Star Wars: Episode IX - The Rise of Skywalker

The gradual buildup to the release of Star Wars: Episode IX - The Rise of Skywalker (Abrams, 2019) featured the usual blitz of media hype and commercial bombardment that the fans of the Star Wars franchise are used to. For myself, the constant reminder of the films release was a type of death note to a story that seemed to have no finality. I sat in the movie theatre with trepidation, not wanting to witness the end of a saga but also wanting to know how the saga would end. As the blast of John Williams orchestra played the resounding revelry call that is the Star Wars universe, the credits scrolled their narrative introduction, and the end had begun.

Star Wars: Episode IX - The Rise of Skywalker is not a film for fans of more thoughtfully paced character development stories but rather for those who don't mind walking a tight rope blindly for nearly two and a half hours. There are pro's and con's to both types of films but my suspicion is that for Star Wars: Episode IX - The Rise of Skywalker the thoughtful character developments will be found upon repeated viewing of the film when one gets past the multiple action sequences. But like most (if not all) the prequels and sequels this film will offer a variety of arguments as to why it's the worst thing to ever be put onto a 90 foot wide movie theatre screen. I know I've had my own criticisms of the Star Wars films (see previous Star Wars posts) and I don't write them as some sort of protector or gatekeeper of Star Wars storytelling. What I do think happens is that inherently we know the story will end and the we want the end to be the right ending...whatever the right ending may be. We want to protect that ending and know that when the last frames are shown that we have felt a completion. This might be why there has been such heavy criticisms over Episodes 7 and 8. The uncomfortable feeling of being incomplete and not knowing everything, having no home base to give a sense of direction, being lost in a familiar galaxy is too much to face. Is is possible that this is what this final trilogy of films is all about?

When we meet the character of Rey (Daisy Ridley) on Jakku, she is character in search of meaning, waiting for a resolve to a personal question. This personal question drives us through three films, finding its' resolve in The Rise of Skywalker. For myself, and maybe many others, is that this final trilogy was to be a resolve to characters previously established. When these films weren't delivering those goods and I was left to care about characters I didn't have thirty years or so to care about, I felt had. These feelings though embody the very ideas that The Rise of Skywalker brings to the narrative of the film. I wanted something I couldn't get and therefore I let my reactions to the films be based on what was not. There is a selfishness that has the ability to create a desire for absolute power, not only putting ourselves before others but forcing control over others. Kylo Ren (Adam Driver) may very well be the embodiment of this type of selfishness but Rey is not without her own selfish desires. These desires create conflicts not only externally but also internally. Over the course of three films we see the conflict play out and try to understand the conflicts importance. What starts as a surface form of battle between two character in Episode 7 becomes more internalized in Episode 8 and perhaps more historical in Episode 9. How those conflicts are resolved can provide of us with some meaning to this final trilogy.

Throughout the Star Wars saga the idea of choosing ones path has been a constant. The various films have shown us the consequences of choices made. Whether Anakin (Hayden Christensen) choosing the dark side in Episode III: Revenge of the Sith (Lucas, 2005), or Darth Vader (David Prowse/James Earl Jones) turning on Emperor Palpatine (Ian McDiarmid) in Episode VI: Return of the Jedi (Marquand 1983) these choices bring a greater meaning to the character and who they become. The choice of good or evil is ever present and at times that choice seems to be ones destiny. The Rise of Skywalker seems to show us that destiny is transient. A choice does not need to define us and it's not too late to change the definitions self ascribed.

Across this world eyes will look upon a screen and see the end of a saga that allowed countless people to dream and imagine worlds fantastic but also familiar. A saga of films that shed light on what we value and reflect who we are, both light and dark. In The Rise of Skywalker C-3PO (Anthony Daniels) is asked a question, the character is shown in close-up looking, not only at characters off frame but at us, the audience. C-3PO reply's, "Taking one last look, sir. At my friends." And so we collectively return that look.

Star Wars Episode VIII: The Last Jedi

What is below is not a full fledged exploration into the films plot. I'm not looking to spoil the film if you haven't seen it. In fact if you haven't seen it and are reading this, stop reading and go see the movie! Who wants to read a Blog post anyway? Below is a thought, one of many that I had on this film, but I chose what I chose and so therefore.....

