Jasper Sharp : Avatar

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Cinema doesn’t get a lot of column inches in the popular press nowadays, at least outside of the Arts section, so I was intrigued to stumble across an article in a copy of last week’s Evening Standard (Thurs, 13 May 2010) left lying on the Underground entitled “3D or not 3D: Avatar and Godfather directors go to war over technology” written by the paper’s Technology Editor, Mark Prigg. The article stated that James Cameron had declared last week at the Seoul Digital Forum that 3D will become the standard format for movies and television in “a couple of years” and that “there will be a “3D renaissance” comparable to the advent of sound and colour in motion pictures”, while Francis Ford Coppola is quoted as saying that the marketing of 3D movies by Hollywood studios was just a way “to make you pay more money for a ticket”. The new technology’s most prominent decrier, Mark Kermode, is also quoted as saying “3D has never been the future of cinema. It is, was, and always will be the past.” Kermode has been grinding his axe over the new 3D revolution for several years now – you can get a sense of his passion in these videos here, here and here.

James Cameron and Sam Worthington on the set of Avatar

James Cameron and Sam Worthington on the set of Avatar

So, sorry, as I wend my weary way back to Avatar again, but I’ll confess, I have more than a passing interest in the subject of 3D, as I’m currently in the midst of a PhD about the adoption of widescreen technologies in Japan during the 1950s, and there appear to be many clear parallels with Hollywood’s attempt to force a new mode of exhibition on a generation of cinema-goers who were then being lost to the new medium of television and discourses surrounding the 3D revival happening today. Having spent the past few months picking through John Belton’s monumental study Widescreen Cinema (1992), it seems that the historical case for the success or failure of 3D is not quite as cut and dry as the rather simplistic one-line quotes presented in this article suggest.

Raoul Walsh's Grandeur film, The Big Trail (1930)

Raoul Walsh’s Grandeur film, The Big Trail (1930)

A Polyvision sequence from Abel Gance's Napoleon (1927)

A Polyvision sequence from Abel Gance’s Napoleon (1927)

For a start, all of the technologies underpinning the new immersive cinema experiences introduced in the 1950s, be they Cinerama (multi-screen), CinemaScope (anamorphic widescreen), Todd-AO (wide-gauge, faster frame rate of 30fps) or emulations, variations or amalgamations of all of the aforementioned (Vitascope, Technirama, Super Technirama 70) had already been experimented with in the 1920s and 1930s: Abel Gance’s three-camera Polyvision system for Napoleon (1927) ; Ernest B. Schoedsack and Merian C. Cooper’s Chang (1927) , with its Magnascope elephant stampede sequence; the Fox Film Corporation’s early 70mm Grandeur productions like The Big Trail (Raoul Walsh, 1930) and Warner’s 65mm Vitascope production of films such as The Bat Whispers (Roland West, 1930) . The reason they failed to take hold then was due to the plethora of non-compatible formats that meant that exhibitors weren’t sure which equipment to hedge their bets on (especially as the coming of sound had already presented a significant expense for exhibitors at a time of economic uncertainty as the Great Depression dawned). Also, with no viable alternative arenas in which to view films, audiences didn’t need bigger screens to lure them to the cinema. We could also add that no small number of these simply weren’t very good films. The landscape was considerably different in the 1950s, an era in which television was taking root and Americans had a greater amount of money and leisure time to spend on other recreational pursuits.

See the joins? This was Cinerama!

See the joins? This was Cinerama!

All of these widescreen formats developed by rival studios went head to head with one another in the 1950s, but the key point is that they were promoted at the time as being “3D experiences”. They weren’t 3D in the sense we now understand the term (i.e. stereoscopic), but they introduced a new, more active way of looking at the film being projected, with picture detail and movement also taking place in the peripheral vision, setting them above the Academy ratio that had been the industry standard since 1932. The film now considered to be the first colour 3D feature, Bwana Devil (Arch Oboler), which premiered on 26 November 1952, was filmed in a process called Natural Vision, although of course there’s not much that’s natural about peering at the screen through red and green pieces of perspex. It arrived less than two months after the premiere of the Cinerama featurette, This is Cinerama, at the time itself touted as the future of cinema (although its three-projector technology used significantly more film stock and required multiple projectionists at specialist exhibition venues, and the joins between the screens were also visible, so the format never really went anywhere). With the major players struggling to come up with their own single-camera widescreen solution, Natural Vision was initially rejected by the major studios and Bwana Devil was produced independently, although the first studio-produced films using the stereoscopic process, House of Wax (André De Toth) and Man in the Dark (Lew Landers) were both released by Warners and Columbia respectively in April 1953.

