Opening Shots: Brazil

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From Raymond Ogilvie, happyreflex:

This is really the second shot, following a brief bit of above-cloud photography. Let’s not be too picky.

It starts with a TV set turning on. A suitable enough opening that many films have used. We know that when the movie starts with some TV, always with a healthy dose of analogue noise, we’re being greeted by a commentary on the movie’s world before we enter it. The TV set itself has a retro-futuristic design; the kind that was popular at least from the 20s into the 50s. All smooth curves, no sharp angles. Red and blue lights outside blink on and off, casting subtle glows onto the scene.

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The TV shows a commercial from Central Cervices. An imposing logo and a happy little jingle: “Central Services. We do the work, you do the pleasure!” And already we don’t trust them! It’s a very Orwellian thing. We’ve lost freedom of choice in this society, and that’s exemplified here by Central Services. All our home repair needs are now taken care of by official government employees, who can be as inefficient, bureaucratic, and unaccountable for their own blunders as they please. The customer comes last.

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Now here’s the Central Services spokesperson. He’s here to tell us about how we can replace our old, unsightly ducts with newer, more fashionable unsightly ducts. They just get in the way and clutter up your living space, don’t they? The ducts are just like the bloated, bureaucratic government: they exist only for their own benefit. The public is an afterthought. You’ll see just how little the bureaucracy cares about human beings when the innocent Mr. Buttle is wrongly arrested and accidentally killed during interrogation, and no one feels any remorse: they just don’t want to be stuck with the paperwork.

December 14, 2012

Opening Shots: ‘Petulia’

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From Tom Sutpen, If Charlie Parker Was a Gunslinger, There’d Be a Whole Lot of Dead Copycats:

There is no more enigmatic image in the badly underappreciated canon of Richard Lester than the opening shot of his 1968 masterpiece “Petulia.” Outwardly it gives us scant information, it establishes little that could be called functional, it lasts a handful of seconds, no more; yet it instantly sets the tone for a film in which nothing fully belongs to recognizable human reality except the errant bursts of emotion its principals seem to have forgotten they were capable of.

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Silent but for the sound of sqeaking rubber wheels, three overdressed, wheelchair-bound whiplash cases are guided through a somewhat dank, inactive, seedy-looking hotel kitchen by impassive attendants. Though Lester’s camera never leaves the front of this odd train as it travels down a long corridor, one neck case following the other, there’s no sense of real movement in the shot (as there would have been had, say, Stanley Kubrick executed it), apart from the wheelchairs and the camera seemingly joined in concord.

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The people being transported . . . even the attendants ostensibly doing the driving . . . seem incidental. And the looks on their faces say it all. They could be going to a Coronation, they could be going to the Gas Chamber; they’d probably look the same in either event: Too deadened even for passivity. One almost concludes from the elements of this shot that things, objects, have more life in them, more reflex even, than humans do. Which is wholly consistent with a film where style and manners and form appear to have consumed all of humanity’s natural impulses while its back was turned.

December 14, 2012

Opening Shots: ‘Accident’

View image: It starts here…

View image … and ends here. And nearly everything that happens, except for a slow movement in on the house, happens off-screen.

From Richard T. Jameson, Editor, Movietone News, 1971-81; Editor, Film Comment, 1990-2000:

The opening shot of Joseph Losey’s “Accident” (1966) begins under the main-title credits and runs for a minute or so after they have concluded. We’re looking at the front of a good-sized but hardly palatial house in the English countryside — the home, as it happens, of an Oxford don whose academic career has been less than stellar. It’s nighttime, tangibly well into the wee hours. No lights are burning, no activity within is apparent. The credits roll without musical accompaniment. On the soundtrack we detect an airplane passing overhead; onscreen, a slight alteration of perspective on the surrounding tree boughs makes us aware that the camera is slowly nudging closer to the house. After a moment, there is the sound of an automobile approaching. The noise grows loud; the engine is racing. Then, a screech of tires and the sound of impact and shattering glass, abruptly cut off. There is a further pause. Then the front door of the house opens, only a hint of light glimmering in the interior. Hesitantly, a man steps out, then begins advancing into the night. Cut to several murky shots impressionistically marking his progress as he moves toward the scene of the titular accident.

