Meet the ship -- or one wall of it, anyway.

Enough with theoretical ramblings and existential angst! Let's delve into one aspect of filmmaking that really excites me: props and sets!

One of the great pleasures of creating a movie is that you craft the illusion of a world that doesn't really exist. And one of the most tangible aspects of that illusion (especially for genre films) are those delightful constructions with just enough reality to make them believable when a camera is on. Of course, if you're working with George Lucas on the new Star Wars trilogy you don't get to see too many sets... or actors or props. Instead you point at a tennis ball floating in a sea of green and scream "Look out, Clones!!" (I would argue this is one reason the new films aren't nearly as compelling.)

Where would Raiders of the Lost Ark be without the Ark? Or Aliens without that delightful exoskeleton that Ripley kicks ass in? Or Spacemen without the interior of a futuristic spacecraft as envisioned by overworked, barely funded show-runners of the 1950s?

Even in the early days of TV, the spaceships used by the stars of the sci-fi shows could easily become characters in their own right (and modern series like Star Trek and Battlestar Galactica show how this trend has continued into the present). Captain Video had four ships associated with it, but most agree that the gorgeous Galaxy II was the best, while Space Patrol had the Terra V. I haven't really decided on the name of the ship to be used in Spacemen, but I'm leaning towards "Comet." And for now, as a homage to the other shows, let's give it the number "III."

The Comet III is the Solar Patrol's most state-of-the-art vessel, featuring the latest in Radium-Atomic engines and Photonic missiles. Though it is engaged in an ongoing mission of peace, it must be prepared to defend itself from the numerous warmongering planets that threaten the Earth. And how much of this is represented with my props? Well... one interior wall. Partial wall, really. And you don't want to know how long it took me to put together.

This is the weapons locker, where the crew can arm themselves to explore an unknown world. I had to read two electronics manuals just to get a light to flash when you flip the switch...





...at which point the door slides up and a platform pushes out, giving access to the "Alpha Gun" (the standard raygun used by the Solar Patrol). It emits a powerful electrico-beam that will temporarily incapacitate almost any life form



Here's the ugly truth behind the sci-fictional reality. Note all the electrical components needed just to make a light blink; welcome to the future.

And so, nearly non-existent readers, we come to the end of our tour. Not just on props, but pretty much on everything I have. Don't expect any more updates for awhile, and definitely don't expect any more "info dumps." As I get closer to actual production, I'll need almost all my resources to keep things on track. However, I will try to provide short updates on how I'm doing (sort of like I promised waaay back on post uno).

Till next time, fellow Space Cadets, keep the solar winds at your back!

Why We REALLY Fight

Crash helmets on? Good. Recently it occurred to me that my original post, “Why We Fight,” was a misnomer. In actuality, all I really describe in that post was the “how” of what I was doing, not the “why.” I want to rectify that now, and to do so we have to delve into some pretty theoretical musings on theme, narrative structure, and the role entertainment plays in film. Be aware that as an attempt to describe a deeply held passion, I had to really work to objectively understand my need to do this thesis. It’s not an easy thing to delve into one’s own psyche, especially when the subject matter is so viscerally intertwined with the essence of who you are. Next week, I promise to show pictures of the candy-like raygun that I painstakingly hand-painted along with the neat wall prop I’ve been slaving over, but for now I’m afraid it’s just another wall of text... sorry.

My brain has been whirring and spinning around in my skull for several days now. Normally, I really don't go up there much (many will tell you I prefer not to involve my brain in daily activities), but the racket was getting so noisy I finally looked into my body's attic to see what all the fuss was about. As I suspected, the hullabaloo was related to the last class I'd been in. It's a class designed to aid grad students as they walk (totter, stagger, crawl... what have you) down the path to a final thesis and almost-too-remote-too-imagine graduation.

I have been waiting for this class to be invented for two years. My ability to navigate grad school bureaucracy is about at the same level as my cat's ability to read (he can’t). I forget to get papers signed, lose track of vital events and quickly grow bewildered at the arcane procedures involved in keeping the gears of the school satisfied. I may be a decent scholar, but I'm a lousy student. Now, however, I feel as if the gates of Shangri-La have been opened to me and I've been invited to sip nectar from buttercups with the serene monks of the city. For I have a school-directed PLAN (TM) to graduation. So why the brain somersaults?

