If you’re looking for a film that brings something fresh to the table, feast your eyes on Julia Docournau’s feature debut, Raw. It’s a coming-of-age story depicting a young vegetarian as she enters the wacky world of college (veterinary school) and all of its crazy antics! And by “crazy antics” I mean cannibalism, of course.
The film gained some notoriety when it was revealed that multiple viewers fainted and vomited due to a particularly graphic scene at the Toronto International Film Festival. On top of that, it’s rumored that about thirty people left the theater at some other screenings. If that didn’t lure me into seeing Raw, I don’t know what else would! But to my delight, the film wasn’t your humdrum shock-fest; at its core, the movie was an amazingly well-crafted and well-told film about the frenzy surrounding adolescence, where the raving battle between the id and the ego runs high, and primal instincts are roused in a soup of muddled hysteria. Am I whetting your appetite yet?
The film maintains a nice balance of hypnotic, ethereal visuals and visceral, lurid shocks. Unlike a vast slew of dumb horror schlock out there (or low-budget “extreme” cinema), this film was especially clever and effective in presenting these images in service of a riveting story, compelling characters, and an empathetic lead, all among the exhilarating and demented twists and turns along the way. Even behind this literal portrayal was a persistent aura of symbolism, making the film much more thought-provoking and artsy than your typical cannibal movie.
Deeply atmospheric, original, disturbing, and surprisingly relatable, Raw is the type of “horror” film that the filmic landscape has craved for a long time. I’m glad that this is getting a somewhat wide release, so if cannibalism is your schtick then check it out in theaters while it still lasts!
“First it controls your mind. Then it destroys your body.”
(DISCLAIMER: Some spoilers and violent images ahead.)
With it being David Cronenberg’s birthday earlier this week, revisiting his bleak yet intriguing Videodrome is my token of admiration to the visionary auteur. First released in 1983, Videodrome entered the world at the apex of the home video revolution. Though in hindsight exceptionally relevant to its time, it is clear today that the film has transcended its literal 1983 world of Betamax tapes and clunky cathode-ray screens, establishing itself as a disturbingly accurate metaphor of the way in which instant telecommunication has dominated and transformed our lives in the modern world. While many other, more recent representations have beaten this idea to death to the point of cliché, often exploiting the trendy topic for sole entertainment value (nothing wrong with that if it’s genuinely entertaining, I suppose), Videodrome remains a prescient warning that raises important questions about the muddled landscape of our computerized, consolidated world. What was initially a dystopian and hyperbolically satirical prognostication in its own day has turned out to be a widespread reality as we rewatch the movie on our flatscreen TVs, tablets, computer screens, and/or cell phones in the infancy of the new millennium.
To summarize Videodrome’s complex and rather mystifying synopsis would be almost impossible; I’d hate to oversimplify the fascinating and subtle underpinnings of the film’s story that ultimately make it something to be experienced rather than just “seen.” I’ve sat through the film about three times by now, and each time I still discover new symbols or questions that I hadn’t noticed previously. I’ll still admit there are certain aspects of the film I have yet to uncover, and even truly comprehend–yet it’s this same, lingering sense of ambiguity that makes the film work on a deeply visceral level. Videodrome raises serious questions about the interplay between mass media, psychology, phylogeny, ethics, and technology, where multiple viewpoints can be derived based on one’s own interpretation of the film (within a reasonable framework, of course). The film is meant to be puzzling, portraying a dystopian vision of chaos, confusion, and corporate despotism in a world governed by technology.
“I think we live in overstimulated times; we crave stimulation for its own sake. We gorge ourselves on it, we always want more whether it’s tactile, emotional or sexual. And I think that’s bad.” -Nicki Brand (Debbie Harry)
That said, I’ll still treat you to the film’s premise if you’re not already familiar: we are first introduced Max Renn, the cool and callous president of Channel 83’s sleazy cable network CIVIC-TV, as he scrounges for increasingly lurid content that will keep the small TV station alive and edgy. He is then introduced to a pirated signal called Videodrome, a compilation of footage depicting torture, abuse, and murder. Drawn into its graphic nature, while assuming it’s all simulated, Max believes this is exactly the type of jolting programming that his station needs. However, from this moment on, the narrative takes a sudden and outlandish turn. As he becomes obsessed with this mysterious Videodrome signal and continues to expose himself to it, he begins to hallucinate intensely–a direct effect of the Videodrome signal–to the point where the line between real life and these altered states become not only blurred, but intertwined: videocassettes pulsate and throb with organic life, humans are turned into technological-biological hybrid weapons, and the figurative screen separating the video world from the real world shatters. At one point in the film, Max is warned that “whatever appears on the television screen emerges as raw experience for those who watch it. Therefore, television is reality, and reality is less than television.” As Videodrome continues to consume his life, this becomes his reality.
