Even Rocky had a Sequence-Image Montage

Today's movie pushers are all about the slow build. The idea is that, by exposing the components of a movie, audiences will want to see them worked into a glorious whole. Frequently, however, the wax wings of promotion melt under the glare of the projector light. It is a risky proposition.

The idea of teaser trailers, teaser campaigns and a deluge of images isn't exactly new, but it is certainly something that has taken a hold of society. A good example is Star Wars, which has a thirty year legacy to draw upon for promotions. Separate aspects from separate properties can be combined to create something transcendentally exciting, like footage of Attack of the Clones set to some narration, further combined with the distinctive sound of Darth Vader's breathing. Multiple posters pop up, showcasing different characters - some established, some that people have been alerted of ages in advance - all, inevitably, merchandisable.

For one memorable month, Town Hall station was plastered with Yoda, Vader, and General Grievous. Despite the fact that, in a properly sequenced world, Vader would have been the grand reveal, he served as the great appeal. I dare not watch Revenge of the Sith again lest it not measure up to my greatest cinematic experiences: three times in a week, first at the midnight screening (you've probably already made up your mind, but I am not "that guy"), then on the Friday screening after which I went out to dinner with friends ("Force beard!"), then, on the Tuesday when I had to hold the hand of my friend Rola to keep her safe from all of the atrocities being committed on screen.

That's an example where the the trailer (in this case, Alec Guinness' voice over set to footage from A New Hope ... essentially a trailer composed entirely of old material) did not outshine the movie.

You can say the same sort of thing for the Harry Potter franchise - and I believe that the sequence-image tactic is incredibly effective with franchises. Now, more than a month past Order of the Phoenix cinemas are still bedecked with character cut-outs; in many cases, they don't even require any visible form of branding at all. If you see Rupert Grint brandishing a wand, you know what you're getting.

So let's look at what I would consider a failed attempt: 300. 300 is an instance of grand promotion for a film that is profoundly lacking in genuine grandeur. With multiple, warlike posters of red and brown, there was a brutal, bloody feeling of excitement for the movie. This was visceral advertising.


There were no teasers for 300, just the one trailer:



It's a great trailer, isn't it? Sadly, that trailer is the movie. All of the best parts are featured in it. A trailer is allowed to exclude things for the sake of promotion, but if you see a feature length movie and it is lacking what should be expected of it, it's hard not to be let down. With Xerxes as a "sexiopath" intent on not so subtly sodomising the Spartans, the Athenians as "boy lovers" and nary a homosexual Spartan in sight, there's something distinctly missing from this equation.

Of course, something lousy can be given new life, as we learned from our discussion of fanfiction/slash/fan-video discussion (and perhaps more on that later), and the gays had their revenge.



Brings a tear to my eye.

Cinematic Memory

Struck by Burgin's The Remembered Film, I was reminded of my own early cinematic experiences. My father is a school teacher, so he would always have the school holidays off. In my infancy, several times of the year it was precisely as if I had a live-in parent. As any good parent with a wee lad would do, my father took me to the movies.
My most vivid memory of the cinema of my youth is Who Framed Roger Rabbit, specifically Eddie Valiant opening the blinds of R.K. Maroon's office to reveal a stream of light ... and Dumbo, flying outside the window. I remember, sitting at Beverly Hills Cinema, the princely age of three, and being surprised by the suddenness of the appearance that had caused Eddie to drop to the floor.



Who Framed Roger Rabbit sticks with me to this day. My uncle gave me the DVD for my eighteenth birthday and, while much of it was a revelation to me, the Maroon scene was exactly as it ever was. Now, thinking of Dumbo at the window (perhaps a movie concept to rival Enemy at the Gates?), I can extrapolate the entire movie. It's a great genre film, period piece, and still impressive as it ever was in the field of special effects. Reflecting on the Roger Rabbit scenario, I realise that environment is a huge part of the cinema going experience: a hermetically sealed world.
Unless you're watching a movie from your home theatre, increasingly becoming a bunker laden with technology designed to block the outside world entirely, you're going to be seeing things on different screens. I'm probably unique in this (and, if I'm not, I'm probably one of the few who cares), but I store in my mind cinema, screen, seating, and with whom I saw a movie.
Obviously it works most effectively for the last few years; my most frustrating memories are of Masters of the Universe, which I have a clear idea of venue interior, but I've no idea of where it was, and I'm pretty certain it wasn't a cinema but it was in the dark with a lot of people. Similarly, I saw High Fidelity on George Street, when the cinemas there were a Hoyts, a Greater Union and a Village next to each other. Now that the three have combined into Greater Union alone, I can't locate that screen. Where I think it should be is the lousy boxy cinema of Chicken Little, A Scanner Darkly and the second time I saw Brokeback Mountain.

The problem is this: if I can't reconcile one cinematic memory, how can I expect the rest of my memories to be accurate? In the instance of Roger Rabbit I can break out the DVD - but of course in doing so I overwrite my previous memory and refresh it, or find it utterly dashed down. This is the problem with nostalgia: in revisiting something, you may find that your memory doesn't hold up, that what you're watching isn't as good as it used to be - although, of course, the material hasn't changed; you have. Youth mixes memories, and it takes your growth to differentiate and compartmentalise these memories. While you can lose an awesome movie, you can gain so much more to see things with new eyes.

The interconnected nature of memory allows me not only to jump not in cinema five of George Street from 40 Year Old Virgin to The Holiday to Harry Potter & The Goblet of Fire to Borat to Knocked Up ... but also to jump from March 21, 2006, Cinema 14, George Street: Match Point, Woody Allen's migraine inducing disaster ... to March 23, 2007, Cinema 14, George Street: Scoop, Allen's screwball comedy "redemption" (or near enough).

Coincidence? No, my friends, that is cinematic destiny.

Bill & Ted's Cinematic Modernism Adventure

This is the first post for my Cinematic Modernism blog, exploring the exciting world of modernity and cinema through the art of watching modern cinema. Leastways, that's how I understand this course is supposed to be.

The title of this post might seem out of place, but I am doing three English subjects this semester and thus far both of the others have mentioned Bill & Ted, in either their Excellent Adventure and Bogus Journey incarnations. I thought that Alex Winter and Keanu Reeves might want a piece of this action, too - it's a brave new English Faculty, that has such films in it.

As someone who tried to claw his eyes out at last sight of The Andalusian Dog, Cinematic Modernism is something of a leap for me. I like film, and it looks like this course might not fall victim to the horrid disease that plagues mankind through experimental film - scientific term Viridiana.

At any rate, there's not a lot you need to know about me beyond the fact that I waffle like all get out. I can be found elsewhere on the internet at Batrock, which should be updated more than it is. It's about movies and all sorts of other trivialities. My boring adventures can be found on livejournal, but they are boring and nobody likes livejournal. Or do they? It is not my place to know.

So let us now embark, my fellow students, on an adventure "most triumphant", and preferably less overbearingly pretentious than this collection of words!