When I was in middle school I remember a social studies class lesson that dealt with oral traditions. Part of the lesson was how do we get history from long ago to now. The oral tradition of storytelling and relaying events over time was a means of providing information, and of course there is writing down information. This combination is not fail proof as we are sure to have experienced at one point, sometimes your memory fails you and sometimes you write in error. The class tried to do a simple telephone game to prove this by trying to relay a sentence from one end of the room to the other. Of course, the starting sentence was nowhere near close to what the final product revealed. The same can be seen in our traditions and mythologies. Throughout history we have mythologies and traditions that have passed from the oral, to written and then even to recorded, both audio and visual. Now we can even consider the myths and traditions to have passed on to digital with new forms on the horizon. With each passing we would like to think that we have come to a more solid transference of information, one where errors are limited and sources are plentiful. We can reserve somewhere in our minds that what we know is true and trust the traditions that have been passed on to us. Unfortunately that seems to be in antithetical to what mythology and traditions are.

Star Wars Episode 8: The Last Jedi (Dir. Rian Johnson, 2017) continues the mythology of the Star Wars universe. One where fans of the films have experienced the rise and fall of many characters and worlds and hopefully have experienced some sort of entertainment by films end. The film returns the main characters of the previous film The Force Awakens (Dir. Abrams, 2015) as well as introducing some new characters. There is Rose Tico (Kelly Marie Tran), Vice Admiral Holdo (Laura Dern) DJ (Benicio Del Toro) and in more physical form this time around, Snoke (Andy Serkis). We also get some new creatures that are sure to sell in all manners of plush to collectors. The small puffin like bird Porgs blow Ewoks away on the cute scale. We come to expect new characters, creatures and places when we watch a new Star Wars film, it's part of the tradition, adds richness to the mythology. What is not expected are when the core tenants to the mythology are changed.

At the time of writing this The Last Jedi is still new to the world. The criticism to the film is mixed, how can it not be? The franchise is so large and far reaching, that it extends beyond the movie screen to multiple media levels. Even if one is solely watching the films and nothing else Star Wars, there are certain traditions that have been ingrained within the viewers understanding of the Star Wars universe that any attempt at subverting those traditions risks a complete destruction of the space time continuum. Okay, not that serious, but people will be upset. This is where The Last Jedi leads us. The film tells us that everything we know, or think we know, is not absolutely true. For example, in a scene where Luke Skywalker (Mark Hamill) asks Rey (Daisy Ridley) what she thinks the force is, her answer is simple; It's a power that Jedi have that lets them control people and...make things float. Sounds about right, right? Luke says she's everything she says is wrong. In turn, he's telling us that everything we know is wrong.

The Last Jedi seems to put us in some unknown territory of the Star Wars mythology. The George Lucas  mythological construction of the first six films, and continued somewhat by J.J. Abrams in The Force Awakens, seems to be twisted into an uncomfortable form in The Last Jedi. Much of The Last Jedi shows a Rebel Alliance that is in complete disarray and failure, the Force as almost like a side note in a conflict of ambiguous wills, a conflict that is exploited by war profiteers, and heroes that seem to have taken a few steps back in their heroism. The Force Awakens teased us with Luke Skywalker but in The Last Jedi we get to spend some time with him. We find an older, bitter and still naive Jedi that seems to have thrown away his past successes because of one moment of perceived failure. We do get a glimpse into what happened to Luke, post Return of the Jedi (Dir. Marquand, 1983), but only that which serves The Last Jedi and its plot. That brief glimpse isn't much to dwell on. We don't get the Luke Skywalker that has turned into all powerful comic book hero.

I can only wonder why this challenge to the mythological structure of Star Wars with The Last Jedi? Was this the plan all along? Did a producer ruin things? Did the director fail the film? That insider information isn't available...yet. What could be a plausible thought is that maybe The Last Jedi is the normal shift that happens to traditions and myths as time progresses. The Star Wars universe is over 40 years old. Times have changed. The political realities have shifted, technology has allowed for different aspects of the story to be explored, our cultural outlooks have changed. When looking at mythology there doesn't seem to be too many absolutes. There are no set rules or meanings, but rather interpretations to understanding a myth. Take cats for example in Japanese mythology. Some see the cat as ominous but cats were often brought on ships as a measure of protection against sea creatures. There's context and then there is who is telling, or writing, the myth. In the end we compile what information we have and try to draw a conclusion, even if the conclusion creates some dissonance.

The Last Jedi may not fall on the favorites part of the spectrum of Star Wars films in the long run. There will be another Star Wars film and maybe the next one will give a boost of credit to The Last Jedi. Where the mythology goes next is not certain, and that, at least to me, is a good thing. These times are uncertain and so why shouldn't The Last Jedi, or any other future Star War film reflect that uncertainty. Take comfort in knowing that this myth is not going to go the way you think.