Not so Natural Vision

Not so Natural Vision

Nevertheless, their timing was not particularly propitious, because within six months, on 16 September 1953, 20th Century Fox unveiled its first feature using its proprietary widescreen CinemaScope process, The Robe (Henry Koster). As CinemaScope projection equipment and screens were rolled out across America and the rest of the world (most importantly from my point of view, Japan – the “full package” included a specially curved screen and a stereophonic sound system, but most venues opted out of the last option, and I’m not sure yet if Japanese exhibitors went for the curved screen either), Natural Vision’s days were numbered from the very outset. Of course, CinemaScope was a superior format in any case, but it was helped by the fact that the epic religious subject matter of The Robe gelled more closely with the critics’ and the general public’s notions of what constituted a “quality picture” than the schlocky genre pieces that were initially produced in Natural Vision (the oft-quoted exception is Alfred Hitchcock’s Dial M for Murder , released in 1954, although the film has rarely been shown subsequently in its 3D mode).

It was the rapid adoption of the CinemaScope format and its variations that put the kaibosh on the first wave of 3D releases, but as mentioned, it was itself initially promoted as a 3D format: Belton argues that both Natural Vision and “flat” widescreen cinema shared the common goal of encouraging a more participatory viewing experience by breaking down the viewer’s sense of the frame (see also William Paul’s “The Aesthetics of Emergence”, Film History, Vol. 5, No. 3, Film Technology and the Public (Sep., 1993), pp. 321-355).

A wider view, in the first CinemaScope feature, The Robe (1953)

CinemaScope’s main rival came in 1955 with the release of the first feature using the Todd-AO format, Oklahoma! (Fred Zinnemann). Todd-AO used 70mm film stock and upped the frame rate from 24fps to 30fps: the picture was bigger, sharper and relatively flicker-free, but films could only be projected in venues with the necessary specialist equipment. There were only a handful of such theatres at the time (four in 1955), and though this number grew slowly, such venues remained limited to larger urban centres. Oklahoma!, its rights acquired at great cost from Richard Rogers and Oscar Hammerstein, creators of the phenomenally successful 1943 Broadway musical from which it was adapted, was a hugely expensive project, with the Todd-AO process requiring considerably more raw film stock: the cost of a Todd-AO production was between 2.5-2.75 times that of the average for a 35mm film from Hollywood. Not much more than a dozen such films were made using the format, prestige spectacle films such as Around the World in Eighty Days (Michael Anderson, 1956) and Cleopatra (Joseph L. Mankiewicz, 1963). Such films were often also released in separate CinemaScope versions to ensure their more widespread distribution, but it was always made clear that you wouldn’t be getting quite the same movie experience unless you shelled out that little bit more to see it in one of the small network of high-class theatres especially equipped for the purpose.

A scene from the Todd-AO version of Oklahoma!

For Mike Todd Jr., the maverick who bankrolled the development of the system that bore his name, the issues of spectacle and elevation of each performance to an event were paramount: “I’m not interested in making movies,” he famously claimed. “Movies are something you can see in your neighbourhood theatre and eat popcorn while you’re watching them.” Ticket prices might have been accordingly much higher, but as he explained, “the carriage trade will swim a river of crocodiles to see it. To show they got class and appreciate the arts, they’d be insulted if you didn’t charge premium prices and make it a little hard to see. Besides, if you get the reviews and have a hot ticket, the gum chewers will figure out how to get in as well.”

The same scene again from the CinemaScope version for the oi-polloi.

