Archive for the ‘Filmmaking’ Category

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The Man from Calanda (An Inevitable Bit of Discussion)

March 5, 2007

A screenwriter named Jean-Claude Carrière once stated that if Luis Buñuel had been born in a different time, he still would have been the same Luis Buñuel. Fortunately, for us, Buñuel was born in a great time that seemed suited only for him. The time of the Surrealist.

From the moment he showed the slicing of young girls eye by a straight edge razor on screen, we knew that he was to be the czar of all filmmaking oddities. We also knew that he was to be a giant of controversy. His general dislike towards the message of Christianity was a constant theme in his films, and was never subliminally brought across; it was in the open for all men to see.

As odd a man he was, and fundamentally disagreeable to myself, he is one of the most influential giants, of whom’s shoulders I stand upon. His work contains a sheer magnetism that cannot be surpassed (especially by the filmmakers of today). The fact that he openly stated his beliefs and disgusts towards society, and was not afraid to do so, is quite inspiring.

His work wasn’t always dealing in the sanctity of religion, but sometimes in the throws of sex. It was his second most talked about subject. Another inspiring aspect of the man’s work; the ability to talk about the taboos of “S” word in the time 1920s-1970s world.

The funny little bastard would have never survived the Reagan era. I guess that’s why it seems so appropriate that death came to him when it did. When he died just before the “dark years” of cinema, he left a note in his work that said he would never be tied down, never be stopped. Not by the church, not by politics, and not by the weak stomached. Sure some of his work had been once banned, but not by the likes of which the 80s would have dealt. It shows that it was not meant to be.

It’s safe to say that Luis Buñuel was born at the right time and he died at the right time.

Kyle W. Sutton

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Ode to the Tale of the Over-Coddled (The Work Considered Second Best)

February 28, 2007

“The magnificence of the Ambersons began in 1873. Their splendor lasted throughout all the years that saw their midland town spread and darken into a city.” – The Narrator

The magnificence of Orson Welles began in 1941 with a film (in and of which he starred, wrote, produced, and directed) about America’s own Kubla Khan; a man who bore the name Charles Foster Kane. A film tender, radiant, and poignantly beautiful was Citizen Kane. An exciting piece of artwork that took the toll of 150, 000 dollars upon the company of Radio-Keith-Orpheum. But no matter was the commercial failure of Kane, for it opened the gate to the new standard; the one of avant-garde beauty.

Following the beauty of one, The Iconoclast (we will call him) crafted the beauty of another; the story of the well-to-doers, who fell from their grace with the evolution of society and industry (the low and poetic dialect of Welles pushed the tale forward with a delightful narration). The second film was as beautiful as the first, but this was something society could not and cannot see.

How ignorant that the film known as The Magnificent Ambersons, is overlooked by the society of now. How truly sad that so much poison can seep into the cracks of the mainstream Hollywood, while this film goes unnoticed by the so-called lovers of art. It’s an exceptionally odd act to portray a man’s first film as the greatest ever made, and not give mention of his equally incredible second.

I can truly say, of The Iconoclast’s film, that it exceeded my hopeful expectations and expanded my thoughts on what I considered “the best films of all time”. I also say that it’s quality was on par with the greatest aesthetics I’ve ever known. A tender, lyrical, yet topsy turvy illustration of a defining era of America. I find it necessary to hereby rate this among my top films and top works of art, thus granting it a place in my heart and ever-expanding mind.

From myself and all the others, who know: To Orson Welles, The Iconoclast, we salute.

Kyle W. Sutton

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A Place Called Sleep

December 16, 2006

I dreamt a little dream. I dreamt a dream of Merian C. Cooper with Ernest B. Shoedsack. I dreamt of the Great War, The land of Grass and Life, The drama of the wilderness, and of an island Southwest of Sumatra. I dreamt of The Most Dangerous Game with Robert and Fay, I dreamt of Flying Down to Rio. I dreamt of these things that are apart of the world’s past, but their existence shapes my future.

I dreamt again. I dreamt of Ishmael’s midlife crisis. I dreamt of Queequeg and his shrunken heads, and of his coffin; the life buoy. I dreamt of Ahab, and of his leg. I dreamt of how he turned his cheek from The Rachel, and refused her aid in her search for the “lost children”. I dreamt of The White Whale and the blood upon his tally. I then dreamt of Starbuck, Stubb, Tashtego, and of little Pip. I dreamt of Elijah and his dark foretells. I dreamt of an aspiration.

The aspiration brought on the dreams of the worlds I’ve not yet created. Things I’ve not yet seen with my eyes, but have known in my mind. The aspiration then gave a cue to release the things I’ve concieved in the dark that have waited for proper revealing.

I still don’t wake up. Smoking Pipes, Harpoons, darts, whales, dogfights, neo-sainthood, blood, and God. Do I have your attention yet? A Debrie camera, a caged tiger, a stampede of Elephants; the animal called Chang. A country in need, a man with no god, a man with visions and addictions, I dream of my world.

These are the things that I think about constantly. The pieces of art, film history, and the work I would like to accomplish. All of it holds significance to me. I place it here for you, so you don’t have to ask who I am, or why I am. This is it.

Kyle W. Sutton