themselves off.

This, it turns, out is a simulation—a test called the Kobayashi Maru designed to put young officers in the position of having to make an impossible decision—a “no-win scenario.” It is a chance for them to face death.

Doctor McCoy questions staffing the Starship Enterprise with inexperienced cadets and mentions it to Kirk as the old bridge crew looks on.

McCoy
Admiral, wouldn't it be easier to put an experienced crew back on the ship?

Kirk
Galloping around the cosmos is a game for the young, Doctor.
(Exits)

Uhura
Now, what is that supposed to mean?

Soon after this opening Kirk meets up with his old friend Spock. Upon seeing him, Kirk jokes, referring to the simulation, “Aren’t you dead?” This is a bit of foreshadowing because this is a film where Spock does die.

See how the film has just begun, and already the subjects of death and aging have already come up so naturally? Not missing a beat, it is in this scene where Spock presents Kirk with a birthday gift—an old book.

Kirk

(reading from book) "It was the best of times, it was the worst of times." —Message, Spock?

Spock
None that I'm conscious of. Except of course; happy birthday! —Surely the best of times.

The book is of course Dickens’ A Tale of Two Cities and its opening line matters in this story. Kirk does not seem to be happy about his birthday—for him this is not the best of times.

Later, Kirk’s old friend Dr. McCoy drops by Kirk’s home with a birthday gift. Along with a bottle of alien spirits, McCoy also brings the gift of reading glasses. Again, the idea of aging.

It comes up here that Kirk is not happy being an administrator, but he is feeling his age and feels as he said before that “galloping around the cosmos is a game for the young.”

McCoy
Dammit, Jim, what the hell is the matter with you? Other people have birthdays, why are we treating yours like a funeral?

(He could have just as easily said, “Dammit, Jim, this should be the best of times and you’re treating it as the worst of times!”)

These dualities of old and young, life and death, creation and destruction are at the center of this piece.

For the sake of space I will move quickly through some of the story.

Khan, an old enemy of Kirk’s, takes over a starship called The Reliant to seek revenge on Kirk. Khan has also found out about something called “Project Genesis.” He finds a way to lure Kirk into a trap, in part using an old love interest of Kirk’s, Dr. Carol Marcus, who is in charge of Project Genesis.

Kirk, not suspecting that he is about to be attacked, is caught off-guard when The Reliant, a starship in his own fleet, fires on his ship causing major damage.

 It is at this point, when the Enterprise is crippled in space, that Khan reveals himself as the attacker. He demands that Kirk surrender and transfer all information regarding Project Genesis over to him. Kirk is able to stall Khan for a moment while he “receives” the Genesis data; we see Kirk hesitate as he puts on his eyeglasses, a symbol of the weaknesses of age.

Kirk manages to outsmart Khan and cripple his ship in return. Now Kirk goes with Spock and McCoy to see just what this Genesis Project is. They learn that it is a kind of missile that when deployed to a dead moon can turn the lifeless world into a thriving ecosystem. This is the discussion that follows:

McCoy

Dear Lord. You think we're intelligent enough to... suppose...what if this thing were used where life already exists?

Spock

It would destroy such life in favor of its new matrix.

McCoy

Its "new matrix"? Do you have any idea what you're saying?

Spock

I was not attempting to evaluate its moral implications, Doctor. As a matter of cosmic history, it has always been easier to destroy than to create.

McCoy

Not anymore; now we can do both at the same time! According to myth, the Earth was created in six days. Now, watch out! Here comes Genesis! We'll do it for you in six minutes!

McCoy

Really, Dr. McCoy. You must learn to govern your passions; they will be your undoing. Logic suggests...

McCoy

Logic? My God, the man's talking about logic; we're talking about universal Armageddon! You green-blooded, inhuman...

From a story construction standpoint, Project Genesis is brilliant—it both creates life and destroys it. Again, this duality of life and death intermingled.

Because I don’t like these posts to get too long (too late), I won’t go through the entire film, but I could. This life/death young/old thing never lets up. During the film, Kirk meets his son: Birth. And he also loses his best friend: Death.

