Hi, I’m Kit Brady-Brown. Welcome to my online portfolio!
I’m an aspiring filmmaker, cinematographer and media maker.

WORK

PICKING UP
Short narrative film exploring the genre of ‘mumblecore’

Completed in 2020
Written, directed, shot, edited & produced by Kit Brady-Brown

HANDS UP
Experimental 360-video genre short

Completed in 2020
Written, directed, shot, edited & produced by Kit Brady-Brown

DAY DREAMING, PORTRAIT OF A PUBLICIST & PORTRAIT OF A MAN

Three short film projects exploring docu-fiction, interviews and short narratives.

Completed throughout 2018 & 2019
All written, directed, shot, edited & produced by Kit Brady-Brown

ABOUT

Born & raised in Melbourne, Australia.
Attended RMIT University, Bachelor of Communication (Media) from 2017 – 2022.

I am passionate about film & music, and hope to transfer these passions into a career in the arts. I hope to experiment more with filmmaking and cinematography as a vehicle to communicate my love of the arts and view of the world today.

FULL CV

CONTACT

kitbradybrown@gmail.com
0411 600 511

Aidan’s Presentation

Today our sub-class all pitched our ideas to Robin & Paul regarding the research project for the remainder of the semester. I was a little nervous as my chosen topic is quite broad, and I was hoping I hadn’t misunderstood the topic or the options we had. But there were no surprises and the choices people made were what I had expected, or at least nothing too far from what I was expecting. 

Aiden chose the filmmaker Paul Thomas Anderson as his research topic, focusing on how he uses film techniques and decoupage to communicate in his films. I considered a similar topic for my project ( I was considering Jim Jarmusch) so I completely understood where he was coming from. I assume he’s seen some if not all of PTA’s films, and is like most of us, intrigued by his filmmaking style and how it ‘works’. I personally shied away from focusing on a single filmmaker as a goal of my project was to expose myself to new films, filmmakers, styles and eras. Although I’ve only seen a handful of Jarmusch’s films, and watching the remainder is something I am very much looking forward to, I decided something more open where I could ostensibly watch and reference almost any film. My findings may not be as concrete and tangible as a focus on a single filmmaker, but hopefully the enlightenment and education from viewing these varied films will work in my favour.

I’m not sure whether we’re supposed to be critically analysing the topic itself or the presentation itself, but I found his presentation to be a little too scripted, as it was clear he was just reading off a pre-written text about his topic. I’ve found in my few years at university that it’s very clear when people do this and it takes a lot away from the actual content of the presentation. People zone out and stop listening, even though you may have done a lot of research. I also wasn’t sure if it was entirely necessary to analyse a scene as an example during the presentation. I understand he was trying to show examples of how PTA’s coverage works but for the same reasons, I found myself zoning out a little, as opposed to others who were simply using some dot points or notes to communicate as opposed to a script.

A WOMAN’S FACE

The two clips provided from the 1938 and 1941  versions of A WOMAN’S FACE provide two distinctly different techniques of communicating the same thing. The Joan Crawford version relies almost entirely on performative acting from both the child, and the woman. I haven’t seen the remainder of the film but from the clip, I can imagine that the child’s performance was written and directed in a way as to illicit a similar feeling of care and sympathy from the audience. He is very ‘cute’ to put it in simple terms, the way he speaks and the things he says. It’s dreadful to think that the woman could hurt him in any way. And Crawford’s performance has a similar effect. From her acting alone you can tell she is upset, having second thoughts, and visually tries to escape the situation as soon as possible. It’s a heavily dramatised rendition of the scene, as if something from the theatre, especially when compared to the Swedish original.

In this version, other more cinematic factors are working to communicate the feeling of the scene. The child seems less performatively ‘cute’ and more akin to a real child, brimming with innocence but not too sure of himself. Bergman’s face communicates a lot, but her delivery also speaks to an inner turmoil. Lighting is also used to communicate these same feelings, the dark shadows over Bergman implying the dark state of mind she’s inhabiting, and the bright lamp next to the child expressing innocence, purity, youth. As she clears the hair away from her face so she can see, her face is free from shadows, as if a realisation of her feelings toward the child. Ending the scene with the light turning off is also a stronger ending to the scene than Crawford running from the room in the remake, it creates a smooth canvas to transition to the next scene, while also suggesting the idea of ‘turning off the light’ as a metaphor for killing the boy. It’s a scene packed with far more symbolism and emotive visuals, while the Crawford version is far more focused on the performances and the physical characters. These are two distinct approaches to storytelling in a drama scene, whether one is more sophisticated than the other is not my place to say, but for me the Swedish original expressed far more, efficiently and effectively, utilising the tools of the cinema as opposed to that of the theatre.

PART 17

As an exercise to understand the decision making required to creatively cover a drama scene, I thought I’d attempt the exercise laid out in PART 17 of our communications. The scene was a simple one on paper, a couple of short interactions in a bookshop, a scene at the checkout, and then a short conversation outside the store. Upon reading, the task seemed more than achievable, and possibly even a little fun! Then I started. Obviously a task like this is harder when the resources required (actors, setting, equipment) are all imaginary, but nonetheless, my attempt at this is a cloudy but still direct way of showcasing the importance of decoupage, and understanding the film as whole, not just individual lines, scenes, shots etc. 

I started by imaging a setting. A small bookshop, simple enough? No! The intricacies of such a setting are EXTREMELY important in order to make creative and effective coverage choices. I was attempting to consider the options, but endless questions fogged my view of the scene. I decided that it would be a set, therefore allowing myself far more room to move. I tried simply describing in words how the scenes may be shot. While the image in my head was clear, when I asked someone else to read it, they struggled to picture the coverage I had in mind. I drew some rudimentary storyboards, and it became a bit clearer, but even then I had spent a considerable amount of time simply trying to come up with a creative way to shoot what would probably end up being around 25 seconds of actual film. I had not yet reached the dialogue, which proved a far more challenging task. When picturing the exchange I struggled to escape the shot-reverse-shot, and my attempts to envision the best appropriate coverage, while remaining artistic. This was a roadblock where the already foggy image of the scene in my head began to dissipate.

I didn’t continue past here, but I think the lesson was learnt. Coverage decisions are challenging to make without the casting and setting finalised. The intricacies required to understand the choices you’re making can not be chopped and changed with different actors or settings, a clear image must already exist for the director to then alter it in their chosen manner. This idea brings me back to the importance of decoupage. To make informed coverage decisions, you must understand the film as a whole, and thus the motivations for every coverage decision. 

Harold & Maude

My girlfriend’s favourite film is Harold & Maude (1973), directed by Hal Ashby. She would constantly talk of watching it as a child, and seemingly no one else she ever asked had seen it either. I was always skeptical of the film, knowing from personal experience that childhood nostalgia can stand in the way of fair criticism, but she finally convinced me to watch it with her yesterday evening. I haven’t quite figured it out yet, but has proven quite thought provoking so I thought I’d reflect on it.