Well, at this point in the class we're discussing the foundations of our thesis films. The big questions. Theme, plot, story, character, length, height, weight, etc. Nuts and bolts elements that I've only partially mulled over while arm-deep in real-life nuts and bolts prop building. And it was during this latest session that I realized how lacking I was in the whole "what is my story about?" area. Or, to be more precise, I had neglected to construct a coherent articulation of what my story is about.

See, I know what my story is about. Now I can ask you to trust me, because we're over three entries in here and have developed a rapport. But one can't ask an accredited school to do the same. Accredited arts colleges just don't go passing out M.F.A. degrees because one wild-eyed (possibly smelly) grad student whispers, "Trust me." Can you blame them? Unfortunately, I was ill-prepared to say otherwise. Up to this point I'd been laying the groundwork for this project with the unquestioning belief of Kevin Costner in Field of Dreams. "Build it, and they will give you a degree," whispered the inner voice of Kevin (that is, my voice, not Costner's) in its best impression of James Earl Jones. So that's what I had been doing.

The problem is that the school deserves a reasonable explanation (plus I don’t want everyone to start staring at me and murmuring to their friends about “the wacky 50s sci-fi dood” when I walk by). So it's time for me to try and explain my process. To answer the big question: what is my film really about? Why am I making it? What am I trying to say? It's these questions that have dogged me for the last several days, ever since I staggered out of that class with my brow furrowed. My forward progress has grinded to a halt since then. In my head, the various elements of the plot that were beginning to coalesce drifted to a stop and waited. There could be no progress until I had at least made an effort to explain my purpose. I could almost feel my partially created characters staring, counting on me not to make a fool of them; they needed to be justified to a world that has largely forgotten television sci-fi of the fifties. And then my first revelation came as a surprise: even I didn't know exactly what compelled me. Why was this inactive children's genre so enthralling to me?

I thought about it for days. I discussed it in rapid bursts with my patient wife while we drove around on errands. I would then continue agonizing about it while we picked up dinner supplies at the grocery store. I put off e-mails to professors until I managed to get an initial attempt down. But even that initial try proved elusive (though not impossible, since you're finally reading it now). It was so frustrating because I kept foundering while trying to define the “theme” of the film. Between bouts of seemingly unproductive brain-raking I would retreat to my PS2 the way an earlier generation might turn to drink. So what was the problem? For me, it turned out to be the framework I was trying to use. Humans understand their world through models, paradigms and frameworks, and one of the classic frameworks used to analyze the purpose of narrative art, "theme," was proving uncooperative. Whenever I tried to analyze this film I kept coming up with multiple intertwining themes with only one common denominator: me. It's a movie that possesses the elements I really need to see, because no one's shown it to me yet. And I'm gambling that there's people out there like me who are waiting to see it too. So let me just get this out of the way quick (like pulling off a band-aid), and then table this topic for the moment and examine the problem from a different angle (see below).

Themes of Spacemen

Good will always triumph over evil.
Evil will always have a hand in its own downfall.
Always do what's right.

There you have it. Basic and iconic, like most children's fare. Though in this case even more so due to the 50s spin. But let's delve deeper, into the “meta-themes.” That’s where the real stuff is churning. It’s there that the answer as to why I'm making this resides. Now there’s no guarantee that this is entirely accurate (creators often don't know their own minds), but here's what my days of introspection netted me:

Meta-Themes of Spacemen

Honor the past and learn from it.
Don't let modern distractions clutter basic issues of right and wrong.
Nostalgia serves its own purpose.
Take joy in simple pleasures.

These are the themes one can derive from my modern attempt to recreate the genre. The first list are the themes of the genre itself, while the second list is derived from questions about why I might be employing it. To a large degree, the medium (in this case, the genre itself) is the message (the theme). That's as simple as I can make it. Perhaps my fellow students and our Professor can help me to boil it down into a unified essence. We'll see.

