Music video week | Contributor Top 3 | Cathy Landicho

As part of Music Video Week here on PPH, we’ve asked our contributors to nominate their Top 3 music vids of all time along with a few words to explain their choices. Here are Cathy Landicho‘s choices. She can be followed on Twitter @ConfusedAmateur.

3. ‘Sabotage’ – The Beastie Boys (Spike Jonze, 1994)

MCA’s pulsing, fuzzy bass line, insistent like a police siren, propels this song’s intensity; combine that with Ad-Rock’s throaty, aggressive vocal delivery, and you get a head-banging tune that could easily soundtrack a retro cop show. Spike Jonze’s stylish, funny, frenetic and affectionate video featuring the Beasties in multiple roles totally complements each beat – from the spinning shots accompanying the record scratches, to the hits timed to drumbeats, to the long fall that accompanies Ad-Rock’s wail of “Whhhhyyyy”. The video helps you mentally strut to the song, and motivates you to try sliding across the hood of the car. (Don’t lie – I know you tried it too.)

In memoriam: MCA (who dressed in lederhosen as his alter ego Nathaniel Hornblower and stormed the stage of the MTV Music Video awards to protest Jonze losing the Best Director award to R.E.M.’s ‘Everybody Hurts’ – not a proud moment, but a memorable one)

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2. ‘Virtual Insanity’ – Jamiroquai (Jonathan Glazer, 1996)

An obvious choice; a totally mesmerizing and unforgettable video. Even though this was on heavy rotation for a good chunk of 1996, I’d never flip the channel because you’d watch it again and again, trying to figure out how the hell it was filmed. Is the floor moving? Or the set? But the couch is moving too… and it looks like there’s so few cuts! And why is Jay Kay wearing that silly hat? It turns out that director Jonathan Glazer came up with the concept and executed it on a manageable budget, securing the camera to a set on wheels, moved by ten dudes’ choreographed pushes. In four shots! But besides all that, the point is that it’s nigh-on impossible to take your eyes off Jay Kay and his dancing. He made it look so damn easy. If you’ve watched the video as much I have, when you dance along to this song, somewhere in the back of your mind you’re imagining the floor moving with you.

Also, check out this interview with Jonathan Glazer explaining the video.

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1. ‘Doo Wop (That Thing)’ – Lauryn Hill (Big TV! 1998)

Jersey girl Lauryn Hill’s massive solo album spawned two great music videos that pay homage to NYC: ‘Everything is Everything’ and ‘Doo Wop’. The former’s concept of Manhattan as a rotating record on a turntable is nifty, but the latter’s thoughtful split screen vision contrasting 1967’s Washington Heights with 1998’s just suits the song perfectly. The London duo Big TV! (Monty Whitbloom and Andy Delaney) manages to join the split screens seamlessly through smart compositional choices, and the symmetry maintained throughout creates an impressive illusion. It’s great fun watching 1967 Lauryn Hill duet with 1998 Lauryn Hill, with competing backup singers (though the Pips-like 1967 ones win, hands down). The old-school-meets-new-school style of the song is served well by the numerous poignant juxtaposed images in the video, showcasing the changing times of black New Yorkers of both genders. But for all its nuanced content and technical achievements, I love this video because it makes me want to hop into the screen to join the block party and get my groove on.

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Want to join the conversation? Find us on Twitter @PPlasticHelmet and use the hashtag #MusicVideoWeek.

The Bad and the Beautiful

Vincente Minnelli’s 1952 film The Bad and the Beautiful, now showing on extended run at London’s BFI Southbank, paints a thoroughly entertaining portrait of classic Hollywood. Through a series of deft flashbacks, it chronicles of the rise and fall of an arrogant producer, Jonathan Shields (Kirk Douglas), from the perspectives of those he stepped on to achieve his ambitions. The film centres around a last-ditch effort from Shields to convince three of his old colleagues-turned-enemies to work on his comeback project: director Fred Amiel (Barry Sullivan), actress Georgia Lorrison (Lana Turner), and writer James Lee Bartlow (Dick Powell). But what did he do to each of them to make them so angry with him? That dramatic tension hooks you in and compels you to judge for yourself whether Shields deserves help with his comeback film or not.