The Killing of a Sacred Deer

Never judge a book by it's cover, or for that fact, never judge a film by it's title. The Killing of a Sacred Deer (2017), directed by Yorgos Lanthimos, might have the most evocative title for a film this year but the film goes beyond its title to areas both uncomfortable and horrific. The story revolves around Steven Murphy (Colin Farrell) and his family. Steven, a wealthy cardiovascular surgeon seems to have everything that one could want in life; riches, family, job security and the illusion of safety. That illusion is brought to him, and us, by Martin (Barry Keoghan). Martin is a 16 year old who seems to have no reasonable connection to Steven but as the film progresses we learn that, for Steven, the relationship is necessary with evil intentions. So you might be wondering, what does this have to do with killing a sacred deer?

Lanthimos provides the metaphorical title that we are to explore its meaning as the film progresses. The metaphors can also extend to Lanthimos style, which can be seen as very cold and uniform. Humanity seems to be lacking, especially through the characters interactions, it seems at times we are watching robots interact. This dryness and austere quality is nothing but a mask for deeper emotions and secrets that the characters internalize. Steven's family consists of his wife Anna (Nicole Kidman) son Bob (Sunny Suljic) and teenage daughter Kim (Raffey Cassidy). Steven and Anna put on the appearance of dutiful parents who try and be in control of all aspects of their children's life. They are schedule freaks whose relationship with their children has the appearance of success and dutifulness. Steven gives praise to his kids for their success while at the same time pushing them to be better. Which comes across as over bearing at first but later takes on a greater meaning. While Lanthimos shows us the family dynamic he seems to be showing us the structure of their relationships while also showing how easily things can fall apart. When we witness the breakdown of the family we begin to understand not only the design of the family but also  the reason behind Lanthimos design of their relationship. When Martin is introduced into the family dynamic it is then the facade of the successful family begins to crack away.

Martin's introduction to the Murphy family leads to the slow destruction of the family unit while also allowing us to understand what the sacred deer is. Martin's innocent introduction is nothing more than a cruel act, he is like an imp whose purpose is to push Steven to the breaking point. Lanthimos does not make the reasoning for Martin and his actions easy for us, and gratefully so for us. There are aspects to the Murphy families issues that are comedic and twisted while at the same time horrific. Lanthimos makes the journey uncomfortable, especially through the soundtrack of the film. At times the music is reminiscent of The Shining, timpani pitch rolls and high pitch strings and all. The music, acting and cinematography creates a dissonance of emotion that can put the viewer in some uncomfortable places.

It is in these uncomfortable places that we witness Steven struggle with what he finds sacred. Though he seems to be a cold figure that is at times distant from his family, his love and protection for his family grows as he fights for his family's survival. But the fight for survival comes at some great costs. Not just physically but also psychologically. What Lanthimos seems to show is that success in life is not without sacrifice, and those sacrifice's sometimes come at the cost of others. Steven may be proficient in being able to fix other peoples hearts but there are some matters of the heart that can not be fixed. The Killing of a Sacred Deer allows us to understand what sacred means. But in order to understand the sacred we have to go into dark territory and navigate it for a while. Once we have finished with that territory we, as well as the Murphy family in the film, are left to move on in silence.

La La Land

In the early 1900's, plots of desert southern California land were purchased by entrepenuaers of a new form of entertainment, cinematic storytelling.  Those plots of land would become what would eventually be known as Hollywood Land, later shortened to Hollywood. A mythical place where the ordinary could become extraordinary and where life could transcend itself onto the eager eyes of millions of screen watchers across the country and the world. Hollywood was sold to the masses through the films in which it produced. Films that showed the glamour, glitz, and sun drenched skies that lead to posh night life with endless pleasures. The pull to be a part of this world has led and continues to lead hundreds and thousands to the mythical place in search of accessing the utopian dream. 

Damian Chazelle's musical film La La Land shows us that the mythical world still exists and that dreamers  are still striving to be a part of that world. Through the two lead characters Mia (Emma Stone) and Sebastian (Ryan Gosling) we follow two dreamers in their quest to become a part of Hollywood. Mia strives to be an actress and Sebastian a legitimate nightclub owner that plays true jazz. There first encounter is in Los Angeles traffic, which to form is never a positive experience for anyone. Later they meet at a party, Sebastian performing in an 80's cover band and Mia trying to avoid falling into a relationship trap with another party goer. They save each other and as expected, slowly form a relationship that leads from just friends to lovers.