It’s an extremely odd film, almost as if made of two separate films combined. Half of the film is an absurd, slapstick comedy, involving the death obsessed and endlessly stoic Harold, who when he isn’t faking his own brutal suicide to trick his detached yet concerned mother, is going to funerals for fun. When his mother organises some young women to come and meet him, he attempts to scare them off with his morbid tricks, pretending to light himself alight, cut off his hand mid conversation, or perform a Seppuku suicide ritual. These scenes are interspersed throughout what is really an off-kilter love story, between Harold, and Maude, a fellow oddball who lives in a tram. They are immediately intrigued by each other, primarily due to their shared fondness for visiting funerals of people they don’t know. Clearly, death is a major theme in the film, as the film flippantly displays these morbid scenes throughout, parterened with the beautiful Cat Stevens soundtrack. The effect is that the idea of death loses all of its consideration as a thing to take too seriously or be scared of. The opening scene is a crafty single take, following Harold from below the torso as he ritually prepares to take his own life, finally hanging himself from the roof. As he hangs, his mother walks in, aware that it is a mock suicide, and simply ignores her son hanging from the roof, neck seemingly snapped. This immediately changes the mood of the film, from somber and sad to light and playful, using Harold’s obsession with death as a way to remove the negative feelings around it. This was very effective to me, the way the film completely adjusts the audience’s expectations and mindset by playing with conventions of not just filmmaking but life, morals and the way human beings are expected to react to certain things. 

But the film is not a comedy, it simply uses comedy to create an absurd cinematic world where death isn’t real and things like love and companionship aren’t as inherently ‘positive’ as usual. This is until the end of the film, where these themes come full circle and the emotional effect is maximal. Stevens’ soundtrack is sublime throughout, adding to the reflective and heartfelt mood that partners with the morbid imagery and absurd humour. I found the marriage of these ideas and moods to be incredible, as they didn’t take away from each other in any way, they were all in unison together. 

I’m not sure what my point is here with this reflection, but I found the film to be very thought provoking and further excited me to the profound effects of cinema, so I wrote about it. And how about that flower scene into the cemetery shot. Not sure if it’s necessarily a highlight of decoupage but a beautiful bit of editing and cinematic vision. 

TOM REILLY: THE BIG PICTURE
Reflection on chapters 4 & 23

WHAT IS A SHOT?: I’ve never considered that a long take and a series of short takes is actually a completely different approach. I considered them to be one and the same, just extending those short shots to one longer one. However by using a single shot as Reilly describes you’re really pursuing a completely different thing, creating that final scene there in that room, not on the editing table. I wonder if directors do this purposely so they have more creative control over the final result. The prospect of not considering blocking until the day of a shoot is a terrifying prospect, but I’m sure there are many directors that work differently to the way woody Allen does as described here. Considering allen’s films are (sometimes) great mainly because of the wonderful scripts, stories, settings, music and moods, as opposed to a striking visual style that other directors pride themselves on. perhaps those directors have severely planned their blocking ahead of time. (But then again, the discussison of Allen’s blocking techniques in chapter 23 suggest he has a tremendous understanding of his visual ideas)

BLOCKING IS OVERLOOKED AND UNDERVALUED: Reilly’s discussion of blocking here rings true for me as one of the major takeaways I have from this semester. When I used to imagine blocking out a scene, I’d consider the actors places in the real world, how would they react to each other in reality, that would garner the most effective blocking and the coverage would come next. I’d often do as Reilly says some do here, let the actors work the room first, then decide. But the importance and inherent possibilities of manipulating the positions of actors in a scene have become clear to me. As he says, “the rhythm and timing’ of the film is arguably just as important as the narrative, and blocking and coverage decisions are vital to creating the right rhythm, as well as obviously the actual photography itself. To hand your photographic decisions to the actor’s seems ridiculous. Watching Bergman’s Persona is a great example of this. Every shot seems perfectly crafted as it’s own piece, married to but not dictated by the drama unveiling on screen. Imagining a mainstream Hollywood director attempting to block out those same scenes, and how dull the film could end up being as a result. The visual aspect of the film is often seemingly overlooked, put to the side as performance and narrative take centre stage.

Contempt – Jean-Luc Godard

As a child and teenager growing up, I was often exposed to arthouse and foreign films, but I never really took a shining to them. I was put off by the subtitles and slow pace, understandably. But there were two enduring images that often stuck with me since then, vivid and distinct memories of seeing something in a film and it lasting with me long after. One was from a scene in a cafe, as a woman hears gun shots from outside, she turns to the window, and as the camera pans, it uses jump cuts in time with the gunshots to create a cool effect. The other, a very long single take shot of a traffic jam in the French countryside, the chaos and colours exciting me even as a young boy. There was something about these images that transcended the films themselves (that I didn’t understand or was even fully aware of), and have stayed with me ever since. It turns out that both images are from the films of Jean-Luc Godard, a director who despite his obvious influence and importance in cinema history, I have never properly explored. I started with My Life to Live, and was delighted to find that famous cafe jump-cut to be just as exciting as the first time I saw it. I moved on next to Contempt, from 1963.

The film left me quite stunned in it’s beauty, not only in visual style but in form. Film’s like these need time and repeat viewings to fully appreciate them, so this will less be an analysis as a discussion of thoughts provoked from the film. The dominant feeling from the film is that of an isolation and a disconnect, as these two lovers, who seem so obsessed and vital to each other in the opening of the film, become so disillusioned and disaffected as it continues. The setting is bright, loud, sunny and warm, but somehow these usually dominant feelings don’t dominant the film, they are simply set dressing, a juxtaposition with that of the failing marriage, the sleazy producer and the frustrated director. Yet they all seem to shrink in comparison to the imagery of the gods, statues shot like they are just that, gods. The empty backgrounds putting no limit to their possible size, George Delerue’s epic soundtrack elevating the visuals even higher.

And how about the apartment scene? The apartment is beautiful, but it seems cluttered. They’re together but they seem so far, like they can’t find that right spot. The camera constantly putting literal walls and structures between them. There’s a point where the two are conversing, the camera tracks from left to right as each speaks, never letting the two share the frame. An analysis of the film describes Camille as representing the instinctual, Paul the logical. She can’t quite explain why she feels how she does, and she’s very unpredictable, but she believes what she says. And Paul can’t work out what’s wrong, by his logic everything should be fine. This rings true with both characters and their actions throughout the film, including Camille’s eventual death. I won’t even begin to analyse the orange couch, orange towel, orange walls. It’s mesmerising but I don’t quite know why.

I could share a bout 6 or 7 images from this film that I’m just enamoured with. This film has really helped me take a big step to move from appreciation of film as a narrative device to that of a visual medium akin to painting or sculpture. I was not waiting to see what would happen next plot wise, as much as I was on the edge of my seat as to see how the next shot would be constructed, how the space would be utilised, how colours, textures, shadows, everything would be manipulated to create something that feels so cinematic and performative, but still remains real and resonant to real life.