In addition to those individual transformations/mutations, Max is exposed to the underlying conspiracy behind Videodrome. Whereas its brutally tabloid snuff content is depraved enough, its true danger sprouts from its more “latent” motives. As our main character is warned about a third into the film, “it has something you don’t have, Max; it has a philosophy. And that’s what makes it dangerous.” This reflects a deeply overlooked yet essential concept in our mass media-infused world, one that was rapidly spreading on a scale never before throughout the early 1980s: while many people look to the media simply as entertainment without any sort of “philosophy” in mind, those in power controlling the airwaves are typically motivated by clear political/ideological motives, most of which its viewers mindlessly submit to without thinking twice about it. In the movie we see Max turn into a mindless android, constantly reprogrammed and used back and forth as a weapon for two ideologically opposed sides at war with each other. Sure–these two regimes represent the “good vs. evil” diametric, but regardless of their intent they both seek to brainwash and manipulate individuals toward serving a common goal and conforming to their specific needs.
This is literalized and completely hyperbolized in Videodrome as Max grows a vaginal-like slit on his stomach, into which tapes are inserted into like commands are into a computer. By the film’s end, Max has essentially been dehumanized into a killing machine, force-fed tasks which he obeys without question. We learn that originally this reality-altering technology was idealized by a philosopher named Brian Oblivion, as a means to help the human species evolve into its next stage dubbed as the “New Flesh”: a fusion of the biological with the technological, in which humans are merged with rapidly evolving technology that allows them to transcend their current physical limitations. According to Oblivion, “The television screen is the retina of the mind’s eye. Therefore, the television screen is part of the physical structure of the brain.” Videodrome literally depicts this concept as Max is deluded by his hallucinations and no longer sees the real world for what it is, which become increasingly bizarre as he continues to subject himself to Videodrome. Despite this transcension of body, however, it is at this stage where Max no longer exists as an autonomous individual; he is quite literally and physically programmed and “used” to meet the needs of those pulling the strings from behind.
“After all, there is nothing real outside our perception of reality, is there?” -Prof. Brian Oblivion (Jack Creley)
In today’s world, the way in which we merge with technology couldn’t be more apparent. In 1983, videocassettes allowed people to record and distribute their thoughts, dreams, and darkest impulses in an affordable and wildly accessible way. Today, however, we use our cell phones like an extra appendage, and the Internet gives us access to information and all kinds of content like never before. Videodrome was certainly aware of the upcoming Information Age, asserting that there comes a point where there is no longer any boundary between physical reality and the internet/video-world. The “New Flesh” will essentially be the next step in mankind’s evolution.
Videodrome also warns us of the danger of corporate tyranny. In an age where media has become so consolidated, where the sensational is heightened dramatically over the substantive, the film epitomizes the battle between true free speech and the potentially manipulative power of the media to distort the truth. Much like how the Internet has rendered the filtration of the news through media outlets increasingly obsolete, Videodrome pits the anarchic ideology of the New Flesh against the manipulative/propagandizing schemes of streamlined, unaccountable corporate conglomerates.
“Death to Videodrome, love live the New Flesh!”
On more filmic terms, Cronenberg definitely has a gift for tone. The way in which he utilizes sound, imagery, and symbolism in Videodrome is outstanding, and makes the intellectual message of the film have a much more visceral edge. Whereas other early “computer” movies like Tron (1982) revelled in the sleek, neon aesthetic of the early ‘80s technological revolution, Videodrome presents the flip side of it, where the fusion between flesh and technology leads to some gruesomely bizarre and violent scenes. This is all the more emphasized by the ominous soundtrack, which coalesces perfectly with the dreary, desaturated, and graphic nature of the visuals.
So make sure to check out Videodrome if it’s your type of thing. The movie definitely presents itself as an exaggerated, fiercely satirical and over-the-top science fiction bizarro that just gets weirder and weirder, but revisiting it today it’s clear that its ideas ring much truer than they did back in 1983. So treat yourself to this remarkably imaginative yet grounded masterpiece from the Cronenberg oeuvre, but just be warned, it hits a little closer to home than you might expect.
The start of this year has brought a deluge of surprisingly well-made movies, both in the obscure and the mainstream. Anna Biller’s The Love Witch was an homage to the colorful, fashionable glamor of classic cinema, while encompassing more contemporary views on femininity and sexuality. The LEGO Batman Movie was a jokey wink to the superhero genre, exploding with energy, inspired references, and clever satire. Jordan Peele’s film directorial debut, Get Out, was a darkly comedic yet disturbing horror mystery film, layered with metaphor and social commentary on racial discrimination. John Wick 2 was a frenetic thrill ride of eye-popping visuals and nonstop adrenaline action violence. Logan, on the other hand, was essentially a modern remake of Terminator 2 (1991), though with more grit; its gruff intensity, however, was warranted by the interplay of intricate characters, heartfelt emotions at play, inherent morals of family and sacrifice, and a universal but well-executed plot. I appreciate each of these films on their own merits, but none do I feel as inclined to write about than that of Kong: Skull Island. Out of all these films, I have to say that I had the most fun with Kong. To be honest, it’s hard to feel that way in a movie these days. The Marvel factory/emporium has done an impressive job mass-producing their line of entertaining and overall well-made superhero sagas, but outside the risky, boundary-pushing Deadpool, Guardians of the Galaxy, and Logan, they seem to otherwise play it relatively safe–and it’s starting to get a little bit stale. Most of the good “films” of recent conversely tend to rely on their dramatic stories and “deep” characters, automatically giving them the edge when it comes to making a compelling picture. It seems like most of the recent attempts at creating a successful and, at the very least, competent fantasy-adventure movie have fallen flat–constituted by a lack of originality (in both plot and visuals), bland acting/writing, and a formulaic reliance on tropes and clichés that we’ve all seen before.