The story that unfolds offers a compelling, humane look at the personal lives of a range of Hollywood players during an era that preceded the invasive media scrutiny that dominates the film industry today. Kirk Douglas is brilliant as the near-mythical protagonist; this egotistical producer is not one we’re meant to feel sympathy for, but Douglas’ earnest performance reminds us that with ambition comes risk and vulnerability. It’s Shields’ ardor and addiction to filmmaking that links the three cleverly rendered flashbacks. Of the trio Shields aims to convince, Lana Turner – providing a pleasant reminder that she was more than just a pretty face – is the most captivating as the disarming Georgia. But even the minor characters are surprisingly delightful, particularly Bartlow’s wife, a scene-stealing Southern belle played by Gloria Grahame (a turn for which she won a deserved Academy Award).

The nuanced characterizations of the quirky cast are thoughtful and thorough, from their distinctive deliveries of voiceovers to their attachments to totemic props (such as Georgia’s necklace) which are often cleverly utilized for clear and logical transitions between scenes. This, combined with brisk edits, helps the film move with good momentum, accompanied by tasteful, romantic scoring. And the sumptuously detailed sets, dramatically lit, complete the dream-like atmosphere that befits classic Hollywood. The Bad and the Beautiful won five Academy Awards by practicing what it preaches; throughout the film, the protagonist aims for quality over quantity, for awards over commercial success.

That said, The Bad and the Beautiful isn’t quite a love letter to Hollywood. Rather, it presents a place where dreams begin and then are painfully reshaped. It has a refreshingly uncynical view of the industry, unafraid to be a touch moralistic in espousing self-reliance, while managing to retain a wry sense of humour about its commentary, never allowing itself to get too serious or self-congratulatory. It’s such a pleasure to see a film that respects its audience, is thoughtfully constructed, and isn’t a downer – a rare combination in Hollywood nowadays.

Crazy Stupid Love

When it comes to romantic comedies, experience has taught us not to expect much substance. Forget about realism too. We automatically brace ourselves for two hours of saccharine, implausibly manufactured scenarios slanted towards pleasing a primarily female demographic. But Crazy Stupid Love takes those expectations on board, presenting a refreshing tragicomic romp designed to appeal to men and women alike. The film is thoroughly amusing and lighthearted, keeping its content familiar and accessible while packing in thoughtful details to keep the audience engaged on a deeper level.

At first glance, Crazy Stupid Love looks pretty unremarkable. The character types and plotline are familiar and predictable. A middle-aged man (Steve Carell) finds out his wife (Julianne Moore) is having an affair, so he leaves her to reassess his life and rediscover his manhood with the help of a devastatingly suave uber-bachelor (Ryan Gosling). But their performances are surprisingly charismatic and appealing, aided by fresh comedic writing. The montage of Carell’s transformation from a Gap-wearing dad to an Armani-wearing player while being bullied by Gosling is laugh-out-loud funny. And Carell’s rant on being ‘cuckolded’ comes to mind as a cleverer comic scene of despair than I’ve seen in other rom-coms.

To add dramatic irony and situational humour, there are love triangles sustained throughout the film – sure, it’s forced narrative complexity, but it’s nowhere near as contrived as what happens in Richard Curtis’ hyper-arbitrary Love Actually. Furthermore, the supporting cast involved in those love triangles add pleasant colouring to the film. In particular, the couple’s 13-year-old son (strongly acted by Jonah Bobo) is refreshing as a lovelorn tween approaching manhood himself. His character’s uncynical convictions juxtaposed with his dad’s wearied compromises are key to revealing the ‘heart’ of the film.