I will be definitely watching more of Godard’s films.

By Kit Brady-Brown

Whenever we sit down to watch a film, we’re putting ourselves at the mercy of the filmmaker and their artistic intentions. Fear, laughter, an existential revelation, or maybe just a few tears. In drama films, crafting some kind of emotional connection between the viewer, and the characters or themes explored in the film, is vital to creating a lasting, memorable and resonant cinematic experience. However, there is one type of cinematic moment that I have found to be most effective at creating true moments of empathy between the audience and the film’s characters.. Moments Of Reflection is what I’m calling them, in other words: moments in a dramatic film where, for one reason or another, the camera focuses on one individual character, with no dialogue. As that character reflects or wonders, the viewer, now without traditional narrative devices to guide them, begins to inhabit said character’s state of mind, considering and empathising with them, or simply reflecting on the events of the film thus far. We forgo our focus on the next, and park ourselves in the now, while reflecting on the past. Great filmmakers expertly utilise these moments to craft lasting and memorable cinematic moments that elevate the film as a whole.

We’d like to believe that igniting emotion in an active audience requires more than simply showing an actor looking to the distance with a contemplative soundtrack. So what else is at work in effective Moment of Reflection? 

Context is incredibly important in filmmaking in general, but when eliciting emotional responses in your audience, it can be everything. If an audience is not properly positioned to feel a certain way, the emotional appeal may fall flat, or take on a different meaning altogether.

Nicholas Winding Refn’s debut feature Pusher, is a gritty low budget crime thriller, following small time drug dealer Frank (Kim Bodnia) through the down and dirty Copenhagen underground. A big deal gone wrong, and one loan too many from kingpin Milo (Zlatko Buric) leads to Frank’s undoing; the film’s final sequence begins with his girlfriend Vic, the one person he could still trust, stealing what little money he has left and running for it. A manic shaky-cam chase scene follows,  a neon, blacklit nightclub with trance music blasting the setting of the chase. They eventually burst out the doors onto the dark, fire-barrel lit street. As Vic escapes in a car, the camera moves into a close up on Frank. With his money gone, no one left to trust, and with killers closing in, the clock is ticking on his life. As Frank stands on the street considering his next move, we are waiting for the next action sequence. Will he run? Perhaps try and reconcile with Milo? Or go out in a flurry of gunfire? Instead Frank doesn’t move, he breathes heavily, all out of luck, nothing he can do. A true sense of helplessness. To this point in Pusher, Kim Bodnia’s Frank has put on a brave face. Although things weren’t going his way, he had an exterior of confidence and self-assuredness. But that has now dissipated, Frank’s true fear showing on his face. We stay with this same shot for an extended time, before cutting to Milo and his bodyguard laying out a body-bag on the floor at their safehouse. We see some armed henchmen entering a van, seemingly on their way to Frank, and we see Vic, comfortably in her getaway car with Frank’s money. All of these shots are interspersed between that same angle of Frank, helpless on the street. We cut back one last time to Frank, and black. It’s a haunting finale, and a terrifically executed Moment of Reflection.

Frank (Kim Bodnia) in Pusher / dir. Nicholas Winding Refn

It may seem as though I just described the final minute of the film, but the context of these final moments is incredibly vital to the success of the sequence. Throughout the film we’ve been exposed to very little self reflection or even solace for Frank, he is constantly with another person or on his mobile phone. And coverage wise, there hasn’t been a shot that laid dormant on the same angle for the same length throughout the film. A combination of terrific understanding of decoupage and pacing, along with the soundtrack and Kim Bodnia’s performance, all lead to an effective and empathetic finale.

Paul Thomas Anderson’s Boogie Nights is another example of a film that contains a wonderfully executed Moment of Reflection, and the context both narratively and stylistically is integral to its success. In the second half of the film, ego, drugs and jealousy begin to be the downfall of our protagonist Dirk Diggler (Mark Wahlberg) and his best friend and fellow adult-film star Reed Rothchild (John C. Reilly). They, along with friend and loose-cannon Todd (Thomas Jane) find themselves at the house of a drug dealer Rahad (Alfred Molina), planning to sell him baking soda masqueraded as cocaine. With early-80s anthems blasting, and a Chinese boy called Cosmo throwing deafening firecrackers, the scene is one of contemporary cinema’s most memorable, and Dirk’s longing stare for almost 50 seconds midway through remains the scene’s most enduring image. With Molina’s Rahad singing along sloppily to Jessie’s Girl, taking regular hits from an unspecified pipe, along with the firecrackers and the phony drug deal hanging over all of it, PT Anderson creates an unmatched combination of discomfort, tension and humor. The audience is in the palm of his hand when he decides to turn the camera away from the magnetic Molina and the scene around him, and focus solely, for nearly an entire minute, on Diggler. His face changes from a nervous uncertainty to an almost deranged stare, a slight smile poking from beneath his dead eyes. It’s not entirely clear what this shot and his expression is attempting to communicate, but that only adds to the viewer’s intrigue.

Dirk Diggler (Mark Wahlberg) in Boogie Nights / dir. P.T. Anderson

It took me a second viewing, but the shot now conveys a feeling of hopelessness, and a realisation that this is Dirk’s rock bottom. He went from living a life of glamour as the most popular adult film star in LA to a criminal and an addict, and with this one shot, not only does it hit Dirk, it hits the audience. The extended static shot stands out even more considering the abundant camera movement used throughout the film. We linger on Dirk for so long that the viewer almost can’t look away, like he might explode at any moment. It’s engrossing, and it makes the remainder of the scene that directly follows even more so, as Todd tries to rob Rahad, and a shootout ensues. It remains an incredibly memorable scene for many reasons, but it’s effectiveness is undeniably elevated by the Moment of Reflection expertly placed at it’s core.

As seen from these examples, the contextual placement of Moments of Reflection is integral to the success of the moments themselves, and the films as a whole. However, context doesn’t do all the work, as these two 2017 releases (Good Time, directed by the Safdie brothers, and Call Me By Your Name, directed by Luca Guadagnino) expertly combine wonderful performances from their leading men with transcendent original soundtrack to create moving and memorable Moments of Reflection.

In Good Time, Robert Pattinson plays Connie, who along with his developmentally challenged brother Nick (Benny Safdie), attempt to rob a bank. Nicky is arrested and hospitalised, leading Connie on a night-long odyssey to break him free. After a tumultuous and action-packed night, and a case of mistaken identity, Connie ends up with an incidental accomplice named Ray (Buddy Duress), hiding out in a high-rise apartment block. As the police eventually close in, Connie is arrested. As he’s apprehended and brought to the police car, both Connie and the viewer see the innocent Ray, attempting to escape on the side of the building, and eventually falling to his death. It’s right at this moment that Connie is put into the vehicle. We see him look back one more time at the mess he’s created, before the car speeds off. A 60-second shot follows, a slow zoom towards Connie as he, and the viewer, reflect on the events of the film. Pattinson looks crazed, terrified, devastated, and stoic, all at once. Pattinson’s performance is stellar throughout the entire film, and the slow zoom allows the viewer one last chance to focus and absorb his on screen aura.