But Kong is a little more clever than that. While we’ve seen the same story reincarnated at least three times by now, it’s the embroidered details of this film that really pack the punch (and, by the way, there are lots of them in this film). Kong is the perfect popcorn movie; it reminds us why we love the movies so much, and why the art of film doesn’t always have to be restrained to humble little films with melodramatic plot lines interwoven with a “socially redeeming” message. No, Kong is the perfect symbol for the grandness, the wonder, and the unparalleled spectacle of the movies, fueled by impressive special effects, imaginative storytelling, dramatic visuals, and a steady dose of humor that ultimately makes everything else work together.
Still pulled from the original ‘King Kong’ (1933), featuring groundbreaking (literally) visual effects work by pioneering stop-motion animator Willis O’Brien.
Almost each previous King Kong film has been groundbreaking in its own right. The original 1933 version remains one of the most influential examples of movie special effects, inspiring later directors such as Peter Jackson, Tim Burton, and Ray Harryhausen. The 1976 remake was forgettable, however; I think the fact that I haven’t seen it proves it (just kidding; I haven’t yet seen Citizen Kane, either). Then, Peter Jackson’s 2005 revival brought computer effects and motion capture to a whole new level of epic proportions (quite literally; the original 1933 Kong only stood 24 inches tall). By this point, though, in 2017, special effects can’t carry the whole weight of a film. So what makes this Kong so special?
Again, it’s not really the plot. To recap, it’s the same old story retold from within a 1973 setting. Some characters, among them a group of Vietnam-army soldiers, go to Skull Island for some reason that the movie demands, and like always, they encounter some wacky creatures along the way: giant-sized reptiles, humongous spiders, a monstrous octopus, and, of course . . . “is that a monkey?” In fact, the movie parallels some of the key scenes of Apocalypse Now (1979) to the point where I think it’s safe to call the movie both a parody of Coppola’s film and the monster-adventure genre in general. Clearly mimicking Kurtz’s dramatic revelation in Apocalypse, our cast of main characters in Kong stumbles across the abandoned and crazed. . . wait for it . . . Dr. Steve Brule, “for your health”!!! This is when the movie, surprisingly, really starts to work, becoming something entirely special and unique. The highly idiosyncratic humor that John C. Reilly purports throughout the film is no different than it is in Tim and Eric; he has the uncanny ability to say any line in the script, and BAM!–immediately it’s so absurd and unconventional in its delivery that it’s hilarious. Normally you wouldn’t find this in your typical Kong remake, but I’m glad the filmmakers had the courage to take the risk. The humor worked; it fused the story with life and an extra layer of self-awareness, subverting the norm of a conventional Hollywood remake and instead creating something that’s surprisingly original and effective. Even if Dr. Steve Brule’s wacky humor feels out of place in a Hollywood Kong movie–well, that’s exactly the purpose, ya dingus. And even though it does feel a bit too superficial at times, the movie still miraculously delivers on the entertainment-meter.
The movie was also impressive on a visual scale. The special effects were magnificent, and for the most part, amazingly realistic. King Kong especially moved with such enormous weight, and it was fully apparent that the surrounding environment of Skull Island was handled with such outstanding detail and care in making it a fantastical yet convincing location. While there was a satisfying assortment of all kinds of outlandish monsters and pestilent creepy-crawlies, they were given just the right amount of screen time necessary to keep the movie going. They didn’t lag on to the point of Peter Jackson’s tiresome use of digital puppetry in the 2005 version, which seemed to muddle the story in a state of perpetual videogame-esque repetitiveness. No, these creatures were used in a way that ultimately kept the thrills coming and moved the plot forward, leading to some well-executed action scenes reminiscent of classic monster movies of the ’50s (and the original Kong, if I didn’t hit you hard enough with that yet), enhanced with extravagantly-handled modern visual effects.