The shot, though plain as, uh, day, is remarkable for several reasons. One, of scant concern to most of us, is that with it the director and his first-time cinematographer Gerry Fisher achieved their goal of shooting a color scene that actually looks like what it’s supposed to be: a nighttime exterior as seen by moonlight, rather than a day-for-night fakeroo or some other conventional attempt to imitate nighttime via filters and technical trickery. Losey and Fisher went to extreme pains with the film lab to get the shot to look exactly as they wanted it — even though, as Losey ruefully observed in interview, they knew most theaters would bathe the screen with mauve houselights for the benefit of late-arriving seat-takers, and in any event a few passes in front of the projector’s carbon arc would soon alter the image on the emulsion.

So, technically, a real, if effectively unnoticed and ephemeral, coup.

December 14, 2012

Opening Shots: ‘Cat People’ (1982)

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From Andrew Wright, The Stranger:

Cinematic brimstone manna for pubescent Cinemax viewers, Paul Schrader’s unjustly neglected 1982 remake of “Cat People” leaves the watcher uneasily poised somewhere between needing a wet-nap and a steel-wool shower. Working again with “American Gigolo”‘s visual consultant Ferndinando Scarfiotti, the director’s interpretation of the wittily Freudian source material is chock full with the promise of tantalizing sex and violence, which is ultimately delivered so nastily that it’s difficult not to feel guilty for enjoying it. Schraeder, a dude who knows a thing or three about temptation himself, here delivers one lulu of a cautionary tale: What you want to see may not really be what you want to see, no matter how much you think you want to see it.

Nowhere is this poisoned voyeurism more evident than in the opening shot, which quite literally unearths the film’s joint fascination with turn-ons and snuff-outs. Beginning with a patch of hallucinatory, nuclear-Antonioni colored desert, a wind slowly, sensually, blows across the surface of the sand to reveal a polished human skull, and then another, and another, and yet another, until an entire boneyard is uncovered. All this, while David Bowie and Georgio Moroder are moaning orgiastically on the soundtrack. Just writing about it, I want a cigarette. And a hairshirt, possibly.

JE: Muchas gracias, Andy. That ultra-lapsed Calvinist Schrader does indeed know something about putting out a fire with gasoline. I haven’t seen his “Cat People” in, let’s see, 24 years, and all I remember about it is the Bowie song and the way somebody jumps, catlike, onto a table or something. That image you sent sure is purrty, though…

December 14, 2012

Opening Shots: ‘Repo Man’

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From Schuyler Chapman:

Down a desert road the car ambles erratically, while the motorcycle-cop watches from the far side of the road. Lapsing, perhaps, four seconds and consisting of a 180-degree pan that follows the car as it heads toward and passes the camera and police officer, it’s not a terribly long shot — but it perfectly encapsulates the film, “Repo Man,” that follows.

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A synthesized sound and clanging industrial rhythm accompany the automobile’s desultory progress. The music that scores the first shot, like the jagged, punk rock guitar played over the credits, creates a sense of dread — an undercurrent of menace — that complements the bizarre Chevy Malibu. Music is integral to this scene (and the movie), establishing a sense of tension that might have been otherwise lost. Listen to the thrumming electronics and the rhythm vaguely reminiscent of heartbeats. This atmospheric touch tells us that something’s not right. This auto is not swerving as the result of an intoxicated driver — or rather the result of a driver intoxicated by the typical substances — it’s the result of something unknown and alien.

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The audience is set up for the film that follows: a surreal and slightly sinister chase for an old Chevy. Another aspect of the shot clinches it for “Repo Man” offering one of the best and most appropriate cinematic openings: the movement of the car itself. How have I described its motion? Desultory, erratic — I should also add forward. Like the story that tracks its movements, the Malibu wanders hither and thither but maintains general forward momentum toward some discernible end. There will be slight detours but they never take us far off course and, frankly, make the narrative a more “scenic” trip.

