Learn

            As part of the same three part project as Eat, Learn extended the touching essay on traveling away from home. What I found most impressive was how the trio of director found a common visual thread throughout – not just a common concept. Although “learning” was the focus, in order to organize and increase the effect of the film, the traveler’s focused on the hands of student and instructor. Hands crafting, playing instruments, or gesturing acted as an overarching symbol for learning new things – which can only be learned in a new environment, hence the return to the message of travel.

            The parade of hands varies from soft to wrinkled, young to aged, clean to dirty, light to dark – all a testament to the diversity and exposure that travel brings us all. Sometimes short bursts of symbolism can be far more powerful than lengthy expositions of fact.

Watch here: Learn

The Un-Gone

The first thing I thought of when seeing Simon Bovey’s The Un-Gone was an old BBC soap opera. The film quality, music and lighting reminded me of commercials I had seen of those old shows. At first glance, this seems odd, since flat lighting, slightly dulled colors and simplistic music seem alien in the flashy world of science fiction. Interestingly enough, this served to enhance the sci-fi storyline of Bovey’s short rather than detract from it. This is because it placed the emphasis on the dialogue and character’s struggles rather than the science fiction aspect itself. Since the short “feels” normal – normal being media that we were raised on – the sci-fi twist has less of an effect of making the emotions feel less real.

In addition, Bovey keeps us invested in the main character’s thought process by exclusively using the audio to give us a shared experience with him. Whispers that the camera should hear but he cannot are hidden from us, keeping us just as worried as he that something is wrong. Because of these techniques, Bovey crafts a frightening story of a trapped and helpless man, and fittingly we are kept captive along for the ride.

Watch here: The Un-Gone

           

He Dies at the End

            Oftentimes, in horror movies – or any type of movie for that matter – we as viewers can determine who dies and in what fashion. Rarely are we fully, truthfully surprised when a character dies. Subtle clues and buildup, changes in mood and music, foreshadowing – all of these combine to give us at least a vague sense of what’s in store for film characters.

            However, Damian McCarthy proves that knowing exactly what happens at the end of the film has no impact on the emotions you can foist on an audience during the film, provided that the editing, acting and cinematography are exquisite. Impressively enough, he does this with apparently no budget. The result is He Dies at the End.

            By using pools of darkness in the frame to mirror the vague nature of the questions our character is asked, and the vague location he is in, and the vague purpose for his actions, McCarthy preys on a universal fear: the unknown. Constantly keeping the camera tight on our sole character makes us feel as isolated and alone as he is. The effect is more agoraphobic than claustrophobic – we feel as if anything could be out there waiting for us. Importantly, waiting for us, not him. The rumbling, mysterious soundtrack keeps the tension at a boiling point. Because of all this, the body of the story outweighs the knowledge of its ending. And with a decidedly silly ending, McCarthy puts emphasis on that body of work, making an interesting point on how to create high-level suspense with minimal effects and money.

Watch here: He Dies at the End

Eat

            Eat uses one common theme to create a story that displays the beauty and importance of travel with friends. This common theme, of course, is food. As Rick Mereki, Tim White and Andrew Lees discovered on their journey, food can be representative of the spirit of travel: discovering new things, experiencing pleasure and discomfort and everything in between.

            The three friends make this statement in less than a minute by focusing almost exclusively on the food. Using an interesting technique in the beginning, they split the screen down the middle to showcase the exotic fare they sampled in immediate focus. What I found to be quite powerful was the way they slowly expanded this focus to include facial expressions and short shots to capture the place and time. It was only possible to maintain the central theme and expand the view by beginning with the split shot – and by gradually moving outwards, they were able to keep the common thread and create a delightful essay on travel in only one minute of running time.

Watch here: Eat

Idiot with a Tripod

Idiot with a Tripod demonstrated to me how effective cutting can tell a story without the aid of an actual planned story. The first half of the film reminded me heavily of our own “Portrait of a Place” assignment, and showcased how cutting shots in time with the beat of music keeps the pace brisk despite the shots themselves being static. By following the score, director Jamie Stuart gave an unbelievable sense of being in the film.

As the short continued to tell the interweaving story of three beings – moped, car, and dog – trying to free themselves and move, the same formula of rapid cuts keeps the tempo up and overloads the sense of tension. This elevates the plot from being about the seemingly trivial matter of a snowstorm into a simple tale that is pure beauty. We are left with an essay that is at once humorous, poignant, and above all real.

Watch here: Idiot with a Tripod