It comes out that Kirk cheated when he took the Kobayashi Maru as a cadet. He has never faced death until now. But seeing his friend gallantly sacrifice his life so that others could live teaches Kirk the value of facing death head on.

Notice how even Spock’s death is about the duality of life and death—he dies to save lives. 

 

Near the film’s end when Kirk sits down to read the book that Spock gave him for his birthday, he finds that his glasses are broken. He is not an old man. He then has this talk with his son:

David Marcus

Lieutenant Slavic was right: You never have faced death.

Kirk

No. Not like this. I haven't faced death. I've cheated death. I've tricked my way out of death and patted myself on the back for my ingenuity. I know nothing.

David Marcus

You knew enough to tell Saavik that how we face death is at least as important as how we face life.

Kirk

Just words.

David Marcus

But good words.

Lastly, as Kirk looks out at the newly formed Genesis planet, where they have deposited the body of Spock, he recites some of A Tale of Two Cities:

Kirk

It's a far, far better thing I do than I have ever done before. A far better resting place that I go to than I have ever known.

Carol Marcus

Is that a poem?

Kirk

No. Something Spock was trying to tell me. On my birthday.

McCoy

You okay, Jim? How do you feel?

Kirk

Young. I feel young.

"Young. I feel young."

This kind of focus on theme is the kind of thing I rarely see anymore, but it is powerful when it is used. In the case of Star Trek II it created both a hit and a classic. I wish more screenwriters would follow Khan’s lead.

D'oh! I forgot something.

Sorry this is not a proper post , but I just realized that I never announced my interview on the Paper Wings Podcast on this blog.  So many of you may have missed it. I did announce it on Twitter @BeeMacDee1950 a while back.

I will try to put up a new blog post soon.

In the meantime:  http://www.paperwingspodcast.com/2012/05/brian-mcdonald/#more-789

Don't be Afraid to Grow (Even when it hurts)

 This may sting. Ready?

I want you to think of your favorite films (or books or plays or televisions shows). Whatever. Think about how they make you feel, really take the time right now and think about them.

Now suppose that I told you that these films, TV shows, plays, or novels weren’t very good. I bet you felt something there. You felt protective and a little hurt. Maybe even a lot hurt. Right? You want to defend these things you love. “They are good—you’re wrong!” You’d probably like to say that to me even though I have no idea of the films you were thinking of.

We get emotionally attached to stories sometimes and it doesn’t matter what other people think—you like it, so therefore it is good. Simple. Well, not really.

This is fine for fans, but if you are going to become a master of your craft you must be able to look at a story objectively. You have to see what is and isn’t working without sentiment blinding you.

When I lay out a case for why I don’t like a particular film, more often than not I give a point-by-point argument for why I think the thing did not work structurally. I might say, “There are scenes that are there for no reason.” I will talk of specific scenes and how they did not contribute to the thematic thrust of the story. Or how the story started out expressing one idea, but concluded with another theme all together. Or how the story seemed to have no theme at all because it wasn’t clear as to its point. Again I will cite specific examples.

What I get back more times than not is a blank stare followed by, “I disagree.” Well, “I disagree” is not an argument. Or the defender might say, “I think it had a theme.” Also not an argument. Or they try to win where they can, “But didn’t you like the cinematography?” “The soundtrack is great!” “I like that actor.” Again, not arguments about construction.

These statements are coming from an emotional place. There are often some personal reasons for responding to a story and that is valid—I would not presume to suggest there is anything wrong with that. But this is not the mindset of a craftsperson.

I think we can fall in love with stories—and, just like with romantic love, not always for the right reasons. That is to say, your reasons may be so personal that to find flaws in the things we love can feel like a kind of death.

 I know I have had to do this myself from time to time. The film Silverado comes to mind. Back when Silverado came out, I thought it was the coolest movie ever.
 