To its credit, Crazy Stupid Love’s strong thematic focus is served well by its technical side – the tight editing of its intercut storylines keeps the film moving at a good pace, and the thoughtful composition delivers the necessary exposition in interesting ways. There’s one long tracking shot that functions as a magical time-lapse montage of Carell’s character schmoozing with a slew of attractive women; it’s a memorable moment in which the film shows off its technical merits while still serving the story. The editing and composition are complemented by a decent soundtrack featuring the likes of Thievery Corporation and Talking Heads, largely avoiding cliched pop songs.

Crazy Stupid Love isn’t without its faults, especially as it nears its conclusion. The situations are almost cartoony, not helped by a horrifically over-the-top cameo by Marisa Tomei. But the script includes meta-commentary that addresses the unrealistic parts, making them easier for the audience to swallow. When it rains during the dramatic low point for the protagonist, he says: “What a cliche.” Indeed, aren’t most rom-coms chock full of cliches?

Thinking about other films in this genre, it seems most fall into three categories: relatively high-concept (see 13 Going on 30), topically niche (see My Big Fat Greek Wedding) or star-packed pastiche (see Love Actually). The fact that Crazy Stupid Love doesn’t follow these formulas is something to appreciate. The film clearly has a sense of humour about itself, which helps us also have a sense of humour about it as well. All in all, a good pick for a Valentine’s night in.

Crazy Stupid Love is now available on DVD. Contributor Cathy Landicho can followed on Twitter @ConfusedAmateur.

Another view: Shame and gender

There’s no doubt that Shame is a bold, captivating portrait of a sex addict’s life in New York. The visual style is stunning, Michael Fassbender’s performance – bizarrely unrecognized by the Academy – is mesmerising, and the film really captures the essence of New York onscreen. But its portrayal of women is less than flattering, and this is worth noting. Yes, the focus is on the character of Brandon and his addiction, so we are meant to sympathise with him and see women through his eyes. Fair enough. And Brandon’s no misogynist – he’s certainly the good guy when contrasted with his lecherous married boss. Still, does a film about a man’s sex addiction have to keep female perspectives so muted to tell its story? I think in 2012 we could do a bit better.

You’ve got to admit it’s an awkward one for heterosexual women watching the film, for whom Brandon is a real-life nightmare. Brandon seems like such a catch; an attractive and considerate man, however, he finds open communication difficult, is intensely emotionally unavailable and has a voracious sexual appetite (albeit to a pathological degree). Any ladies out there, hands up if you’ve been with such a man? The memories aren’t pleasant, I’m sure. Women who’ve had such experiences learn to go into defensive mode around men like Brandon, but the film skilfully forces its audience to put their guards down. Nevertheless, the result happens to be those women feeling male domination all over again.

Of course the film needs to include women who fulfil Brandon’s desires – but there are two key female characters who provide important counterpoints to this, women in his world whose voices he actually hears: his colleague Marianne (Nicole Beharie) and more crucially, his sister Sissy (Carey Mulligan). Yet the contrast between these two and all the other women is simply not strong enough to make a difference; not enough to un-mute women in his story.

It’s unfortunate that our introduction to Marianne is sexualised early on when Brandon fantasises about her naked while checking her out at the office; from that point on, we already know that their fledgling relationship is likely to be doomed. During their one and only date Marianne establishes herself as a smart, sensitive girl who doesn’t automatically swoon in Brandon’s presence. However in the aborted sex scene which follows, the camera is statically dispassionate, automatically prioritizing Fassbender (because we know him better) and denying us access to Marianne’s feelings while she struggles to get close to him. Sure, Brandon’s breakdown feels remote but Marianne’s reaction manages to be even more obscured. At this crucial moment, she seems more like a plot device exposing Brandon’s frailties rather than a living, breathing woman.

