Well, well, well.
Can't keep a good site down, eh?
After some difficulties yesterday with servers and outages, my schedule is back on. I had written yesterday's post well within the time limit and published it, only for Blogspot to short out on me. After many refreshes and head scratching, here we are back in business. Feels good. Additionally, since the post was written and published (but not updated to circumstances beyond my control) I'm going to count the streak as unbroken. Where does that leave me? Something like 133 days, straight, of fresh content? Right-o, let's keep the ball rolling, shall we?
I didn't get Akira the first time I saw it.
This is not to say I couldn't follow the plot, although some spotty dubbing and a rinky-dink TV didn't help any. I mean, I got it and all. It just didn't click with me right away. What I hadn't realized, though, is that scene is just as important for the viewer as the director.
I had picked up the movie after seeing (and loving) Spirited Away. Wanting more anime to satisfy a burgeoning curiosity, I picked up the 1987 release on DVD shortly after seeing Spirited Away, assuming it's reputation as a landmark, touchstone film would guarantee a prized place among movies I owned and cherished. All I knew at that point was: it was anime, it was highly regarded, it was about a post-war Tokyo set in the future and there was a motorcycle. That pretty much summed up my a priori knowledge. I suppose it was only slightly racist, then. After an initial viewing I was left a bit befuddled and unsure of what I'd seen. I understood the nuts and bolts of the plot yet still was asking myself "What was all that about, then?" Like Homer awakening to the horrors of Poochy, I asked myself "At least I liked it, didn't' I?"
I can say now, after subsequent viewings, that the answer is an emphatic yes. However, in contrast to my experience with Spirited Away (and countless other anime movies I have since consumed) I found that my personal scene for viewing the movie was a detriment to the process of taking in the movie. Whereas that experience was almost serendipitous in its ambience, this movie, I found, required intentional and deliberate scene setting in order to enjoy it.
As I said earlier, my initial viewing experience was not ideal, not just for this movie but for any. It was a sunny afternoon after my lectures were done for the day, I was in my college apartment and the TV I was using was probably no bigger than the monitor on which this is being read. Not exactly the best way to experience a movie known for it's distinct imagery and massive scope. Details were vague, characters started to become interchangeable and the impact of large set pieces and scenes was lost. Still, despite my unintentional scene, I enjoyed the movie and a few years later I decided to revisit it, really watch it again but under much more cinematic circumstances.
My (impending) father-in-law is a man who approaches life with the attitude "If it's worth doing, it's worth doing right." This includes his approach to media consumption. So one day while visiting his house with my better half, I was afforded a span of time with which I would be able to view a movie on his massive TV in a private screening room. Despite this being just in advance of the proliferation of Blu-Ray, it was about as ideal a viewing experience as I could have asked for - a massive (like, 70-plus inch) TV, artificially darkened room with a great sound system and no disturbances whatsoever. My phone was off and I was isolated, seated, most likely, much to close to the TV.
It was revelatory.
My entire understanding of the movie had changed as a result - characters whose features and design seemed indistinct were suddenly illuminated. I found myself realizing "Oh, it's that guy!" whenever a small but recurring role popped up. Epic city-wide shots seemed more transporting and somehow 'real' than they had previously. The vital, dangerous energy of the action sequences and chase scenes was almost dizzying due to the perspectives and size of the screen. A plot whose players seemed at time non-descript suddenly was crystal clear (although this was obviously aided by a repeat viewing) and an ending that had been almost under whelming the first time around was now intense and unrelentingly powerful. Basically watching the movie in my own personal theater completely changed the film for me - it went from a 'pretty okay' in my book to 'Holy Hannah, that was good'. Seeing it under those circumstances made me wonder how it's reputation had propelled from the theaters into viewer's homes, and how insane it must have been to see it in the first theatrical run.
To be perfectly frank there is a lesson I've taken from this whole experience (other than give unusual art second chances). That lesson is that unless the circumstances are right, I shouldn't consume media via small screens unless I really need to. I'll absolutely watch something on my phone, say, on the bus or on a plane, but the ipad is such a step up over that. If I don't have to use the ipad, I won't - these devices allow me to make it portable but I don't use them as the only means of consumption. Basically I want every viewing experience to be as close to ideal as possible, at least on the first pass for a movie or show. If I went to bed early - sure, I'll watch a bit of a movie just for something novel, but I'd rather do it on a widescreen.
Of course, I say all this with the admission that I won't follow my own advice.
Can't keep a good site down, eh?
After some difficulties yesterday with servers and outages, my schedule is back on. I had written yesterday's post well within the time limit and published it, only for Blogspot to short out on me. After many refreshes and head scratching, here we are back in business. Feels good. Additionally, since the post was written and published (but not updated to circumstances beyond my control) I'm going to count the streak as unbroken. Where does that leave me? Something like 133 days, straight, of fresh content? Right-o, let's keep the ball rolling, shall we?
I didn't get Akira the first time I saw it.
This is not to say I couldn't follow the plot, although some spotty dubbing and a rinky-dink TV didn't help any. I mean, I got it and all. It just didn't click with me right away. What I hadn't realized, though, is that scene is just as important for the viewer as the director.
I had picked up the movie after seeing (and loving) Spirited Away. Wanting more anime to satisfy a burgeoning curiosity, I picked up the 1987 release on DVD shortly after seeing Spirited Away, assuming it's reputation as a landmark, touchstone film would guarantee a prized place among movies I owned and cherished. All I knew at that point was: it was anime, it was highly regarded, it was about a post-war Tokyo set in the future and there was a motorcycle. That pretty much summed up my a priori knowledge. I suppose it was only slightly racist, then. After an initial viewing I was left a bit befuddled and unsure of what I'd seen. I understood the nuts and bolts of the plot yet still was asking myself "What was all that about, then?" Like Homer awakening to the horrors of Poochy, I asked myself "At least I liked it, didn't' I?"
As I said earlier, my initial viewing experience was not ideal, not just for this movie but for any. It was a sunny afternoon after my lectures were done for the day, I was in my college apartment and the TV I was using was probably no bigger than the monitor on which this is being read. Not exactly the best way to experience a movie known for it's distinct imagery and massive scope. Details were vague, characters started to become interchangeable and the impact of large set pieces and scenes was lost. Still, despite my unintentional scene, I enjoyed the movie and a few years later I decided to revisit it, really watch it again but under much more cinematic circumstances.
It was revelatory.
My entire understanding of the movie had changed as a result - characters whose features and design seemed indistinct were suddenly illuminated. I found myself realizing "Oh, it's that guy!" whenever a small but recurring role popped up. Epic city-wide shots seemed more transporting and somehow 'real' than they had previously. The vital, dangerous energy of the action sequences and chase scenes was almost dizzying due to the perspectives and size of the screen. A plot whose players seemed at time non-descript suddenly was crystal clear (although this was obviously aided by a repeat viewing) and an ending that had been almost under whelming the first time around was now intense and unrelentingly powerful. Basically watching the movie in my own personal theater completely changed the film for me - it went from a 'pretty okay' in my book to 'Holy Hannah, that was good'. Seeing it under those circumstances made me wonder how it's reputation had propelled from the theaters into viewer's homes, and how insane it must have been to see it in the first theatrical run.
Of course, I say all this with the admission that I won't follow my own advice.
