By Amy Nicholson
By LA Weekly critics
By Zachary Pincus-Roth
By Amy Nicholson
By Amy Nicholson
By Amanda Lewis
By Amy Nicholson
By Anthony D'Alessandro
THE "DV FILMMAKING" REVOLUTION IS ENTERING a new phase, declares Jonathan Wells, director and founder of the ResFest digital film festival. "The first innovation digital technology brought to filmmaking," he says in the press material for ResFest '99, "was breaking down the boundaries of who could make a film. Now we are seeing that technology is changing the types of films that are being made. Digital filmmakers are pioneering a new film aesthetic."
This is a sales pitch, of course. Wells, who is also the founding editor of Res magazine (its tag line is "The Future of Filmmaking"), has a lot riding on the DV new wave. From the budding filmmaker's vantage point, at least, he is clearly on to something. "Access to tools" has never been easier, and the image quality of the new formats is so high that the finished products look like real movies even when projected on a huge screen, a clear improvement over the amateur formats of the past, such as Super 8. The undercover features Windhorse and The Saltmen of Tibet, which were shot on location under the noses of Chinese officials, could have been made using 8mm film or analog video equipment, but they could not have been made to theatrical standards before "prosumer" digital tools became available.
This seems to be the heart of the matter: DV has the potential, at least, to open up mainstream moviemaking. Director Nichola Bruce takes a tiny DV camera everywhere she goes, capturing images that catch her eye, like a writer scribbling observations in a notebook. On the other hand, in the 1970s, Michelangelo Antonioni prowled his Death Valley locations of Zabriskie Point with an 8mm Beaulieu, taking visual reference notes of shots and camera angles. But unlike Antonioni, Bruce can also insert her "notes" directly into her feature narratives; the final image of a cloud bank in her film, I Could Read the Sky, is one of those notebook clips, transparently interpolated. In the pre-digital age, effects like this were expensive and exotic, the province either of 800-pound studio gorillas such as Oliver Stone (who mixed and matched formats promiscuously in Natural Born Killers) or of the mixmasters of the avant-garde. Now anyone can do it, with a camera they can buy at Circuit City and some software on their PC.
That's the DV revolution in a nutshell: The current high profile of the medium was established, after all, when The Cruise and The Celebrationproved that DV could "pass" as cinema. According to Peter Broderick, president of Next Wave Films, a company affiliated with the Independent Film Channel, "If you want to make a movie on Digital Betacam, and have it transferred to 35mm film stock at one of the best places in the world, 98 percent of the people who see it will think it originated on film. But once it's possible to achieve a 'film look' the question becomes, is that what you want? There is a whole spectrum of looks that you can achieve."
So far, though, only a thin sliver of the new rainbow spectrum is being exploited. Some clever directors have chosen to make a virtue of DV's perceived technical limitations, turning out faux documentaries shot in the "first person." (The Blair Witch Project is the obvious example, although a similar lost-film-crew thriller, The Last Broadcast, made in 1998, is even more ingenious, doubling back on itself for a Murder of Roger Ackroydstyle trick ending.) But first-person cinema, as such, has a fairly extensive history: Lady in the Lake, David Holzman's Diary and Letting Go were all first-person films of one kind or another, as is much avant-garde cinema. Alain Tanner's In the White City (1983), which combines conventional third person and subjective first person, remains a bolder use of the concept than anything delivered by the current revolution.
Still, the you-are-there associations that we bring to video images from TV can be manipulated in subtler ways, too. Broderick, during his digital revival meetings at film festivals and colleges, often screens a powerful sequence from Bruce's I Could Read the Sky. Most of the picture was shot on 35mm celluloid. But the central character's memories of a past love affair were shot on hand-held DV, with a guttering candle as the only light source for a heartbreaking sense of warmth and intimacy. In this case, the new digital tools are integral to a dramatic emotional effect; they aren't just being laid on to dazzle us. The point isn't that effects like this have never been employed before, but that they've never been as routinely, casually available.
What is striking overall is how eerily familiar the hyped innovations of DV actually look when you step back a bit. Video artistturnedfilmmaker Lynn Hershmann Leeson refers dryly to "things that are called revolutionary by people who don't know any better." Leeson, who was already using desktop computer graphic imaging effects and "virtual sets" in 1997 for her first feature, Conceiving Ada, argues that the new medium has unique characteristics that ought to be embraced. "This technique is plastic," she says, "and it has its own intrinsic forms," noting that in DV "you don't lose resolution when you composite." We can already see filmmakers like Grant Gee, in Meeting People Is Easy, a DV tour doc about the band Radiohead, using superimposition ubiquitously, the way Robert Altman used wall-to-wall layered sound after multitrack audio recording was perfected in the 1970s.
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