Sissy’s voice could have added greater balance to an uneven film, yet she is also reduced to functioning as a narrative mechanism rather than a full character. As with Marianne, the film introduces her to us in a way that undercuts her; we first hear Sissy on Brandon’s answerphone, and it’s left ambiguous whether she’s another of his female conquests or someone more substantial. It’s a provocative choice but it also throws her character under the bus – she’s initially presented as an unhinged sexual threat to Brandon so explicitly that it’s difficult to see her side of the story without prejudice.

When Brandon bursts into the bathroom because he thinks Sissy’s an intruder, she doesn’t cover herself up. If Sissy had been a bit less brazen, covering herself up partially yet still enough to make Brandon uncomfortable, we might care about her a bit more. I mean, what sister stands unabashedly stark naked in front of her brother? Is Shame an issue film about a sex addict or about incest? Enigmatic obfuscation is one thing; manipulative red herrings are another entirely.

Also, she’s wearing a hospital bracelet, but this is never addressed – in fact, most audience members probably missed it, seeing as there was no close-up or dialogue about it. Again, here’s a missed opportunity to give Sissy more of a voice, instead of marginalizing her as just a projection of Brandon’s. Did she have an operation? Attempt suicide? So did Brandon never visit her at the hospital meaning she had to come to him?

We next hear her on the phone, desperately professing her love to someone leaving her, though by this (still early) point of the film the damage to her character’s been done. That scene’s not quite enough for us to accept that she’s the inverse of Brandon and have equal sympathy for her. Even her big moment – a bar blues rendition of ‘New York, New York’ – is ultimately upstaged by Brandon and his maudlin release of a single tear. Sissy, like her brother, is love-starved but emotional and expressive rather than cold and silent; however, the way she’s presented in the film, we are pushed to favour Brandon’s control and detachment over her messiness and vulnerability.

In the end, despite Carey Mulligan’s committed performance, Sissy, like Marianne, is more catalyst than character. She mainly serves to expose and challenge Brandon while acting as a foil – she’s addicted to attention/affection rather than carnal pleasure. Thus her self-destruction isn’t in itself important, because it simply sparks Brandon’s self-destruction (if indeed we are to view Shame as a message film about sex addiction). It’s a bit of a pity, really. Remember Jodie Foster and Cybill Shepherd in another New York film about emotional and psychological dislocation? They could have been mere dressing on the window of Travis Bickle’s mind, yet Martin Scorsese and Paul Schrader made it clear that these three-dimensional women existed outside their warped protagonist’s jaundiced perspective. In my humble opinion, Shame’s idolatry of Brandon keeps it just short of being a fully accessible and truly brilliant film.

Blood In The Mobile

The laptop or smartphone you’re using to read this article now almost certainly has cassiterite in it: cassiterite is a mineral which is refined into tin and used in loads of electronics. The Democratic Republic of Congo has a wealth of cassiterite within its borders, but these remote mines are overseen by armed groups who exploit the locals working and living near the mines. For over a decade, children have worked in unsafe mines, and locals have been taxed exorbitant amounts and controlled through unchecked violence. The human rights abuses abound, and countless Congolese are being killed and raped with little hope for change.

Danish director Frank Poulsen’s documentary Blood In The Mobile aims to increase awareness of this issue of conflict minerals. His approach is that of a Michael Moore-esque Average Joe who suspects his phone may contain said minerals. So, as a conscientious consumer and a filmmaker – not an activist – he documents his quest to hold his phone company’s feet to the fire.

Sadly, Poulsen’s insistence on framing the film as a personal vendetta, filming every moment including his awkward arguments with various official representatives, undermines his project’s credibility. The film opens with him at a mobile phone expo demanding corporate responsibility statements from reps of his phone company, Nokia. His message is clearly: Look at all these unfeeling, posh corporate people profiting from people dying in Africa! His reaction to their waffling responses is to plunge into Congo to find the answers for himself. We should be rooting for him, but his quest seems so naive that we instead feel more dread about how he’ll confront the imminent dangers a white man with a camera will surely face than hope that he’ll find what he’s looking for.

