Could our observations be translated into a film? This question was raised in class on Wednesday. Up until now my observations have been pretty free-form, sometimes minute, sometimes abstract, and defiantly not instantly translatable to film. I was reminded back to our very first lesson when Robin described what an observation could be, and that it didn’t necessarily have to be actuate to reality. This realisation can be noted from observation #5 – 8. I began writing with the intention of translating it into a film. Sometimes this meant my observations were only loosely based on something I observed.
observation #8
The Sad-looking Bar owner.
Fluffy looked distantly across at his bar. Probably imagining how his original vision was so different from what it had become. Since being forced into early retirement from a notorious career as a founding member of one of the city’s most dangerous bikie gangs, due to a motorbike accident, fluffy had opened a bar in pursuit of a quieter life. He had dreamed of free spirited people of all ages who would rush in everyday, the darts that would fly haphazardly past heads, and of the bar brawls he would be able to tear apart one handed. Instead his beloved bar of hopeful chaos had become a favourite spot for office workers. Morons in “monkey suits” had invaded fluffy’s dream and it seemed like they where there to stay.
observation #7
The couple sitting by a window.
He had lost it and it was entirely his fault.
The two sat opposite each other at a window-side table in a 24-hour donut shop. She cradled a steaming cup of coffee that tasted like dishwater to her chin. He hadn’t ordered anything. Neither had donuts.
His hands where in his lap under the table, leaning forward on his seat. His knee was bouncing at such speed and ferocity it was shaking the whole table.
She sighed. “How do we find a needle in a haystack?”
His eyes darted across the shop and out the window into the darkness outside.
“We set the haystack on fire.”
There was a long pause, she took a forced sip, he bounced his knee some more.
“They are going to pay for this.” he spat.
Like dandelion seeds, casting blame in every direction but his own.
Reflection #3
During our Monday class we watched ‘From The East’ (1993, Dir. Chantal Akerman). The long uninterrupted shots of the everyday man were very observational, giving great insight to a very specific time in a country on the precipice of great change. However, it also struck me as a little predatory. ‘From The East’ reminded me a lot of the scene from Dirty Harry, when the Scorpio killer is looking through his riflescope at a public square, choosing his next victim. The cameras, his scope, like ‘From The East’ scans across the everyday man until he settles on a black man sitting on a bench. No one is safe. When I was watching From The East I was waiting for the camera to stop and for someone to die, it was very suspenseful.
The influence of knowledge and past viewing experience each person brings the viewing of a film is substantial, and sometimes unpredictable to the filmmaker. I’m sure Akerman did not intend for me to be reminded of a serial killer when she was capturing the state of a peoples relationship with a camera that was about to evolve for ever. I was reminded of this on Monday and the realisation stayed with me.
observation #6
Dan’s 21st
On the veranda beside the front door sat a cylindrical laundry basket filled to the brim with muddied football boots and an array of mismatched runners, reminding me that Dan, was the youngest of four hyperactive, burly brothers. All four brothers were present, their large frames, like poppies among the brush, were easy to pick out scattered about us mere average sized humans.
I continued through to the backyard where Dan and the majority of our friends were located. Braving the bitterly cold July afternoon, citing fleeting moments of sun and the absence of rain (for now), as evidence enough to not be inside.
Dan’s eldest brother momentarily ceased a conversation as he spied Dan pass. He reached out his mighty trunk of an arm and snagged the back of his neck pulling him into a one armed embrace like a ragdoll. Probably wanting to embarrass him or perhaps he was feeling nostalgic and wanted to show affection the only way he knew how, with few words and a garnish of violence.
Not one to be manhandled, Dan lowered his hips, and using both hands, pushed off his brother’s chest to escape. Entwined, the two bumped a table of food causing glasses to rattle and chip bowls to rock. One practically empty bowl of Smiths salt and vinegar chips clattered to the ground. Separating, the two turned to inspect the damage, sheepishly looking around for scorn, but with the absence of more adult adults, the bowl was quickly picked up and returned to the table and the remaining evidence of chips were scattered with a sweeping shoe.
A little while later when the sun had completely ceded to the ominous grey black clouds, so too did we, retreating inside.
The eldest brother was there, however his demeanour had somehow completely changed. From where I sat on the living room couch his shoulders where hunched inwards.
His confidence had vanished, his eyes darted nervously. He eyed a doorframe he had undoubtedly crossed thousands of times with suspicion as if to measure if he could fit through it. With exaggerated caution he rotated and stepped through it sideways. His arms wrapped protectively around something he was holding to his chest, something so small it wasn’t immediately identifiable to me. As he shuffled closer I realised what the precious cargo was. It was a baby, his baby. The first baby girl to bestow unclehood on the brothers. She was asleep cradled on his chest.
I looked to Dan expecting to see an amused expression, preparing to give his brother a hard time for his almost comedic caution. But no, Dan stood with a drawn brow, at the ready to swear undying vengeance should the doorframe try anything funny.
What a nice place right there must be, to have zero worries or cares, to be cradled in the safest place in the world.
Her lullaby, his beating heart.
Her bed, his chest.
Her blanket, his warmth.
Could she feel the love that, to me, was palpable? I think she must. If I were her, I’d invest in real estate, and never move away.
observation #5
A kiss goodbye
He looked at her, his face twisted, brow furrowed “how’d I loose you?” he asked raising his hand, showing his palms only to let them fall back against his thighs.