This brings me onto my next point: this movie was enjoyably violent! Both humans and monsters alike were ripped apart, straddled with bullets, smashed around, impaled (Cannibal Holocaust reference,anyone?), eviscerated, disemboweled, and thrown about in some pretty horrifying and gruesome ways. Of course, the movie stays well within its PG-13 limits, but the violence is executed in such a thrilling and over-the-top fashion that you just have to laugh at it, yet be horrified by it at the same time. It’s the pure definition of what “movie violence” is all about, and it brazenly assumes its well-deserved role at the forefront of the movie’s swashbuckling, fast-paced, and adventurous tone. The creativity, fantasy, and spectacle in which the action is handled is something I haven’t really seen much since the days of Lord of the Rings, Peter Jackson’s Kong, and Indiana Jones. It’s perfect within the boundaries of an entertaining action-adventure popcorn movie, and even handled in a lovingly schlocky sort of way.
So in a movie industry dominated by a tidal wave of the same deja-vu inducing Marvel movies, an envious yet incompetent DC superhero line trying to reach the same status, an influx of Michael Bay-inspired CG-explosion movies, a plethora of jump-scare-reliant horror movies, and the remainder consisting of overtly-serious Oscar-bait dramas, Kong: Skull Island is a refreshing theatergoing experience. In my opinion, Hollywood’s modern onslaught of adventure/fantasy films have been mostly disappointing, relying on banal computer effects, caricatured performances, unoriginal storylines, and the Disney logo. While Kong contains all of these (minus the corporate grasp of Disney), it goes the “extra mile” and, in a facetious, cheeky sort of way, turns those familiar tropes inside out. John C. Reilly’s eccentric layer of humor, the lavish visual effects, the creative and timely use of violence, and the surprisingly emotional core of the story will surely be enough to entertain you at the very least. If you have a soul, that is.
The revolutionary T-1000 from ‘Terminator 2’ (1991), one of the first CG characters in film.
Since the dawn of cinema, visual effects have arguably been the most captivating and inspiring aspects of the motion picture. It could be argued that the mechanical means by which images are recorded is a visual effect in of itself; this technological feat alone would have audiences flocking to the theater in droves by the end of the 19th century. But of course, over the past century, visual effects have grown increasingly sophisticated in representing both natural phenomena and outlandish locations conjured by the imagination. The development of visual effects over the years comes from its innate balancing of technological progress with artistic innovation; it was this marriage, combined with my nostalgic curiosity of the past, that had me spellbound when seeing the T-1000 come to life upon my first viewing of Terminator 2: Judgement Day (1991). Granted, I was not among the lucky crowd to have seen it when it was out in theaters – no, I watched it first in 2010 by Netflix DVD on a whopping 32″ CRT display – but I knew I was experiencing a landmark in cinema, one that introduced 1991 audiences to digital imagery and elaborate special effects never seen to such an extent before. It was this historical turning point that set me off into an obsession over movie magic, during which I poured myself into the evolution of visual effects and how they were achieved. So let’s do a little recap of the history and impact of this mesmerizing facet of the moviemaking process, shall we?
An early, c. 1890s add for the Lumiére Brothers’ pioneering Cinématographe presentation.
By the late 1880s, all of the elements for filmmaking had been developed to make modern cinema possible. One of the most significant breakthroughs came when Kodak founder George Eastman developed the first sensitized strips of film, which allowed for quicker exposure times essential to the rapid-fire configuration of the motion picture format. Building upon these developments, Thomas Edison devised the Kinetograph, a savvy contraption which allowed for rapid consecutive images to be recorded onto strips of film. Finally, film pioneers Auguste and Louis Lumiére created the Cinématographe, which streamlined everything neatly into place: a camera, film printer, and projector all-in-one. The first public motion picture presentation occurred on December 28, 1895, with the showing of their infamous Train Arriving at a Station. Other completely innovative and creative storylines included Feeding a Baby, A Lesson in Vaulting, and Firemen Fighting a Fire, all of which amazed audiences worldwide who had literally never seen a movie before, let alone a YouTube cat video. Anything that featured the illusion of movement was enough to exceed audience’s demands in the earliest days of cinema.
1902’s best assessment of what landing on the moon would look like.
Until the late 1890s and early 1900s, perhaps the biggest “special effect” was the sight of a moving image itself. It wasn’t long, however, before directors sought ways to push the boundaries of what could be shown on film. George Méliés, a French magician, is perhaps noted as being one of the best innovators in the history of filmmaking. Impressed and motivated by the new medium, the “father of special effects” discovered some of the earliest special effects, such as stop-action, which is simply leaving the camera in place while recording different exposures at different times. This effect made it possible for characters to appear in one place, and then suddenly appear in a different place. Before long, Méliés was using numerous special effects techniques, including stop-action, double exposure, slow motion, perspective tricks, split-screen effects, and dissolves in his films. Some of his groundbreaking films include Cinderella (1899), Indian Rubber Head (1902), and most impressively, his four hundredth film, A Trip to the Moon (1902). In a period where films lasted no longer than two minutes, this 21-minute long epic used every available visual effect known at the time, making use of painted backdrops, miniature models, makeup, and numerous optical effects such as split-screen and double exposure to tell the story of a group of Victorian explorers who travel to the moon. Another momentous film released around the same time was The Great Train Robbery (1903), directed by Edwin S. Porter. The film is noted as being the first film to feature cuts between different camera angles in a way that didn’t signify a simple change in location, but a way that dramatized a story in a linear fashion. Whereas Méliés is noted for using special effects solely to amaze audiences, Porter used them subtly to tell the story. (Essentially, modern editing.)