I should say the Silverado was written and directed by Lawrence Kasdan. I have the utmost respect for Kasdan, who wrote both Raidersof the Lost Ark and The EmpireStrikes Back. He also successfully remade the Billy Wilder film Double Indemnity into the film Body Heat. The man is no slouch, is my point.

Silverado is Lawrence Kasdan’s 1985 all-star western. I first saw the film at a sneak preview, I was so excited to see this new film from this guy. And this was at my very favorite theater, the UA/150, and I was with some of my best friends. 

I even saw someone get out of a car who looked like Lawrence Kasdan and called out, “Larry!” to see if he would turn his head. He did, confused that someone had called his name. Oh my God, Lawrence Kasdan! My 20-year-old heart almost stopped. I remember the buzz in line to see the film. People couldn’t wait—they were really hyped to see this film.

Lawrence Kasdan

And the audience was not disappointed—they loved it! There were cheers and laughs from the crowd throughout the film. I loved it so much, when it was released officially saw it a few more times.

I remember telling a friend that he had to see it. He did. He told me afterwards that he didn’t see what I saw in it. He didn’t like it. I respected the friend because he’s a smart guy and what he said stung because I liked the movie so much. But in the end, I just thought he didn’t get it. He was clearly wrong.

On one of my outings to see the film yet again, the friend who was with me ran into someone she knew, and my friend and I talked up the film quite a bit to this person. When the film was over the woman laughed in our faces and said that Silverado was the worst film she had ever seen. That was a little over the top, I thought. (In fact, I still think so.)

 

But it got me thinking—how could I like a film so much, while others seemed not to like it at all? One of the ways I learned what I know was from watching audiences. If I saw a film more than once, the second time, I watched the crowd reactions to see what got them excited or interested or what bored them. So I was practiced in trying to see what others saw.

I was determined to see what wasn’t working for these people. I just kept watching the film over and over. Finally, I saw it. The film is fun and exciting. It has really great characters with great actors giving solid performances. It has funny lines and character interactions: the film even put a young Kevin Costner on the map and made him a star. And some of the writing is every bit as good as Raiders of the Lost Ark. But it was also all over the map.

 The first act is very long and seems to have little focus beyond getting the large cast of heroes together. It took its time getting to any kind of real plot. I’m not really sure of the theme of the piece; the film itself seems unsure of its theme. It’s full of subplots and side stories that I don’t see connecting in a thematic way to the main point of the story—whatever that is.

This was a painful revelation for me since I had liked the film so much. But in the end I saw what I saw and there was no unseeing it. That said, I see people “unsee” things all the time. They cannot bear to let go of this thing they love so much. They hold on to it. They make excuses for it.

  And it the end it blinds them and they do not develop the eye of a master craftsman. I see this all the time with students. They remain loyal fans and fail to develop an eye.

Often the reverse happens—people have personal reasons for hating something. They hate happy endings. They hate sad endings. They don’t ask themselves if the ending was the most appropriate for expressing the story’s point. Sometimes they don’t like an actor. Again, they don’t ask themselves if the actor was well cast. They aren’t using a judgment beyond personal taste or perception. This way of evaluating things also causes a kind of blindness.

None of this is to say that you cannot trust your instincts; being a creative person is all about trusting one’s gut. It helps, though, if you have also developed the skills to recognize when you are being swayed by your emotions rather than guided by them.

When I saw Silverado I was among the first to see the new film from the Raiders of the Lost Ark writer. And the man himself was there. I was with good friends and this was my very favorite theater. Some of the actors were favorites of mine. I was primed to like this film. I was swayed by all of the good feelings surrounding the experience.

The purpose of this post is not to review Silverado. You may hate the film, you may love the film. That is inconsequential. The point is that we must all, to become masters of our craft, work hard to develop some sense of objectivity. There will always be subjectivity to an experience and in its way it can be a guide, but we had better learn why we like what we like and if that will transfer to our audience.

This is not easy to do. I have seen people fight tooth-and-nail not to change. That’s because it is sometimes painful to grow. But unless you brave the pain you will not grow—you will not become better at your craft.