And Now For Something Equally Important: Intention

The artist's intention is essentially an examination of the same issues of story and theme, but with a slightly different emphasis. Here, the question is "How do you want your work to be received?" Many answers are possible, but one is almost universally unacceptable in a serious filmmaking environment: "to entertain." I have never met a professor who was happy with this response, and for good reason. A lot of forethought and consideration is expected before one describes their intent. More often than not, saying "I want to entertain" is the same as saying "I'm not sure.” It’s a shrug response. And thanks to those students who have fallen back on it when in doubt, it’s become unsatisfactorily vague. That’s unfortunate, since this is largely my answer. My intent is to make you smile. To give you a thrill, to send a tremor of exhilaration down your spine. I want you to loosen up, relax, and forget the troubles that have beset you on this tiring day. My goal... is to entertain. And thanks to those filmmakers who should have simply responded “I don’t know” when asked their intent, I now have to write pages of analysis to back up what should be a simple assertion. I won’t try to change filmmakers’ minds about the value of “mere” entertainment. Rather, my goal is to persuade any readers that my answer has emerged after much forethought and consideration, and that I have come to trust in it deeply as an artist. Here’s an attempt to codify the framework I use:

Building Blocks of Entertainment

I believe that the primary goal of mainstream cinema has to be entertainment. It’s not just the sugary coating that you use to make the audience swallow your theme/intent; it’s a primary element in its own right. In fact, it’s the primary element. If a person is setting out to make a conventional film (decide for yourself what “conventional” is -- I use it as shorthand for the vast majority of Hollywood-style efforts), then they should be aiming to entertain their audience first and foremost (after all, Hollywood isn’t called the “Theme Industry”). However, the central approach to my framework isn’t so different from the standard model; a lot of the building blocks used to construct “entertainment” are the same one’s we’ve been discussing: Story, Plot, Characters, and Theme are all examples. But now we can add additional blocks that are also relevant to the goal: Structural Flourishes, Technical Sophistication, Visual Interest, and Novelty. To extend this framework further, we could even split our blocks into two groups based on perceived social value (i.e. value beyond purely satisfactory entertainment). Our heavy-hitters (Story, Plot, Character, and Theme) become “Meaning Blocks,” while their flashy counterparts (Structural Flourishes, Technical Sophistication, Visual Interest, and Novelty) become “Style Blocks.” So entertainment isn’t just one of a variety of elements to consider, rather, it’s the final product of all the elements in a film (the castle you construct out of the blocks, if you will). And make no mistake, good entertainment will invariably use blocks from both of these categories.

“Pure” Entertainment

While pure entertainment serves a useful purpose (after a harrowing day trying to get my loans fixed I’m liable to get far more use out of Tron than I would Apocalypse Now), it’s also just a theoretical construct. I have never encountered a film that is “purely” entertaining (i.e. made up only of Style Blocks). Every single film that has entertained me has always had at least a few competently executed Meaning Blocks as part of its make-up (Tron’s themes deal with questions of faith and religious persecution, for example).

Intent Revisited

So in this (admittedly vestigial) Building Blocks framework, the question of intent is still vital, but what has changed is the assumption that the answer must in some way transcend “entertainment.” In my outlook, “entertainment” (and the simple benefits of being entertained) is a viable response -- though of course not the only one. And I’ll be the first to acknowledge that a filmmaker whose goal is to provide style over meaning has chosen a more modest approach, and one that will affect his audience less deeply... but that doesn’t mean the approach isn’t relevant. To the contrary, one of the purposes of many genre films is to comfort rather than provoke, and films that go this route have nothing to be ashamed of; a lot of people (especially grad students) could use the comfort. In my opinion, movies that are often described as “guilty pleasures” would be better described as “simple ones.”

I hope it’s clear that this block framework completely allows for mainstream movies that do incite, provoke and disturb, but I also believe that these elements should still be considered part of the overarching goal of entertainment (indeed, the previously mentioned Apocalypse Now serves as an excellent example of an entertaining film that uses pretty much every block in the cupboard brilliantly).

