Why is it Called Primer Again? [Primer, Carruth, 2004)

In the Guardian's words, Primer is a "giant achievement" because it tells you that a time machine has been invented and you as the audience do not laugh out aloud. Perhaps it's the low-budge-high-authenticity, or the accurately cautious protagonists, or the sheer complexity of plot - something in Primer makes us take it seriously and attempt to be the intelligent viewers it challenges us to be.

The initial minutes of the film is challenging. On first pass, it's easy to tune out to the technical jargon, complete with incomplete sentences, the inventors exchange around the dinner table (while their spouse cleans in the background). It doesn't get "better" when they crowd around a whiteboard/poster and search between magnetism and temperature (I'm no expert, but the two concepts I don't think are connected in conventional physics). Primer asks a lot of the audience if it expects us to attempt to follow the scenes; after-all, in the age of commercial cinema we've been taught that every line uttered has a purpose in plot development or relationship dramatization. Primer's dialogue, however, stays true to the search for content/direction so many of our deliberations are. That discrepancy may be jarring at first - "what was that supposed to mean????" - but that extra effort surprisingly makes us more engaged. In a sense, like this blog post, Primer's dialogue are essays being written that are hoping to find a thesis by the conclusion, and the reader, albeit frustrated, is curious how it would all come together (I have no clue).

When Abe and Aaron "discover" the time travel machine, they proceed with such cautious steps that the audience too becomes sold on the concept. It is convenient plot structuring that Abe has to go through the process of convincing Aaron. By the time Abe disclaims that (paraphrased) "what I'm going to show you is not a prank", the movie is almost speaking to audience: "look, I know timetravel is ridiculous, but this isn't one of those films". Because of how confused the characters are - "that's how cell phones work right?" - we are willing to lend stakes to their conflict. The discovery didn't come in a string of blatantly coincidental montage; it came out of nowhere, and suddenly figuring out how to react is something both the audience and characters are doing. And that cautious confusion extends to the entire plot. From Granger to March Madness, we are not spoon-fed the story because the characters themselves have no idea what the arc is like.

By the time we get to the rapid motions of the third act, little on the fly makes sense. Primer has lost our comprehension, but interestingly, not our attention. It is evoking in us an intellectual curiosity mainstream cinema has long thought unnecessary. It reminds us that, gosh, it's a lot of fun trying to figure something out. Films like Primer (and others, not just those logically compelling, but also philosophically, socially, formally, and emotionally churning) and those of Marvel and Hollywood slapstick are kind of locked in an ideological struggle about the capacity of the viewer. Like elite socialists and capitalists, the fight is about what the "people" truly wants. Mainstream Hollywood has cast its vote behind entertainment and parables, a duo acknowledgement between the people's sometimes unenlightened desires and the responsibility of cinema to lead and shine light. Primer asserts that critical thinking and moral deliberation is something the audience already possesses, so now let's them working. 

[Note to self: Yes pretty locations, but watch for location sound situation]

(I'm trying to get better at writing premises and such, so here's an attempt:)
[PRIMER: Two stock-broker-slash-part-time-inventor accidentally creates a time machine, and devise a way to use it to travel back in time and benefit their stock trade. However, one of the inventors grows increasingly concerned with the recklessness the other uses the machine, and when they discover a coworker had unknowingly accessed it, decides to travel back and stop the machine's invention. After a series of exchange during which the two inventors try "out-travel" one another, they break apart, with one staying to ensure the machine's never invented, and the other, leaving to exploit it elsewhere far away.]

Prime time struggles (Primer)

When Primer is broken down to its very core, the story is centered around a moral struggle. Aaron and Abe have become gods. They are capable of amassing an infinite wealth, contorting actions and discussions, and whatever else they enable themselves to do through time travel. It doesn't take long for the characters to realize that maybe everything they ever wanted is not so great after all. A moral dilemma is not uncommon in films. A moral dilemma of this caliber and relevance however, is very interesting. When the first atom bomb was built, the nuclear physicists behind it were excited to research the splitting of an atom but less excited about building a bomb. They did, however, build the bomb. All of them knew there was a potential that it would be used but none of them wanted it to come to that. Of course, when it did come to that, people such as Oppenheimer did not handle it too well. This realization came too late of course and the world was set for a nuclear arms race.