December 14, 2012

Opening Shots: ‘Altered States’

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“Altered States” opens with the image of a fluorescent, egglike shape surrounded by darkness. It is a window. From below, in comes a floating human figure (William Hurt as Prof. Eddie Jessup), who appears to be immersed in liquid. Surrounded as he is by the dark oval frame of the window, he resembles an embryo inside a mother’s womb. The camera slowly tracks back to reveal that Jessup is inside a horizontal tank in an empty room. As it tracks back even further, the viewer detects the edges of a second window, rectangular this time. In front of that window sits a bearded scientist in a laboratorium, who carefully monitors the room with the tank holding Eddie Jessup.

In the film, science tries to discover the essence of the Self by use of altered states of consciousness. The opening shot prepares the audience for this very process by taking the viewer through different layers/windows of counsciousness: from the symbolic birth of the Self, via self-awareness, to self-examination; from subjectivity to objectivity. The soundtrack amplifies this trajectory, going from bubbly water effects and steady breathing through an oxygen mask, to the buzz of lab equipment and clicking of buttons.

Peter Gelderblom

founder / contributing editor

www.24LiesASecond.com

JE: Beautifully done, Peter! I love the use of sound in this shot, too: From the very first moments you have this feeling of being immersed in an individual’s interior consciousness — which is where the drama of the movie really plays out.

December 14, 2012

Opening Shots: ‘Halloween’

The Myers house: October 31, 1963

Young lovebirds.

Through the side window, the teenagers make out on the couch.

Boyfriend grabs a clown mask.

From Robert C. Cumbow:

(An excerpt from my book, “Order in the Universe: The Films of John Carpenter):

Following the main title shot-a slow track-in on a leering jack-o’-lantern-the opening sequence of Halloween is a spectacular tour-de-force, a four-minute single take that builds up to the brutal murder of a teenage girl in a quiet home in a quiet neighborhood in quiet Haddonfield, Illinois, on Halloween, 1963. The take ends as the murderer’s mask is removed and a shock cut reveals the clown-suited killer to be the victim’s six-year-old brother. The camera stares, then backs off, becoming a 15-second crane shot up away from the silent, blank-faced boy holding the bloody knife as his parents look on, questioning.

Thereafter, as in “Jaws,” the shift to subjective camera often deliberately signals the presence, or possible presence, of the beast. In addition to imputing guilt to the audience, the subjective camera also serves the purpose of concealing the killer’s identity in the crucial opening scene. The subjective camera technique was taken up by “Friday the 13th” and the raft of “Halloween” imitators that followed and became such a convention that it was parodied in the opening to Brian De Palma’s “Blow Out” [1981]. But it became a convention for a purely utilitarian reason — preventing us from seeing the

killer’s face — and acquired the unfortunate side effect of creating a sadistic woman-killing persona as the point of audience identification, something many critics and viewers reacted against.

December 14, 2012

Opening Shots: ‘Punch-Drunk Love’

Three eloquent and distinctly personal appreciations of the opening of Paul Thomas Anderson’s “Punch-Drunk Love”:

From Nareg Torosian, ScreenPlay:

The opening shot of one of my favorite films of recent years, Paul Thomas Anderson’s “Punch-Drunk Love” (2002). As described on the DVD’s back cover, the focal point of the movie is Barry Egan, “a socially impaired owner of a small novelty business, who…is unlikely to find love unless it finds him.” On the surface, nothing much happens during the handheld shot that begins the movie, but for this first minute and a half, Anderson is able to set up three crucial elements for the rest of the film:

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1. Barry’s loneliness. The set is about as sparse as can be – one desk and one chair in the corner of a large, unadorned, warehouse-like room. No one else will enter the frame, and other than the voice on the other end of the telephone, no other sound can be heard. (A metallic ping that breaks the silence will attract Barry’s attention and cause him to leave, thus creating a bridge to the film’s next shot. Jon Brion’s lush, atmospheric score/soundscape will not come to play for several minutes.) Anderson shoots the sequence in a long shot, and the resulting amount of empty, indifferent space conveys the character’s sense of isolation and emotional distance; this composition is mirrored later when Barry calls the phone sex service in his apartment and when he calls Lena from a pay phone in Hawaii. Even the first spoken line (“Yes, I’m still on hold”) subtly hints at his feeling of emotional repression and arrested development.