On the plus side, Poulsen does capture rare footage by persisting in his perilous visit to a cassiterite mine in Bisie, and also obtains pertinent soundbites from apt people including reps from Nokia and concerned NGOs, a mineral expert and a US Congressman submitting a bill improving regulations on the mineral trade. However, his audacity is more worrisome than admirable, and his callow conversations expose a conspicuous lack of depth and context in the film that is both disappointing and frustrating to watch.

What Poulsen never really manages to communicate is that improving the circumstances of the Congolese exploited by mines is a treacherously complicated process. The armed groups controlling the mines now are actually part of the Congolese army, requiring a political and possibly military approach on an international scale. Poulsen neglects to explore this issue in the film at all, and instead focuses on corporate responsibility and capitalist greed. But the electronics industry is working on implementing protocol to track all elements of their supply chain, and enforcing those audits is no small task. While these actions may be slow-going and late-in-the-day, corporations cannot stop the Congolese Army by themselves. Poulsen simply does not appear to accept this in his documentary, and is instead hell-bent on blaming Nokia – just one of many in the massive electronics sector, and actually known for trying to lead the industry in social responsibility – for the atrocities in the Congo.

Poulsen’s film clearly intends to demonize Nokia as a heartless multinational, rather than educate the public about conflict minerals. The film’s official website tries to mitigate this, as it has plenty more cold, hard facts about the issue than are actually included in the finished film. Even so, all this is a bit outdated in light of the impact of the recent Dodd-Frank law which aims to make the conflict mineral trade less profitable, though has not yet reduced the region’s violence. Consequently, Blood In The Mobile is more effective as a portrait of an intrepid – if egocentric and brazen – filmmaker’s struggles than an investigative documentary about a tragic situation. A missed opportunity.

Blood In The Mobile is available now on DVD and iTunes via Dogwoof.

The First Movie

Mark Cousins, the man behind the exceptional recent The Story of Film series, channels his passion for film into this charming, unusual documentary that boldly gives voice to the perspectives of Kurdish children in Goptapa, Iraq.

In 1988, Saddam Hussein’s Ba’athist regime gassed this ethnic minority village during the genocidal campaign known as the Anfal, killing 14% of its population. Because Cousins grew up in Northern Ireland during the Troubles, he strongly relates to how a child experiences the traumas of war. When he was young, he says he was ‘tenderised’ by the surrounding strife, but was able to take refuge in his homeland’s beauty and in the imagined worlds of films. The children of Goptapa are also haunted by conflict yet surrounded by a beautiful land – but they have no access to films or the escape they provide. Cousins believes that his personal experience shows how the daily threats of war could be kept at bay by nourishing his imagination; this spurs his quest is to see if film can work the same magic for Goptapa’s children as it did for him.

Cousins’ experiment of granting these children access to film as both consumers and producers envelops the audience in a dreamworld. He introduces Goptapa to imagination-sparking films, then distributes Flip cameras to the children and screens their footage as a parting gift. A carnival-like atmosphere pervades the screenings, reminding us how movies can be mystical and bewitching. The kids’ films are unreal, rare insights into their values and experiences. Their footage is appreciably more raw, more honest than what we’d see from Western journalists. The older kids capture heart-breaking interviews of the adults of Goptapa, in which the interviewees speak quickly about their personal tragedies, as if it would hurt less that way. The younger kids focus more on fun, filming their friends and spinning stories, reminding us that they’re not so different from other kids.

However, even in the young ones’ films, we see a quiet despair. In young Mohammed’s film, a boy plays with mud because he has nothing else to play with; he ‘gives his wishes to the mud’. When asked who he loves, Mohammed says ‘those who protect this village’ – not his family or friends. Through the medium of film, we empathise with this wounded community, crippled by fear of persecution. By the end, Cousins modifies his assertion that film can make war feel less real – these children see film not as an escape but as a tool to help them fight toward better lives.