Chazelle uses many classic storytelling devices that can be expected of romantic films, especially in classical Hollywood musicals; falling in and out of love, dance numbers, musical themes and motifs and that overall sense that the world can stop for a musical number. Though much of what happens on screen is not new to movie musicals, Chazelle injects a vibrancy of life into the narrative. The vibrancy is shown through the colors that jump out of the ultra wide screen that Mia and Sebastian move and dance their way through. The score and soundtrack put together by Justin Hurwitz is infectious and adds the all important layer of sound that bridges the emotions of the characters to the audience. 

La La Land is part homage to movie musicals (as many film critics have pointed out) but also homage to a type of storytelling that has been overshadowed by special effects and somber realism, the only way to describe it is Hollywood melodrama. Hollywood melodrama encompasses the grandeur of star actors and production design that leads to an overwhelming scope that we, the audience, inherently know is out of reach but we still reach for it. One example from the film is where Mia and Sebastian go the Griffith Observatory after having watched Rebel Without a Cause (Ray, 1955). While at the observatory Mia and Sebastian perform a dance number "in the stars" that are projected in the ceiling. In a moment of shared love they float into the air, dancing to music that would fit perfectly into a musical in the 1950's. Chazelle expresses the emotions of the moment through extraordinary means that in no way reflect actual reality. But Chazelle knows that the emotions are real, for we ourselves may have experienced them at some point in our life, and therefore we can suspend reality to get lost in the moment. (i.e Think Singin' in the Rain (Donen & Kelly, 1952) and Gene Kelly's iconic dance number where he sings in the rain.) Not many filmmakers would be willing to take that chance. In some respects Scorsese seemed to have tried for it with his film New York, New York (1977) and failed. Chazelle is successful in part because he allows us to float on the dreams of the characters and not force us into confined tropes. 

What seems to bring La La Land into more extraordinary filmmaking territory is its understanding of the nature of Hollywood. For all of the visions of grandeur that comes from dreaming of success there is an undertone of compromise that one has to journey through. In the film Sebastion takes a gig as a keyboard player in a successful band that has him on the road away from Mia. Mia sacrifices herself to trying to be successful that it causes strife in her relationship with Sebastian. The sacrifice eventually leads her to success but also moves her a world away from Sebastian. The relationship that we have seen grow throughout the film matures into something that is often times all too familiar and very much a part of the reality of life. The ending of the film allows us to understand the dream of both Mia and Sebastian while also the reality of choices they have made. 

Hollywood continues to be that epicenter of the big screen dream for so many. La La Land updates our dreamers into the twenty first century while utilizing past filmmaking styles and techniques. Chazelle reminds us that the big screen can still produce dreams and show us emotions in ways that sing to us. Those emotions in turn make us want to dance and sing and get ourselves lost in our own la la lands.

Stranger Things

A few months back I was in Washington D.C. on a little vacation. I visited some of the museums and one in particular was the National Museum of American History.  There were some exhibits of some more recent American culture. Moments that I wouldn't necessarily think of being museum worthy but none the less on display. Items from 1980's and 90's childhood. Items that at times I kept thinking to myself, "I had that or I remember that." Those toys, wrappers and electronic devices are now at the bottom of a garbage dump. Their value expended and use no longer of any value, at least to me. But now worthy of being in a museum. How did the objects that seemed so incidental become pieces of history? How did they garner a value that I somehow missed, or at least never saw the potential value in?

When the Netflix series Stranger Things (2016) was released the binge viewers clamored to the retro styled pastiche of genre storytelling and found a gem. A story that is set in the early 1980's in middle America. The story includes such narrative devices as: monsters, dissaperances, paranoia, teen troubles, secret government agents, some horror, some science fiction and cliffhangers. I'm not interested in getting into the finer points of the story, or play the role of spoiler. What interests me about the series is why the interest? There's nothing wholly groundbreaking in the storytelling or plot devices that haven't been used before. There is something about the story that unfolds that might be the reason why there is a buzz that surrounds the series. The Things of Stranger Things.