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2. Barry’s phone etiquette. In the opening dialogue, Barry politely and rationally explains a loophole in one of Healthy Choice’s promotional campaigns to one of the company’s phone representatives. This is one of many phone conversations he will have during the course of the film, and it will become clear that he is a man who (initially) seems more confident and can express himself more clearly over the phone than in person.

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3. The film’s color scheme. Color is very important in this movie, and the shade of blue on the warehouse wall and on the suit Barry wears will be closely identified with him throughout the film. It is not until Lena’s appearance that a vibrant red will make its way into Anderson’s palette, literally and figuratively signaling a change in Barry’s monotonous existence.

December 14, 2012

Opening Shots: ‘The Wire’

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This summer a friend is introducing me to the HBO series, “The Wire,” beginning with the first season on DVD. Sunday nights, we eat a big ol’ fresh-grilled meal (like steak, ribs, kabobs, pork loin, salmon, scallops wrapped in prosciutto, asparagus or broccoli sauteed in olive oil, garlic and crushed red peppers)… I’m sorry, what was I saying? I kept hearing from friends that “The Wire” was something great, as good as (some say even better than) “The Sopranos” or “Deadwood.” Well, we’re only three episodes in (we also watch a “Freaks and Geeks” — all new to me — after each episode), but I’m hooked.

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“The Wire” is about Baltimore police (homicide and narcotics) and their investigation and surveillance (hence the title) of a city-wide drug operation run by one Avon Barksdale, a shadowy figure said to be based on a real Baltimore dealer. All threads seem to lead back to Barksdale, but the cops don’t even have a photograph of the guy.

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The first image of the first episode of the first season is a close up of blood on the pavement. It lasts only a few seconds, but the camera slowly moves up the trail of blood toward its source, the body of a drug-related homicide victim. The liquid catches the flashing lights of police cars and seems to illuminate with electrical sparks like… wires. Only the middle-ground of the shot is in focus — where it comes from and where it leads are still blurry. We don’t know it yet, but the whole season has been set up for us.

December 14, 2012

Opening Shots: ‘Caché’

View image: What are we looking at/for?

View image: Find one difference in this picture.

From Jeremy Mathews, The Salt Shaker Magazine, Salt Lake City, UT:

It may be a recent film, but I don’t think it’s too early to canonize Michael Haneke’s “Caché” opening shot as one of the greats. Haneke’s first image prepares the viewer for his film’s astounding distortion of the cinematic lens.

A static shot of a house at the end of a Parisian street during early morning seems perfectly banal, as Daniel Auteuil’s character walks over to his car. But then, in voice-over, Binoche and Auteuil begin to discuss the workings of the shot — they didn’t see the camera, so how was this footage created? One of them comments that the shot is too clear to be shot through glass (i.e. hidden in someone’s car).

Until the scanlines appear as the characters rewind the tape, there are absolutely no clues from the image’s quality (resolution, interlacing, etc.) to suggest that it isn’t from a professional film. When the next shot, of Auteuil and Binoche in their house looking at the TV, comes up, there is no discernible visual difference between the tape and what we assume isn’t a tape.

December 14, 2012

Opening Shots: ‘The Silence of the Lambs’

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From Mike Calia:

Bare tree branches set against an oppressive grey sky, meeting somewhere between impressionism and expressionism and setting the palate for the whole movie (save for the blaring reds and wood tones that pop up later in the institutional settings). Then the camera points down, almost straight down (setting up the well scenes in Buffalo Bill’s lair, as well), to the bottom of a hill, where Clarice Starling enters the frame and starts climbing and doesn’t stop for the rest of the movie. It’s part obstacle course, part fairy-tale woods, and not one frame is wasted. Add in Howard Shore’s haunting score (unjustly snubbed by the Academy that year) and you have the perfect blend of modern police procedural suspense and gothic horror.