A number of widescreen technologies, or new names for rejigged versions of the old ones, have emerged since the arrival of 70mm Todd-AO and anamorphic 35mm CinemaScope. Once seen as novelties, widescreen formats have long been the norm, but though widescreen temporarily forestalled the constant drift of audiences towards television, the heyday of Hollywood blockbusters such as The Robe and Oklahoma! was short-lived. As habitual movie-going continued declining, individual titles became marketed as one-off events. By the 1960s, 3000-5000 seater movie palaces were swiftly becoming the stuff of history. The emergence of the multiplex saw theatres sub-divided into smaller screens, and such lavish large-screen spectacles came primarily to be experienced on television (and later video) in panned-and-scanned, squashed or cropped versions that went against their very essence.

Nowadays, HDTV widescreen TVs, DVD and Blu-Ray mean that we at least get to experience films in the aspect ratio they were intended to be shown in (and with the original soundtrack: for simplicity I’ve avoided mentioning the various sound technologies that also played a major role in the CinemaScope and Todd-AO experience, and the different proprietary screens the films were projected upon). But watching the various titles I’ve mentioned on DVD, it is difficult to get any real sense of how it must have felt to experience these films in situ at the time of their release. Watching a Todd-AO film on my 32” LCD flat screen television in my living room is hardly the same as seeing it on a 52×26 foot curved screen with an audience of 3000.

A cast of thousands in the Sovscope 70 spectacular, War and Peace (1967)

A cast of thousands in the Sovscope 70 spectacular, War and Peace (1967)

This is the environment into which Avatar has been released, and I think the parallels between James Cameron and Mike Todd Jr. are quite illuminating. Both Avatar and Okalahoma! were independent productions. Okalahoma! was the most expensive film of its era, and Avatar now ranks as the most expensive production of all time. (That said, much of Avatar’s budget went to vital R&D that can be considered an investment for future productions, and its promotional budget alone was $150 million. If we allow for inflation and exchange rates, the Soviet production of Sergei Bondarchuk’s War and Peace (Voyna i mir, 1967) is often cited as the most expensive film in cinema history, itself filmed using a version of the 70mm Todd-AO format known as Sovscope 70; that said, this 484-minute epic was actually released in four standalone parts over the years, so I’m not sure if it really counts. I ploughed my way through the DVD release of this over the Christmas break, around the same time I saw Avatar, and I have to say, I found it far, far, more impressive and engrossing than Cameron’s film). Both films were developed to showcase a new type of technology, and both, in order to appreciate the full experience, were intended to be viewed in a specific type of venue capable of projecting them in a specific way. In no small part because of this, Okalahoma! was not the commercial success it was hoped for, but Avatar is now apparently the highest-grossing film of all time. Yes, Avatar has been shown in many places in a ‘flat’ 2D version, and has just been released on home-viewing formats that also serve to reduce its sense of spectacle, but if you wanted to see it in optimum conditions, you’d need to catch it at a cinema with 3D IMAX projection.

And this is one of the most important points about Avatar. In 1999, the British Film Institute opened its 477-seat IMAX cinema in Waterloo, boasting a curved screen 20 metres high and 26 metres wide. A further nine such screens were rolled out across the country, but most failed to attract much customer interest. Tickets were bloody expensive, and with no narrative features specifically made for them, the best they had to offer their potential audiences were documentaries about that traded on the spectacle of 3D projection on a large screen – not to dissimilar from Cinerama in the 1950s, then. In a nutshell, no one went. In the space of a couple of months, Avatar pretty much turned the remaining venues’ fortunes around. Tickets at the BFI IMAX in London were booked up for months in advance. It is somewhat ironic that as far as I know, at least two of these venues constructed at vast expense in the UK not even ten years ago are no more – the Bournemouth one is set to be demolished, while the one in Bristol closed a few years ago, although it seems to have reopened in some form. If only Avatar had arrived a little earlier to save them.

BFI Imax, London

BFI Imax, London

Avatar’s success does prove, however, that people were quite willing to pay that little bit extra if the film promises to deliver. Whether IMAX will find new films that justify the higher ticket prices in the future is uncertain, but Avatar is going to remain a historical landmark for this reason alone. It barely matters if one considers it a good film or not. Like both The Robe and Oklahoma!, it was the new format that set tongues wagging and put bums on seats. Venues across the world are now busily equipping themselves with 3D projection equipment and there are plenty of new titles in the pipeline aimed at exploiting it, as both the production and exhibition of subsequent 3D films becomes relatively more cost effective.