Jack Kirby and Pablo Picasso

Image by WonderBros

 "If only we could pull out our brain and use only our eyes. " -- Pablo Picasso


I started reading comic books in earnest in the early1980s, a good time for comics. I was introduced to the work of John Byrne, Walt Simonson, Frank Miller, Michael Golden, Bill Sienkiewicz, John Romita Jr., and other, then young, creators of the time.

A friend of mine who was more of a comic book guy gave me an education on who was cool and why. He then introduced me to some of the more established guys: Neal Adams, John Buscema, Gil Kane, Ross Andru, John Romita Sr., and others.

What struck me was how all of these artists were doing vastly different things. They had their own styles. I remember liking to see how a given artist would handle drawing The Hulk. They were all so different and all great.

But one artist I could not get into was an old guy named Jack Kirby. His stuff was so blocky. Everyone looked to be carved out of stone. I remember another kid and I having a field day laughing at Kirby’s work.

 

But I was lucky because for some reason I had a trait that still serves me well – I had the desire to learn and I would listen to folks who knew more than me. If someone is older than I am, or more studied, my first inclination is assume they know more than I do until they prove otherwise. As I get older I see that this is a rare trait. (I’m not taking credit for the trait in myself – it was just there.)

I don’t get Picasso. I know I’m not supposed to say that because somehow it reflects on my intelligence, but I’m going to come clean here. I do not mean to say that Picasso wasn’t a genius; I am honestly saying that I don’t see what others see when they look at his work.

You should understand that when it comes to art I do not pretend to understand things if I don’t. I think this fear of feeling like we are intellectually deficient can make us fake knowledge instead of actually gaining knowledge.

In the story The Emperor’s New Clothes people pretend to see what they do not because they have been told that those who cannot see the Emperor’s beautiful clothes are stupid and unworthy of their station. As in the story we are all afraid to admit what others claim to see eludes us.

In the case of Picasso, I believe the Emperor in indeed wearing clothes because too many people I admire are in awe of his work. But it is important for my own personal growth that I actually see what others see before I say that I do.

With Kirby, what I did first was ask my artist friends what they saw that was so great. I did not judge their answers but rather I tried to see through their eyes. Whenever I read an interview with one of the many professional artists who were influenced by Kirby’s work, I would look for any bits of wisdom about his work.

I also looked to see what the artists I liked had in common with Kirby. Still, I could not see what others saw. I looked at Kirby’s work for years, and after about five or six years I started to see something of what people were talking about. I could see the energy and power in his work – it was kinetic.

I started to notice some of his innovations, like what my friend Scott called “Kirby dots.”  (Some people call the technique “Kirby krackle.”) It is a bunch of dots that somehow miraculously communicate energy – raw cosmic energy. Everyone uses them now, but Kirby thought it up. I saw that many of the things that had become standard comic book technique were Kirby innovations. Once I saw that a whole world opened up. This guy I had once made fun of was becoming a genius in my mind.

I also saw that his visual storytelling could be amazing. He could do in one panel what took other people three. This is one of the many things I saw John Byrne apply to his work.

I was once talking to my friend August Wilson about Picasso and how I just didn’t get it. August nodded and said, “Have you ever watched him paint?” I told him that I hadn’t and he said, “Watch him paint.” So that’s what I did. I watched him on YouTube.

For a long time I saw nothing. But I watched for years. The way that I learn to “see” is to look. I keep looking until I see. That can take years, or it might take a lifetime. But, like one of the “Magic Eye” pictures that were so popular in the late ’80s, if you look long enough and hard enough, a 3-D picture will emerge.

There's a bird in this image that you'll find if you look hard enough.

So I continued to look at Picasso. And look.And look. Every now and then I would go to YouTube and watch him paint. I started to see flickers of what I had been missing. It was him drawing rather than his painting that I started to see. I saw that he made no mistake. I mean that there were no mistakes. Like a good improviser he took what came. Every line was an opportunity. You can see it in his speed as there seems to be no thought only action – one line leads to another, leads to another, leads to another, without the slightest hesitation. There was no barrier between his subconscious and his hand. It’s balletic.