Something similar can be observed in Primer. The main characters, Aaron and Abe, seem carefree at first when they realize they have discovered time travel. They only see the positives and are quick to abuse the positives. It seems that only Abe is interested in precautions. The precautions don't matter and as most of the films close up shots show, the characters are constantly processing the actions of the future, past, and present simultaneously. Perhaps the early warning signs throughout the film could have stopped some of the negative aspects of time travel from arriving.

I'm not sure if the director, Shane Carruth is sending a message about technology itself. The film does seem to point in that direction however, and as we clearly see, often the technology moves past its creators and forces them into a mad chase over control. The message is fortified by the fact that the film is set in a timeless space. We don't know when the events take place on the timeline of the world. That doesn't seem to be the point. The point seems to be to watch out and take care to close all paths behind oneself when cornering a technological advance capable of literally bending time into one. Primer doesn't ignore this issue and clearly lays out the positives and negatives, the weight of which seems to be up to the viewer.

Primer and Antigravity: The Bittersweet Accident of Time Travel

Okay so here's the deal: there are a million fan-made diagrams on the internet concerning the timeline of Primer itself, and some of them look pretty much the same. I've definitely noticed the pattern to which most fans of Primer agree that Abe and Aaron have been traveling in some sort of continuous loop. It's like a giant loop of life.

Now how exactly does this work? The film drops a lot of dialogue that physics nerds and engineers would probably appreciate, as they talk about the the reduction of mass through means of electromagnets, to which Abe and Aaron use a "weeble-wobble" to test their experiment. However, as you already know, they create a time machine, or a box that is capable of time travel.
But how exactly does that mistake pop out of thin air? Well, let's look at how exactly this works; when the electromagnets reduce the mass of the object itself, it travels in this continuum where the the mass decreases, and then increases in some sort of pattern. When it turns off, the weeble-wobble returns to its mass that it started in, and then when the contraption turns on, it reduces the mass in some sort of pattern that goes back and forth depending on the mass before it. The way that this is executed is that the weeble-wobble can leave the apparatus in the present, but the mass will always stay the same, but that depends on whether or not the contraption is on.

How does this work mathematically? I took the time to google "antigravity" in physics, for which the purpose of it is to reduce the mass of an object through means of rotating magnetic fields. The speed of the rotation is factored into the current of the magnetic field, measured in amps. The resistor of each rotation cuff is set to a certain Ohm per meter so that it reaches a certain voltage in order to reduce the mass. The connection between voltage and mass is suggested through the Law of Conservation of Energy, where the amount of work is factored by the net force of the object along with the amount of distance. This "x" amount of work is divided by the elementary charge in order to get the voltage of the magnets and the magnetic field.

Pretending To Understand Primer

With it's not white balanced "authentic" look and occasionally out of focus shots, Primer definitely looks like a movie made for $4,000. At times it sounds like it was made for even less. The "searching for a cat by a fountain in a city miles from where either character lives" scene walks the line of ridiculous, non-sequitur detail previously tread by The Room's "You're my favorite customer," scene, and Birdemic's "solar panel installation because why?" scene.  I guess what sets the film apart for some is it's engaging dialogue about time travel which I found so confusing that I gave up trying to fallow it about fifteen minutes into the film. 

This is why, with it's grainy look and unapologetic geekiness, Primer is a true twee film. 

The film embraces it's nerdiness, never talking down to it's audience or trying to portray it's heros as hyper-masculine or tough. Despite their sophisticated dialogue, the main characters Abe and Aaron,  have a twee, childishness about them. Director Shane Carruth says in his commentary that he wanted to depict them as kids screwing around in a clubhouse rather than mature inventor's pondering the secrets of the universe. 

The film embraces it's rough edges as signs of authenticity.  Carruth also noted in his director's commentary that he chose the slightly un-balanced, yellowish color on purpose for it's rawness. If you want to see how DIY this thing really was, just get a look at it's wiki page. 


 While this wasn't my favorite film we've watched in class, I can appreciate the work and DIY spirit put forward by Director/ Producer/ Writer/ Actor/ Musician/ Editor Shane Carruth.