“Darling” she said softly like the forgettable murmurs whispered between lovers in tangled sheets, stroking the side of his face like she was trying to even out the deep lines of worry that seemed to be permanently etched in “you never had me.”
He leaned into her touch wishing he could forget how to hear and only know how to feel so he may never have heard her saying what he deep down always knew, and only focus on her soft little hand on his cheek. But even then that was gone.
She watched him for a second and then took a tentative step closer, their bodies almost touching. He froze. She leaned in towards him standing on her toes raising her head slightly and paused, he didn’t move but he didn’t move away either.
She finished the short journey to his lips and fell into him, crushing her lips into his. The muscles in his back uncoiled and he wrapped his arms around her, kissing her back. Too soon their lips unlocked for the last time, and they lingered. He rested his forehead on hers and inhaled, smelling the familiar scent of her apple shampoo before she stepped away.
“What was that?” he whispered, fearing to test his voice. She smiled a sad smile and replied: “That was goodbye.” And with that, she turned and left. As he watched her small frame slowly fade away down his street he smiled too. “Bye”
Reflection week 2
Practical skill list:
This week we learnt about:
Colour temperature
Manual white balance
Using the zebra tool as a reference point on the viewfinder
We also reviewed the group interviews we conducted during the workshop on Wednesday. As we critiqued each group, we discovered some of the biggest shortcomings could have been solved with simple fixes. For example, our group’s audio was pretty bad and echoy, if we just moved location it could have been much better. Similarly in another shot, a simple and slight change of framing would have eliminated a down light that was overexposed and ruining the shot.
Observation #4
Twiddling Thumbs
Doctor’s offices all look the same, minute variations of the same patent. I could be anywhere in the world right now, just another doctor’s office. Last time I was here I was wheeled into surgery wearing practically nothing but a tasteless patterned hospital gown. This time I’m wearing overalls.
My surgeon, a soft-spoken man, is cradling my recently reconstructed left thumb in his hands inspecting his handiwork. After 8 weeks in a cast I too am able to properly have a look. It looks…different. The skin looks deathly pale and somehow thin, delicate. The two symmetrical cuts the surgeon made and then stitched back together again, have healed into angry red lines.
Seemingly totally absorbed, I realise he had said something.
“Pardon?”
“It’s healed well. Try and bend it from here” he gently taps the top joint.
I stare at my thumb trying to will it to bend, the result a pathetic general wriggle.
“That’s good” the surgeon encouraged.
A strange feeling of dissociation comes over me; I was so sure I could move my thumb and the only thing preventing that was the cast. Now with that gone, I suddenly realised how wrong I was. Suddenly my thumb didn’t feel at all like my thumb. It was jarring.
I bring my right hand up for reference, was the request to bend your thumb towards the palm of your hand an unreasonable one? My right hand didn’t falter for a second, I’m slightly distracted by the fluidity and ease I can move that hand.
I return to my thumb that’s not my thumb with annoyance “bend you idiot” I think. I try harder; the only difference is the addition of pain, a lot of it. I wince.
“Don’t push it too much” he cautions.
Observation #3
I am older then you
I am wiser then you
I don’t really need you, but you need me
You need me more then you need roads
You need me more then you need cards
I was here before them all
My roots run deep, yours are shallow
I’ve watched over you for hundreds of years
I’ve seen you look at me from through the polluted haze
Inside your little metal boxes
I clean the air for you
So you may continue looking
I felt hands of pity lay on me
I felt their kindred spites guarding my life
I thank you
I watched as they too are taken away
Good-bye friends.
My loyalty is to this land yours is to your pocket
I hear the anger of the machines
Cutting me
And I know I am not long for this earth
But neither are you
As the black sludge of bitumen is poured over my grave know who you are really killing
There is a tree I pass most days, for as long as I can remember.
Yesterday it was unceremoniously cut down. It made me really sad and angry at the same time. I wanted to scream out “help!” on behalf of the tree. The lemon gum from 1890 didn’t have a voice I tried to give it one.
Week: 1 Reflection
Skill wish list:
Dunning Kruger effect: The less you know about a thing the less you know how bad you are at the thing.
I now know how bad I am at the thing.
The skill set I would like to have at the end of this studio was highlighted most poignantly during Friday’s class exercise with the Sony EX-3.
It became quite obvious I didn’t know a whole lot. Not just about this specific camera, but cameras in general. I mean, sure, I can find the ‘on’ button and hit record, but as Robin addressed; nothing in the shot should be an accident. If my shot is lop-sided it should be because I wanted it to be, and not because I forgot to level it. Robin also mentioned we shouldn’t be learning the ins and outs of this camera but the general principals of all cameras.
So beginning my wish list…
1) I would like to be at least competent with cameras, and all practical gear for that matter by the end of this semester (ambitious).
2) I also hope to become more observant, become less of a passive passenger and become more engaged in my surroundings. It’s easy to complete my 30 minute commute to and from uni in a mindless march, that often ends with me sitting down to my first lecture of the day genuinely not being able to recall the specifics to how I got here. However, when I juxtaposed those days against the days I set out with the intention of observing something to write about, it became obvious how much I was missing! I would like to have more days like that.
3) I also hope by the end to have produced a quality, well thought out, short film/s and for it not to have been an accident. I hope to be then able to repeat the process again and again, well after this semester has finished.
4) I hope to make friends and to collaborate with like-minded and wonderfully different people; I hope our creative minds clash spectacularly and we challenge each other.
Overall I’m excited to learn and hopefully check some of these things off my list.
Wish list over…for now.