Image pulled from Fritz Lang’s ‘Metropolis’ (1927), featuring some early rotoscoping effects work to produce the future-esque glowing energy rings.
Over the next three decades, filmmaking started to consolidate into a major industry, leading to the rise of the major studios, such as Paramount Pictures and Universal Studios in 1912. As studios sought to maximize their profits, the need to produce increasingly glamorous and spectacular pictures became all the more important. Consequently, major advancements in special effects occurred with the development of complex photochemical optical effects. Inventions such as the optical printer made it possible to generate composites of multiple images and create intricate transitions such as the everyday wipe or fade. The optical printer would continue to be adjusted and perfected for another forty years. Films like The Thief of Baghdad (1924) and Metropolis (1926) made use of the most sophisticated effects (models and matte paintings, combined via optical printer) to resurrect both imaginary and historical locations to the big screen. Rear projection also came into prominence at this time. Characters and props would stand in front of a screen, where a separately filmed backdrop would be projected onto it from behind. This created the illusion that the cast was actually placed into the environment of the projected footage, and it proved so convincing that it would remain in use for at least another fifty years. Developments in animation increasingly grew in sophistication during this time, as seen with the release of The Lost World (1925) and King Kong (1933), both animated by Willis O’ Brien using stop motion. These features included several moments of startling stop-motion animated sequences to bring dinosaurs back to life, not to mention a monstrous giant-sized ape in the latter. Also, Snow White and the Seven Dwarves (1937) revolutionized animation, being the first full-length 2D animated film. In addition to this, color film made several early appearances, most notably by the end of the decade, with films such as The Wizard of Oz and Gone with the Wind (both 1939). Such developments whisked the moviegoing public away from their dreary Depression-era lives and into the lively spirit and imagination of Tinseltown.
An early blue-screen process was used to composite a giant genie with an average-sized Sabu in ‘The Thief of Bagdad’ (1940). Also, a notable pioneer in the adoption of color film.
Several important events also occurred during the 1940s regarding special effects, despite America’s primary focus on World War II (probably a bigger concern, too). Citizen Kane (1941) made use of ingenious “invisible” effects, meaning the special effects used were so convincing and subtle that there didn’t appear to be any effects work at all. For the next several decades, color presented many challenges to special effects technicians. Compositing techniques required huge modifications to accommodate color, and it resulted in the first bluescreen separation process pioneered in the film The Thief of Baghdad (1940). In perhaps its most iconic scene, an actor filmed against bluescreen was placed into the hand of a genie. An optical printer was used to extract the blue screen behind the actor, resulting in a transparent matte, which could then be placed on top of another strip of film. This made it appear as if the actor was walking in the genie’s hand.
Starting in the 1950s and lasting until the mid-70s, the rise of the television presented a challenge to the movie-making business. A startled Hollywood realized that major enhancements in the moviegoing experience were required in order to lure people back into the theater. This led to the creation of the widescreen format, improved color systems, better image quality, and, of course, grander special effects. Destination Moon (1950), War of the Worlds (1953), 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea (1954), Forbidden Planet (1956), and Ben Hur (1959) were among the most visually impressive epics of the decade, using every special effects trick in the book. Despite these advancements, Hollywood still continued in trepidation throughout the 1960s, still trying to win audiences back from television. So films started to become more violent and action-packed with the loosening of obscenity laws and the increasing leniency of the MPAA, notable in films such as Psycho (1960) and Dr. No (1962), both of which consisted of major physical special effects on set in addition to heavy post-production work. The most effects-packed film of the decade, however, was featured in the groundbreaking spectacle 2001: A Space Odyssey (1968). Clever uses of some of the most advanced special effects were prominent throughout the film to make spaceships fly and conjure the outlandish environments of outer space. In the end, though, the advancements made during this period would only be a mere glimpse of what was to come ahead…
The hypnotic stargate sequence of Kubrick’s ‘2001: A Space Odyssey’ (1968).
The success of 2001: A Space Odyssey (1968) inspired a new wave of filmmaking and cinematography during the 1970s. Directors sought to make their films bigger and better, and as a result the disaster genre cultivated during the early ‘70s with the release of The Towering Inferno (1974), The Poseidon Adventure (1962), and Earthquake (1974), each of which necessitated numerous special effects. Young filmmakers like Steven Spielberg and George Lucas, who had a passion for classic cinema, also rose to fame. Jaws (Spielberg, 1975) was a huge hit at the box office, the first film to gross over $100 million. However, it was George Lucas that was undoubtedly the biggest innovator in terms of special effects.