 Several months ago I had the opportunity to spend a few days with the legendary animator, and great guy, Glen Keane and I was telling him about what August had told me. Glen had never watched him paint so we pulled it up and watched. Glen’s eyes were fixed on the screen as he watched. After a moment he said, “Look where he’s looking.” I looked but didn’t see what Glen saw. He said, “Look at his eyes – he’s not looking at the line he’s painting. He’s looking at the middle of the image he’s working on.” He was.  But I didn’t know what that meant.

Glen told me that his mentor, Ollie Johnston, would say to him that every line in a drawing only exists in relationship to every other line in the drawing. Glen said that it took a while before Ollie’s words made sense to him. But after a few years he got it. And he could see in watching Picasso that he got it, too.

Sometimes I ask a student to read a particular thing or watch a particular movie and after they do they will come back and say that they didn’t get it. They will not read or watch it again. They are done. On that first look they think they have seen all there is to see (or not see).

But every now and then, a students trusts that I see something that they cannot and they will look until they see what I see. I had one student who watched Billy Wilder’s The Apartment and did not know what I saw in it. He watched it again and again and like with one of those magic eye pictures something emerged – something so clear that he didn’t know why he hadn’t seen it before. Now he marvels at the film, the same way I marvel at Jack Kirby.

I’m still looking at Picasso, because I still don’t fully get his work. Not as well as I would like. Maybe in a few years I will. Maybe I never will, but I will learn something just from looking.

My advice about learning: Keep looking.

"The Godfather," how to find the Theme and other things you may have missed.

These are just a few links to things that some of you may have missed. So, in case you are interested, here they are.

I recently gave an interview to Henry Sheppard for his blog Adelaide Screenwriter.  He asked me a question about The Godfather and its theme.  This was my answer:
http://adelaidescreenwriter.blogspot.com/2012/02/brian-mcdonald-godfather-and-how-to.html


I also did a guest post for Kay Kenyon's website Writing the World:
http://www.kaykenyon.com/2011/12/10/what-is-the-job-of-a-storyteller/

This is a nice book review from Henry Sheppard:
http://adelaidescreenwriter.blogspot.com/2012/01/book-review-invisible-ink.html

And this is the rest of my interview with Mr. Sheppard:
http://adelaidescreenwriter.blogspot.com/2012/02/interview-with-brian-mcdonald-part-1.html
http://adelaidescreenwriter.blogspot.com/2012/02/interview-with-brian-mcdonald-part-2.html

An embarrassingly nice review of Invisible Ink. Though apparently not so embarrassing that I won't stoop to calling your attention to it: http://www.paperwingspodcast.com/2012/01/pwp-19-how-to-write-comics-that-engage-your-audience/#comment-8710

Some of you may have seen these already, but for those who hadn't I hope at least some of these things are worth your time.

Thanks,

-- Brian

Movies I Like: Terminator 2: Judgment Day

Before I get into Terminator 2 I want to talk about the first movie a little.

Back when the The Terminator was released I did not see it. It looked like it was going to be a dumb action movie, it had a nondescript title, and Arnold Schwarzenegger was a celebrity body builder who had been in movies, but was no movie star. Everything about The Terminator screamed B-movie.

Then I saw the cover of Cinefex Magazine and on the cover was an intriguing image of a robot skeleton with a wall of fire behind it. I didn’t know what this image was, but I was hooked – I had to see this movie. The film was no longer out so I rented it on VHS and was blown away. The movie had no business being this good. It was clear that there was no budget and the effects were mediocre. There is a puppet head of Arnold that is almost laughably bad. But none of that mattered because the script was strong.

There were also sparks of genius in the film that communicated to me that this James Cameron guy was going to be around for a while. One thing that sticks with me is a scene that takes place in the devastated dystopian future. Reese, one of the main characters moves through a settlement of humans. These are people living in squalor. But Cameron does some brilliant work here. It is a piece of visual storytelling that put him ahead of the pack.