Twee bit of time in Glasgow (God Help the Girl)

Stuart Murdoch is a musician at heart. Even then, in interviews he exclaims how he never intended to be a musician in the first place. Well, it seems that he has also become a director whether he wanted to become one or not. Murdoch's first full length feature film, God Help the Girl is a celebration of all things twee. The movie was based off of an album by the same name and the songs from that album created the storyline of a "lazy summer in Glasgow'' as the film's kickstarter page states.

The whole films sports the aesthetic of a music video, most likely because it's twee elements remind me of music videos. Bright colors, illogical plot holes, and all the rest that comes with a contemporary music video meant to accompany a soundtrack with a joyous tone (also because a musical is literally a big music video). Of course, the whole idea behind twee is the fact that it is so sweet, its unpleasant. From the very beginning of the film, we are exposed to this idea. A wonderfully sweet song accompanied by somewhat depressing lyrics guides the viewer through an escape from enforced isolation at a hospital. Sweetness is the facade that hides the reality of the situation of the three misfits that are the protagonists of the film. Although I'm sure twee was realized well in this film, I'm interested in seeing other films with different themes and how the movement was incorporated into them.

I have never seen a film quite like that of Murdoch. Somehow, he managed to make an impressive film about a lazy summer in Glasgow with a budget of $121,084 and a small crew. It doesn't take much. What it takes is a clear image and a clear vision. After that, its a matter of timing and execution to fulfill what you set out to do. Murdoch had planned the film for a long time. I'm sure that when he went to film in Glasgow, he knew what he was doing even if his eyes were closed. The film is also a testament to twee itself. Such a weird and obscure theme can in fact be the basis of an art movement that could make its way into larger films (Wes Anderson) and cut out a clean section of film history just for itself. What I'm interested to see is other twee films. How have they approached the twee?

Aesthetics Help the Girl [God Help the Girl, Murdoch, 2014]

"Your breasts are exquisite, and this dress looks like a potato sack, But you are not a potato."

Teenage angst is made cuddly and endearing in Stuart Murdoch's directorial debut musical God Help the Girl. The fact that we are not rolling our eyes every minute or so and yelling "oh shut up you are like 16" is in no small part due to its twee-ness: the film doesn't take itself too seriously (oops Youth) and the characters' imperfections lend the film a certain authenticity. The film and characters' embracing of the "underdog" label persuades the viewer to negate realistic stakes in exchange for a sweet journey with the tender.

Whether it's part of twee or not, my biggest impression with Murdoch's film is its visual aesthetic. On first glance, visual choices, specifically in art direction and cinematography, are quite contradictory to its pursuit of underdog authenticity. It seems to be in this awkward bind, unsure where to stand on the scale. 

Ignoring twee for a brief moment, God Help the Girl doesn't quite fit the traditional aesthetic scale. It doesn't have fancy crane shots or perfectly-choreographed oners of The Great Beauty. In an interview with The Boston Globe, DP Giles Nuttgen said that the crew chose to shoot on 16mm anamorphic to maintain a grainy documentary feel. Yet, despite the almost exclusive use of handheld shots, the cinematography isn't exactly Bicycle Thieves. It's stylishly lit, well composed, and not devoid of lens flares (yes, that's a criteria). We alternate between fly-on-the-wall documentation of the trio's indolent conversations, and 50+ shots coverage of dance scores. And Glasgow, well, just looks too liveable.

The contradiction extends to art direction too. The characters, despite supposedly being "uncool", are undeniably stylish and attractive. There is idiosyncrasy in each character's wardrobe, an idiosyncrasy whose cost far exceeds their supposed economical and social status as underdogs. And it's not hard to spot how crafted each scene is. Costumes and scenery always function together in harmonious color pallets; even the most beat-down of places sharing cohesiveness with styling. 

Together, these choices are baffling. On one hand, there is a drive for authenticity and "dispensing of the [polished] cool." Handheld shots, image quality, and location choices reflect a "sub-current" environment that is in rebellion (or rather, disengagement) with the conventional glamour and attractiveness. On the other, there is still an artistic style. There is a careful crafting of the image that suggests an attempt to define another form of beauty. It isn't so much a rejection of visual tastes so much the assertion of a specific alternative taste.