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JE: Good one, Mike! This is such a deceptively simple beginning (and it takes you a little while to figure out what’s going on), but you’re absolutely right — it leaves you with a feeling, of Clarice running through the cold, hazy, wintry woods, that stays with you for the whole picture. (Demme is so unfussy and elegant.) There’s something about the starkness and emptiness of those titles — white outlines filled with black — that’s chillingly effective, too. And then there’s the way Clarice glances to the left — not behind her down the vertiginous path from whence she came, but off in another direction — before running out of the frame to the right. You get the feeling she’s running from something, perhaps something from the past about to pounce into the present, and she isn’t quite sure where it will come from.

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By the way, Dr. Lecter offers an excellent Socratic lesson in the principles of critical thinking here:

Dr. L: I’ve read the case files, have you? Everything you need to know to find him is right there in those pages.

Clarice: Then tell me how.

Dr. L: First principles, Clarice. Simplicity. Read Marcus Aurelius — of each particular thing ask: What is it in itself? What is its nature? What does he do, this man you seek?

Clarice: He kills women.

Dr. L: No! That is incidental. What is the first and principal thing he does? What needs does he serve by killing?

Clarice: Anger. Social acceptance. Sexual frustration —

Dr. L: No! He covets. That is his nature. And how do we begin to covet, Clarice? Do we seek out things to covet? Make an effort to answer now…

Clarice: No. We just —

Dr. L: No. We begin by coveting what we see every day. Don’t you feel eyes moving over your body, Clarice? And don’t your eyes seek out the things you want?

Those words ought to be inscribed as an example in every classroom. See each thing for itself. Then consider its context. Understand how your enemy or adversary thinks. What may seem most important to you, may be only incidental to him…

December 14, 2012

Opening Shots: ‘Scarecrow’

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From Leonard Maltin:

The one that first comes to mind is from a film I fell in love with thirty-some years ago, “Scarecrow,” directed by Jerry Schatzberg and shot by Vilmos Zsigmond. I revisited it when it finally came to DVD last year and felt exactly the same way. It opens on a static shot of a wood and wire fence alongside a two-lane highway, as a figure makes his way down a hill toward the fence (and us)…the sky is gray behind him. We’re riveted to this image, eager to find out who this is, where he’s coming from, and where he’s headed. I haven’t timed it to see how long the shot actually runs, but it’s long, and absolutely mesmerizing: an opening shot that draws you in and makes you want to watch the movie.

JE: Thanks, Leonard — it’s a beauty! The dark gray clouds contrasting with the pale tan of the dry, grassy slope; the light playing across the hillside that makes the clouds shift even darker; the sound of thunder echoing in the distance — it’s the kind of shot where, seconds into the movie, you can almost smell the setting: The ionic scent of the approaching rain, the dusty pollenated aroma of the baked grass. And it’s also funny, as Gene Hackman attempts to extricate himself from the fence. Anyone who’s attempted to climb over, under or through barbed wire knows the pain and frustration of this moment all too well! It looks like the shot was originally even longer, and is interrupted by a few cutaways to Al Pacino watching from behind a tree — perhaps to substitute different takes. And you’re right: Now I’m going to watch the whole movie. (Love Pacino’s introduction: “Hi. I’m Francis.”)

December 14, 2012

Opening Shots update & lexicon

I still have plenty of excellent Opening Shots submissions to edit and post — and I’m doing my best to get frame grabs to accompany them whenever I can. (Quiz answers coming soon, too.) To no one’s surprise, “Star Wars” (1977) has been the most popular nomination — and for good reasons. But do keep ’em coming. I think of new brilliant opening shots every day, so if your initial ideas have already been mentioned, keep thinking. (Or, if you’d care to add to the discussion of a particular shot, Comments have supposedly been enabled on certain posts — though I have to approve ’em first.)

