Razno razno razno

bruno sulak wrote:

Anđe'o wrote:Tu su razni filmovi, od kojih su neki bolji, neki gori. Misli na produckioni princip, ako ćemo konkretno



Sigurno je da kad kaže "franšiza" da ne misli na Pushera.

misli na produkcioni princip i kako se on pretvara u umetnicki izraz. 

bartonov betmen je bio bartonov betmen, donerov supermen je donerov supermen. kod marvela je na delu toliko izvan-filmskih elemenata da su ti filmovi negledljivi bez doslovce fanovske utopljenosti. bartonovog betmena je bilo moguce voleti kao neko ko je usao u bioskop a marvelove filmove je uopste moguce gledati samo kao fan.

bruno sulak wrote:

Anđe'o wrote:Tu su razni filmovi, od kojih su neki bolji, neki gori. Misli na produckioni princip, ako ćemo konkretno



Sigurno je da kad kaže "franšiza" da ne misli na Pushera.

misli na produkcioni princip i kako se on pretvara u umetnicki izraz. 

bartonov betmen je bio bartonov betmen, donerov supermen je donerov supermen. kod marvela je na delu toliko izvan-filmskih elemenata da su ti filmovi negledljivi bez doslovce fanovske utopljenosti. bartonovog betmena je bilo moguce voleti kao neko ko je usao u bioskop a marvelove filmove je uopste moguce gledati samo kao fan.

William Murderface wrote:Podseti me Anđ'o sad sa ovim opaskama o rasi. Jedan od najboljh tekstova koje sam pročitao o Džokeru bavi se upravo ulogom rase u filmu. Odmah nakon što smo izašli iz bioskopa, pitam ja ljepšu polovicu, zašto je samohrana majka u koju se Flek zaljubljuje crnkinja - to nije tipičan slučaj u holivudskom filmu, taj izbor nešto znači, ali šta? I onda naiđem na ovaj tekst koji vrlo precizno i ubedljivo ogovara upravo na to pitanje:

https://www.okayplayer.com/originals/new-joker-movie-controversy-black-people-review.html

Speaking to The Hollywood Reporter, Joe Russo explained his feelings on the matter, beginning with how he and his brother, Anthony, define cinema. "Ultimately, we define cinema as a film that can bring people together to have a shared, emotional experience," he says. "When we look at the box office [of] Avengers: Endgame, we don't see that as a signifier of financial success, we see it as a signifier of emotional success. It's a movie that had an unprecedented impact on audiences around the world in the way that they shared that narrative and the way that they experienced it. And the emotions they felt watching it. But, at the end of the day, what do we know? We're just two guys from Cleveland, Ohio, and 'cinema' is a New York word. In Cleveland, we call them movies."
Anthony Russo looks at it another way that leaves things more open to personal interpretation. "The other way to think about it, too, is nobody owns cinema,” Anthony says. “We don't own cinema. You don't own cinema. Scorsese doesn't own cinema."

“I wrote one, Ant-Man, and I love ‘em. I felt like, c’mon Marty, what are you doing? You’re an all-time hero, and some of those movies are really good. To anyone who disses superhero movies, I always say, watch Thor: Ragnarok. That movie is awesome.”

There's certainly a place for all kinds of cinema right now,” Johansson says. “People absorb content in so many different ways. I actually didn't totally understand that statement, because I guess I needed some insight as to what it meant exactly. Because to me it seemed a little old-fashioned. But somebody pointed out to me that perhaps what the statement meant was that there's no room for smaller films, because the cinema is taken up by these enormous blockbusters, and smaller movies don't have a chance at the theater, which I hadn't actually considered and think is a valid point."

"But I also feel like there's sort of this shift in how people watch stuff and there's all these platforms for different kinds of [content]," she says. "Now there's movies and shows and art films and all kinds of stuff getting made that you can watch in all these different ways, and I just feel like it's changing. It doesn't mean it's going away."

“If we’re living in a world where economics are how we measure the value of a society, then yeah, whoever makes the biggest thing is going to dominate,” Ruffalo said. “They are going to try and keep making it again and again. In that article [Scorsese] said something really interesting, and I wish he took it all the way. He said, ‘I am not suggesting that we subsidize films.’ But that’s exactly what he’s suggesting. We should have a national endowment of the arts that gives money to another kind of cinema and does support another kind of cinema.”

Ruffalo continued, “If you’re working in the milieu of ‘I’m going to try and make a movie that has economic success,’ which [Scorsese] does too by the way, then how can you complain about that system when you’re not on top of it anymore? I would love to see Marty create a national film endowment, and he could do this, that lets young, new talent come in that isn’t just driven by the marketplace but driven by precepts of art. That would be amazing. That’s really the crux of this conversation.”

