Post by Boz on Apr 10, 2007 0:52:14 GMT
Chungking Express 
Wong Kar-Wai 1994
It feels rather strange being back here. It’s been a month at least, probably closer to two. Not quite sure why I’m feeling the inclination to broadly postulate on my rather inglorious return to the exercise of film watching. I’ve recently come into possession of a quietly rumbling yearning to entrench myself in art, in experiencing it, in contemplating it, in creating it. I rather fancy my impromptu use of the term “exercise” to describe my film watching habits earlier in this passage. I exercise, in the more literal and traditional sense of the word; I lift weights. Exercise, or AN exercise in that sense, is (by my estimations) an activity requiring endurance of some physical discomfort in which your ultimate goal is contentment and self-improvement. In this way, film watching fits this definition in the truest form. I enjoy films, there are moments when I enjoy watching films, but there are also moments in which I do nothing but watch the seconds tick off the DVD player's time counter and think about what I’m going to do after the movie’s over. I’ve turned to writing, the physical recording of one's thoughts with one's hands, as a way to hopefully keep myself occupied during my viewings AND to actually get more out of them as well.
So now we turn to the film at hand, Wong Kar Wai’s (or Kar Wai Wong's, not sure which truthfully) Chungking Express. I hypothesized this morning that I would perhaps be less inclined to avoid film watching if I provided a better environment for myself to do it in. My left arm is asleep, this chair’s uncomfortable, there’s too many lights in here and too many people. 1994, the year of Forrest Gump and Pulp Fiction, the former, the year’s Best Picture Winner, the latter, perhaps the more deserving. Personally I’m a little bit more a fan of the Academy’s choice, pretty much based solely upon the criteria I cited to Wetdog recently; it’s a bit more of a “life changing” film. But hey, less about Zemeckis’ and Tarantino’s creations, more about the film at hand.
In my literature class today we talked about the idea that a piece of art is less itself and more the art that influenced it and the art that it goes on to influence. I think it’d be an interesting exercise (word of the day, apparently) to write film reviews in which you talked little to none about the actual film at hand and mostly about whatever random thoughts and associations popped into your head during the viewing of that film. The reviews would ultimately function more as a direct recording of the film’s influence upon you from moment to moment as opposed to the strictly formulated and flat collection of cinematic observations that I USED to call my reviews.
Insert random typical cinematic observation: Wong’s films are surprisingly culturally ambiguous. Coca-cola, the Mama’s and the Papa’s, English, Marilyn Monroe wigs and plastic, red-framed sunglasses. Maybe when I said culturally ambiguous I meant American. Although there’s the reggae music playing on the spinning CD bar jukebox. That’s not American. End transmission.
I want my name to become an adjective.
The inclusion of Dinah Washington’s (name inserted later, I had to look it up [but wrote this clause during the viewing in anticipation of me doing so]) song “What a Difference a Day Makes” of course reminded me of it's memorable use to compliment Sharon Stone in Martin Scorsese’s Casino, which led me to contemplate whether I could conclude that that film had been an influence upon this one, which then led be shortly to remember that that film wouldn’t be released for another year after this one. I’m thinking I’ll bring my laptop next time. I’m afraid I won’t be able to read my handwriting later tonight. Although it must be said, there’s some sort of primal, instinctive joy in writing things out manually. I should latch on to that and scrawl my reviews out on stone slabs with berry juice next time.
As a general rule, I prefer “perfect” camerawork. Wong’s freehand here isn’t bad, he’s doing enough with lighting and editing to keep it interesting. There are notable exceptions to all my cinematic rules though, Traffic being the most notable one in this case. That’s to be expected though, because Traffic’s one hell of a film. Revolutionary. Back in 2005, or maybe, MAYBE 2006, I was trying to figure out what film has defined the cinematic trends of this decade thus far. In my opinion, Traffic is it.
Fantastic title by the way. You can’t go wrong with the words Chungking and Express. Beautiful hard g’s and x’s, smooth s’s and thick ch’s. A movie’s overall vibe is very important to me, and a title, and the letters in it, can believe it or not make or break that vibe. Not sure how I feel about the film just yet, but thumbs up on the title.
Part of me’s thinking that I should learn to adapt to freehand filmmaking. It’s a much less intimidating filmmaking process, but in my opinion, a much less satisfying finished product. Especially when you’re an independent, small scale director. Viewers will think it’s out of economic necessity rather than artistic choice, and I guess in my case, they’d be right.
Like a carnival goldfish. I love this Cranberries song.
Freehand in an Asian country. Colorful freehand in an Asian country. Reminding me of Sans Soleil. This Mama’s and Papa’s song is in Forrest Gump I think. Apparently Wong has a thing for playing the same song a lot in his films. In the Mood for Love was pretty good, fell short of greatness for me though.
Of all other national cinemas, I’ve taken to French the most, however little that may be. Is it because it’s the best? Because it’s the most like American? Because I’ve got some French blood in me? This, my friends, I do not know.
In some odd way freehand makes me acknowledge the camera too often, despite the fact that it is, admittedly, what more closely resembles realistic human visual perception. Is that really what I want in a film though? My immediate guess is no. I enjoy the language of cinema. I don’t want films resembling what my process of vision looks like. I want perfect, smooth, fluid, well-framed tracking shots.
I despise this skip-frame slow motion. It’s part of what made me hate Eyes Wide Shut.
