The Greatest Artist Alive Today

 

Steven Spielberg filming Lincoln.

I've often written about my admiration for the man, including him on my list of this century's most influential artists, however it occurred to me just this morning that I'd never actually given the man his due, despite having written about hundreds of lesser creative minds. (Not that he needs me to tout his accomplishments.) To begin, his first professional art endeavor cost $500. He made a profit of one dollar. It was a science fiction adventure film called Firelight. This first commercial "success" was later to inspire a second attempt, his somewhat more successful, Close Encounters of a Third Kind. Since then, Steven Spielberg has made three films which have set box office records in their time, Jaws, E.T. the Extraterrestrial, and Jurassic Park. Collectively, his films have earned $8.5 billion. Forbes estimates that he's been able to hang on to $3.2 billion of that--not bad for a kid who shot his first film in 8mm to earn a boy scout merit badge.

 

The Oscars are only the beginning.

Of course making lots of money in the movie business is not necessarily the mark of a great artist. Even his Academy Awards for Schindler's List (1993) and Saving Private Ryan (1998), while certainly indicative of the high regard in which he is held in Hollywood, would not, taken alone, elevate him to the lofty realm of my "Greatest Artist Alive." A great artist must move people. Many years ago I taught a survey course at a local community college--Introduction to Film. Schindler's List was one of the newer films shown and discussed in class. The final scene in which the descendants of those on Oskar Schindler's list each laid a stone on his grave in Israel caused me to choke up with emotion in class. That had never happened before. For many WWII veterans, Saving Private Ryan had the same effect.

 

The film that earned Spielberg his first dollar.

Steven Spielberg was born in Cincinnati, Ohio, in 1946 to Jewish parents, his mother a restaurateur, his father a very early computer engineer. He spent his childhood in New Jersey and Scottsdale, Arizona, where he began playing with motion pictures as a teen, filming model trains and cowboy epics. More than just earning a photography merit badge, by the time Spielberg graduated from high school in Saratoga, California, he was an eagle scout. After high school Spielberg studied film and theater at USC and Cal State, though it wasn't until he became famous that USC awarded him an honorary degree. (Nothing if not persistent, 35 years after starting, he finally earned a degree from USC.) A stint as an unpaid intern at Universal Studios got his foot in the industry door. A short time later, Spielberg became the youngest director ever signed to a long-term studio contract.






Spielberg directed Peter Falk in
the premier episode of the TV
series, Colombo. The show
ran for seven seasons.

Spielberg paid his dues directing episodic TV, Marcus Welby,  Night Gallery, Owen Marshall, and Colombo. From there he moved on to a number of made-for-TV films, which led to his first feature film, Sugarland Express, though the film fared poorly at the box-office. Then came the shark attack. Jaws was a film maker's worst nightmare, technically challenging, over budget,  behind schedule, and more than once nearly shut down. However, $470 million and three Academy Awards later, the film was an enormous hit. Spielberg went in search of a "bigger boat." He turned down King Kong and Superman in favor of his own screenplay, Close Encounters of the Third Kind, nominated for six Academy Awards and winning two. The Indiana Jones series and E.T. followed, cementing Spielberg's name in the history books as among the top two or three money-making film artists of all time.

 

No one ever deserved it more.

On a par with D.W. Griffith, David O. Selznick, John Ford, Orson Wells, Stanley Kubrick, and Alfred Hitchcock, Stephen Spielberg not only entertains, but makes an impact on the world outside Hollywood's hills. He's tackled the Holocaust, the slave trade, the Civil War, WW II (both in Europe and the Far East), racial injustice, artificial intelligence, not to mention a rampaging Tyrannosaurus Rex or two. Beyond all this though, the mark of a truly great artist is seen in those artists of similar caliber which he or she influences. The mark of Spielberg can be seen in the work of James Cameron (Titanic), Quentin Tarantino (Pulp Fiction), Ridley Scott (Black Hawk Down), and Steven Soderbergh (Erin Brockovich), among others. Moreover, the man hasn't lost his touch, his most recent film, Lincoln is nominated for 12 Academy Awards. Spielberg has promised to make the movie available free of charge to high schools and middle schools once it comes out on DVD.