And I suppose that is the taste of twee. To call it the movement of underdogs would be a misnomer. There is a very specific aesthetic of the underdog that it exalts, a sort of in-between of the glamorized and the pedestrian, the dorky and tender, but never bland. Do i like it? Yes. Going beyond just the meticulous art direction, I have to give credit to Murdoch for creating beauty for where popularly there is none. But it is worrying that such creation comes with unrealistic aesthetics of its own. I can't help feeling that to give in to twee isn't so much a revolution of vulnerability into strength, but a sugarcoat denial of it; that to accept twee is the untransformative swapping of one set of expectations for another.  

[Note to self: If image quality can't be pitch perfect, embrace it as part of the style and work other elements around (artistic grain ex); always get B-roll of extras, especially in dance scene; build costume colors off color elements already in scene, or vice versa.]

Dreaming about Dreams (Paprika)

Satoshi Kon was a dreamer. One only has to look at his rich yet short career to see how much he was able to achieve. Of course, like anyone, Kon was a dreamer who never fully realized his dreams. Perhaps the closest we will ever get to a masterpiece from him is Paprika. As it stands now and will always stand, Paprika is Kon's masterpiece, his magnum opus. Paprika is also all about dreams and the idea of invading dreams. Plenty has been written on this and as such, there isn't much left to say from the perspective of someone who has so far only seen two Kon films. The other being Ohayo, a short film he released in 2008, just two years after Paprika. Ohayo also happened to be Kon's last film. He would later die in 2010 from pancreatic cancer. Although Ohayo was not meant to be Kon's last film, it so happened that a story about waking up suddenly put to sleep an established career.

It is evident that Kon was obsessed with dreams. His themes and editing styles are quite literally the stuff of dreams. Possibly, his biggest influence was in fact dreaming. With this viewpoint in mind, Ohayo seems to be a far bigger film than the length of it would suggest. Ohayo depicts the very process of moving from the world of dreams into the real one. As the film depicts, the process is not easy nor pleasant. The character lags behind an identical image of itself as slowly the two parts, the dreaming and the awake, reconnect to form a whole being. Kon thought that dreams made up what a person was. Perhaps Paprika was meant to show how those dreams were to be unique to people and not be tampered with. Perhaps it shows what happens when we try to separate reality and dreaming from each other. Unfortunately, Kon never had the time to fully explore what he had set out to conquer. Paprika remains to be his last thoughts on dreaming and the process of it and as most of his films, it does it in a masterful way.

The Movies Invade Our Dreams [Paprika, Kon, 2006]

I won't profess to have understood the plot, or every scene, but much like how people deal with Donald Trump's debate answers, I sort of grasped a hint and mood. There feels to be two themes: 1) Dreams' connection to reality and the relationship between the two (which influences which?) and 2) Technology's impact on dreams (as metonymy/synecdoche for fantasies, imagination, etc). The latter is made more interesting by a movie motif that runs through the plot, a movie that at times merges with "dream world" and reality - a creative tribute to cinema.

It's that connection, the dream-film parallel, that I found quite provocative about Paprika. The external struggles - reclaiming the DC mini and finding the culprit - is paralleled by the internal conflict of characters coming to terms with their dreams, dreams that represent their suppressed desires, guilt, and fantasies.  The film ends with Detective once again becoming willing to watch films, capstone-ing a climax that saw characters defeat the domineering Chairman by coming to terms with their dreams' "not-dreamness." Dreams are a part of us, and as the DC-Mini's original intention, can be a tool of introspection and elevation. So does that mean film can be such a tool too? And if dreams can "invade" reality, can cinema too?

The "Introduction to Paprika" by Caleb Crain talked about films, novels and poems being forms a dream-sharing. It's not hard to see movies as embodiment of our greatest fantasies. From Marvel's franchise to Rom-Coms, movies "bring to life" fantasies and desires we have and allow us to live them for 90-180 minutes. But that relationship rests on the assumption that our desires influence our entertainment. What if our dream-sharing begin to influence our desires?

I think I wouldn't be alone to say that I've definitely had dreams based off movies I saw the night before. Dreams where I'm cast into a 007 firefight and the thrill is all there. And there definitely have also been times when I woke up from a good dream and went "damn, if only it goes like that." So, if movies can influence dreams, and dreams are really metaphors for our more comprehensive wants, does that finally give logical proof to the statement "movies changed my life"?