Connie (Robert Pattinson) in Good Time / dir. Josh & Benny Safdie

The Oneohtrix Point Never original score is one of the highlights of the entire film, and this final scene is no different. It remains dark and eerie, but with a reflective, hopeful feeling. A distinctive melody breaks through for one of the first times, which when partnered with one of the first steady shots (and by far the longest take), creates a feeling entirely unique to the rest of the film. As the police car’s cage puts our protagonist behind metaphorical bars, we, and Connie, realise that it’s all over. The entire film has been an attempt to evade the police, and reunite with his brother. Now, driven home by the final cut from Connie’s face into his brother Nick’s, they won’t be reunited, and Connie will be locked up. The question of whether Connie is beneficial for Nick and his condition is floated from the very first scene, and now it hits home, the viewer forced to consider what’s best for the brothers. The Safdie brother’s combination of Pattinson’s performance, the Vangelis-inspired original score, and use of camera techniques and contextual placement all create a powerful Moment of Reflection to complete Connie’s arc.

Call Me By Your Name, Luca Guadagnino’s adaptation of Andre Aciman’s novel, is a sun-drenched, sensual yet heart-wrenching love story of two young men set in the Italian countryside in 1983, starring Armie Hammer and Timothee Chalamet. The film’s final scene, which continues into the credit sequence, is one of the more memorable in recent years. Due in equal parts to Chalamet’s performance, the spellbinding original song by Sufjan Stevens, a beautifully constructed final shot, mise-en-scene, and of course the rest of the film that came before it. A few months have passed since Oliver (Hammer) and Elio’s (Chalamet) love affair, and Oliver is back home, and getting married. Elio is shown talking to Oliver on the phone, who tells him that he “remembers everything”. Heartbroken and deeply saddened, we see Elio kneel by the fire in his family home, as we hear nothing but the crackling of the fire. In the script for the film, the only direction was “Elio stares at the fire and thinks of his life”. Guadagnino and Chalamet together made that line into something much more. The final shot of the film, we cut to a close up of Elio, a tear twinkling in his eye, with an ever so small smile, wrought with longing. We see the snow falling in the background window, the summer sun that shone over their relationship now turned to winter. Sufjan Steven’s beautiful ‘Visions of Gideon’ was written for the film, and the mood is perfect for it’s heartbreaking finale. Instead of fading to black, or cutting to a montage, we remain solely with Elio, his smile twisting as he tries to hold back tears. Just as his father had advised him in the monologue preceding this scene, Elio doesn’t look away from his pain, he takes it on in full, as to not forget the joy. And by keeping the camera on Elio, we can’t help but feel his pain too. 

Elio (Timothée Chalamet) in Call Me By Your Name / dir. Luca Guadagnino

After just under a minute, the credits begin to roll, but the image remains. Eventually figures appear in the background, setting the dinner table behind Elio.  This shows that the world continues on around him, even after heartbreak, life goes on. We stay here for the duration of the song, just over 3 minutes, with Chalamet’s face communicating so much, with so little. To think how much this final scene left an imprint of those that viewed the film, especially in the cinema, and how just a few minutes of reflection, can elevate the material before it so much. This finale is a perfect combination of primarily acting and music, but the context, the mise-en-scene and the shot itself all work in harmony to craft an incredibly affecting Moment of Reflection.

As demonstrated by these four examples, all different kinds of films and filmmakers can and have utilised these specific moments to elevate the emotional resonance of their material. All kinds of factors are in play to create an effective Moment of Reflection. An understanding of decoupage, and of the film(s) as a whole, is vital to their effectiveness. In Pusher & Good Time, the camerawork and visual style throughout the film makes the final, static Moment of Reflection far more powerful. In Call Me By Your Name, feelings are constantly masked and hidden, but the final scene is nothing but unbridled emotion for over 3 minutes, giving the scene exceptional emotional weight. In Boogie Nights, the minute long static shot on Dirk is so out of place from the rest of the film that it sticks out like a sore thumb, but the audience can’t look away. It’s a fine-line between being inconsistent and being outstanding, and in Boogie Nights, Paul Thomas Anderson achieved the latter.

During this research project, I watched all kinds of films not discussed here, trying to find a commonality between them and these moments I’ve been searching for. I found in many of them, including Antonioni’s The Passenger, Roland Klick’s Supermarkt, Harmony Korine’s Spring Breakers, Claire Denis’ Beau Travail, Jim Jarmusch’s Ghost Dog & Night on Earth, and Truffaut’s The 400 Blows, that fragments of these moments I was searching for where strewn about, but none were as concrete and as definitive as the 4 examples I’ve focused on. A common feeling when watching these films was that of unclear motivations and goals of the film’s protagonists. The question of why John Locke abandons his own life and steals a dead man’s identity in The Passenger is unclear, so a Moment of Reflection for his character may have fallen flat. Antonioni seems to be a filmmaker that communicates with visuals, less than emotional performances. In Beau Travail, the feelings of Sgt. Galoup towards the young soldier Sentain are largely unexplained, yet they are communicated poetically, using colour, pattern and space, as opposed to more conventional narrative devices. We don’t know these characters and their backgrounds, and this is purposeful, as the visuals and the feelings of the film are stronger communicators than any melodrama could muster. The disconnect is sometimes the strongest feeling.

Clockwise L-R: Beau Travail, The Passenger, Night on Earth, The 400 Blows, Ghost Dog and Supermarkt

The same goes for the other films I’ve mentioned. Feelings of reflection, introspection, wonderment, hopelessness, escapism and enlightenment are all abundantly present throughout, but the motivations are not as crystal clear as in the examples I’ve focused on, so techniques other than Moments of Reflection are employed. These films are undoubtedly more ‘difficult’ than the four I’ve focused on, and perhaps this says why. Moments of Reflection are a direct way to get your audience to empathise with the film’s characters, and perhaps that’s something not all filmmakers want. It’s important to understand that while these moments have their place, and can be invaluable as a tool to not only create an empathetic connection, but harbour a film and it’s feeling long in the viewer’s mind after it is over, they are not for every film. Every film has it’s own style, it’s own coverage that is dictated by the story, by the film itself. As David Lynch says, first comes the idea, then comes the rest. The visuals exist only around the idea, and if a moment of reflection is ideal for the success of an idea, than I compel filmmakers to use it. But to suggest that the feelings and ideas communicated by Beau Travail, Ghost Dog or The 400 Blows did not stick with me long after the films were over, I’d be lying.

