Gravity...Whoa

Well, I finally saw Alfonso Cuaron's Gravity, starring Sandra Bullock. I had heard mixed reviews about the film in the past, although all of the people I know who have seen it rave about the sound (or lack thereof) in space. I was not surprised then, when I learned we would be watching this film in a class focusing on film sound. I also was not surprised when the film blew me away about 20 minutes ago, although this has not lessened the impression the film had on me.

The sound mix for Gravity is innovative beyond just the realistically silent space scenes. The soundtrack for the film is in 7.1 surround sound, featuring a greater number of channels for sound. This can be considered an advancement on the standard 5.1 set up utilized by most major motion pictures. These additional channels are intended to create a "sphere" of sound around the viewer to better encapsulate them into the film.

This system is very effective in Gravity, although I personally did not feel enclosed in a "sphere." I did, however, notice an increased perspective on sound direction and location that did extend nearly 360 degrees around me. In scenes like the initial impact of the debris cloud the swinging of instruments was intensified by my understanding of their constant motion around Bullock's Dr. Stone. Shortly after, when we are given an extreme close up of Bullock while she spins, the sound perspective gives us an even clearer understanding of her constant spin, and thus her plight.

Sound perspective is not the only device that gives the viewer a heightened sense of a situation. Throughout the film silence is often broken by alarms that warn us of impending disaster. These signals often continue to go off throughout the ensuing action as a way to further extend the tension in an otherwise silent scene.

The juxtaposition of silence and sound is truly a multi-use tool in Gravity. During one scene which I found particularly striking, Dr. Stone is attempting to undock the Soyuz II spacecraft from the International Space Station while the station is burning up. Inside the Soyuz the viewer (or rather listener) hears a cacophony of sounds, including Dr. Stone's heavy, frantic breathing. The tight framing and distressing soundtrack give the viewer an impression of the peril she is in, and we become more and more emotionally involved. As the countdown expires we are suddenly transported outside of the escape pod. We watch in complete silence as the spacecraft is released from the space station and our heroine is assumed to be free. The absence of sounds of fear or celebration, or even of mechanical separation, communicate volumes on the indifference of space to our condition. This cut from sound to silence, repeated throughout the film, is continuously shocking and telling of more than dialogue ever could.

It is again repeated at the very end of the film, and serves as a reminder not only of the space that Dr. Stone has just escaped, but also of the spectacle of the sound design itself. As the protagonist is shot from a low angle, we see the sky and hear an angelic chorus rise as she looks up. As cliched as this may be, it is suddenly cut as the credits role, leaving the audience with silence again. This sound is soon punctuated by radio signals in the same fashion as the beginning of the film. In a way, this final shift of sound made sure that I would remember that aspect of the film more than any other. Gravity is a thrilling film both to see and to hear.

Documentary Films, man

Documentary filmmaking has, as I have recently learned, a very long and fascinating history dating back to the 1920's and 30's. While this seems like information that should be readily observable, I never picked it up before. So there I was in class this week realizing that despite my Netflix viewing history, when it comes to documentary, I'm a novice.

To be fair, novice may be too strong of a term. After all, I have seen Dziga Vertov's Man with a Movie Camera about 6 times since I started school at CU. However, it is still easy to miss the film's documentary value until considering the film as a documentary, as Kino Pravda (Cinema of Truth) as the Russians of the time would put it. The film contains an almost encyclopedic collection of images tied to the place and time of it's production. It is masterful in its own way, and yet, this blog isn't about that film.

This blog is about Perfect Film, by Ken Jacobs. This film represents another that I did not think of as documentary when I saw it. However, in hindsight, it is fairly obvious that in some way this film continues in the tradition of "Kino Pravda" or "Cinema Verite." How this is can probably be best explained by Jacobs himself. "For the straight scoop we need the whole scoop, or no less than the clues entire and without rearrangement." (http://zine.artcat.com/2008/10/ken-jacobs-perfect-film.php)

The scoop presented in Perfect Film is that of the assassination of Malcolm X. Jacobs accidentally discovered discarded footage of interviews conducted on the day of the shooting and decided to present them in their entirety. In between sets of interviews, Jacobs shows the "B reel" with images of the neighborhood surrounding the event in question.

This style of exposing an event without gratuitous editing ignores the prevailing pressures of "entertainment" and industry. Jacobs gives us a true picture or a "straight scoop," therefore allowing us, the viewers, to interpret the meaning of these events in our own way. You know, when it's written out that way, it's hard to imagine ever seeing this film as anything other than documentary. I'm embarrassed, but I digress.

Perfect Film is perhaps a perfect film. It reminds me of Jean Rouch's Chronicle of a Summer with its street interviews. In this film, the audio and the image are shown to us from one angle with which we may learn what we can from the interviewed. However, there can only be one perfect film, and Jacobs takes precedence over Rouch in this case. Perfect Film is raw, uncut, and poignant even today.

Symphonic Synchronization in Nevsky (with a little Pierrot le Fou)

The study of sound and vision is one that can bring out many different aspects of films. I have been amazed so far at how many sounds and conventions I have overlooked in watching films and also at what I already know and notice. In a film like Pierrot Le Fou, which I have seen twice before, the sound is even more complex and in-depth than I initially realized. 
         The opening sequence of Godard's film contains shots of life in Paris, paired with a soundtrack of non-related voiceover narration and no noise, ambient or other. Shortly in, an ominous symphonic soundtrack that is just as quickly ripped away as we join our main character in the bath. In a way, this voiceover-source revealed is reminiscent of film noir openings, but it maintains stylistic differences both in the cinematography and the disjointed pairing of other tracks. The soundtracking that Godard uses throughout the film draws me to wonder at his motives in choosing which parts to keep silent, which parts to have narration, which parts to use music, and which parts to combine elements.
        Fortunately, some directors do let us into this part of their worlds. In one of this week's readings, Sergei Eisenstein discusses his work with sound and composers, specifically for his film Alexander Nevsky. For his film, Eisenstein sought to bind sound and image "organically through movement." This can be observed (as we learned in class) especially in the "battle on the ice sequence," which is when, according to Eisenstein, "the audio-visual aspect of Alexander Nevsky achieves its most complete fusion." In the battle, often times when knights lower their spears for attack, the music also travels down the scale. This is complemented by high notes when the spears are in the air and a quick descending flurry when arrows are fired. In his writings on the synchronization, Eisenstein goes as far as to include images of his charting of the shots, the motion implied, and the accompanying musical score in which the levels and motion are mimicked by the notes on the staff. 
     I find this to be a fascinating concept, and one that I think deserves more experimentation. We are perhaps, held back from this type of learning by the current profit-first Hollywood system of fast cutting.