Star Wars was like no other film released before—even the film’s iconic opening title sequence was groundbreaking. Lucas knew at the start of the film’s production that existing special effects techniques would not be sufficient enough to replicate the grand space battles and locations he had in mind, so he and his group sought to create techniques of their own. One of their biggest achievements was the creation of a new, computer-controlled camera system, known as motion control. Motion control allowed for free-form camera movement that would forever stigmatize the locked-off camera that had beforehand been the norm in model photography; it also allowed for multi-axis camera moves to be repeated over and over again, allowing separately filmed elements to be layered into a final composite consisting of, at times, hundreds of different components. Star Wars used numerous, intricately designed models, matte paintings, and elaborate full-size sets to represent spaceships and otherworldly environments. It even pioneered the use of CGI in film, used for the crude, wireframe model of the Death Star during the Rebel briefing scene. With its state-of-the-art visual effects, adventurous plot, and compelling characters, Star Wars was a phenomenal box office success, making George Lucas the wealthiest filmmaker of all time. Its influence undoubtedly lasts strongly to this day, and inspired old effects artists and filmmakers to enter back into the filmmaking business with the new technology at their disposal. Due to the amazing advancements of effects prominent in Star Wars, Lucas and his team formed Industrial Light & Magic (ILM), the first operating special effects house. It still runs today as one of the most advanced and innovative special effects house, creating among the most iconic visual effects in the history of the movies.
Not so long ago in a galaxy not so far away, ‘Star Wars’ (1977) graced screens with extravagant special effects on a scale never seen before – even if the Star Destroyer in all its magnificent grandeur was, in actuality, smaller than your average pickup truck.
Star Wars ushered in a new wave of fantasy and science-fiction blockbusters during the 1980s. Special effects-laden films like Blade Runner (1982), E.T. (1982), Ghostbusters (1984), and Back to the Future (1985) made the studios money again. Home video made its debut in the 1970s and gained monumental popularity by the early 1980s. The VCR made it possible to watch films at home, but this time, instead of bringing major detriment to Hollywood it only revived interest in film-going culture. Sequels also became more popular during the decade – the Star Wars saga continued with The Empire Strikes Back (1980) and Return of the Jedi (1983), which were each increasingly more sophisticated than their predecessors. Steven Spielberg also released his Indiana Jones trilogy (1981, 1984, 1989), also making use of a plethora of handy-dandy special effects. Although most films in the 1980s consisted of visual effects achieved by means of practical effects and photochemical techniques, an entirely new form of visual effects was being pioneered with the use of computers.
‘Tron’ (1982) combined state-of-the-art computer technology with traditional photochemical effects to create the electronic world in which it takes place.
Because motion picture images are of extremely high resolution, computers of the early 1980s were still not powerful enough to store and manipulate more than a few frames of film. Also, it was still relatively unknown how to convert analogue film images into digital files that computers could interpret. As the technology advanced, computer-generated imagery, although in its infancy during the 1980s, made several early noteworthy appearances in some films during the time. One of the first examples came in 1982 with the release of Tron, which overall contained a record sixteen minutes of CG graphics. Its disappointing performance at the box office briefly stunted the success of CG’s place in film, but a select few continued to see its potential. Among these were George Lucas, who in the late ’70s and 1980s steered ILM to focus on the possibilities of computer animation. In Young Sherlock Holmes (1985), CGI was utilized to create the first photorealistic character: a digital stained-glass knight that breaks free from a church window. In 1988, Willow was among the first films to use the revolutionary effect of digital morphing. Film images were scanned into a computer, digitally manipulated, and scanned back onto film using new digital scanning and recording technologies. Another groundbreaking film that required the use of pioneering digital effects was James Cameron’s The Abyss (1989), which used CG to create the watery, snake-like pseudopod creature in the film. These were huge steps in digital technology that would pave the way for future developments to come.
The CGI pseudopod from ‘The Abyss’ (1989) was one of the first photorealistic CGI characters, and the first simulation of digital water in a motion picture.
After ILM’s spectacular work on The Abyss (1989), James Cameron became excited about the potential of computer graphics. His next film, Terminator 2: Judgment Day (1991), required the use of CG for its main villain, the T-1000, which was essentially a shape-shifting android made of liquid metal. ILM took this opportunity to ultimately prove that digital technology could be used to create characters, props, and locations featured prominently in the movies. The work was more daunting than anyone expected it to be, but in the end ILM accomplished a landmark in visual effects production that still holds up remarkably well to this day (although it does have that slightly dated yet nostalgic retro-CGI charm). Over forty shots in the film were digitally enhanced in some way, and for the first time ever, all of its visual effects were composited within in the computer (rather than an optical printer). Audiences were amazed at these dazzling CG effects that highlighted the film, and soon after demanded more. Motivated by their innovative work on Terminator 2, ILM was not even close to phasing out; two years later Jurassic Park (1993) took digital effects to a whole new level of sophistication. For the first time, digital effects were used to create a photorealistic, living creature with skin, muscles, texture, and specific behaviors. Film input scanning and manipulation was also used heavily in order to convincingly combine the computer-generated elements into their real-world surroundings. Jurassic Park became the highest-grossing movie of the time and proved to many that the computer could be used to create anything that could be imagined.