FIN

LINK TO REFLECTIONS

Films referenced in this report:

Boogie Nights 1997, Directed by Paul Thomas Anderson
The Passenger 1975, Directed by Michelangelo Antonioni
Beau Travail 1999, Directed by Claire Denis
Call Me By Your Name 2017, Directed by Luca Guadagnino
Night On Earth 1991, Directed by Jim Jarmusch
Ghost Dog: The Way of The Samurai 1999, Directed by Jim Jarmusch
Supermarkt 1974, Directed by Roland Klick
Spring Breakers 2012, Directed by Harmony Korine
Pusher 1996, Directed by Nicholas Winding Refn
Good Time 2017, Directed by Josh & Benny Safdie
Les Quatre Cents Coups 1959, Directed by François Truffaut

REFLECTION 1:

As we’ve been doing online classes for a few weeks now I thought I’d discuss how I’ve found them, and how they compare to an actual full classroom.

I was a little worried at the start that it would simply be a screen of faces, with the teacher talking and not much else happening (and that is how it is in another class I’m doing to be honest), but in this class I’ve found the online classes to be informative and actually a little fun! We’re working in smaller groups for starters, which to me is a far more effective way to learn. There’s no jostling for position to talk or not talk, and it’s far harder to get distracted or zone out. And Robin’s method of showing us various clips and highlighting specific things about each one is always illuminating (and a great way to discover new films to watch!). I try and take notes during class for things that resonate with me, and I don’t usually do that in my other classes as I find I’m usually distracting myself with my writing more than it’s helping me. I usually leave class a little bit inspired by the great work we’ve seen and discussed, and a little bit intimidated by the sheer amount of amazing films that have been made that I should be watching.

The one-on-one feedback sessions have been great also. It’s good to be able to express myself and not feel worried about wasting the teacher’s time or feeling embarrassed about certain things. I’m looking forward to more of those throughout the course and in my future studies also. In the past I’ve felt a little disconnected to my tutors, as though because I’m not a straight As student they won’t be totally interested in what I have to say or ask. But the online classroom this semester has felt very connected and I feel more confident and comfortable with my position in the class and the course as a result.

REFLECTION 2:

This reflection is in response to Part 11 of the Online Resources, this one focusing on focal length.

We’re asked, regarding the two clips from A CIASCUNA IL SUO and PROPERTY IS NO LONGER THEFT, whether perhaps the focal length influences or dictates the coverage, or vice versa. From the first clip it seems that the extremely long lenses are used purposefully in order to achieve this very specific type of coverage. The main feeling I gathered from this example was that of a hurried, almost manic coverage. The hectic soundtrack definitely also influences this.The coverage itself seemed to emulate the POV of someone ‘spying’ on the wedding-goers, from a distance. I haven’t seen the film so can’t comment on it’s thematic relevance but it gives an aura of spectating, but secretly, or from a distance. The way we close up on mouths, as if the words spoken are so important. The way the camera zooms in on the man in the purple outfit as he gets out of the car seems like a home-movie, almost papparazi-esque. It seems the filmmaker chose this focal length to achieve this coverage as a way of showcasing the faces and emotions of those attending the wedding, without the camera influencing the scene at all. It doesn’t feel like we’re there with them, it feels like we’re watching from far away. Having said all this, watching the sequence again, I feel a little dumbfounded at the coverage and focal length choices. Perhaps it is a case of I have to watch the film to understand!

In the next clip, the focal length decision seems to be far more based on aesthetic, and simply creating a dynamic, intimate scene. The close up focuses us deeply on the emotions and expressions of the characters, all of whom are worthy of our entire attention. It’s almost uncomfortable how close they’re talking. I imagine if the camera zoomed out slightly and shot them in a medium shot, how strange their proximity may seem. This specific coverage is completely integral to the success of the shot. As far as the scene itself goes in terms of consequence and drama, it would not nearly be as effective with a different, more conventional coverage. This coverage also allows the actors to covey their emotions without dialogue far more effectively than a more conventional medium shot would.

REFLECTION 3:

Paul Schrader’s interview regarding Jean Renoir and the coverage in his film La Regle Du Jeu was an interesting read, but one where I found that I couldn’t quite grasp onto the concepts Schrader was trying to communicate about Renoir’s work. I can appreciate the modernity of Renoir’s coverage, and it is almost jarring how different it feels from other films from the period that I’ve seen. The camera seems to move freely, as if it is controlling the action not vice-versa. But it feels as though all of Renoir’s interesting coverage choices are strictly for aesthetic reasons, which is perfectly fine and commendable, but the way Schrader talks about it i can’t quite connect with. He seems to focus on the unpredictability of Renoir’s coverage as it’s major success, which I can appreciate but don’t fully understand the significance of. I suppose comparing his vast knowledge and almost religious obsession with cinema to mine, it is fair to consider he might be noticing and appreciating specifics that I cannot. One idea that did cut through slightly was that of the director thinking about every cut as he’s filming, not simply shot for shot and we’ll work it out in the edit, but a specific idea of where each shot will end and start. I guess this is a half-right definition of decoupage, which has definitely helped my understanding slightly. I do know however that there is far more to it than that.

Reading Schrader and him talking about his time at UCLA makes me hope that by the end of this course I will have had a breakthrough of sorts, where I can appreciate something like this to a greater extent but as I write now I’m struggling slightly. But as you said in the pre-text, Renoir’s films will be there, when I’m ready.

SCENE ANALYSIS

Paterson (2016)  – Electrical Problem (2:52)
Directed by Jim Jarmusch

I’ve chosen this scene from Paterson for my analysis as it represents a style of cinema I find so satisfying and joyful to watch. Jim Jarmusch has a fondness and an almost singular skill for creating wonderful cinematic moments from seemingly mundane or unexciting events (see Coffee & Cigarettes, a series of 11 static conversations, with the one connection being the film’s namesake), and Paterson is a fine display of that. Almost no conventional drama occurs throughout the film, with this scene containing just about the film’s most major conflict for the titular Paterson (Adam Driver). Yet the scene remains engaging and I find myself transfixed on Driver’s performance and the ‘boring’ world around him.

I find it very difficult to pin-point what it is that makes these types of scenes so engaging to me, but that’s why I’m attempting this analysis. The film goes back and forth between very realist, inexpressive representations of Paterson (both the character, and the town the film takes place in. They share the same name), and more abstract, moody and expressive scenes, the latter usually paired with a voiceover of Paterson’s dry yet beautiful poetry. This scene immediately follows one of these scenes, with the ghostly and almost unsettling score accompanying a POV shot of the bus’s route through town. Each time these scenes come around, you’re almost expecting something terrible to happen afterwards, as if this simple uneventful existence can’t possibly be the entire subject of the film? This feeling follows us into the scene at hand.