A few notes about terminology, just so we can be sure we’re all speaking the same language:

shot: a continuous image on film, from the time it begins (when the camera is rolling) until a cut (or fade out or dissolve) takes us to the next image. Sometimes the word “take” — as in continuous shot — is used interchangeably, although it is more specifically used to refer to one of several attempts to “get” a certain shot during filming. The editor often chooses between several takes of a given shot, and may cut them into shorter shots, or inter-cut different takes with other shots.)

pan: when the camera pivots horizontally, usually on a tripod. If a shot is strictly a pan, the camera does not move from its location, it just swivels — as if you were standing still and turning your head. It can, of course, be used in various combinations with any of the other techniques below. The opening shot of “Psycho” is a simple pan. Later, a zoom and a crane shot are used in the opening sequence.

tilt: like a pan, but a vertical movement rather than a horizontal one. The camera does not “pan” up the exterior of a skyscraper from a position on the sidewalk across the street; it “tilts” up. The last shot of Robert Altman’s “Nashville” is a simple tilt up to the empty sky.

dolly shot: a shot in which the camera actually moves — usually when mounted on a dolly or a crane, and often on tracks which have been put down to ensure a smooth-gliding and precise movement.

tracking shot: sometimes used interchangeably with “dolly shot,” but technically a shot where the camera moves with, or “tracks,” another moving object in the frame — whether from above, below, ahead, aside, or behind. (See opening shot of “Birth” — which also appears to use a crane and a Steadicam.)

crane shot: a movement where the camera is mounted on a crane (and sometimes a dolly as well), usually to rise above, or descend to, the scene of the primary action. Lots of movies end with crane shots that raise up on a crane and sometimes dolly back at the same time (think of “Chinatown” or “Silence of the Lambs”).

handheld shot: any shot in which the camera operator simply holds the camera manually, whether standing in one place or moving around within the scene. Often characterized by a certain shakiness that we’re used to experiencing as more immediate, immersive, or documentary-like than a solid, mounted camera, which can feel more detached and “objective.”

Steadicam shot: a Steadicam is a gyroscopic device that, as its name indicates, can be used to eliminate the shakiness of handheld shots for a smoother, more fluid movement — as if the camera is floating on air. (See “Halloween” for a dazzling example.) In a landmark shot at the beginning of Hal Ashby’s “Bound for Glory” (photographed by Haskell Wexler), the Steadicam operator is actually on a crane and lowered to the earth, where he steps off and continues the shot at ground level.

zoom: a zoom lens is simply a sliding telephoto lens that smoothly enlarges or reduces the size of objects in the frame optically, like looking through a adjustable telescope. The camera doesn’t necessarily move (though it sometimes does that at the same time), but appears to magnify or decrease whatever it’s looking at. As you zoom in on something, the image appears to “flatten.” (Recall the famous shot of Omar Sharif riding toward the camera across the desert in “Lawrence of Arabia” — he never really seems to get any closer because of the long telephoto lens that is used.) The dizzying “Vertigo” effect (after Hitchock’s innovation in that film) involves dollying in and zooming out at the same time (or vice-versa) — an effect employed memorably in a shot of Roy Scheider on the beach when a shark is sighted in “Jaws.”

December 14, 2012

Opening Shots: ‘Beware of a Holy Whore’

View image: Dieters at the beginning of the shot.

View image: Dieters at the end of the shot.

From Scott Gowans, Web Manager, WOSU Public Media, Columbus, OH:

I had been reviewing films for four or so years before I decided to take some film courses at Ohio State. One intensive, joyful seminar was the work of Rainer Werner Fassbinder, whose films had just been re-mastered and were showing in pristine condition at the Wexner Center on campus. His work is both frustrating, fascinating, illuminating, and always puts me on edge. For anyone who doesn’t get him or his work, I understand, and I’m also sorry. He’s hard to watch and abstruse, but when you get it, nothing looks the same anymore. My professor hates the way society attached the term ‘genius’ to anybody who shows above-average intelligence, but he had no problem with putting Fassbinder in the same class as Goethe and Shakespeare.