Cousins’ unique vision is a refreshingly thoughtful take on life in a war-scarred village; he skillfully juxtaposes Goptapa’s beautiful panoramas with its tragic history, deliberately steering well clear of the look and tone of an NGO advert. His esoteric visual style combines pastoral views with whimsical shots of wind, balloons and bubbles so that even in an ancient land fraught with conflict, we think of what it’s like to be a child and innocently imagine a world where anything’s possible. As such, The First Movie is a striking, original documentary, best watched when you crave an escape.

The First Movie is available on DVD now, released by Dogwoof.

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution 3.0 Unported License

Characters I Love #11 – Kate Winslet as Clementine – Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind (Michel Gondry, 2004)

Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind is a rare gem of the romance genre. On paper, its plot sounds maddeningly complex – Joel (Jim Carrey) and Clementine (Kate Winslet) appear to be embarking upon a new relationship, only to find out that they are ex-lovers who both recently underwent procedures to have each other erased from their memories. If, like me, you watched this film after emerging from a long-term relationship, it feels refreshingly realistic. Haven’t we all wished we could erase painful memories from a failed relationship, but have to accept that the bad came with loads of good? It’s a basic idea, delivered in an innovative way.

As if the mind-erasing alone wasn’t challenging enough, the bulk of the film actually takes place in Joel’s mind, where we see his memories of Clem being erased in reverse chronological order. Before long, Joel’s consciousness recalls their happy memories together, decides he wants to stop the erasing process, and tries to hide Clem in the recesses of his brain. Oh, and their original relationship’s rewound story is framed by post-erasure Joel and Clem trying to figure out if they should give it a(nother) go. Talk about high-concept. Although it sounds heavy-going, the action flows quite sensibly and doesn’t distract from the development of the characters’ nuanced psychological portraits. Charlie Kaufman’s pithy screenplay combined with Michel Gondry’s sensitive vision creates an accessibly profound portrayal of a tumultuous relationship and its aftermath.

Eternal Sunshine relies on its female romantic lead to provide its spark, and Kate Winslet’s Clementine does not disappoint. She’s a scene-stealer, playing against type as a Jim-Carrey-esque character opposite the man himself. Clem is an inspiringly quirky and energetic girl, not unlike familiar characters such as Zooey Deschanel’s Summer (500 Days of Summer) or Natalie Portman’s Sam (Garden State) - but she manages to transcend the stock character type.

While Clem’s alluring and sexy, she’s also aggressive in a candid way; when Joel cuts a conversation short, she punches him hard in the arm in a mock-friendly gesture, out of frustration. Credit goes to Winslet for that – the punch wasn’t in the script. Clem is confident yet aware of her limitations; yes, she dyes her hair wacky colours, but she self-deprecatingly comments: “I apply my personality in a paste.” Her painful self-awareness adds a compelling darker side to her quirky appeal – we see her spike her midday diner cup of coffee with alcohol from a flask, openly self-medicating. Winslet doesn’t allow Clem’s antics to become cartoonish – her restless, demanding energy clearly masks her vulnerability and deep-seated insecurity.

To the film’s credit, Clementine’s candidly self-aware presentation is partly possible because half the time, she is a construction, a manifestation of Joel’s consciousness while they try to outrun the memory-erasers. This allows a reflexive level of commentary not usually credible in films. Clem can say things like, “you know me, I’m impulsive” and it doesn’t sound artificial. It’s a nifty structural device – in novels, characters can self-reflect through third-person narration or interior monologues, but in films, the usual option is breaking the fourth wall. Kaufman’s screenplay innovatively circumvents this.