As the soundtrack eases back to full diagetic sound, the chatters of the passengers and the low rumble of the bus are present again, pulling us slowly back into reality. The simple medium long shot of the interior of the bus and it’s passengers (used a few times throughout the film) is subtle but effective. As the world rushes past through the windows, the people on the bus become the subjects of our attention. The kids at the back of the bus, the two elderly women wearing identical jackets, all are worthy of our attention. In most other films, the people on a bus are almost never even considered by the audience; they’re nothing more than set dressing. This shot also allows a terrific perspective of the bus as it halts, and the passengers are flung slightly forward. This moment triggers in the back of the audience’s mind an expectation for an inevitable conflict for Paterson, perhaps the bus crashes, or something worse.

As warning sounds come from the bus, we see a gauge on the bus’ dash going haywire, and the electronic sign on the bus displaying the name PATERSON, fades away. Another coverage decision to very subtly suggest perhaps this could be the end for our protagonist. But alas the bus is simply out of power, and a wide shot shows the bus easing onto the side of one of Paterson’s quaint city streets. We see Paterson, and his equipment, as he tries to call for help on the bus’ phone, which is of course out of power too. We cut back to that same interior shot of the bus, but this time the passengers are all looking toward Paterson. To this point the passengers and Paterson have been separated, he drives his bus and doesn’t have to engage with them. He even drifts off into these daydreams, as if he’s not there at all and is simply spectating the town he drives through, the same monotonous route each day. In this scene that disconnect is gone, and each passenger’s fate is now in his hands. We hear the passengers chattering: “What’s he doing? Is he gonna call someone?” No matter how small the stakes, this moment is a major one in the film as it displays Paterson’s first moment of actual consequence to the world around him, a struggle of sorts. We see a close up on Paterson, he takes a deep breath as he realises he must heed the call, stand up and solve the situation. Now reading this as I write I realise the insignificance of this event compared to the usual conflicts in a drama film. But this goes to show Jarmusch’s talent in creating cinematic tension, and adjusting the audience’s perspective on what makes drama.

As we return to the wide shot of the bus*, we see Paterson instructing the passengers off onto the sidewalk, as he tries to keep them safely off the road. As he helps the elderly women off the bus, the camera slowly moves from behind Paterson to in front of him. We hear the women ask if the bus will catch on fire (“It could explode into a fireball!”), with pained voices if they’re stranded. While not uncommon for an elderly lady to slightly exaggerate the extremity of a minor situation, this is another reference from Jarmusch to the possibility of some actual danger and conflict, which of course never arrives. Without cutting the camera follows Paterson to the other end of the bus, where a soft focus brings the children to attention. This is another reference in the film to Paterson as a parental figure. One of the children hypotheses that it was ‘sabotage’ that stopped the bus. By this point the audience is quite comfortable that nothing major in terms of conflict will occur in this scene, so this comment from the boy brings attention to the possibility, and we laugh it off, quite different to how we felt when the bus initially encountered an issue on the road.

The next shot is one of my favourites from the scene, as the tracking shot almost floats through the crowd of people, looking on at Paterson as if he’s Lincoln at the Gettysburg address. The next shot is a very simple but effective medium shot, showing Paterson bending down so he can speak to the children. His explanation to the young boy that the bus will be taken back to the depot by a big truck is met with an excited ‘awesome!’ from the young boy. I think this interaction sums up the simple beauty and excitement from everyday life and everyday people that Jarmusch is trying to illuminate in Paterson, and that perhaps a childlike perspective on the world (a theme touched on all throughout the film) leads to a simpler, happier existence.

This same medium shot remains for the remainder of the clip, with a dolly out on Paterson as he walks away from the group. The composition (the bus to the right, the matching ladies to the right) and the soft focus turn this simple shot into a beautiful one, and the juxtaposition of the loud and childish phone case with Paterson’s serious ‘we have a situation’ provides a heartwarming comedic moment to tie a bow on the scene. I think this scene is a perfect little construction of how to illuminate the intrigue and beauty in a simple, everyday situation. We expect more drama but we’re given nothing but little moments of joy from Paterson and the passengers on the bus.

 

*   I think it’s worth noting the billboard on the side of the bus. ‘DIVORCE $299, FINALIZE YOUR DIVORCE ON YOUR SMARTPHONE’. This seems inconsequential and maybe it is, but considering how little we’re given throughout Paterson in terms of themes and details of the world around us, this to me equates as a conscious decision by Jarmusch to make the audience expect more conflict than we are given. He puts the idea of divorce in the audience’s head, making us consider that perhaps Paterson and his wife Laura could divorce, that this may be the conflict of the film. I know during my first viewing I was expecting a major conflict between the two, which never comes, their love seems almost too unconditional. This to me is Jarmusch highlighting that these dramatic conventions we are so used to are not necessary to create an engaging and thoughtful piece of cinema.

 

STUDIO REFLECTIONS

WEEK 1

Coming into this studio I knew very little. To be honest, going through the list of studios to choose, I was uninspired by most of them, however the combination of Robin’s name (a tutor I know to be very knowledgeable and passionate about cinema) and the promise of a course that is primarily focused on actual camera work and practical filmmaking as opposed to more contextual studies, drew me toward ‘THE SCENE IN CINEMA’. As I was balloted to be in the class, I found out more about the class, that it was about how a drama scene is ‘constructed’, it does not simply appear in front of the camera, it must be individually designed, and that there are several techniques of scene and shot construction.

Entering my degree, I had vague ideas of perhaps entering the film industry in some way as an adult. And although I haven’t ruled that out, I’ve lost most if not all of my passion to become a ‘filmmaker’ as such. So although I’m doing a class focused on scene construction, I’m confident I will not be a filmmaker or cinematographer in the future. So why am I doing this course? Well although I’m not interested in making cinema as much, I’m still deeply curious in understanding it, how it works, why certain techniques, what the methods are behind each individual decision in the construction of a scene. And I think this course will further my understanding of this.

During our first class we got into groups and had a go at blocking out a scene and making some artistic decisions about coverage. This was good to get back hands on with the equipment and actually working on a script to even out the kinks and remind myself of what I know and don’t know. Watching each group’s scenes was interesting as we got to picture what we might do with their source, then see how they decided to do it and think about what we might do differently and what we liked.

Unfortunately I missed our 2nd class, where we worked on photographic principles around focal length, depth of field and aperture. This was especially unfortunate as these are some topics I feel that I’m a little lacking in so I’ll need to make time to try and fill some of those holes in my knowledge.

WEEK 2 

This was a less hands-on week as we had only one class. In class we discussed the focus pull and how it can be used within a shot, as well as all the individual processes required to perfect the shot on set. We discussed the different roles of everyone on set, and how important they all are to getting the machine working on time and productively. This exercise related to our general studies this semester as it displayed the practical know-how and commitment required to effectively shoot and cover a scene, and highlighted every intricate decision that must be made on set in real time. Unfortunately we didn’t have time to all individually play a part in the mock-production team, so I couldn’t further my actual skills on using the focus pull mechanism or any other specifics, but spectating the action helped to greater my understanding of the scene process and the importance of the focus pull, as well as the NDfilter and the exposure.