Sorry about that. But all in all, I think Kon is suggesting such a connection through Paprika. Having dedicated his life to cinema and the pushing of its boundaries, I think Paprika represents both a loving tribute and warning. With power and influence comes responsibility. When we look at issues like #OscarsSoWhite, before dismissing it as mere show-biz drama, think how many dreams we are shaping, and how many pursuits we've set in motion.

[Also, a couple of notes to self: Things don't always have to make rational sense if they are daringly/teasingly creative; graphic matches are beautiful things; sometimes a mood is as important as plot; and, finish your movies or you will be haunted by them.]

Paprika vs. Inception - What's the Situation?

Although I'm not a big fan of anime or any type of animation film, Paprika was a film that really stuck out to me. Yes I can sit here and talk about how the match cut were beautiful and how the composition and coloring by director Satoshi Kon were also impressive. I know nothing about how animation films are made, and if each frame is drawn frame by frame, then animation definitely deserves some credit.

But what really stuck out was the theme of dreams throughout Paprika. The use of the DC Mini, a Bluetooth-like object that allows the users to see other people's dreams was definitely an innovative technique, but also sounds like something I've seen before (I'm looking at you, Christopher Nolan).

Yes, that's right. Inception is Paprika, and Paprika is Inception, right? Yes and no. The premise that both films focus on the dreams and the blur between reality and dream is what shares the similarities, but the way each film blurs these lines are both very drastic. In Paprika, there is each character that connects to every dream and moment, and they are almost like "rewind-able" moments or fragments in time that Paprika and Detective Konakawa share, but they can also switch and take portals into different worlds. But, each world and dream is connected. Inception's use of distinguishing reality and dreams is very different because the fact that it's a dream is not established until the event happens later, and it relies on clues. Paprika doesn't. Therefore, is Inception the new Paprika? In some cases, yes and no. 

Blog Post #3 - Paprika

The animated film Paprika the closest cinematic experience I've ever had that's felt like death. Not because watching it made me want to die, but I am just assuming that's what you see if you end up in Hell. I enjoyed the film, but epileptic people probably would not.

This movie embodied no culture, bedsides the obvious Japanese anime editing qualities. It really wasn't a stereotypical plot line, but just more of existential in a different world with the interactions of different characters. The animations and transitions were so creative, it was pretty much a big "F*ck you" to all animation competitors. For the viewer, the story and plot line became slowly irrelevant as the animations are so mesmerizing it becomes an incredible experience for the viewer.

Blog Post #2 - God Help the Girl, or So Help Me God?

This film was quite intriguing to me honestly. One area of the film that really tinkered with my brain was the dimensions and the border between the musical/singing aspect, and the actual acting and plot aspect. While watching this film I found myself confused by the almost pivoted perspective on how the plot would be disregarded for a few minutes for a almost music video, which did serve the plot, but did not really develop the story line. The musical aspect seemed to exemplify and solidify the feelings of the characters more so. The stereotypical awkward boy girl relationship in the film was completely personified by the singing and music video, but in my opinion it took away from plot development and seemed to make the film stagnant. When all 3 characters "took" the canoe on the river the singing seemed to distract, or pretty much anytime there was singing at all.

The Dreams From Paprika Interpreted With What I'm Sure Is A Highly Reputable Online Dream Interpretor

Film critics have praised Kon's genius for everything from his innovative use of match cuts to his creative look on how today's society would try to use dream sharing technology like the DC Mini. So what could a high school film student like me have to offer in terms of original insight on the film? My ability to copy other people's ideas off the internet, of course!

Often we understand dreams not as logical or literal but as a subconscious language written in symbolism. Since the dawn of time, humans have pondered dream symbolism for omens, devine advice and insights to the inner workings of the soul. To gain a deeper look into Paprika's symbolism, I typed in mise-en-scene elements of characters' dreams into the first semi-legit looking google search result for "dream translator", dreammoods.com. After all, "The Internet and dreams are similar. They're areas where the repressed conscious mind escapes.

Red Head
"To dream that you are a redhead suggests that you need more spontaneity and vitality in your life."