Spielberg's Lincoln--I've seen it; I highly recommend you do too.

 

 

Steven Spielberg's Jaws

Remember, it's only a movie.

A poster designed to terrorize.

Anyone accustomed to reading my discourses on the filmmaker's art, knows that my favorite movie of all time is David O. Selznick's Gone with the Wind. Today, I'm going to put forth one of my least favorite movies of all time, Steven Spielberg's Jaws. It's not that I have anything against Spielberg. I've long been an admirer of his work. In fact I'd credit him as being the greatest movie director alive today. What I dislike intensely is what's come to be called the "thriller" movie genre. It's a personal thing--I hate being scared out of my wits. Despite all that, Jaws and GWTW have a lot in common. To begin, both were made from best-selling, blockbuster novels. Jaws was based upon a 1974 novel by Peter Benchley. Both movies were considered by most of Hollywood in their time as "unfilmable." Both films departed drastically from their literary parents, both went WAY over budget, and both took far longer to film than intended. Both films made box office stars of their casts (except for Gable, who was already a star at the time). Both films set box office records (adjusted for inflation and since eclipsed by newer fare). And finally, both films had a profound effect on the art of moviemaking, changing the way we make, watch, and think about movies today.

A bigger boat, indeed...Robert Shaw, as Quint, is eaten alive.

Benchley wrote three versions of the
screenplay. None were used.

"You're gonna need a bigger boat." It's a classic bit of dialog instantly identifying the movie from which it came. It was also an ad-lib, not in the original script. That puts it right up there with "Frankly, my dear, I don't give a damn," (which was a rewrite by Selznick of Margaret Mitchell's "Frankly, Scarlett, I don't give a damn."). Jaws actor, Robert Shaw (above) as Quint, would tend to agree regarding the boat. Quite apart from memorable dialogue, the making of both Jaws and GWTW had yet one more thing in common. The script was written and rewritten again and again as the filming of each progressed. As Richard Dreyfus (Matt Hooper) recalled, "We started the film without a script, without a cast and without a shark."

"Bruce," the star of the film, this version designed for shots in
which the shark moved before the camera from right to left.

A young and inexperienced
Steven Spielberg, 1975.
Notice the "clapper."

The casting of Jaws took far less time than did GWTW, but it was difficult for largely the same reason. Spielberg did not want a big star headlining the ensemble he was putting together. Many possible leading roles were turned down by actors who were "afraid to go into the water." In any case, the star of the picture would be the mechanical shark (they called it "Bruce" after Spielberg's lawyer). The problem was, that Bruce was a rather inept actor. Actually there were three different Bruces. The main one was a "sea-sled shark", a full-body prop with its belly missing, towed with a 300-foot line. The other two were "platform sharks", one that moved from left to right (with its hidden left side exposing an array of pneumatic hoses), and its opposite with the right flank uncovered. Built in California and trucked to Martha's Vineyard, where most of the film was shot, they seldom worked as intended. Often they didn't work at all. Tested in a Universal City swimming pool, they were no match for the Atlantic Ocean. The film's shooting schedule was originally 55 days. The temperamental Bruce, combined with adverse weather and salt water, stretched that to 159 days. The $4-million budget ballooned to $9-million. Spielberg was sure he'd never work in films again.

Robert Shaw (Quint), Roy Scheider (Brody), and Richard Dreyfuss (Hooper)

Amity Police Chief, Roy Scheider

As with any good ensemble cast, when one member has difficulties, the others rise to the task of filling in, making the troubled member look good. The three male leads, Roy Scheider (Police Chief, Martin Brody), Robert Shaw (boat owner, Quint), and Richard Dreyfuss (marine biologist, Matt Hooper) turned in what some consider the best performances of their careers. Lorraine Gary, as Ellen Brody (Matt's wife and Murray Hamilton as Amity Mayor, Larry Vaughn, rounded out the supporting roles. However it was Spielberg himself who rose to the occasion most effectively, by minimizing visual appearances by his cantankerous (some would say fake-looking) shark in favor of Hitchcock-like suspense (what you can't see is more frightening than that which is obvious). Only near the end does the full impact of the Great White's power and deadly presence take center stage.