Reese moves past a mother and daughter huddled together gazing into a television. In this future full of the unfamiliar here is something we recognize – a mundane tableau of domestic life.

But then Cameron cuts around to see the view from the other side and we see that the mother and daughter are huddled around a fire built inside the shell of a television. This shot tells us so much about how our world is no more – there are only shadows of it left.

It’s nothing short of brilliant. Like all great visual storytelling it looks easy to do because it’s easy for an audience to understand. It isn’t. Cameron is a first-rate communicator. This ability, and sometimes willingness, to communicate with an audience is becoming a rare thing.

This brings me to Terminator 2. This film was highly anticipated and did not disappoint. These are just some of the reasons I think the film worked for so many. I can’t get into everything because it would be way too long of a post.

One thing that makes this piece work is its clear communication. Much of what I mean can be seen in the film’s first act. First acts are an endangered species in Hollywood and I think that is one of the reasons box office receipts keep falling. The first act gives a story context and lays the groundwork for the story’s emotional beats. Without it there is little for an audience to care about except shallow spectacle.

Here, the first act introduces us to Sarah Conner and does not assume that we have seen, or remember, the details of the prior film. We find Sarah Conner who, in the first film, was hunted down by and nearly killed by a Terminator, a machine from the future, in a mental hospital. It is clear she has been put in this hospital because her story of a “killer robot” is not believed.

The setting of a hospital allows Sarah Conner to relate her story to a doctor in order to clue us, the audience, in on what happened before. The film is so well set up that you can watch it with no knowledge of the first.

Cameron had used a similar technique in Aliens, his sequel to Ridley Scott’s Alien, where the main character Ripley is questioned about what happened to her and her crew in the first film. This allows her to tell the story directly to us so that we can understand the story to follow. It creates context and therefore emotion.

We learn in Act One of Terminator 2 how terrified Sarah is of this killer robot from the future. We also learn that the reason she is being pursued is because she gives birth to, and raises, the man who leads the resistance against the machines. The machines sent a robot back in time to kill her before she could give birth to her son. We learn now that Sarah has since had a son, and that if Sarah cannot stop the machines, that the fate of humanity is grim – a nuclear holocaust launchedby these killer machines.

 

We see Sarah has been working out in preparation for the fight with the machines that will surely come. She is a lean, mean, fighting machine.  In fact, that’s exactly what she is – a human Terminator. This is brilliant. When Sarah makes her escape we see just how efficient and effective she can be at hurting people to get what she needs. Everything she does has a cold, mechanical quality.

Schwarzenegger’s Terminator from the last film was inhuman, but in this film we see that he is more human than Sarah Conner. If you know the film you know how, but for this post it isn’t important. 

“Sarah as Terminator” is further driven home when she discovers the identity of the scientist whose work will unwittingly create a self-aware computer that launches the nuclear attack on humanity. What does Sarah do? She tracks down the man and attempts to kill him.

This is exactly what the Terminators did, and are doing, to Sarah. They are trying to kill her and her son for something they haven’t done yet.

Schwarzenegger’s Terminator (there is a non-Schwarzenegger Terminator in the film), along with Sarah’s son, saves the scientist from Sarah. Sarah has become a killing machine using cold logic to reach her goal, whereas the Terminator displays more humanity.

Making a film about a woman whose fear drives her to become the very thing she hates elevated the film to a place where it transcends its genre and its sequel status. It is true in life that we must take care not to become the things that we fear and/or hate. Instead of being a film designed only to make money, it’s a story that has a reason to be told.

Movies I Like: Rear Window

Why I haven’t written about Rear Window before is beyond my comprehension. Really.

This is one of the best films that master-of-suspense Alfred Hitchcock ever made in his 50-year career as a filmmaker.