The T-rex of ‘Jurassic Park’ (1993) served as a mighty metaphor for CG animation’s unearthed potential to revolutionize the film industry.
After the full potential of the computer was realized after the release of Jurassic Park, effects techniques that were used for almost a century became immediately outdated. Unfortunately, it signaled the end of well-respected era. Optical printers, miniature models, and film editing beds were quickly replaced with powerful computers in just a few months. Although many people were impressed by the new technology, skilled model-makers and traditional effects technicians despised the computer, knowing eventually their skills would become antiquated. This change came much quicker than expected; as a result, many of these effects artists either switched to computer graphics or ended up creating their own effects houses devoted entirely to traditional effects work. As digital technology continued to grow in leaps and bounds, many of these companies were forced to shut down.
Ever since the groundbreaking release of T2 and Jurassic Park proved to the industry that CG was the way of the future, we’ve seen a tremendous growth of digital effects in our films over the past two decades. Toy Story became the first full-length computer animated feature film in 1995, spawning the popularity and eventual dominance of the CG-animated movie. There were a total of four mainstream 3D computer animated films released in the 1990s (Toy Story, A Bug’s Life, Antz, and Toy Story 2); in 2016 alone, there were at least fifteen. Peter Jackson’s cherished Lord of the Rings films (2001-2003) integrated groundbreaking digital effects with some of the oldest effects tricks in the book: elaborate scale models, prosthetics, and in-camera perspective illusions. A decade later for his Hobbit trilogy (2012-2014), almost all of these traditional effects were replaced with computer effects.
It’s not uncommon for modern blockbusters to contain over 2,000 digital effects shots. Here in ‘Alice in Wonderland’ (2010), every single frame of the movie was enhanced with the computer. Sorry kids, it looks like Wonderland can only be visited with acid after all.
With the proliferation of such digital tinkering, special effects are, arguably, no longer “special” on their own. We’ve reached the point where it’s possible to recreate anything in a film, thanks to the list of pioneers and hard-working effects specialists who have produced some of the most memorable scenes in movie history. It’s no longer impressive to claim your film has 2,000+ visual effects shots–a once-reliable marketing ploy used by George Lucas with the release of Star Wars: The Phantom Menace in 1999 (“Titanic had 500 visual effects shots; MY film has over 2,000!”). Instead (and unlike The Phantom Menace), now more than ever, films must rely on a combination of compelling storytelling and relatable characters to be successful. Much like how the exploitation-movie craze of the 1970s died down as the “shock value” appeal became stale and overused, “bigger” special effects doesn’t always mean “better.” Granted, this was never the case, but it’s certain to say that special effects don’t have the thrilling effect they once did when they were “hip” and groundbreaking. So while I’m personally enamored with this incredible story of visual effects throughout the past 130 years or so, a lot of it is history; in trite filmic terms, each story must come to an end. But with so many techniques at our disposal, there really are no more limitations as long as you have a dose of creativity and enough energy to get things done (and a budget). As a young George Lucas said, “special effects are just a tool – a means of telling a story . . . a special effect without a story is a pretty boring thing.” Make sure you don’t forget that.
NOTE: This is a simple copy-and-paste from a report I did in my AP Language & Composition class last year. It’s a subject I’m deeply fascinated with and hope to touch on again in the near future. As for now, here are some letters excavated from the archives of yesteryear…
Rated R for Ridiculous: The Failure of the MPAA
The Motion Picture Association of America, or the MPAA, is the organization responsible for assigning movie ratings for films released in the United States. The organization stemmed from the previous Hays Code system, a moral censorship group where films were either approved or banned based on their content. Due to complaints of being too broad and restrictive, and facing the possibility of government regulation, the film industry devised a way to regulate itself, thus leading to the modern movie ratings system under the MPAA in 1968. Films were instead assigned a letter rating—originally G, M, R, or X—based on what the organization deemed as appropriate content for each specific rating. The new ratings made it simpler for parents to know what kind of content a movie would contain, and also allowed filmmakers more freedoms regarding the kinds of movies they could make. Over the years, the ratings themselves have generally stayed the same, except for a few revisions: M was changed to PG in the early ‘70s, the PG-13 rating was added in 1984, and the X rating was changed to NC-17 in 1990. Ever since its establishment, though, the MPAA has been criticized on numerous occasions as to how (in)accurate the ratings system really is. Many believe that the MPAA has become increasingly used as a marketing ploy instead, leading many to question their credibility as a trustworthy source. An overwhelming amount of movies rated under the MPAA expose some of their questionable decisions and standards, and ultimately show that the MPAA is an inaccurate and flawed organization.