Quint's boat, the Orca, set against the backdrop of the Martha's
Vineyard fishing village of Menemsha.

In large part, Martha's Vineyard, standing in for the fictitious beach town of Amity Island, as well as the local residence of Martha's vineyard occupied the minor roles. When the script called for the tourists to panic, they did so with superb hysterics. There was even a part for the book's author, Peter Benchley, playing a TV news reporter (bottom). When the move went on to gross some $470-million, they were justly proud of their roles. The movie was also nominated for Best Picture. It lost to One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest. Spielberg was angered by the fact that he was not nominated for Best Director. However, Jaws did win three Academy Awards: Best Film Editing, Best Sound, and Best Original Dramatic Score for composer John Williams. Moreover, it was at the Oscar presentations that Jaws most noticeably parts company with GWTW. Selznick's efforts were nominated for thirteen Academy Awards. The movie won eight.

The police chief confronts the mayor--close the beach.

Jaws author, Peter Benchley in the movie role
of a TV news reporter.

Now this is more my kind of
"terror movie."

Steven Spielberg's Schindler's List

The girl in the red coat, played by Oliwia Dabrowska (three years old at the time).

Almost a year ago now (06-17-12) I created my own list of the top ten movies ever made. They ran the gamut from the musical, West Side Story (number 10) to Spielberg's Schindler's List, which I deemed to be number one. I don't often quote other writers, but the late film critic, Roger Ebert put it best:

"What is most amazing about this film is how completely Spielberg serves his story. The movie is brilliantly acted, written, directed and seen. Individual scenes are masterpieces of art direction, cinematography, special effects, crowd control. Yet Spielberg, the stylist whose films often have gloried in shots we are intended to notice and remember, disappears into his work. Neeson, Kingsley and the other actors are devoid of acting flourishes. There is a single-mindedness to the enterprise that is awesome."--Roger Ebert, 1993

The cast, Ralph Fiennes, Ben Kingsley,
Spielberg, and Liam Neeson

It goes without saying that this is Spielberg's best film (even after Saving Private Ryan). It's more difficult to claim it as the best film ever made. A year ago, when I made up my own list (Lane's List?), I proposed nine other films, most of which could reasonably be argued as number one. Of that number, four others dealt with historic events, all of them more massive, having a more profound effect upon the world we know today than the 1,100 names on Oskar Schindler's list. In judging a movie, relevancy and historical impact are not major factors. In any work of art, content is important. Message is important. But of prime importance (especially in a film) is the way the artist pulls together all the creative "juices," his own and others, to create a package the viewer can assimilate. Spielberg is not the only great moviemaker in the world today who does this superbly, but this film, and others too numerous to mention, have placed him at the top.

 



Liam Neeson (Schindler)and Ben Kiingsley (Itzhak Stern), typing Shindler's List.

We can glorify Steven Spielberg endlessly, forgetting his only major flop (1941), to dig deep into his Jewish background, psyche, and emotional attachment to the Holocaust. But no discussion of the greatness of Shindler's List would be adequate without also delving into Oskar Schindler himself. No fully rounded film hero (male or female) is without flaws. Often the flaws are more interesting than the heroic traits. As numerous as his personal sins might have been, that's definitely not the case with Schindler, a Nazi womanizer, greedy entrepreneur, and selfish playboy who exploited Jewish laborers as shrewdly as he did the war and Hitler's minions. Spielberg doesn't try to explain how and why Schindler changed. Perhaps Schindler, himself, could not do that. Instead he explores the factors causing that change and how those changes effected the man and those around him.




