A very cool behind-the-scenes look at one very long Steadicam shot on the set of Scorsese’s Hugo. More info here. Though a lot of the technology has changed since its invention, the concept has stayed the same since it was first used in a major motion picture 32 years ago in Stanley Kubrick’s The Shining.
The cinematography in The Ides of March is incredibly beautiful. Subtle and flawlessly executed, it not only tells the (fantastic) story, but is tribute to the craft itself. Hats off to Phedon Papamichael.
What a fantastic TV spot. Well crafted and powerful without resorting to cliché or pity. Bravo Canada. Well done.
Come and Play With Us
Actual hallway at Timberline Lodge on Mt. hood, Ore. (Click for bigger. © William Anthony)
The infamous wide-angle hallways from the film The Shining were actually on a sound stage at Elstree Studios in England. Only the exterior establishing shots of Timberline Lodge were used in the film.
Gorgeous short. It’s creative exercises like this that make me embrace the consumer digital revolution, not lament it. Creativity knows NO bounds now. See here for behind-the-scenes.
Photos by J. Torrance?
“Overlook Hotel. The apartment July ‘21 ~ J. Torrance”
(Click for bigger. © William Anthony)
So, while staying at the ‘Overlook Hotel,’ I found an envelope in a cabinet in my room containing these photographs. Amazing how little the place has changed in 90 years. I don’t recognize the photographers name. They look like maintenance shots. Perhaps these were taken by the hotel’s caretaker?
“Overlook Hotel. South view July ‘21 ~ J. Torrance”
(Click for bigger. © William Anthony)
“Overlook Hotel. View from Maze July ‘21 ~ J. Torrance”
(Click for bigger. © William Anthony)
The Overlook Hotel
(© William Anthony)
I spent last night at “The Overlook Hotel.” Not for an assignment, though, because all work and no play would make me a very dull boy.
Let Me In
I saw this film by chance. Some friends rented it and invited us to watch it over beer and pizza. I knew very little about it. And I am glad I didn’t. I went in unknowing and unbiased.
I also knew nothing of the “original” Swedish adaptation called Let the Right One In. And I’m glad I didn’t. The first thing that struck me was the gorgeous cinematography by Greig Fraser.
Lush, rich lighting—mostly diffuse, sharp when called for. Yellow sodium light on snow banks; green fluorescent on old kitchen cabinets. As someone wiser than me once said, “The difference between good cinematography and great cinematography is knowing which lights to leave off.” There is no shortage of shadow here. And the shadow knows.
Set in the mid-80s in overlooked Los Alamos, New Mexico, it’s an allegory illustrating the aching of unattainable love, unavoidable pain and unimaginable horror. Humanity punctuated and laid bare by the inhuman drive of our favorite demon—the vampire.
I read Bram Stoker’s Dracula in the early 90s when I was on a classic horror kick and I must say, the steady stream of shit vampire movies had nearly made me give up on the genre—until now. This is a great film. Not perfect, but really, really great.
I won’t get into the tit-for-tat pissfest over which film is better. They’re just different. I see both films as very competent adaptations of a well-respected book. After viewing both, however, I connected with LMI on a more emotional level than LTROI. Maybe it’s the 12 year old boy in me, who myself once fell for a girl on the jungle gym. Adolescence is one of our most formative phases, and I think Director Matt Reeves captures this vulnerability perfectly. Gracefully. Graphically.
I also felt that casting on the American version was very, very good. The whole cast is stellar— but Richard Jenkins in particular. In cinema, there is no better killer than the reluctant killer. This movie, like many of my favorites, is about the duality of man. The huge chasm in us all between love and cruelty. Pain and pleasure. It’s about ordinary people driven to extremes by our instincts. But unlike other beasts, instinct often has to compete with our own, complex emotions. And the results can get very, very bloody.
Pamela had never seen Jane Campion’s The Piano. I hadn’t seen it since it was in theaters some eighteen years ago. (Eighteen? Really?)
We rented it.
I had forgotten what a delicate, fantastic story this is. I hadn’t forgotten how lush and beautiful the photography of this film is—still.
New Zealand, I will photograph you someday.