Paprika, Atsuko's idealized alter ego of the dream world, is a red head. This makes sense given Paprika's spontaneity and vitality in contrast with Atsuko's more serious and reserved manner.

Dolls 
 "To dream that a doll comes to life signifies your desires to be someone else and escape from your present problems and responsibilities. The doll serves as a means to act out your wishes."

Dolls appear quite prominently in the parade dream sequence. This could be symbolic of Himuro's desire to be Tokita. Early in the film the characters discuss Himuro's motive and Osanai points out "It's possible that Himuro was jealous of Dr. Tokita." The dolls come alive  also could represent Atsuko's desire to be more of an out-going, free spirit like Paprika.

Movies 
"To dream that you are playing a role in the movie foretells that something from your subconscious is about to emerge or be revealed. It may also represent memories of images from your past. To dream that the movie screen is blank suggests that you are trying to distance yourself from some issue or emotion. Alternatively, the blank screen symbolizes a lack of accomplishments. You feel that you have nothing to look back on."

Detective Toshimi is yet to come to terms with the death of a high school friend with whom he once made a detective movie. The movie theater in his dream is not only a representation of the movie they made, but foreshadowing that his buried memories must surface again in order for him to come to terms with them. Toshimi regrets not living out their shared goal of becoming film makers and feels he has disappointed his friend, hence Toshimi's perceived lack of accomplishments.

Butterfly
 "To dream that you are mounting a butterfly on frame symbolizes sexual oppression."

In one dream, Paprika grows butterfly wings and Osanai pins her to a table with giant pins. He admits that he loves he and is shocked when he tears open her skin to find Atsuko. The mounted butterfly could be symbolic for Osanai's repressed, subconscious attraction to Atsuko (his boss) and to Paprika (his enemy). 

Sun
 "To dream that the sun has a creepy, harsh glare represents a significant disruption or serious problem in your life. The sun is considered a life-giver and thus, any abnormalities and peculiarities to the sun's appearance represents some sort of pain or chaos occurring in your waking life."

During his monologue before he jumps out the window, Shima remarks "The ignorant sun will chase away the darkness... and burn the shadows, eventually burning itself!" The dream world invading the waking world and causing the insanity of the masses is probably what I would call "a significant disruption."

 

 









  

God Help the Girl is a twee force to be reckoned with

God Help the Girl would probably resonate well with adolescents (i'm sorry, teens... I don't want to sound too much like an adult...) who share a common obsession and love with old film cameras, Sufjan Stevens, cats, Zooey Deschanel, the bob haircut, and esoteric poetry. It's a synonym for cutesy and artsy, light and playful. However, unfortunately, it is also a pejorative for something "extremely sweet or quaint, almost to the point of nausea". (Thank you, Urban Dictionary). 

But with all jokes and cheap stereotypes aside, director and leader of famed indie pop band Belle & Sebastian Stuart Murdoch is on to something here. On first view, the idea of twee might come across to some as a style without any sort of substance. It is impossibly "twee" but it serves a purpose, mainly to do with the connections and internal dilemma between the main character, Eve, played by Emily Browning. Even before the first song kicks in, we already see that there is a conflict in Eve's life. It appears as though she has been admitted into a medical center / hospital, for which it is revealed that it is for her eating disorder. It is clear from the beginning that this change in Eve's life is not caused by her, but by other people that tell her to change. She leaves in the break of dawn to see this show and is arguably introduced to a world where there are no rules at all. It is only with her adventures with Cassie and James does she find her true voice, and this voice is free. This is a contrast to her life inside the hospital, where she had a musical voice, but it was literally and figuratively caged like a songbird. 

Other than a stylistic choice of being downright lathered in Technicolor, this serves a purpose. I mean, think about it: would God Help the Girl make sense if it wasn't filmed in this style? Of course, the messages would be the same, but how would that relate with the teenagers of today? This "twee-volution" does serve its purpose, and only to convey that "life sucks" for teenagers, but it is coated in these cute and playful colors and these quirks that you almost forget that Eve is escaping her disorder and her hospital in order to find her true passion, songwriting. A little bit of fun goes a long way for Eve, and legitimizes the twee movement as something with a purpose and real demands.