Heavily laden with graphic violence, mass murder, and nudity,
Schindler's List is not for the squeamish.



Schindler's list.

Schindler's List is not entertainment. Filmed mostly in black and white, it's not pretty (arty perhaps with its dab of red, top) nor is it an easy film to watch. Most of it, even taken in context, is quite ugly. Spielberg doesn't preach, but tries to allow the viewer to experience the Holocaust personally. Of course, no artist could hope to succeed completely in any such effort. Picasso tried with his Guernica. David O Selznick did the same with GWTW. Gericault tried this tact with his Raft of the Medusa. All failed miserably. Spielberg does not fail. He may not have succeeded to the degree he, himself, would have liked (artists seldom do) but he came closer than any other artist in history in transporting those viewing his art into the artwork itself. In effect, we become that little girl in the red coat.

The final scene, with descendants of list survivors passing by Shindler's
grave in Israel, segregated from Spielberg's story by its color,
may be the most emotionally powerful film ending ever made.

Click here for a clip from Schindler's List.
 

Steven Spielberg's E.T. the Extra-Terrestrial

Carlo Ramaldi's charming little alien creature. Some have called it "ugly cute."

The iconic E.T. poster.

It's no secret that Steven Spielberg is my all-time favorite filmmaker. I've written regarding two other Spielberg films Jaws and Schindler's List, and will probably cover Saving Private Ryan, and Close Encounters of the Third Kind someday. Those four, taken together with his E.T. the Extra Terrestrial, would tend to round out top five on most critics' list of Spielberg's best movies. Although E.T. might not top that list, it's my favorite on so many different levels I would at least deem it the most "watchable" of the top five. As with any movie effort, regardless of the director, the final product is a team effort. Some might call it "art by committee" and indeed, that are any number of films, some by outstanding Hollywood icons, which would very easily fit that bill. But none of Spielberg's films fall into that category (even his sloppy attempt at comedy, 1941). E.T. began in the mind of screenwriter, Melissa Mathison, germinated in Spielberg's fertile imagination, took shape in the work of special effects genius, Carlo Ramaldi, and came to life on screen with the touching pathos of a brave little boy of ten--Henry Thomas.

 

How Henry Thomas became Elliott.

Spielberg and his alien puppet friend.

Quite apart from a fascinating script, and an enchantingly ugly, but strangely lovable alien creature, Spielberg's tact in selecting and directing talented children was the magic ingredient that made E.T. work. Here he had three to deal with, Henry Thomas, ten, seven-year-old Drew Barrymore, who played Elliott's prankish little sister (age five in the movie), and fifteen-year-old Robert MacNaughton cast in the role of Elliot's older brother, Michael (below). Though all three had worked "in the business" before, none had much in the way of acting experience. (How could they at their ages?) The cast was rounded out by Dee Wallace as the kids' recently divorced mother, and an un-named scientist simply known as "Keys" played by Peter Coyote.

 

The E.T. Kids: Henry Thomas, Drew Barrymore, and Robert MacNaughton.



A face only a mother
(and millions of children) could love.

Carlo Rambaldi (below), who had designed the aliens for Close Encounters of the Third Kind, was hired by Spielberg to design and build E.T. Its face was said to have been inspired by those of Carl Sandburg, Albert Einstein and Ernest Hemingway. Producer Kathleen Kennedy had the Jules Stein Eye Institute create E.T.'s eyes, which she felt were particularly important in engaging the audience. Four heads were created for filming, one as the main animatronic and the others for facial expressions, as well as a costume. Two dwarfs, Tamara De Treaux and Pat Bilon, as well as 12-year-old, Matthew DeMeritt, who was born without legs, took turns wearing the costume, depending on what scene was being filmed. DeMeritt walked on his hands and played all scenes where E.T. walked awkwardly or fell over. The head was placed above that of the actors, who could only see through slits in its chest. E. T. was created in three months and set back MCA and Universal Studios a cool $1.5 million (ten percent of the picture's budget). Spielberg declared it was "something only a mother could love." Though M&Ms were originally intended to be the candy bait in luring the alien creature inside, the Mars candy company found E.T. so ugly that they refused to allow their product to be used in the film for fear the creature would frighten children. This allowed their competitor, Hershey, the opportunity to market Reese's Pieces. (Hershey's profits rose 65% as a result.)