In comparison to other onscreen female romantic leads, Kate Winslet’s Clementine stands apart by insisting on not being idealized. As James Brown sang, it’s a man’s world. So it’s not unexpected that so many films feature some guy’s fantasy of a woman – a sexy, mysteriously appealing object of affection put up on a pedestal – rather than anything approaching the real thing. Men – in the films as well as the audiences – end up falling in love with the idea of the girl instead of the girl herself; a mildly irritating situation for the girls in the audience, because it happens in real life all too often. But Clem’s pre-dating spiel is: “Too many guys think I’m a concept, or I complete them, or I’m gonna make them alive. But I’m just a fucked-up girl who’s looking for my own peace of mind; don’t assign me yours.” Finally, an upfront rejection of the Manic Pixie Dream Girl myth! No mystery, no pedestal – just an independent, vibrant, openly flawed woman doing her best. I just wish we saw more female characters like this on screen.

Page One: Inside The New York Times

It’s hardly news that it’s a scary time for print newspapers. Digital media threatens their existence in a myriad of ways, most importantly undermining their business model and circumventing their editorial authority. When an article is posted online, you don’t often pay for access. The old business model of print newspapers that relied on 80% ad revenue and 20% subscription fees has collapsed, and newspapers are closing all over the world. Furthermore, you’re likely to see breaking news trending on Twitter before any newspaper publishes it, online or otherwise; an eagle-eyed passerby with a smartphone can easily trump coverage by the major players. Suddenly it seems we can all be journalists, and newspapers are left fighting to stay relevant to their readers.

But if any newspaper were to survive, it would be The New York Times, wouldn’t it? In 2008, the Times created a Media Desk that is perceptively, yet ironically tasked with covering the downfall of traditional media and developments in new media. Andrew Rossi’s documentary Page One: Inside the New York Times investigates the fate of print media by crafting an intimate portrait of the Times Media Desk and its struggles to maintain traditional journalism values in this shifting media landscape.

The film’s anchor is David Carr, a veteran Media columnist and colourful elder statesman who passionately defends the Times and its values, regularly appearing on panels and at conferences. His presence is refreshing and effective – he certainly doesn’t look or act like a member of an elitist, stodgy institution. Carr’s candid commentary and gravelly, authoritative voice imbue the film with hope for print journalism’s future.

To represent the next generation, there is Brian Stelter, a rare example of a blogger-turned-print-journalist. The contrast is striking – Stelter works with a desktop AND a laptop in front of him, drafting articles and tweeting constantly while consulting sources through the phone glued to his ear. With a straight face, Carr says: “I still can’t get over the feeling that Brian Stelter was a robot assembled in the basement of the New York Times to come and destroy me.”

Page One’s fly-on-the-wall coverage mixed with a smart selection of interviews and archival footage paints a broad yet detailed portrait of the Times and the challenges it faces. We see Carr grilling Shane Smith, the CEO of Vice, who supports a different, gonzo-esque form of journalism altogether. We see Stelter talking to Wikileaks founder (and Gordon Ramsay impersonator) Julian Assange about how he believes that journalism’s values are more muddled than activism’s. The film exposes the expertise of the Times’ process of curating the news, from fact-checking to thoughtful collaborations and editorial meetings, and it becomes clear that the New York Times’ position as a prime mover is threatened by new kids on the block with chips on their shoulders.

The Media Desk editor Bruce Headlam and notable staff from other departments are consulted throughout the film, and we are even granted access to the thoughts of Times executive editor Bill Keller – proof that Rossi was really trusted.  The film’s sources go beyond the Times staff to include TV news footage of key media business moments intercut with commentary from a well-chosen range of academics and major players in print journalism. Though there is a ton of information presented, the content is tightly edited and aided by effectively subtle scoring and logical transitions. The result is an entertaining, information-packed 90 minutes that capture the integrity and tenacity of the Times at this grim time for the print industry.

DVD Extras: UK trailer, featurettes (including a segment on ‘American Newspapers in Transition’), deleted scenes and further interviews (including a discussion with legendary Watergate reporter Carl Bernstein).