The excerpt from ‘An unspeakable betrayal : selected writings of Luis Bunuel’, is a passionate display of Bunuel’s understanding of ‘decoupage’, the french term which directly translates as ‘to cut up’, but is far more than the physical cutting of film during the editing process.

Bunuel discusses the importance of decoupage, how it brings to life what without it is just a series of shots, which itself is just a series of images. But decoupage is an almost indescribable quality that a filmmaker brings to the medium, which when combined with the lens, the photography, and the shot, create’s ‘cinematic art’. This reading relates to our overall course focus as it reminds us, as Bunuel’s enthusiasm and excitement for the potential of cinema oozes onto the reader, that creating a great film is more than simply creating great images or even great shots. Just like how coverage is much more than simple shooting the appropriate images, there is an overall understanding that must be had of what you are creating and why.

WEEK 3

Clockwork Orange – Wide angle lens puts the setting and its inhabitants on display, helps world building as opposed to these scenes just being a small narrative element of a larger story. The wide angle and depth of field in the shot inside the cell lets the viewer navigate the setting and it’s details, while still continually drawn to the doorway to see what’s happening outside. A clever way of displaying detail in a world and a character, while also keeping the plot moving (literally, the officers continue to walk past as the shot continues). These are examples of Kubrick having a tremendous understanding of decoupage. He shoots with great purpose and a knowledge that each shot has a logical progression onto another.

When compared to the clip from O Lucky Man!, the stylistic differences are major. A more human perspective is gained from the focal length and shot types, as opposed to the slightly alien and dystopian feel that is procured through Kubrick’s stylistic choices. The audience is automatically put at ease when these tried and true methods of coverage are used, as they can softly melt into the narrative and the world of the film, instead of being subjected to a harsh and challenging world like in The Clockwork Orange. In OLM!, details are shown to the audience. The camera physically moves so that the audience is directed to a certain part of the setting or a facial expression. In TCO, the audience is simply a fly on the wall in this world.

The comparison of Gossip Girl and The Fire Within was illuminating, specifically in regards to the ‘line’ rule when shooting shot-reverse-shots. I had never heard this rule or considered it, but have most likely played within this rule in my experience shooting, as it is the natural shot selection. I am looking forward now to seeing how this rule can be bent and messed around with for effect. I agree that upon first viewing the coverage selections from The Fire Within are a little puzzling. The scene isn’t hindered by the choices, nor is it seemingly uplifted in any major way. Seeing the shots lined up on a shot list and on the floorplan was quite eye opening though. The idea of planning 18 individual shots to use in one short dialogue in one setting is mind boggling, but gives an insight into the filmmaker’s dedication.

SCENE ANALYSIS

Good Time (2017) – Final Scene (Connie’s Arrest) (1:42)
Directed by Josh & Benny Safdie

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ou768K8EA24

The scene begins with a hand held medium close-up tracking shot of Connie (Robert Pattinson) as he’s arrested and brought onto the street. The entire film up to this point was shot using a hand-held shaky cam style. The Safdie brother’s often use long lens with shallow depth of field. This is used again in this shot and this entire sequence. As Connie is walked toward the police car, he is slightly out of focus, with the officer in primary focus. This reminds the viewer that Connie has now lost control of his fate, as the police have finally taken him into custody.

We then get a close up on Connie, as for a moment the events of the film and his actions wash over him and the audience. He has an almost ‘thousand-yard stare’, which will be revisited later in this scene. This is halted as Connie looks behind him and up, toward the building he just came out of. This is used to halt that moment of reflection to see the consequences of his actions have not yet fully played out, and to direct the audience’s intrigue to the building. We see a wide shot from a low-angle up toward the building, from Connie’s perspective, with Ray hanging from the side of a window. We see a reverse medium shot of Connie and his arresting officers, as they look up toward the building as well, highlighting their intrigue (and therefore the audiences) in the events unfolding above. We then cut back to the long shot of the building, with a slow tilt down as Ray falls. Another close up on Connie as he is given only a brief moment to consider what has happened (his actions led directly to Ray’s likely death) before he is pushed back into the squad car. 

A panning medium long shot of an officer running toward the building precedes the final shot of the film. The final shot is a medium close-up slow zoom into an extreme close up. The shallow depth of field puts Connie clear and in focus behind the cage of the car. The effect of this puts Connie ‘behind bars’ literally, as a metaphor for his now inescapable incarceration. As teased earlier in the scene, Connie (and the audience) now has a rare quiet moment to consider the events of the film. As the camera zooms closer to Connie it becomes an extreme close up, his shocked and broken face taking up the entire screen. 

This shot lasts for almost 60 seconds, an eternity in a film with such tight and fast editing. And for a film shot in predominantly shaky cam, this shot is almost completely still, other than the mild shake of the car (used to counter-act the static shot, to not take the audience out of the moment), which furthers the intensity and the reflection allowed in this shot to cap off the film.

I had a nervous feeling going into our exhibition. Although I had seen my work (and shown friends) several times, showing it to my peers was a different experience altogether. Afterwards, however, I felt more re-assured then I had at anytime during the process. Although it obviously has its flaws which I will discuss soon, I thought in many ways it succeeded.

I found my opening music (a snippet of a track made by a friend) to stand out quite a lot. It is quite attention grabbing, with the high tempo jumping out at you along with the text on screen. It also gave the work a solid beginning and ending point that I thought others’ work could’ve used. I also found the overall goofy nature of my work to work quite well. I decided against something overly serious (as I often do with my student films), as a way to focus the viewer less on taking it seriously as an artwork, and more as a fun experience. I also found the relaxed vibe helps to let the audience laugh at the work, which was one of my creative intentions. I also found my concept of having the camera in the middle of a circular table to be a great success. With other works, when I wasn’t thinking “where should I look?” and worrying about missing key info, I was finding that it seemed there was only one (very obvious) focal point for the viewer, and that exploring the frame gave very little reward. During Hands Up however, I found myself free to look at each individual character at any point, allowing for future viewings to catch every reaction and detail. I think this factor predominantly helped me realise one of the key ideas and concepts we discussed in class, which was to differentiate our work from standard filmmaking. The poker table concept opens up the work to be viewed at any angle the viewer wants, and rewards them for trying out different angles. 