Special effects designer, Carlo Rambaldi, shows off his drawings for the alien puppet.

E.T. was filmed roughly in chronological order, mostly for the benefit of the children. Spielberg felt this would give them a better feeling for the story's progression and their character development as actors while allowing them to gradually bond with the movie's extra-terrestrial star. Spielberg had originally offered the picture to Columbia, who looked at the script and deemed it suitable only for Disney. Spielberg found a more welcome reception at MCA who agreed to fund the picture for a total of $10.5-million. The film eventually grossed just under $792-million, making it, for a time, the highest grossing picture ever. It was later surpassed by Spielberg's own Jurassic Park some eleven years later.

E.T. the Extra-Terrestrial, school for child movie actors.

E.T. was shot at a rather blistering rate--only sixty-one days (it was originally scheduled for sixty-five). Considering the youthful inexperience of his cast and Spielberg's past luck with animatronics (as in Jaws) this feat alone was somewhat remarkable. There was also an air of great secrecy surrounding the filming, done under the cover name of A Boy's Life. The script was kept under lock and key with the actors allowed access to each scene only on the day of shooting. Spielberg was highly fearful of plagiarism and piracy. Indeed, he himself was accused of plagiarism and, despite his precautions, is said to have lost millions as a result of newly developing forms of video piracy. The film was previewed at the 1982 Cannes Film Festival to excellent reviews, then released in June of that year, making back its cost during just the first week. Then it went on to remain number one at the box office for more than seven weeks.

Spielberg found himself teaching seven-year-old,
Drew Barrymore, how to act like a five-year-old.

E.T. the Extra-Terrestrial is something of a spiritual auto-biography of a suburban boy with an uncommon, fervent imagination. References to Spielberg's childhood occur throughout the film as seen in the sibling relationships of the children. Other writers have focused upon the similarities between Elliott and E.T. while still others mention similarities to Peter Pan and The Wizard of Oz. Andrew Nigels went so far as to compare E.T. to Jesus, describing E.T.'s story as "crucifixion by military science" and "resurrection by love and faith." It's obvious that Universal Pictures appealed directly to the Christian market, with a touching fingers poster reminiscent of Michelangelo's The Creation of Adam. Spielberg found the Christian comparison amusing in that he's Jewish.

"I'll be here." The final, tear-jerking scene from the movie."

 Click below for the movie's trailer:

















 

David Lean's Lawrence of Arabia

Lawrence of Arabia, 1962 movie poster. Notice the credits at the bottom (enlarged at right). Peter O'Toole, in the title role, does not receive top billing (not even close, in fact).

He says it's his favorite film of all time; the one that convinced him to become a filmmaker. Coming from one who may easily be considered the greatest filmmaker of all time, that's praise sufficient to elevate the film itself to at least one of the greatest films of all time. Those are the words of Steven Spielberg and the film he so admires is David Lean's 1962 Lawrence of Arabia. Normally I include a YouTube clip at the end of any piece I write about a cinematic work of art. Usually it's the trailer. But any trailer is, at best, a finely crafted piece of PR. Instead, this time I want you to hear the words of Spielberg himself before you read any of mine.

It's axiomatic with regard to filmmaking, that what you see on the screen is "art by committee." That's not to say that all the committee members are equal or contribute equally, but each are vital. This committee consisted of Sam Spiegel, the producer, David Lean, the director, Robert Bolt the screenwriter, and finally, Peter O'Toole the Lawrence. Take away any one of those four and the film would either never have existed or would have been a much lesser work. Most films are rated for their entertainment value, or their take at the box office, or the number of awards they win. Lawrence of Arabia has all that, but stands nearly alone, as Spielberg suggests, as one of only a handful of the most influential movies ever made.