RS: When you talk about this watering down, what do you hold responsible?
RA: Fourteen-year-old boys. That’s the major audience. I don’t think all these “X-Man” pictures are being made for anyone else, do you?

Solus_Rex wrote:Sumnjam da je ko gleda ali ovaj dole 

jacobin wrote:When Martin Scorsese stirred up controversy recently by saying that Marvel superhero movies “aren’t cinema,” I groaned inwardly. Superhero movies aren’t my favorite genre, but I’ve liked a few of them, and they continue to make my godsons happy. At any rate, I recognized the storm of stupid overstatements we were headed into. Here’s how it went down, according to Indiewire:

Don’t ask Martin Scorsese his thoughts on the record-breaking “Avengers: Endgame” because he hasn’t seen it, nor will he ever see it. The legendary filmmaker recently dismissed the Marvel Cinematic Universe during an interview with Empire magazine, saying that Marvel movies do not possess the traits that make cinema truly special.
“I don’t see them. I tried, you know? But that’s not cinema,” Scorsese told Empire. “Honestly, the closest I can think of them, as well made as they are, with actors doing the best they can under the circumstances, is theme parks. It isn’t the cinema of human beings trying to convey emotional, psychological experiences to another human being.”

This kind of loaded question is one I know well. It’s common practice to get people associated with some serious effort at making films, or writing about films, or teaching in film studies programs, to weigh in on the topic “Superhero Films: Great Stuff or Pernicious Shit?” My students used to ask me where I stood on this burning question, and I always recognized it as the trap it was. Nobody wants a moderate answer, such as, “A few are good, but in general they suck, like with most things.”
In fact, that’s a version of what director James Gunn (Guardians of the Galaxy) replied in defense of the movies he makes: “Some superhero movies are awful, some are beautiful. Like Westerns and gangster films [of earlier decades], not everyone will be able to appreciate them, not even some geniuses. And that’s okay.”
Nobody wants to hear that kind of tolerant response. (Even I find unendurable the patronizing line “And that’s okay.”) Everybody’s ears are sticking up for the uncompromising statement condemning superhero films as a blight on a once-proud medium. Something like what Francis Ford Coppola offered when he heard about MarvelGate and came to the defense of his friend:

When Martin Scorsese says that the Marvel pictures are not cinema, he’s right because we expect to learn something from cinema, we expect to gain something, some enlightenment, some knowledge, some inspiration . . . I don’t know that anyone gets anything out of seeing the same movie over and over again. Martin was kind when he said it’s not cinema. He didn’t say it’s despicable, which I just say it is.

“Despicable!” That’s Daffy Duck’s furious, sputtering insult of choice. Well, now it’s a party.
What I hate about this argument is that it brings us back to the tired old art film vs. genre film wars, from which no one emerges a winner. The issue quickly devolves into snobs vs. populists, auteur artistry vs. mass-produced commercial cinema, education vs. pleasure. But these lines are actually very blurry. As a rule, artists are also preoccupied by commercial concerns (even if not by choice), great art is frequently great entertainment and vice versa, art films can suck every bit as much as genre films and seem every bit as formulaic, and you can actually learn a lot going to see popular films.
Though the suggestion that people flock to the theaters specifically to get educated has always struck me as bizarre. It would make more sense to skip school to go to the movies, to find relief in a sensorium of visceral excitements and pleasures. You can certainly get an education from movies as a byproduct, and maybe you prefer documentaries, but does anyone rush out to see Once Upon a Time . . . in Hollywood or Parasite or The Lighthouse (to name a few exciting films of 2019) for the high-minded lessons they might learn? I hope not.