I am not sure whether I agree with Cameron’s prediction’s that 3D will become the norm. Like Natural Vision, the glasses are still a real problem. Even if the new system doesn’t tinge everything red and green, they still reduce the amount of light getting into your eyes by 30%, and aside from the number of people who have reported headaches or are just unable to perceive the image stereoscopically, many regular spec-wearers seem to be having trouble keeping both pairs on at once, not something I’ve had a problem with myself, but maybe my nose is bigger. I also don’t agree with Kermode’s curmudgeonly carping that 3D is just a gimmick. Filmmakers are really only now just beginning to explore once more how to exploit the aesthetic potential of the added dimension. Avatar didn’t do it for me, it’s true (there again, neither did The Robe ), but I amm intrigued by Werner Herzog’s plans for a new 3D documentary on 2D primitive cave art.

3D may not be THE future of cinema, but it is A future. I’ve got a lot more to say on this subject, but for now I just want to end with a head’s up on the UK’s first ever stereoscopic short film festival, Short & Sweet 3D , taking place at the Barbican on Friday, 16 July; you can book tickets here and also follow them on Twitter for more regular updates. Don’t just take the word of the evangelists and naysayers for it, go and see for yourself and make your own mind up!

Links to the rest of these articles:
Cinematism, Realism, and Spectacle part 1: Avatar

Cinematism, Realism, and Spectacle part 2: Paradoxes of Visual Knowledge

Cinematism, Realism, and Spectacle part 3: Welcome to the Feelies

Cinematism, Realism, and Spectacle part 5: A Joyride to Nowhere?

Cinematism, Realism, and Spectacle part 6: Changing our Focus – StreetDance 3D

Avatar in 4D

Avatar in 4D

You know, I hate to keep harping on about Avatar, but it seems you just can’t get away from the film at the moment. I managed to catch some of this year’s Academy Awards ceremony on the morning of Monday 8th while I was still in Tokyo, and was somewhat relieved that it didn’t pick up as many plaudits as first anticipated. The Hurt Locker, after all, was in most respects a far superior work, even if it didn’t make as much money.

Still, though I guess I’ve made my feelings pretty clear about the film itself by now, there’s other interesting aspects to the Avatar phenomenon. While in Yubari, I heard from some of the Korean guests that Cameron’s film had just been released in Seoul in 4D (more here). What, another dimension, I hear you ask? But which one? Have they perhaps added ‘time’ to the equation, so that the 162 minutes doesn’t seem to stretch for an eternity? Or maybe some actual depth has been added to the characterisation? No, actually these special screenings at selected venues have instead opted for juddering moving seats, wind and water effects and synthetic smells. This is all very interesting, this attempt to draw viewers into cinemas for the type of all-round sensory experience that you could never hope for at home, although personally I have my doubts as to whether Pandora and its population of noble savages could ever smell quite as good as they look.

I’m not sure if the moving seats will ever be more than a novelty either. I remember a couple of years back at Puchon Festival there was a guy attempting to corral all the foreign journalists into having a go on a prototype of this new gimmick. I was subjected to about five minutes of being vibrated along to some suitably brash Hollywood action movie – I’m not sure if it was Con Air or Black Hawk Down, but it was something of this ilk- and the impression I was left with was that unless the film was specifically made with such technology in mind, it didn’t really add much to the viewing experience, and was actually more of a distraction. I felt a little queasy afterwards.

Putting the cynical old curmudgeon in me aside for one moment, I should say that if this kind of cinema floats your boat, Avatar seems tailor-made for such auxiliaries in that it is ultimately about creating an all-immersive viewing experience. As I’ve mentioned in my previous posts, it trades in what we might call cinematism rather than realism. The viewer is pitched headlong through Cameron’s world at a dizzying velocity to create an exaggerated hyper-reality of the type that we could never experience in real life, with an emphasis on dynamic movement throughout all three dimensions.