David Lean commanding his army of Bedouin extras.

David Lean with one of seven Academy
Awards won by Lawrence of Arabia.

Sam Spiegel made other great films; earlier, with Lean he'd made Bridge on the River Kwai. Before that there had been, Suddenly Last Summer, On the Waterfront, and way back in 1951, The African Queen (among a total of 23 over his lifetime). Lawrence of Arabia was his greatest masterpiece. David Lean cut his directorial teeth on Dickens in the 1940s with such films as Oliver Twist and Great Expectations. Besides Bridge on the River Kwai and Lawrence of Arabia, Lean went on to make, in 1965, Dr. Zhivago. Spielberg's respect for him is echoed by dozens of other filmmakers today. Robert Bolt has to his screen credits not only Lawrence of Arabia, but Lean's Dr. Zhivago, as well as A Man for All Seasons (both the stage and screen versions) and numerous plays for the London stage.

O'Toole and Sharif, the acting axis around which Lawrence of Arabia rotated.

Peter O'Toole, as his place well below the rest of the cast on the Lawrence of Arabia movie poster would indicate (top), was the newcomer to the group. The English actor had made his first film just two years before. This was but his fourth time before the camera. He went on to play Henry II in Becket, Lord Jim in Lord Jim, Henry II again in The Lion in Winter, Arthur Chipping in Goodbye Mr. Chips, as well as such historic and fictional characters as Don Quixote, Robinson Caruso, Sherlock Holmes, and Tiberius Caesar. O'Toole died in December, 2013. T.E. Lawrence was undoubtedly his greatest role.

The resemblance of O'Toole to T.E. Lawrence was striking, except for the fact that O'Toole was several inches taller. British playwright, Noel Coward, complained that if O'Toole was any "prettier" they could have called it "Florence of Arabia."

T.E. Lawrence was, in fact, the missing member of the committee. The first three members of the committee had killed him off during the first three minutes of the movie. Thus, the entire film was in the form of a flashback not unlike Orson Welles' Citizen Kane. Except for the fact that Lean and Welles were quite similar in their directorial style, it was there any similarities ceased. Lawrence of Arabia was a blockbuster, made in an era when Hollywood felt that the only way to combat the rising popularity of television and the resulting decline in box office revenue was to spend money hand over fist in a manner TV producers couldn't. Lean was working with a budget of $15-million. The film grossed $70-million. It was also longer (at 222 minutes) than anything television could handle. Likewise, the cast was one TV at the time could only dream about, with names and faces like Alec Guinness, Anthony Quinn, Jack Hawkins, Jose Ferrer, Claude Raines, and Arthur Kennedy, not to mention Omar Sharif (in his first major film), all of whom wound up as barely more than supporting roles to the newcomer O'Toole (no female speaking parts). Not since Vivian Leigh in Gone With the Wind had an acting newcomer so dominated a film.

Literally a cast of thousands.
It would be fifty years before TV screens could handle an army like this.

 

Visual effects before CGI

The Ten Commandments, 1956, Cecil B. DeMille

If you are a lover of classic cinema such as I, you've probably wondered at one time or another how Hollywood filmmakers managed to create some of the astounding visual effects way back before computers generated imagery (CGI). As a child, one of the earliest movies I can remember was Cecil B. DeMille's 1956 The Ten Commandments. His immortal scene of the parting of the Red Sea (above) was so realistic I often wondered it God himself didn't have a hand in it. The truth is, DeMille filmed two large "dump tanks" being flooded with water, then ran the film in reverse. The two frothing walls of water were created by water dumped constantly into catch basins. The churning water images were then flipped sideways to make the walls of water. A gelatin substance was also added to the water in the tanks to give it more of a seawater consistency. Incidentally, the catch basis still exists today on the Paramount lot. It can still when the need arises to film floods on a biblical scale. Otherwise it's an extension of a parking lot.
 

