February 11, 2003
February 4, 2003
January 28, 2003
January 21, 2003
January 14, 2003
January 8, 2003
January 1, 2003


..News
..Oscar Race Charts
..15 Weeks to Oscar
..The Top 10 Chart
..The Top 20
..The Critics List



..Gary Dretzka
..Leonard Klady
..David Poland
..Ray Pride

February 18, 2003

Even though I write about digital technology ad nauseam, it sometimes seems, I'd be the first to admit my ignorance as to how all those 1s and 0s come together to enrich appliances of mass consumption. I'm a lot more comfortable explaining the more obvious differences between analog and digital equipment - and how consumers of electronic toys benefit - but when the science gets murky, I turn to Paul Simon's "The Boy in the Bubble" for solace:

And I believe
These are the days of lasers in the jungle
Lasers in the jungle somewhere
Staccato signals of constant information
A loose affiliation of millionaires
And billionaires and baby
These are the days of miracle and wonder
This is the long distance call
The way the camera follows us in slo-mo
The way we look to us all
The way we look to a distant constellation
That's dying in a corner of the sky
These are the days of miracle and wonder
And don't cry baby, don't cry
Don't cry

Miracles and wonder are what this column is all about.

Among the many conveniences afforded by digital technology is the ability to teach young people about the cinema ... scene by scene, frame by frame. Laserdiscs first provided educators with this incredibly valuable tool, and the DVD has only added more flexibility to the process (not to mention several thousand more titles and blessedly punctual release patterns).

Thirty-some years ago, when I was taking film courses at the University of Wisconsin, we were required to view the movies on our syllabi in their entirety, or not at all. Discussions took place after screenings, and, typically, followed the outlines provided by the small handful of academics -- this was before criticism became a cottage industry -- who took film seriously enough to encourage scholarly debate of the medium's contributions to society.

It was difficult, at best, to appreciate the artistry on display while sitting in classrooms barely suitable for teaching - let alone studying classic cinema - and having to endure the scratches, tears and glitches that arrived with the well-traveled 16mm prints. Even so, the classes were extremely popular, and dozens of film societies flourished on and off campus, in church basements and makeshift screening rooms.

It was in such uncomfortable settings that many of us Baby Boomers were first inspired to look at movies as something other than a convenient way to kill a Friday night, with or without a date. Who knew you could dissect the darn things, like the frogs and fish we had sacrificed in high-school biology classes?

More to point, who knew there were so many wonderful films being made by artists working outside the borders of the Hollywood studio system? Or, how many of those late-night creature features and matinee movies we'd seen and taken for granted were classics-in-disguise?

Today, of course, DVDs have supplanted laserdiscs, in classrooms, and video cassettes are just as quickly becoming obsolete as teaching tools. In addition to pristine images and dynamic sound, DVDs supplement the teacher's lesson plans by providing direct access to the filmmakers in commentary tracks, outtakes and other valuable bonus material.

Video stores are ubiquitous in college towns, so students are free to rent the same titles being discussed in their classes. Teachers can carry a director's entire oeuvre to campus in their briefcases.

Universities were slow to acknowledge the educational value in studying the world cinema, perhaps because it cost so much to do it right. For its part, Hollywood didn't start relying on film schools to fill its expanding talent pool until the early '70s.

The studio system was built on the achievements of doers, not thinkers, after all. What the new breed of film students lacked in on-the-job experience, though, they more than made up for in their appreciation of the history, mythology and iconography of the medium.

Before too long, these whippersnappers would aim their cinematic messages at an entirely new generation of viewers, and convince the moguls that their visions could make money, too. Lucas and Spielberg practically invented the "tentpole" movie, which gave teenagers something to enjoy at the drive-in, besides Elvis and Sandra Dee.

At about the same time that many of these newly arrived auteurs were paying their first visits to the Betty Ford Clinic, highly reliable camcorders and video editing tools began finding their way into the marketplace, as well. The filmmaking process was now easily affordable for anyone with an idea and a credit card

I was reminded of all this ancient history last week, while presiding over my weekly Film Criticism 300 class at the University of Nevada - Las Vegas. During the course of a three-hour session on the influence of Raymond Chandler and other hard-boiled writers on the mystery genre, I was able to introduce my students to scenes and commentary from the 1946 and 1978 versions of The Big Sleep, Robert Altman's The Long Goodbye, Carl Reiner's Dead Men Don't Wear Plaid, Roman Polanski's Chinatown, Out of the Past and Kiss Me Deadly.

Not all of these films were available yet on DVD, but those that were made our cinematic journey quicker and easier than it would have been solely on video cassette. Going back to 16mm was unthinkable. We watched and re-watched scenes with and without commentary tracks, then sampled snippets of interviews with directors, actors, writers and producers.

The week before, the class had watched Dustin Hoffman do his impression of producer Robert Evans in Wag the Dog, as he helped Robert DeNiro fake a terrorist crisis in Albania. Now, the students heard the real Evans explain how he almost ruined Chinatown -- by insisting that Robert Towne cook up a happy ending -- and saw how dead-on Hoffman's take on the legendary ham actually was.

Later this semester, we'll study the Dogma 95 movement and the works of a growing number of filmmakers who wield hand-held digital cameras, instead of bulky 35mm equipment. The students already use digital tools to edit, record and project their movies, and have first-hand knowledge of how the Internet can be used to market their products.

This week, using websites like this one, we'll try to make sense of the growing disconnect between critics and audiences, using My Big Fat Greek Wedding as the primary focus of debate. The students will be able to compare their impressions of such "critic-proof" products with those of dozens of professional pundits, thanks to websites like www.imdb.com and www.rottentomatoes.com. Thirty years ago, such a research project would have required many hours of time be spent in the stacks of the school's library, and a logjam at the microfiche machine.

Likewise, they can use the Internet to look up the arguments of Variety columnist Peter Bart and Salon.com's Charles Taylor on the role of the critic in today's environment. The comments of other pundits already are catalogued for them here, at www.moviecitynews.com.

One thing I learned from the students - most of whom are film majors - is that, unlike their parents, they don't routinely turn to print critics to discover what's worth seeing on a weekend. Their first inclination is to find a familiar niche website or chatroom, and see what is being said by their peers.

Out of 45 students, fewer than a half-dozen hands went up when I asked if they seek out the opinions of newspaper and magazine critics.

Having grown up with a daily newspaper habit, I was stunned to hear this. Perhaps, though, this insight helped me understand how such universally slammed titles as How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days, Daredevil and Kangaroo Jack found their way to the top of the box-office charts last month, while such well-regarded fare as Antwone Fisher, Narc, The Pianist and Confessions of a Dangerous Mind struggle to attract an audience.

The times had gone and changed on me, again. And, I didn't even know it.

Email Gary Dretzka
.