Another Avatar pic

Another Avatar pic

I’ve always preferred my viewing experiences to be of a more contemplative nature myself, but still, different horses for different courses; one can’t deny that Avatar is lighting up the exhibition sector in a way that hasn’t happened for quite some time. If only because of this, it is of great historical significance. In any measure, it’s pretty clear that the 3D boom isn’t going to go away anytime soon, so I was intrigued to hear of a recent Japanese film that attempts to get in on the act, the second release I’ve heard of from the country after Takashi Shimizu’s Shock Labyrinth 3D (Senritsu meikyû 3D), soon to be unveiled in the UK.

shock_labyrinth

J-horror in 3d: Takashi Shimizu's Shock Labyrinth

I’m actually pretty bloody amazed no one else has been talking about it either, as it seems pretty much tailor-made for the overseas midnight movie circuit. The film in question is the latest instalment in the Perfect Education (Kanzen naru shiiku) series that began some ten years or so back (I reviewed the first entry for Midnight Eye back in the early days), although which largely seems to have slipped beneath the radar of most foreign observers, for perhaps fairly obvious reasons. Despite the first being scripted by living legend Kaneto Shindo, the Perfect Education films are to the world of Japanese softcore what Friday 13th is to the horror genre. Still, their largely formulaic narratives revolving around solitary men capturing comely young beauties and ‘grooming’ them until they fall in love with them seems to have attracted some interesting directors in the past, including Bashing helmer Masahiro Kobayashi (Perfect Education 5: Amazing Story), and Koji Wakamatsu (Perfect Education 6 : Red Murder). Neither of these filmmakers are strangers to the world of erotic cinema – you’ll find plenty of references to them in my Behind the Pink Curtain. The latest offering, however, is the work of Kenta Fukasaku, best known as the son of Kinji, who took over the reins of his father when the latter died during the early stages of shooting Battle Royale II.

Kenta Fukasaku's Perfect Education: Maid For You

Kenta Fukasaku's Perfect Education: Maid For You

Perfect Education: Maid For You already has a pretty irresistible hook in that its victim is a worker in an Akihabara maid cafe. Not content with this, the producers have gone that one step further by utilising 3D in a similar manner to how pink films from the 1960s livened up their saucier sequences by bursting into colour. Unlike Avatar, Maid For You’s application of the third dimension clearly prioritises volume and form over movement, and it’s somewhat comical to picture the viewers donning their polarised specs and extending their hands while grope towards the shapely torso of the main actress and Gravure model Ayano every time she disrobes.

Maid For You

Maid For You

I should add that I’ve not seen the film as yet. It ended its brief single-theatre run only a month before I got to Tokyo, so I can’t really vouch for how the 3D scenes worked out, but my curiosity has been piqued. What is interesting is why a title like this, part of a series that is ultimately targeted at the home-viewing market, should adopt such a cinema-specific approach. How many times will it ever be seen in this way? Although, of course, 3D HDTV’s are already there on the market, so perhaps its films such as these that are going to provide one of the impetuses for upgrading to the new equipment.

Britain's first 3d feature, Pete Walker's Four Dimensions of Greta (1972)

Britain's first 3d feature, Pete Walker's Four Dimensions of Greta (1972)

Maid For You is certainly not the first sex film to make use of 3D. I recently heard something about a pink film released by Shintoho in the 1980s (ok, so I missed this one in the book!), although I’m not sure what its title was. In America, Al Silliman Jr. gave us the Stereovision spectacles of The Stewardesses as early as 1969, touted as one of the most profitable releases of all time (you can see the trailer on youtube, flat version only I’m afraid), while Britain’s first ever 3D feature came in 1972 in the form of Pete Walker’s Four Dimensions of Greta (also known as Three Dimensions of Greta – not sure where the other dimension came from). And before I sign off, here’s a link to a piece about Tinto Brass’ plans to remake Caligula (1979) with the new 3D technology – without the smells, wind, water and juddering chairs, one assumes…

Links to the rest of these articles:

Cinematism, Realism, and Spectacle part 1: Avatar

Cinematism, Realism, and Spectacle part 2: Paradoxes of Visual Knowledge

Cinematism, Realism, and Spectacle part 4: 3D or not 3D?

