Friday, August 24, 2012

Two for the day 8/24/12

I passed up a much too obvious post about the "worst hipster bands" to bring you:

  • A great post on the exact reason you didn't like the new Total Recall and its glossy brothers and sisters. (Sundance Now)
Everything Total Recall thinks it’s doing right is exactly what’s wrong with contemporary Hollywood movies. The minute-to-minute insistence on “action”— supposedly, according to the marketing departments, “what we want”—is what makes it stupid, which everyone who sees the film knows even if they’ve had a hard time articulating it. Total Recall is structured in one-second bricks—that’s exactly as long as you get, and not one microinstant more, to let your eye rest on an image, contemplate a character’s feelings, or piece together a narrative sequence’s logic. What movies traditionally basked in now comes at us in strobe-rate splotches. The effect is not unlike those sleep-deprivation experiments psychologists have always enjoyed subjecting people to, the ones that eventually end in psychotic episodes. You watch the blip-blip-blip of Total Recall‘s trite ingredients speeding by, and your abandoned craving for context and contemplation and substance—any substance—quickly turns into irritation and then disgusted rage.
  • Yes, we're going right back to Vulture...but it's Amy Adams talking about The Master.
Ever since it was announced that Anderson was making a film seemingly based, at least in part, on the founding of Scientology, the project has been cloaked in secrecy. “You’re the first person I’ve talked to about it,” says Adams, as if expecting a lightning bolt to strike. Anderson’s working methods were new to her. Even for scenes in which she was not scheduled to appear, she was instructed to show up, just to make her presence felt. “It was exhausting, but I love the effect,” she says. “She’s almost blurry.” Often, she had no idea whether the camera was on her, as during one scene in which Hoffman leads his followers in naked sing-along around a piano; Adams had to sit as demurely as possible, nude except for a pregnant-belly prosthetic.

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