Graphic design work on Incredibles 2 was brilliant, as expected. But there was one glaring exception, conspicuously missing from this post: the atrocious Edna Mode logo.
This is packed with great quotes from filmmakers that I hadn’t heard before.
I never talk about themes. It’s a very big shame when something is finished and then people want you to translate it back into words. It never will work. It never will go back into words and be what the film is. It’s like describing a piece of music; you don’t hear the music, you just see the words. It’s better to let people conjure up their own ideas, having seen and experienced the film.
Kubrick on explaining the ending of 2001:
I tried to avoid doing this ever since the picture came out because when you just say the ideas they sound foolish, whereas if they’re dramatized one feels it.
A look at the 12 principles of animation developed by Disney to give life to an image.
Explainers about Disney’s animation techniques have been done to death, but Kristian’s stellar editing and compositing make this one worth watching. He uses some great examples that I hadn’t seen before.
Otomo has said that he wanted Tokyo itself to be a major character in Akira, and one of the ways he fleshes this out is with light. Particularly, neon.
Neon has a special significance for both Tokyo and the cyberpunk genre. It is the bitter, but beautiful light that signifies both the colorful radiance and the gaudy consumerism of modernity.
Man, this movie is just so cool. I rewatched it recently; it has lost none of its power to mesmerize me.
Watching this footage only made me more impressed with the stunts in the film.
Across the entire franchise, there’s still an unmistakable sound to the music of James Bond. So why does James Bond sound like James Bond? And how do you write a new Bond song?
Walter Chaw feeds into my obsession with this weird, wonderful film:
What’s impressive is Annihilation’s willingness and ability to evoke the soul-sickness that leads to great moments of art, great moments of self-destruction, and an equation of the two. Its heroes suffer from cinematic time: years can pass and outside the theatre it’s a mere two hours. They suffer, too, from this idea that you can enter into a space, experience something that is entirely alien, and then re-emerge struggling to articulate the crucible of your experience. How many versions of your old selves have you left behind in a museum, a theatre, a concert hall, a book? Is it a thousand? How many new versions have emerged into the uncanny bright of the day outside?
The horror films that stick with us are often the ones that provide a unique twist on the characters’ perspective of the horror.
Get Out follows in this tradition, providing an unfamiliar perspective on the horror. But in this case, it’s not some exotic setting or a filmmaking gimmick. It’s simply that the protagonist is black.