Cinematism, Realism, and Spectacle part 5: A Joyride to Nowhere?

Cinematism, Realism, and Spectacle part 6: Changing our Focus – StreetDance 3D

James Cameron's Avatar

Like many of us, I’ve been indulging in my fair share of festive film-watching this past week, both catching up on some of the year’s more important titles and looking back to past gems. As the decade draws to a close, it would be difficult not to give some mention of the talking-point title of the holiday season, James Cameron’s Avatar, although having just come more or less fresh from it, I’m not sure quite what to make of it in terms of its self-touted status as a landmark in film history. For the first 40 minutes or so, I was absorbed in the immersive detail of its alien world, before the sheer idiocy of the story loomed into the foreground: one-dimensional characters and plots in a three-dimensional world. There’s no need to go into too much detail regarding the story, as I’m assuming many of you have already seen it, and if not, you’ll probably already have heard that it’s a banal hotchpotch of Pocahontas, Dances with Wolves, Princess Mononoke and Fern Gulley – yes, the soundtrack even includes pan pipes. The end impression, however, was something akin to how I felt coming out of Final Fantasy: The Spirits Within or Peter Jackson’s King Kong remake. All very impressive, yes, but just how significant is it in the long run? Will we still be talking about the film in a couple of years, and just how will it play on the small screen?

Just as the Final Fantasy film did, Avatar got me thinking about technology and cinema, this time primed by the fact that I’m currently absorbing the implications contained within the opening chapters of Anime Machine: A Media Theory of Animation , Thomas Lamarre’s fascinating and perceptive look at how technology has influenced the form and content of Japanese animation, and basically THE book I’ve always been waiting for on the subject. One of the axioms of Lamarre’s argument is that cinema’s development has been shaped by its technology, the movie camera, which allows movement in three dimensions, and enforces a strictly rational viewing mode upon the world, that of vanishing point perspective, whereas the basic machinery from which animation is constructed, the animation stand, provides a very different means of lending the illusion of three dimensions to its images, with the camera shooting from a fixed position and the way that the individual layers of cels are composited to work with one another just as, if not more important than the actual drawings upon them. He labels the differences cinematism, a dynamic, cine-realistic interpretation of the world, and animetism, an aesthetic unique to anime born of the machinery that produces it. Both, however, are only means of arriving at representations of the world: artists and psychologist have been arguing for at least the past century that this is not how humans actually perceive their environment.

James Cameron's Avatar

Of course, the use of digital technologies over the past 20 years has revolutionised the way animation is made, and its aesthetic, but I think it is particularly interesting that Japanese animators have made judicious aesthetic decisions to either reject computer technology for the very purposes for which it is most suited (i.e. movement in depth), as is the case of Hayao Miyazaki, or explore other ways of representing ideas with it, the best example of which being Mamoru Oshii’s The Amazing Lives of the Fast Food Grifters. After all, why use a purely man-made medium that is so intrinsically non-rooted in reality to emulate the lens-based reality that has so defined the last century?  I’ve written about this phenomenon in some depth, notable in a series of articles for the magazine 3D World, and in my chapter “Between Dimensions: 3D Computer Generated Animation in Anime”, included in Ga-Netchu: The Manga Anime Syndrome published by the Deutsches Filmmuseum back in 2008, although due to word-count constraints in this publication was not able to pursue my ideas as much as I would have liked. My basic view is that cinema of any description always requires a suspension of disbelief. Cinematic realism (cinematism) is only one way of representing the world, and total onscreen realism is a straw man. The more you strive for cinematic realism, which in the case of animation means adding more visual detail and more dynamic movement within three dimensions, the further you depart from reality, or the more you draw attention to the unreality of cinerealism. The new vogue for 3D cinema only emphasizes these points.