How it all began--The Enchanted Drawing--Stuart Blackton

It all started with beheadings in an 1895 Edison Film when Alfred Clark recreated the beheading of Mary, Queen of Scots. He had all the actors hold completely still, with the exception of the actress playing Mary, while he paused the camera. Then he replaced her with a dummy before filming started again and the dummy lost its head. Clark's effect may seem minor, but it was not only the birth of motion picture special effects, but also stop-motion videos and animations. It's been said that some audience members thought a woman had actually sacrificed her life for the picture. A few years, later in 1902, a Frenchman shot for the moon with an entire movie titled Straight to the Moon based upon Jules Verne's From the Earth to the Moon. The visual effects were...let's call them fantastic...with the emphasis on fantasy. Melies brought together the effects from films he'd made earlier into one work of art, including double exposure, split screens, dissolves, and fades. As for animation, you may want to see The Enchanted Drawing (above). In the film, the cartoonist for the New York Evening World, Stuart Blackton, draws a cartoon character and then adds things like a top hat, a bottle of wine and an empty glass. He then pulls those items out of the picture, causing the picture's expression to change as art and artist interact together. It's safe to say, the film inspired the entire future of animation.

The Lost World, 1925, special effects by Willis O'Brien

One of the most famous early examples of model usage was 1925's The Lost World (above). This ground-breaking film featured actors interacting with giant monsters. Willis O'Brien, who was later involved with King Kong (below), used small puppets that were filmed one frame at a time on mini-sets. The actors were then added by putting two negatives together on split screens. If that sounds complicated, it was, especially in the beginning. When The Lost World portrayed humans running away from stop-motion animated monsters, they actually had to film things with an optical printer. This required blacking out all but the actors on the top film, then blocking out where the actors would appear on the stop-motion film and printing them onto a third roll of film. This all became a lot simpler with the advent of "blue screening." The first film to use a blue screen behind the actors (which made it easier to print only them on the film) came in 1940 with The Thief of Bagdad. Using this method, the film would be developed with a number of color filters to ensure that the blue background would disappear, while the actors and intended background would show up. Now days, a green background is more commonly used in that blue is a more likely color for clothing.

King Kong, 1939, stop-motion photography artist Willis O'Brien

Kong, the giant gorilla, was actually not so "giant." He was a mere 18 inches, a poseable model, covered with rabbit hair. The scene with actress Fay Wray at the top of the Empire State Building was filmed one frame at a time using stop-motion photography by visual effects artist Willis O'Brien and his crew. The producers filmed Kong and Fay Wray, separately. They then projected the two films together to create the effect of Fay Wray in the grip of Kong.
 

The skeleton fight in Jason and the Argonauts, 1963, Ray Harryhausen.

Stop-action photography was also the key in making the four-minute skeleton fight (above), which was orchestrated by visual effects genius Ray Harryhausen. It took almost five months to shoot via stop-motion animation. Harryhausen also rear-projected footage of the actual actors (who, when filming, were basically battling air behind the animation) and then combined the shots to make a realistically scary skeleton-Argonaut battle.




Fantastic Voyage, 1966

By 1966, the art and science of visual effects had come a long way (above). The science-fiction classic, Fantastic Voyage (Raquel Welch never looked so good) won that year's Academy Award for Best Achievement in Visual Effects. The story revolves around miniaturized human beings voyaging into the bloodstream of a human body (if you buy that premise, you might be interested in a bridge or two). It was created using a full-size high-tech navy submarine that was supposedly shrunk to microbial dimensions on film. The interior of the body was created by using large, highly-detailed sets of various body parts (i.e., the brain, the heart). Actors were suspended on wires to journey through the body. Only Fantastic Voyage's fantastic visual effects could make such a fantastic plot believable.

The spaceship Discovery in 2001: A Space Odyssey, 1968, Stanley Kubrick

The visual effects of Stanley Kubrick's futuristic masterpiece, 2001: A Space Odyssey included a 30-ton rotating "Ferris wheel" set (above) built by a British aircraft company. Kubrick laid out $750,000 in creating the apparent use of centrifugal force to mimic the effects of zero gravity. The set rotated at a speed of three miles per hour. The actors would stand at the bottom and walk in place, while the set rotated around them. Chairs, desks, and control panels were all firmly bolted to the inside surface.