When I was a teenager, working for my mentor Bruce Walters, he would tell me stories about the film Rear Window and how effective it was. I had read about it in film books and heard stories, but the film had been, along with others of Hitchcock’s classic films, unavailable for 20 years or so because of legal reasons. But in the early '80s there was a release of Rear Window, the 1956 remake of his own film The Man Who Knew Too Much, Rope, The Trouble with Harry, and the amazing Vertigo.

They had been away for so long it was as if they were new releases. They were incredible to see on the big screen. These old films made millions at the box-office, and were hits once again.

But Rear Window was something special—I have never before or since seen an audience so involved in a film. We were all on the edges of our seats. The audience acted as a single organism—holding its breath, screaming, laughing, and biting its lips all in perfect unison. All of us feeling the same thing together. It was magical.

Even now, when I show scenes from the film in classes, people get caught up in the film and want to see more.

Rear Window, first released in 1954, was adapted from a Cornell Woolrich story by screenwriter John Michael Hayes. The film stars Jimmy Stewart as an adventurous magazine photographer who is trapped in his apartment because of a broken leg. He has little to do but to look voyeuristically out his window at the neighboring apartments. In the apartment directly across from him, he believes he sees a murder and the fun begins.

You may know the story because it was the basis for a more recent film called Disturbia. Others have borrowed from the premise as well.

But one of the things that makes Rear Window such a great film is not only Hitchcock’s flawless direction and visual storytelling to create tension and suspense, but the brilliant screenplay. The story beneath the external thriller is a love story. In fact, I would argue that the love story is the real story being told.

The film has Swiss-watch precision construction. The first act tells us that Stewart’s character does not want to get married. In the first dialogue in the piece Stewart is on the phone and we hear just what he thinks about marriage. And to underscore his point while he talks on the phone, he is watching a neighbor couple across the way in their apartment as they argue.

Soon after Stewart’s nurse comes in and they have a conversation about Stewart’s voyeurism and well as his reluctance to get married. 

Also in Act One, we meet Stewart’s girlfriend, a fashion model played by Grace Kelly. She is perfect and this is why Jimmy Stewart doesn’t want to marry her. She does want to marry Stewart, but he thinks his rough life as a photographer traveling to far-off lands and living in harsh conditions would be too much for her. After all, she is a woman who likes the finer things in life and is always dressed in the latest fashions.

 During the course of the story, Grace Kelly shows that she has a taste for danger. She even sneaks into the suspected murder’s apartment to collect evidence of the crime. Stewart becomes more attracted to her as he sees that she is more than a delicate fashion plate.

 

Here’s the thing that blows me away as good, old-fashioned, delicate and precise storytelling.

Not only are the arguing couple Stewart sees across the way an image of marriage and relationships, so is every other neighbor that Stewart watches. There is a middle-aged couple who have a dog as a surrogate child, but appear to be happy. There is a newlywed couple whose blinds are shut most of the time. There is an older woman, probably a widow, who sculpts a decidedly phallic piece of art. There is a lonely woman nicknamed “Miss Lonely Hearts” hopelessly looking for love. There is a sexy neighbor nicknamed “Miss Torso” who always has men swarming around her. Grace Kelly notes that the woman doesn’t love any of these men. She knows because it resembles her apartment, she says. There is also an unmarried songwriter across the way who does find love in the end.

Even the man suspected of murder is suspected to have killed his wife.

Each of these neighbors has a story reason to populate the story. When I say that they seldom make good films anymore, this is what I mean: Things now are often random. But in well-crafted pieces, things appear random and are anything but. Everything matters.

In films now they may have a murder story and they may have a romance, but those things would in no way be tied together. This is why things feel tacked on often—story elements are not integrated. Random characters and events strung together do not a story make.

Rear Window is the story of a man who learns that the woman he thought was so delicate has another side. Like him, she has a taste for adventure, but also likes her world of fine food and fashion. She is a complete human being with many sides.

If you want to see a genuine masterpiece – number 43 on AFI’s top 100 movies of all time—then see Rear Window. If you want to learn from master storytellers how to make your own stories better, then this a film you must see and study.

And see Rear Window on the biggest screen you can, because that’s how it should be seen.