avatar4


The visual aesthetic in Avatar attempts to dazzle with its spectacle. That is its purpose, and perhaps I’m being unfair, it is its only purpose. It has always been thus with Cameron – think Terminator 2. He delights in showing us what is possible at the cutting edge of technology. We are to be as much impressed with the machinery behind what’s onscreen as what’s onscreen itself. Avatar’s tragedy, perhaps more so than Final Fantasy, is that it fails to find its own unique form within its technical possibilities. It is pure cinematism. There was a brilliant article by Ben Walters and Nick Roddick earlier this year in the March edition of Sight and Sound, entitled “The Great Leap Forward” that looked at some of the considerations that filmmakers working in 3D need to consider; rapid editing forces the viewer to change their focal point quickly, leading to headaches, but also jolting them out of the onscreen world, while in contrast, long moving shots make one feel very much part of it. It brings about its own set of problems too – just where does one put the subtitles along the depth plane? Nevertheless, there is still a sense of liberating potential about the new technology, if used inventively, to revolutionise film aesthetics and the way we experience cinema. Rather than constructing action sequences by editing together lots of short, explosive shots to create the illusion of an impossible, dynamic hyper-realism, perhaps the new aesthetic should be a return to longer, more fluid sequences that fully exploit cinematic depth, focussing on the created worlds and how, by way of proxy through the characters who inhabit them (our avatars), audiences interact with them. For a while Avatar managed this. I revelled in every magical detail of the lush jungle planet environs of Pandora. But then it was back to fiction once again.

Form and content are inextricably linked, a factor which animators as diverse as Mamoru Oshii and the talents at Pixar seem to understand perfectly. It doesn’t help that from a narrative point of view, Avatar’s corollaries with real-world events are too obviously silly; an alien race whose blue reptilian skin and flattened noses serve as indicators of their otherworldly status (though their bare, body-painted torsos and Maasai braids seem rather closer to home) sitting on vast resources of the precious resource unobtainium (you couldn’t make this stuff up) are infiltrated and subsequent invaded by mechanized, militarized cartoon-evil humans with America accents. We’re firmly rooted in la-la land here, with nothing to take back home to reality with us. It’s all about about as heartfelt as the ersatz anti-Neocon tract of one of the daftest films of the decade, Eagle Eye. The underlying message is that war, imperialism and explosive violence may be bad things, but nevertheless, they provide the building blocks for a certain kind of action cinema born out of the 1980s, one in which bodies can fall hundreds of metres without so much as bruising, in which whole worlds are created only to be destroyed, and we can all go home with the cosy feeling that it was all only a movie, only a movie, only a movie…

James Cameron's Avatar

Avatar was unfortunate to have been preceded into theatres this year by Coraline and Up, neither of which can be described as “realistic” in the same sense as current conceptions of “reality” – the reality of  cinema and computer games – and yet which, adopting a more simplistic visual style, were far more convincing, far more immersive in their story-telling and their action sequences, and far more attuned to the aesthetic considerations brought about by the addition of an illusionary third dimension. For me, both ranked among the best of the year, fully cinematic experiences that I will treasure for a long time. James Cameron’s fascist aesthetic feels more like an evolutionary dead end than the the future of cinema, which for me seems to be better represented by Kathryn Bigelow’s The Hurt Locker , and it’s evident that if the resurrection of 3D is to be any more than just the gimmick it was in the 1950s or its brief revival in the 1980s, then its possibilities must be used more inventively. I think I’ve already reached the saturation point where I won’t go and see a film just to be dazzled by the 3D unless it can do something new, a state I reached with CG animation in the ake of Toy Story around the time of the appearance of Ice Age. I’m less excited by Tim Burton’s Alice in Wonderland than Takashi Shimizu’s The Shock Labyrinth, because I think that given his Juon films, Shimizu’s handling of depth and shadow to create shock and suspense are going to result in something that I haven’t seen before. In the meantime, I adhere to the belief more strongly than ever that cinema is a delicate smoke-and-mirrors balancing act between what you show and what you don’t. By showing us everything from every conceivable angle, Avatar leaves no room for the imagination, making us painfully aware that actually there’s nothing really there.

Links to the rest of these articles:

Cinematism, Realism, and Spectacle part 2: Paradoxes of Visual Knowledge

Cinematism, Realism, and Spectacle part 3: Welcome to the Feelies

Cinematism, Realism, and Spectacle part 4: 3D or not 3D?

Cinematism, Realism, and Spectacle part 5: A Joyride to Nowhere?

Cinematism, Realism, and Spectacle part 6: Changing our Focus – StreetDance 3D