The UFO landing in Close Encounters of the Third Kind, 1977, Steven Spielberg.

And finally, we come to the unchallenged master of visual effects, Steven Spielberg. His 1977 Close Encounters of the Third Kind used a 400 lb. fiber-glass model that was four feet high and five feet wide to create the famous landing scene. (It probably would have been cheaper to build the real thing then turn it into a theme park ride afterwards.) The UFO model was wired and lighted by fiber optics, incandescent bulbs, and neon tubes. Not only that, but they all had to be coordinated to the musical tones used by the aliens to communicate. I guess that was better than hubcaps dangling from nylon fishing lines as seen in the 1959 classic, Plan 9 from Outer Space (below).
 

Plan 9 from Outer Space, 1959.
The attack of the hubcaps. You
can hardly see the fishing lines.

Twenty-first Century Influences

The most influential artist of the 21st Century

In an earlier blog entry a few months ago (11-09-12), I proclaimed that if we were to list the three most influential living artists today in terms of their effect on art of this century, not one of them would be a painter. I proposed this to incite a riot, (though not much of one ensued). Of course it's a guessing game and will be for the next 25 years or so. My own list of living artists likely to have the strongest influence in 21st century art would include the filmmaker Steven Spielberg, the architect, I.M. Pei (now slowing down a bit at the age of 95), cartoonist Gary Trudeau, and on the three-dimensional side, Jeff Koons or Dale Chihuly (a toss-up). If forced by tradition to include a painter, I'd have to go with Chuck Close, simply because what he's doing now with his large-scale portraits made up of small-scale abstracts is so computeristic (for lack of a better word), in exploring painted pixels and letting them speak on a grand scale in creating his realistic portraits. Whether on canvas or digitally (more likely the latter), I think this is the direction of 21st Century art.

Close, close-up

Being a major influence over the major part of an entire century of art is a tall order. I made a point of using the term "artist" rather than painter because paint is such a limited and outmoded means of expression. It wouldn't take a prophet to see that such a trend can only continue. (By the same token, I've excluded performing artists as this would make too unwieldy the list.) And even though I've included Spielberg on my list, I can foresee the same set of limitations that have antiquated painting as a means of serious social expression also besetting film in the next century. The reason being, despite all the special effects, 3-D, color, sound, digitalization, etc. that have put film making on the cutting edge of art, I can see them no longer measuring up to the creative demands of artists of the 21st century.

Sims 3, twenty-first century interactive "movie" making.

The reason being, film making is unidirectional. And while Spielberg may influence the "look" of films for generations to come, the viewers of the next generation or two will want a hand in controlling that which they see. We see the first indications of this in the scenario video games that are such hot sellers now (take my favorite, the Sims 3, for example). It's only a short leap creatively and technologically to see these "games" evolving into interactive art--a hybrid of cinema and gaming. If you're wondering why I included I.M. Pei (more on him to come), it's because his work is such a natural progression from the real driving force in the art of architecture of this century and the last--Frank Lloyd Wright. As for Gary Trudeau, he may be the most influential artist working today (see my blog of 10-22-11 for details). (For Koons see 3-17-12.)  Dale Chihuly is simply an exquisite master of a very difficult sculptural medium (glass) and the only working sculptor today (besides Koons) standing head and shoulders above the rest (more on him in tomorrow's blog).

A Chihuly work in progress.

It is a guessing game, but I can visualize an America in the future made up of sleek, Pei- influenced homes where huge, digitized, ever-changing Chuck Close portraits of family members adorn the walls; and where those family members watch a remake of E.T., each getting to play Elliot and deciding whether or not to climb aboard the UFO at the end. Okay, maybe there's an antique Jim Lane painting over the video-fireplace.

Is it real or is it video?