If I was to keep developing Hands Up into something bigger, I would have a few core things that would work on. I’d start from scratch: the same concept, but re-written & increased in length. The short run time was perfect for this exhibition, but with more time & resources, a longer run time (including an actual poker scene involving actual match play) would increase the piece’s scope and potential greatly. Once re-written, I would need a solid budget, to create a more realistic & expansive setting, and to use higher quality equipment. While I’d stick with the original setting concept ( abandoned space, run-down & modest), but fully create it from scratch in a real location. I would also increase the prop and costume work. Greater rehearsal to get the performances more spot-on, and more room for character development would also greatly benefit the work. The final goal would be to create some kind of actual playable ‘game’ mechanism within the video. While one of the successes of the work in its current form is that the viewer is not an actual character but instead a spectator, creating a form where you inhabit a character, and have to bet / fold (judging the facial reactions of other players to see if they are bluffing), could take it to the next level as an experience.

From viewing all the other groups’ work, I had a few insights about their work, my work, and VR in general. The first was one that I discussed with many of the groups, which was how important high quality video is to a successful VR experience. While we all enjoyed each other’s work, we agreed that the limitations of the equipment we used left a lot to be desired, and that for VR especially, having full HD video is very important. I noticed this most with the Briars group’s work, as it was a nature film first and foremost, and having beautiful visuals is key in that genre. Another aspect I noticed, this time in the first work we viewed (about cyber-bullying), was how they used spatial audio. It was the first time I’d heard it while using a headset and I found it greatly increased the immersive quality of the work. It made me wish I had done it for my film, and opened my eyes to the prospect of a truly immersive world inside the headset.

I found that being in an audience had varying impact of the experience of the work. It felt like the immersion quality was slightly lost. I found myself thinking too much about being in a room with other people around me, and when you can hear the other audience members it takes you right out of the experience. But one positive was for my work, as I heard a few laughs, it seemed to spread across the room slightly. Just like in a cinema, funny things are funnier when you’re around other people who are laughing with you.

PRE-PRODUCTION NOTES

360 FILMMAKING TIPS

REVIEW DOCUMENT

TEST SCREENINGS REFLECTION

FINAL REFLECTION

FINAL VIDEO:

DOWNLOAD LINK

When I began brainstorming ideas for my final project, I decided I wanted to make something that could really utilise the format, and be fun to create. I landed on the idea of a poker game, as the table was a great setting for the 360 experience, with the viewer able to choose their own perspective of the game.

In reflection, it’s clear that there were some issues, mainly technical. I originally intended to create a complex spatial audio piece to accompany the film, but unfortunately I couldn’t work out a practical way to achieve this with my setup and had to scrap it. I also made a mistake during production which resulted in me scrapping my original plan of having on screen graphics giving some exposition as the film began. These things, paired with some budget issues and a possible mistake with the video quality, deterred me from creating something that was fully realised to the potential I had hoped. 

I am proud of the premise, and I had a great time shooting as well, so in that respect for me personally it was a success. There are certain aspects I wish I could change, or if I had my time again I would do differently, but they are all lessons for future projects. I feel the experience itself is quite engaging, and enjoyable for the viewer. Because of that I can leave the process happy with what I’ve created.

All in all, 360 is an interesting format, and I’m excited to see where it goes and what people do with it in the future, but I personally think it’s not the format for me. The enjoyment I get from filmmaking is the crafting of each individual shot, each scene, focusing less on the performances and the narrative, and more on the physical art form. With VR & 360, you can get very artful with it but it takes a lot of resources that I simply don’t have access too (high quality CGI, unique location & setting). I found myself feeling like I was creating a play, or writing a screenplay, which are parts of the creative process I am far less fond of.

Note: As I was unable to have a test screening in class, I organised a small group of friends to come and watch my fine cut & see what their thoughts were.

Overall they all were very positive, but I asked them to be honest and give me their criticism and they pointed out a few things, some that I already noticed and others that opened my eyes slightly. For starters, a couple said they were a little confused at the premise of what was happening, but enjoyed it nonetheless. One mentioned the set being a bit strange and just ‘looking like my garage’. I knew this going in but I think I should’ve had a bit more exposition. All of them recognised the waitress at the end from the beginning, but most of them knew the actress personally so I imagine she’s harder to miss. One person also commented saying they liked the effect of the cigarette smoke going over and through the view of the camera. This is an example of a cool spatial effect I hadn’t considered while making but adds to the experience. All in all it was a very helpful activity for future reference and will inform my ‘360 Filmmaking Tips’, however it is slightly annoying that I don’t have time to re-shoot some things that would fix a couple problems. Here is the list I jotted down of comments people had:

• colour grading
• “what did he say?”
• I was a bit confused about what was happening
• set is a bit strange
• All recognised the waitress from the start
• smoke was cool, saw it over my head
• noises around table were a little loud, sounded like knocking the microphone
• more explanation required

These are a few XR works I watched, and a couple lessons/ideas I gained from them during my pre-production & research phase.

AWAVENA – Lynette Walworth

After watching Awavena, I learnt a couple of things. There were two main reasons it was so engaging and made for such a wonderful VR experience. Firstly, it was shot in a remote village in the Amazon forest, taking the viewer on a shamanic ritual into the wild forest. This is not only a place that is remote and exciting, but a truly unique and mind-bending experience. This experience and location is what makes the film so engaging, and a perfect example of how to use VR & 360 filmmaking. The other factor is the incredible visual effects created for the film, visualising the shamanic trip that the tribeswoman goes on. VR is the perfect vehicle for these incredible graphics.

These contribute to why I struggle to totally engage with making VR myself, as my filmmaking is less focused on taking the viewer somewhere new, or showing super high-tech CGI, so I find the format a little impractical as a media maker.

ASHES TO ASHES – Ligthart Schenk, Jamille van Wijngaarden and Steye Hallema

A strange little 360-video short, Ashes to Ashes places the viewer in the centre as a choreographed ‘scene’ takes place in front (and around) them, with the set moving around the camera. It seems from viewing it that the plot & narrative of the short comes second. The main goal is the viewer’s engagement and the creation of some ‘wow’ moments using the technology. The dialogue is vague and a little confusing for viewers coming in blind, and the most memorable parts are when the setting around you starts to transform and change, or when a certain action makes for an interesting effect, such as a pillow fight resulting in feathers flying around the room. Another thing I noticed is, due to the format limiting your options for things like lighting and audio, those things are hidden in plain sight within each setting. For example there are small circle windows in the walls of the first set, which upon inspection have cinematic lights on the outside of them. A clever way to get around using lights without them being too obviously placed into the scene.

THE INVISIBLE MAN – Hugo Keijzer

The Invisible Man is a 10-minute narrative story, with one setting, and 4 characters. The entire film takes place with just these elements. Although seemingly just like any other dialogue based short, the VR format really changes the concept from filmmaking, to theatre production. The audience can look anywhere they want, and you find yourself curiously searching the environment for clues or signs to help you understand the story. This really helped change my view of 360 dramatic filmmaking as less like a film and far more like theatre (which goes to show why I find 360-filmmaking so tedious and uninteresting to me compared to traditional filmmaking). You’re not creating shots, and lighting, and settings like you are with cinema, you are creating a scene, where the actors and dialogue comes first, just like theatre.