One Thing being the setting. I wondered why the series was set in the 1980's. The story could easily be told in our modern times without much difficulty, or even in more recent times. The 80's carry their own distinct styles and models of understanding. I do not doubt that the creators of the series, the Duffer Brothers were injecting their own influences of the past into the story. The production designer Chris Trujillo, along with the art direction of William G. Davis, and set decoration of Jess Royal are spot on with creating the 1980's world of the characters. Each frame offers the time capsule of the era and enhances the story beyond a story that is set in the 80's but rather is the 80's. The authenticity and simulation of the era rings true. For those who were a part of those days we discover the artifacts of those times as we watch the characters interact with them like we once did. The connection of nostalgia is a bridge to the past. For those outside of those times, who only know of them from media and history books, the series is a period piece. (The 80's as a period piece? Sure! Why not!) The opportunity to get lost in the story of the fantastiqué, as is what horror and science fiction's goals are, makes for more recent generations to find an authentic storytelling experience. Stranger Things connects generational experiences with genre and storytelling.

But there are more Things of the past to discover. A game of Dungeons and Dragons, A Trapper Keeper, movie posters and songs. Those Things work their way into a Heidegger-esque meaning of value. These items are just parts to a greater whole of the artistic statement that the storytellers are showing us. Couple this with a bit of post-modern recontextualizing and these things become more than just props and storytelling devices. Without trying to play spoiler, consider the film posters and references seen in the series. Three posters that are displayed in the background of rooms are; one for Jaws, Evil Dead and John Carpenter's The Thing. All three connect to the characters interest in horror and are of the time period in which the story takes place. But they are also symbols of the greater terror at hand that the characters will face in their own horror/monster. The films are an influence of the story tellers world but also clues as into what to expect from the characters and the horror that will come upon them. The objects of promotion of a by gone time are now valuable pieces of storytelling that connect us to the world of the characters. One could even go as far as to say that the film that plays at the towns movie theater, All The Right Moves, is relatable to the teenagers and their relationships in the series.

Of course there is more to understanding any phenomena of television series popularity. I don't think there is a clear cut answer as why viewers finding Stranger Things to work and other series bombing. Could all be a matter of timing. Just as my museum trip challenged my understanding of the past, and what is valuable. I can't help to think that we are now willing to take a step back and accept the storytelling devices of the past as not old fashioned or boring. Rather something that is as unique and valuable as any fast pace techno thrill a minute series of today. So we binge and wait for the next chapters of Stranger Things to appear from another side of the past.

Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens

Rarely do I ever feel the need to post thoughts on a new theatrically released film. Partly due to the fact that I don't get out to theaters as often as I would like and when I do, I like to take my time in thinking about what I have just seen. Usually the thoughts I come up with don't provide me with enough desire to write about those thoughts. It's not the movies fault, it's more or less me.

Since the news of the Star Wars franchise being sold to Disney and the production of Episode 7 being teased to expectant audiences, the hype surrounding the film has added to the pressure of needing to see this film. In the films short theatrical release there has been enough reactions to the film that I figure I might as well throw my hat into the ring. The wait for this film has been long in coming for myself and those of my generation. Since 1983 and the release of Episode 6, The Return of the Jedi, the curiosity as to what happened to Luke Skywalker, Princess Leia, Han Solo, Chewbacca (for myself what about the Ewoks?) created numerous debates amongst friends. Anyone who had the action figures could create their own sequels and forever wonder what was to come. Did Luke go over to the Darkside? Did Leia and Han marry? Did Boba Fett escape the Sarlacc Pit and go on to seek revenge? We could speculate but never know. We all got older and were introduced to the galaxy before Episode 4 with the prequels installment. But now, in 2015, the answers were found, and for myself, were found wanting.

I don't write with the mind of criticism to express whether the movie is good or bad. The film was made in the hands of a highly proficient filmmaker in J.J. Abrams, with more resources available to him and his crew than we may ever realize. I'll reserve my thoughts on the production aspects till later but I do think there is a connection to the changes that time brings to production  and to perception.

The expectation as to what happened to the iconic characters of Luke, Leia, Han, Chewbacca, C-3PO, and R2-D2 all seem to be put on the shelf by the filmmakers. What seems to be better shown is rather said through dialogue by the filmmakers. It is as if the void between 1983 and 2015 could never be filled and therefore glossed over. (Without giving away too much detail, or spoilers) The question of Luke Skywalker is answered within the first line of the introduction title roll. Our other heroes are introduced scattered shot, with back stories only hinted at but never fully realized. Meanwhile we are following the exploits of Rey and Finn, misfits brought together from their own separate orders, discovering the Force and exploits of the Jedi past. They seem to embody possibly what it would be like for a new viewer of the Star Wars franchise trying to piece together the world of these classical characters. The filmmaker drops hints to the past the film installments, even the prequels, giving winks and nods to those "in the know" while at the same time trying to freshen the galaxy that is so far, far away. Rey and Finn are the millennials of this generation fighting the dark side, young, never realizing the need for guidance, discovering on their own their failures and accepting the pressure that they can achieve anything they put their mind to.