Decent. At least he had the sense to bring this Cranberries’ song back for the ending.
Wong Kar-Wai 1994
It feels rather strange being back here. It’s been a month at least, probably closer to two. Not quite sure why I’m feeling the inclination to broadly postulate on my rather inglorious return to the exercise of film watching. I’ve recently come into possession of a quietly rumbling yearning to entrench myself in art, in experiencing it, in contemplating it, in creating it. I rather fancy my impromptu use of the term “exercise” to describe my film watching habits earlier in this passage. I exercise, in the more literal and traditional sense of the word; I lift weights. Exercise, or AN exercise in that sense, is (by my estimations) an activity requiring endurance of some physical discomfort in which your ultimate goal is contentment and self-improvement. In this way, film watching fits this definition in the truest form. I enjoy films, there are moments when I enjoy watching films, but there are also moments in which I do nothing but watch the seconds tick off the DVD player's time counter and think about what I’m going to do after the movie’s over. I’ve turned to writing, the physical recording of one's thoughts with one's hands, as a way to hopefully keep myself occupied during my viewings AND to actually get more out of them as well.
So now we turn to the film at hand, Wong Kar Wai’s (or Kar Wai Wong's, not sure which truthfully) Chungking Express. I hypothesized this morning that I would perhaps be less inclined to avoid film watching if I provided a better environment for myself to do it in. My left arm is asleep, this chair’s uncomfortable, there’s too many lights in here and too many people. 1994, the year of Forrest Gump and Pulp Fiction, the former, the year’s Best Picture Winner, the latter, perhaps the more deserving. Personally I’m a little bit more a fan of the Academy’s choice, pretty much based solely upon the criteria I cited to Wetdog recently; it’s a bit more of a “life changing” film. But hey, less about Zemeckis’ and Tarantino’s creations, more about the film at hand.
In my literature class today we talked about the idea that a piece of art is less itself and more the art that influenced it and the art that it goes on to influence. I think it’d be an interesting exercise (word of the day, apparently) to write film reviews in which you talked little to none about the actual film at hand and mostly about whatever random thoughts and associations popped into your head during the viewing of that film. The reviews would ultimately function more as a direct recording of the film’s influence upon you from moment to moment as opposed to the strictly formulated and flat collection of cinematic observations that I USED to call my reviews.
Insert random typical cinematic observation: Wong’s films are surprisingly culturally ambiguous. Coca-cola, the Mama’s and the Papa’s, English, Marilyn Monroe wigs and plastic, red-framed sunglasses. Maybe when I said culturally ambiguous I meant American. Although there’s the reggae music playing on the spinning CD bar jukebox. That’s not American. End transmission.
I want my name to become an adjective.
The inclusion of Dinah Washington’s (name inserted later, I had to look it up [but wrote this clause during the viewing in anticipation of me doing so]) song “What a Difference a Day Makes” of course reminded me of it's memorable use to compliment Sharon Stone in Martin Scorsese’s Casino, which led me to contemplate whether I could conclude that that film had been an influence upon this one, which then led be shortly to remember that that film wouldn’t be released for another year after this one. I’m thinking I’ll bring my laptop next time. I’m afraid I won’t be able to read my handwriting later tonight. Although it must be said, there’s some sort of primal, instinctive joy in writing things out manually. I should latch on to that and scrawl my reviews out on stone slabs with berry juice next time.
As a general rule, I prefer “perfect” camerawork. Wong’s freehand here isn’t bad, he’s doing enough with lighting and editing to keep it interesting. There are notable exceptions to all my cinematic rules though, Traffic being the most notable one in this case. That’s to be expected though, because Traffic’s one hell of a film. Revolutionary. Back in 2005, or maybe, MAYBE 2006, I was trying to figure out what film has defined the cinematic trends of this decade thus far. In my opinion, Traffic is it.
Fantastic title by the way. You can’t go wrong with the words Chungking and Express. Beautiful hard g’s and x’s, smooth s’s and thick ch’s. A movie’s overall vibe is very important to me, and a title, and the letters in it, can believe it or not make or break that vibe. Not sure how I feel about the film just yet, but thumbs up on the title.
Part of me’s thinking that I should learn to adapt to freehand filmmaking. It’s a much less intimidating filmmaking process, but in my opinion, a much less satisfying finished product. Especially when you’re an independent, small scale director. Viewers will think it’s out of economic necessity rather than artistic choice, and I guess in my case, they’d be right.
Like a carnival goldfish. I love this Cranberries song.
Freehand in an Asian country. Colorful freehand in an Asian country. Reminding me of Sans Soleil. This Mama’s and Papa’s song is in Forrest Gump I think. Apparently Wong has a thing for playing the same song a lot in his films. In the Mood for Love was pretty good, fell short of greatness for me though.
Of all other national cinemas, I’ve taken to French the most, however little that may be. Is it because it’s the best? Because it’s the most like American? Because I’ve got some French blood in me? This, my friends, I do not know.
In some odd way freehand makes me acknowledge the camera too often, despite the fact that it is, admittedly, what more closely resembles realistic human visual perception. Is that really what I want in a film though? My immediate guess is no. I enjoy the language of cinema. I don’t want films resembling what my process of vision looks like. I want perfect, smooth, fluid, well-framed tracking shots.
I despise this skip-frame slow motion. It’s part of what made me hate Eyes Wide Shut.
Decent. At least he had the sense to bring this Cranberries’ song back for the ending.