One opening shot sticks with me, though I could site others. The first shot in “Beware of a Holy Whore��? has the camera at waist-level looking slightly upwards at Deiters (played by avant-garde filmmaker Werner Schroeter), who has brown hair spilling over his shoulders, and is dressed in a black cowboy suit. Behind him is sky. Deiters, whose role in the film is an odd photographer, delivers a soliloquy about Goofy (the cartoon character) in drag, who teaches kindergarten, gets beaten up by his students, meets Wee Willy, a gangster who is “the size of a 3-year-old,” takes the crook home, and feeds him. Though the police arrest Wee Willy, Goofy refuses to accept that his new friend is less than perfect.

December 14, 2012

Opening Shots Pop Quiz: Answers

Here goes. For the time being, I’m just going to offer up the answers to the Opening Shots Pop Quiz, without further elaboration or analysis in most cases — because these shots are so great they deserve full Opening Shots treatments of their own. (And you, by the way, are welcome to provide them if you are so inclined!)

December 14, 2012

Opening Shots: ‘His Girl Friday’

Enlarge image: Newsroom hustle…

Enlarge image: … and bustle. Notice the emphasis on women at work in the very first moments.

From That Little Round-Headed Boy:

“His Girl Friday”: Anybody who ever worked in the journalism business, or wished they had been around for newspapering’s madcap era, must feel a quickening at the opening tracking shot of Howard Hawks’ classic comedy. As the camera tracks from right to left across the city room of the Chicago Morning Post, a smoky, hustling, chatty ambience hangs over the enterprise, as an editor yells out for a “Copy boy!”, reporters are decked out in rolled-up shirts and green eye-shades, the women wear fashionable hats and the blue-collar switchboard gals are yammering in overdrive. The scene sets the fast-paced theme, and it never lets up.

JE: Good grief, TLRHB, that’s a great one! (This should give readers an idea why they should check out TLRHB regularly.) As someone born with ink in his veins (red ink, I’m afraid), I know well the quickening of which you speak!

December 14, 2012

Opening Shots: ‘The Big Animal’

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I can’t think of another movie that makes me laugh and cry within the course of its opening shot. This is “The Big Animal” (2000), a feature directed by and starring Jerzy Stuhr, based on an early screenplay by Krzysztof Kieslowski. You may know Stuhr from Kieslowski’s first feature, “Camera Buff” (“Amator”), “Three Colors: White,” “Dekalog: 10” (“Thou shalt not covet thy neighbor’s goods”) and other films by Andrzej Wajda, Krzysztof Zanussi and Angieszka Holland.

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This shot could serve as an introduction — perhaps an encapsulation — of a certain Polish sensibility dear to my heart that is both absurd and poignant. It begins in the fog — at least, we think it’s fog, but the way it’s blowing it looks more like smoke. Turns out it is smoke, from a pair of circus vans, and as they move past the camera and roll off into the distance, the right side of the frame clears and… there’s a camel standing there.

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Why is there a camel standing there? We don’t know. It appears to have been left behind for some reason. The image is comical, incongruous, absurd. But if you think about it, it’s rather sad. Poor camel. It just stands there. It looks around. It reverses direction. And just at the end of the shot, the two circus trucks in the background appear to be perched on top of its humps. (Camel fanciers will know that this is a Bactrian camel, not an Arabian dromedary, because it has two humps.)

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The mild existential shock of this opening image sets us up for the satire — of bureaucracy and toleration of individuality — that is to come. A man and his wife adopt the stray camel. At first, everyone is happy. A camel is a novelty in this village, and it becomes the man’s pride and joy. He is no longer ordinary, but exceptional. He has a camel!