Page One: Inside The New York Times is available now on DVD (and iTunes), and is released by Dogwoof.

Social animation: Steve Jobs’ legacy with Pixar

l-r: Ed Catmull (President, Pixar), Steve Jobs and John Lasseter (CCO, Pixar)

Media coverage abounds in memoriam of Steve Jobs, and I must say, I’m pleasantly surprised that 1) I’m not bored, and 2) I actually feel refreshingly inspired by his story. He may not have invented the iPod, the Mac or the iPhone himself, but it was his brand of leadership that inspired those around him to give us what we wanted but didn’t think was possible. 

Before reading all this coverage, I had no idea that Jobs owned Pixar for two decades (1986-2006).  But it makes perfect sense – just as Apple products distinguish themselves from PC products, Pixar films distinguish themselves from the other animated films on offer.  Think Toy Story (1995) vs. The Lion King (1994). Monsters Inc. (2001) vs. Shrek (2001). Finding Nemo (2003) vs. Shark Tale (2004). Before Disney bought Pixar, their animated films banked on headstrong fantasy characters singing pop songs in exotic locales. DreamWorks Animation added more star power and humour to this formula, making sure to wink at the kids. But Pixar wasn’t afraid to feature humbler characters that don’t sing, often in familiar locations. Pixar’s pioneering films are bold enough to leave the simplistic cartoonish stuff behind and opt for more realism mixed in with the fantasy, developing more complex plots, modern themes and deeper character relationships.  Because of this, Pixar films offer much greater social relevance than its contemporaries, expanding the scope of animation’s reach.

The social commentary in Pixar films sneaks up on us grown-ups, who are usually just watching these films to keep the kids occupied. WALL-E is the most obvious example of this.  You expect a film about an endearing robot, but you also get a glimpse of a possible future in which Earth is littered with so much garbage it’s uninhabitable, leaving people stuck on spaceships with nothing to do but eat and stare at screens all day while machines do all the work . Sounds familiar, doesn’t it? Finding Nemo is also clearly pro-sustainability – every time a human is featured, he’s attacking Nemo and his peeps.  Nemo gets captured by a scuba diver and imprisoned in a dentist’s fish tank, then almost gets snared again by a fishing net.  This realism is a far cry from Sebastian the crab conducting pond creatures in a serenade in The Little Mermaid fourteen years earlier.

You could even argue that Toy Story 3 has social resonance in today’s struggling economy.  Yes, it’s about Andy going off to university, and we don’t hear about his tuition fees.  But those toys have essentially been made redundant.  Their employer Andy no longer needs them, and they feel like they’ve lost their purpose in life.  On the rebound, they get new jobs at a day care, where they get bullied and abused by a treacherous, overstuffed boss.  In the end, they escape that awful company and seek a quiet place to enjoy retirement.  Even the young one they left behind (i.e. Barbie) has unionised the workers to improve conditions.  Okay, I know it sounds like a stretch.  But look at some of Toy Story 3‘s contemporaries: Shrek is a fairy tale and Kung Fu Panda is an expanded fable.  The non-Pixar films don’t approach reality, let alone social commentary. And yes, recent films like Persepolis and Waltz with Bashir utilise animation for social commentary too, but they’re definitely niche films with more limited box-office appeal.

The social resonance of Pixar films would hardly be possible if they hadn’t utilised beautiful filmic language to tell their stories.  WALL-E contains so little dialogue that it’s more like a modern silent film with brilliant sound design. And that four-minute montage of married life in the beginning of Up moves any person with a functioning heart to tears, without using a single word. While other animated films may be visually tricked-out, Pixar has a way of humanising computer animation in innovative ways.

On their website, Pixar credits Jobs for their successes: “The one thing he always said was to simply ‘make it great’. He is why Pixar turned out the way we did and his strength, integrity and love of life has made us all better people.”  Pixar’s people may be better because of Jobs, but so are those of us who got a fresh look at society by watching their films.