The MPAA is flawed because the ratings they assign to certain films are horribly arbitrary. This can be partly attributed to the “ratings creep” that has been observed, which refers to how the rating guidelines have changed quite considerably over the years. A PG film rated today will not be the same as a PG film rated in the past. Originally, PG was a replacement for the original M rating, which stood for mature audiences—thus, PG-rated films at the time contained more adult content that would make parents think twice before sending their kids off to see it, whereas today the PG rating has been watered down into something that essentially means “family-friendly.” In the 1970s and early 1980s, it was not uncommon for these films to have violence, nudity, profanity, and adult themes as opposed to today’s PG-rated films where such things are virtually nonexistent. In fact, many PG films of the ‘70s, like Vanishing Point and A Man Called Horse, were even re-rated R under current MPAA standards. The same is the case for films with other ratings. In 1969, for example, The Wild Bunch was rated R due to its strong violence that was considered especially shocking for the time, but when it was re-rated in 1993 it was given the higher NC-17 rating. Based on this evidence, it may seem that the MPAA has gotten increasingly conservative over the years, yet ironically the opposite case is also apparent—several studies have shown that movies released today are beginning to contain more objectionable material than films given the same rating in previous years. For example, some PG-13 movies released today contain material that would have garnered an R rating twenty years ago, and some NC-17 material of the past has gradually been allowed to slip into R-rated films of today. While this seems to be the case with some films, an overall trend is impossible to identify given the MPAA’s seemingly random and sporadic inconsistencies.
Additionally, the MPAA is flawed based on the ridiculous standards they set for their guidelines. One of the most glaring issues is that they tend to be way too restrictive on sex and language while being incredibly lenient on violence. It would seem like these absurd puritanical standards would be absent from an organization originally created to allow directors more freedom in their films, yet the MPAA still continues to operate under these standards, leading to some ridiculous decisions on their behalf. For example, with very few exceptions, the MPAA allows only one use of the f-word in a PG-13 movie, so long as it’s not used in its literal sexual meaning. Any more uses of the word garner an automatic R, which is absurd given the fact that almost all 13-year-olds have heard such language before. Meanwhile, the MPAA seems to have no problem with brutal acts of violence in PG-13 films, where people’s heads can be chopped off and children are allowed to kill each other, as long as there is no excessive gore. For some reason the MPAA thinks that this is more acceptable than hearing an f-word more than once in a movie. This problem was brought to the forefront with the controversy surrounding The King’s Speech’s R rating, due to a brief instance when the main character says “f—k” several times in a row, lasting no more than a few seconds. Otherwise, the film contains nothing that would garner a rating as high as an R—keep in mind, the same rating given to ultraviolent films like Kill Bill and Hostel. The fact that an intense film like The Dark Knight (PG-13) has a lower rating than the relatively tame A King’s Speech is absurd, and shows that the MPAA fails to recognize the context of such material and only looks at a movie’s content in a checklist-like manner. This results in some ridiculous ramifications—coarse, vulgar language is permitted in a PG-13 film as long as there is no more than one f-word, but if a film has more f-words, even if used inoffensively, it’s an R. The same applies to sexuality and violence. According to the MPAA, crude sexual innuendos are fine as long as there is nothing they would call explicit, but frontal nudity, even if portrayed in a non-sexual way, usually gets an R rating. In the same way, bloodless violence—no matter how intense—will almost always be allowed in a PG-13 film, yet if some blood is added in it’s an R. These sorts of standards lead to ridiculous results and are a major reason for many of the MPAA’s inaccurate ratings.
Some may argue that the MPAA is actually accurate in rating movies because, no matter how absurd the guidelines might be, the organization still follows them for each rating. While the MPAA may appear to have certain guidelines based on what they’ve allowed in certain movies and their given ratings, the truth is that the MPAA actually has no specific set of guidelines that they’ve made public. The MPAA is a very secretive organization, operated by ratings board members whose names are not publicly revealed. This privacy frees them from taking accountability for their ratings decisions, and means that the filmmakers are less involved in the ratings process for their own films. The organization’s privacy also means that no specific information has been publicly released as to what constitutes a certain rating. The policy of only one f-word for PG-13 films was never actually officially stated by the MPAA, but was simply observed over time as being a continual “standard”. Furthermore, there have been several occasions where the MPAA has broken that “rule” for some films, as well as various other guidelines that the MPAA was always thought to have followed. Ultimately, the MPAA’s decisions are subjective, and so arguing for accuracy based on a set of guidelines that do not exist does not work.
The MPAA is a flawed organization in the way it rates films, and while a ratings system is advisable, it needs to be accurate. Many of their decisions have proved that the movie ratings they give out are inconsistent and inaccurate, based on standards that are outdated or don’t make any sense. The organization’s anonymity prevents the ratings board from being transparent, which would allow for more cooperation and a better understanding for how the MPAA operates. Most importantly, it would allow people to contribute their opinions on the matter, making the system more favorable. At the moment, though, the MPAA’s decisions only continue to prove how flawed the organization really is.