But then man-made socio-political reality begins to set in. How do you license a camel? Surely pets must be licensed, but there is no such thing as a camel license (shades of Monty Python’s fish license sketch). A dog license is not sufficient — possibly even illegal — because, clearly, this creature is not a dog. It’s not a horse, either. But do you need a license for a horse?

And then there are the townspeople, who begin to wonder: “Why should this man get away with breaking the rules for a camel? Who does he think he is? Why does he need to stand out and flaunt his special status? Such things should not be allowed. Or should they not, at least, be properly taxed?”

Kieslowski’s screenplay, from the story “The Camel” by Kazimierz Orlos, was written in 1973 as a fable about life in the Soviet bloc. But the 1994 “Bart Gets an Elephant” episode of “The Simpsons,” where Homer exploits Stampy to pay the mammoth food bills, provides a capitalistic counterpoint. I love this “Big Animal.”

“The Big Animal” is available on DVD from our friends Amy Heller and Dennis Doros at Milestone Film & Video.

[This is a contribution to the Krzysztof Kieslowski Blog-a-Thon at Quiet Bubble.]

December 14, 2012

Take the Opening Shots Poll!

Here are some of the most popular choices we’ve published so far. The top vote-getters from this round will advance to the next! (I had to upgrade this thing — it only gave me 100 “views” a day, which were used up in about 15 minutes. Now we get 2,000 views per day…) Poll after the jump >>

December 14, 2012

Opening Shots: ‘La Femme Infidel’

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A fairy-tale home in a wooded setting. Two women sit an an outdoor table in the shade of some tall trees. The camera glides across the lawn silently (we can’t hear what they’re saying, just barely audible laughter) at an oblique angle that takes us closer to the women, but not directly toward them. A big black trunk passes startlingly across the screen in the foreground. Then a smaller trunk comes into the shot, mid-distance, and nicely frames the image. That’s all there is to the opening shot (which lasts less than 10 seconds), but to understand the context we have to consider the rest of the brief pre-titles sequence.

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The women are looking at photographs, scenes from a marriage. “Wasn’t he thin?” the older woman observes. “That was just before I met him,” says the younger woman. The older woman suggests the man, surely the husband of the younger woman, could stand to exercise more and lose some weight. The younger woman defends him and says he has lost a little. The older woman (we assume she’s the mother of the wife) says she hasn’t noticed. They look at another picture, a new mother holding her baby, and the younger woman remarks: “That was when Michel was born.”

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A boy runs into the scene carrying a bouquet of flowers, which he gives to his grandmother. Behind him is a man who walks over and stands behind his wife, resting his hand on her shoulder. A beautiful family tableaux. The sound fades. The image goes out of focus. Roll titles.

December 14, 2012

Opening Shots: ‘A Hard Day’s Night’

View image: Channnnnnggggggg…

From Sam Goldsmith:

If there is any opening shot that truly shows the power of cinema, it comes from my favorite film, Richard Lester’s “A Hard Day’s Night.” After crediting Miramax and Walter Shenson, the film makes a hard edit to John, George, and Ringo cheerfully running from hordes (not a group, hordes) of overzealous fans at Marylebone Station in London. Accompanied by one of the greatest opening chords in rock and roll history, you know that something fun is about to begin.

View image: Down goes George.

Also, notice the fact that George falls down, Ringo tumbles after him, and John turns and laughs. If it were any other film, the makers would probably have them do the shot again, but the spontaneity of that moment and how they react to it is real and joyous. When they finally approach the screen by the end of the shot, the magic of the film starts to weave a spell of euphoria, and we can do nothing else but enjoy the ride.

View image: John cracks up.

From Jerry Matthews, The Salt Shaker, Salt Lake City, UT:

The picture cuts in from black as, on the soundtrack, George Harrison’s jangling 12-string strikes a kinetic opening chord. The four members of The Beatles run towards the camera on the left side of the frame, while the stampede of fans who want to touch them fills all of the narrow street. The cars parked on the street obstruct much of the crowd, suggesting the film’s energetic, impromptu feel.

December 14, 2012
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