I love genre films. I think Coppola was once, for a short period of time, a great filmmaker, and is now a crazy old coot for saying, “I don’t know that anyone gets anything out of seeing the same movie over and over again.” Repeat viewing is one of the great cinematic pleasures. I bet I’ve seen certain moves twenty times, easy.
But genre films are Coppola’s real target here when he says “same movie over and over again.” Those are movies like Westerns, gangster films, war films, musicals, sci-fi movies, and other highly recognized narrative types that follow formulas involving the same sorts of plot, characters, setting, etc., with specific configurations and details changing each time. By expressing contempt for them, he’s attacking the majority of films people actually love. And he’s betraying a profound ignorance of the richness of the genre film experience, which is a real connoisseur’s delight. Only by seeing a large number of films in any given genre can you begin to appreciate the inventiveness and wealth of meaning in an exciting new example of the genre, as each new director takes up the challenge of a long history and addresses the specific cultural concerns always represented in a popular genre.
Joker, for example, wasn’t a huge hit by accident. Writer-director Todd Phillips did exactly what smart creative types working in popular film do: make the genre seem fresh again, newly relevant to audiences. Some critics argued that Joker is good because it transcended genre and became an art film. Nope, it’s an artfully made genre film.
And, ironically, Coppola got established as an important director by pursuing that practice himself, with the revisionist gangster filmThe Godfather in 1972. He didn’t want to make it — he thought the novel it was based on was an unworthy potboiler. He wanted to make art films instead.
Also, please note that in the 1980s and 1990s, the burning question would’ve been “Action Films: Great Stuff or Pernicious Shit?” I know because I taught an action film course, and it was regarded as a rather daring move given the genre’s supposedly deleterious impact on the world. Most of the scholarship at the time was disapproving. The first academic books on the topic tended to condemn action films as nothing but exercises in misogyny, racism, and imperialism that indicated something was deeply wrong with our cinema and culture. I remember my dissertation advisor once telling me, after the crossover success of her first book on a film genre, that she’d met with a publisher who offered her a lucrative contract for a book on action films — as long as she argued they were fundamentally bad for us.
That stuff sells. It makes the general public angry and the high-culture snobs happy, and a good time is had by all who get in on the argument.
Martin Scorsese has kept the good times rolling with a follow-up opinion piece called “I Said Marvel Movies Aren’t Cinema. Let Me Explain.” In it, he makes some admittedly good points. His list of movies he considers “cinema” are a careful mix of auteur-made art films (Ingmar Bergman’s Persona, Jean-Luc Godard’s Vivre Sa Vie, Kenneth Anger’s Scorpio Rising) and old Hollywood genre films, though he’s careful to choose the ones made by auteurist masters of their genres (Samuel Fuller’s The Steel Helmet, Gene Kelly and Stanley Donen’s It’s Always Fair Weather, Don Siegel’s The Killers). He uses Alfred Hitchcock’s suspense films as his favorite example of someone who successfully combined the auteurist art film and genre film traditions and practices: “I suppose you could say Hitchcock was his own franchise. Or he was our franchise.”
Scorsese is pointedly ignoring a complexity that André Bazin once formulated to check the auteur-mania of the film critics (and soon-to-be directors) he mentored at Cahiers du Cinéma, such as Jean-Luc Godard, François Truffaut, and Claude Chabrol. Bazin reminded them of “the genius of the system.” He was referring to all the incredibly effective films that came out of the Hollywood studio system that were not “authored” by any lone visionary figure. They seemed to emerge from the process of mass-produced filmmaking itself, and the constant collaboration of so many brilliant specialists in screenwriting, cinematography, editing, sound, production design, costumes, hair, makeup, and so on.
Of course, Scorsese isn’t wrong about the necessity of taking risks in filmmaking. It’s a maddening and expensive form to work with, complicated, labor-intensive, reliant on technological know-how, and full of creative X factors that can make the most surefire effect on paper came out looking like crap on film. Plus, it’s the riskiest business in the world, especially when pursued with independent means, as you find out if you try to make a film and hire a lawyer to draw up the paperwork for potential investors. That’s when you discover that, by law, you must warn them of the extreme likelihood that they’ll lose their money.

The inherent risk factor that businesspeople in film industries have tried to mitigate, spread, and otherwise do away with over the past 120-odd (very odd) years has reached a terrible point among the few media conglomerates now controlling the film industry. As an oligopoly that runs a closed system of profit-making worldwide, they’ve figured out how to spread risk so thin it’s hard to see how they can ever lose on an individual film. Scorsese describes the process of filmmaking now in terms familiar to us all: “That’s the nature of modern film franchises: market-researched, audience-tested, vetted, modified, revetted and remodified until they’re ready for consumption.”
And there’s no disagreeing with a basic concern Scorsese expresses, which is that screens worldwide are completely dominated by the franchise films made by those few conglomerates, with superhero films as the main offering. This leaves little room for featuring ambitious stand-alone movies by filmmakers consciously dealing with riskier material:

It’s a perilous time in film exhibition, and there are fewer independent theaters than ever . . . [S]treaming has become the primary delivery system. Still, I don’t know a single filmmaker who doesn’t want to design films for the big screen, to be projected before audiences in theaters.

The dire situation, in short, isn’t the popularity of superhero films, or their lack of artistry — it’s the lack of a healthy, thriving supply of other varied films vying for equal screen time. If visionary filmmakers had an abundance of opportunities, and we audience members had a wide viewing choice that included plenty of auteurist art films of maximum daring, plus a dose of all the exciting genre films we could handle, there’d be no reason to dwell on how despicable Marvel films may or may not be.

(film critic after watching a movie that features some neon lighting)
this movie is absolutely nuts, like an acid trip slathered in meth, a delirious dive off the edge, a kaleidoscopic extravaganza that must be experienced to be believed, a phantasmagoric descent into the void

— nick usen (@nickusen) May 19, 2019