Rey and Finn are the new torchbearers. Literally in the sense that they try to carry and use Luke's light saber, to both success and failure. But this passing of the torch seems rushed and messy. Too much seems to happen by accident and circumstance. The intricate design of episodes 4, 5, and 6 seems abandoned not only in the story but also through the filmmaking. I hate to sound like I am being an old curmudgeon but the style of the filmmaking doesn't quite fit. Style will always be an argument point with no clear answer. Abrams' style is influenced in the Sci-Fi/Fantasy films of the 70's and 80's with the added wizardry of CGI. What he is able to create is cinematic eye candy and the wonder that makes filmgoing so addictive. But does it fit in the design of the Star Wars Universe?

There are plenty of aspects of the filmmaking that I could look at and break down from The Force Awakens and how they relate to my overall feeling of the film. But for this short response I can only think about the differences in how the close-ups are used in The Force Awakens and how George Lucas uses the close-up in his Star Wars films. They seem to have different points of emphasis and are complemented by camera movement, or lack thereof. Lucas seems to prefer stillness in his frame, even in the most action intense sequences the camera is still, keeping the subject defined within the frame. Abrams' camera seems to be about the experience, to get you into feeling the vibrations and intensity of the actions taking place. The camera may shake, or glide in and around, making hard cuts rather than the smooth motions of Lucas's films. These differences leave me at odds and in an unfamiliar environment to what I know these characters to be in. We are even shown a flashback/vision sequence in The Force Awakens. Something that I don't recall in any of the other films but also further covering over what happened between episode 6 and 7. There is a rush to The Force Awakens that wants me to yell to the characters, "Stop And Catch Your Breath!" Is it possible that Lucas so defined how the galaxy of Star Wars was to be filmed that he in turn kept any filmmaker from ever getting truly back there?

Maybe that question goes back to style and I will forever be on one side of the ambiguous answer. For now I, as well as others, are left to guess what comes next. Will the unknown become known and the 30 year void be fulfilled? One thing that I do fear is that those characters that I followed and loved on their adventures against the dark side or now gone, their stories incomplete. But there is time and certainly the money. The Force Awakens will most likely eclipse the $1 billion mark in box office receipts. The producers and filmmakers can put the necessary effort into making episode 8 into the next great Star Wars film. And to that, we wait.

The Low Project: Speed Of Life

There aren't enough words to describe the extreme importance and influence of David Bowie on my life. The countless words that have been written about his life, music, acting, and art are better left to those authors and not for me to add upon. (At least not at this time.)

What I will write upon, be it ever so briefly, is the experimental filmmaking project that centers around David Bowie's Low album. Low was released at a time in Bowie's career where he was leaving behind the excesses of America, not only sonically but narcotically. Venturing back to Europe with the influence of electronic music in mind, Bowie would collaborate with Brian Eno in making three albums that would challenge and alienate fans, record execs and radio DJ's. The album composed of instrumental soundscapes, and at times schizophrenic instrumentation accompanying cryptic lyrics, was not only ground breaking then, but even today seems as livelier than ever.

The first track of the album is an instrumental titled; Speed Of Life. A roughly 3 minute song that seems to be introducing the new direction in which Bowie would be taking for the rest of the album. The music is a blend of the conventional rock instrumentation and synthesized sounds.

The challenge of representing visually this piece of music is the matter of approach that one can take. The use of 16mm black film leader and scratching the emulsion off of the film is not only time consuming but creating an intentional image for each frame that is scratched. Each line or circle is representative of the sonic motif within the music. The intention of the imagery, in combination of with the music, is to create a synesthetic experience while also showing the impermanence of the images. The frames flicker and flash at varying rates to represent the passing of time, to show the speed of life.  The song fades in and fades out with no clear beginning or end but the images arrive then cease. One final freeze frame, a kind of marker of time that has passed.

The use of 16mm film, and the analog process of non-camera filmmaking, is coupled with the digital process of filmmaking. The film footage is transferred using a projector and HD camera. The transfer creates its own flicker effect and digital scan lines. The mixture of mediums is in the spirit of the Low album and the creative process Eno and Bowie approached to making music. The construction of the images to the music was done using Final Cut Pro. The final seconds of Speed of Life combine imagery as a type of climax to a song that does not have a climax. The mixture of lines and shapes are a confluence of the experience that is in the brief passage of time.

Speed Of Life