And of course, once out of the nebulous “mainstream,” this outlook should have all the authority of a snail discussing sports cars (okay, that’s a weird analogy, but you know what I mean). There is a vital need for a cinema whose purpose is to consider things other than entertainment. Films that challenge you to understand them or explore the boundaries of the medium are integral to advancing it. I am consistently intrigued by the offerings of video artists as well as other filmmakers who use different paradigms than the one I’ve tried to define (by putting Character as the primary emphasis for example). But as a genre filmmaker, I must admit that my ability to discuss them is limited (and at this point I’m too exhausted to make even a cursory effort).

So what were we talking about?

Oh yeah, why I really fight. You’ve already got my best guess as to theme, and now I have the tools to describe intent. I’m sure it’s clear by now that my thesis is primarily “style entertainment.” As a piece aimed towards children (and throwbacks like me), I am satisfied by its artistic credentials. And even though my choice might normally be described (using my own framework) as modest, it is also completely true to the story I need to tell. Spacemen will be my fifth thesis script. Every other script failed to get made because I wasn’t true to my vision. Every previous story I pursued was compromised, edited and revised in an effort to appeal to my fellow filmmakers and my perceived audience. And in the end it nearly drove me out of this calling I love so dearly. So no more compromises. As I finish what I started over three years ago, I have resolved to be completely honest about what I’m trying to do. So much so that I would rather write thousands of words on why I should be allowed to tell a story whose primary value is entertainment, rather than put together a smokescreen of deeper meanings that would ultimately be disrespectful to the work I’m trying to perform. In the words of a great man (okay, it was Popeye): “I yam what I yam and that’s all that I am.”

And that should be enough.

What doesn't kill us...

...is often just killing us slowly. My college is up to something. I'm not sure what, but I keep asking myself why I would be repeatedly subjected to a series of Herculean Labors just to go to school here. It's like some kind of deranged loyalty test akin to drowning a woman to prove she isn't a witch. The latest trial involves my school loans getting canceled as a result of my skipping last quarter. Despite the fact that I emailed them about it just to prevent this from happening. TWICE. I need to say something here:

GAHHHHHHHHH!!!! EXPLETIVE ******** DELETED EX-*****-ing DELEPLETIVE!

And believe me that's the barest tip of my rage and frustration! All day long I struggled in vain to deal with related "drop/add week" issues and was confounded at every turn. Printers wouldn't print. Parking stickers failed to arrive. Professors I needed were off. Entire groups of vital staff have been relocated from their regular buildings for the sake of "convenience" with little notice. And I think people are following me.

Either they're killing me slowly as some kind of twisted experiment, or I'm being tested to join some super-secret dark order within the school (probably called "Kneecap and Ribcages" or something similar)... or I'm just having a real lousy run of luck.

Let's hope Karma gives me a payoff for all this agony down the road -- unless all this bad luck is outstanding Karmic debt incurred in a previous life (perhaps pre-Kevin once trampled an old lady to get to a Labor Day sale). Well... at least I'm used to being in debt. See? There's always a silver lining.

UPDATE -- Just got a letter from the Bursar's office. It looks like they're going to be able to reprocess my loans! YES! It was such a tremendous relief to hear this good news, and I appreciate their rapidity in getting back to me. I think I might have passed the test! I'm hoping the Sooper Secret Society will be contacting me shortly...

UPDATED UPDATE -- There is no secret society. Never was. It's all a joke. I have not just been asked to become a "Ribsman" with the codename Thaddius Hurfle. [shifty-eyes]

Why We Fight

I've always prided myself on being a "genre filmmaker," and I don't use the term casually. Ever since taking a class called "Critical Concepts in Media," I've made a deep effort to understand how these films reflect the desires and attitudes of the movie-going public, and how genres shift and change to reflect society's views of itself. Studying genre is, in my opinion, nothing less than studying our modern myths. And being able to tell an invigorating and unique story in an established genre takes skill and commitment no less intense than a filmmaker of the avant-garde tradition.

So with that serious approach in mind, the thesis project I am attempting to undertake will be an attempt to work in what is essentially an extinct "micro-genre": television sci-fi of the 1950s (specifically, shows like Space Patrol, Tom Corbett, and Captain Video). Now in a face-to-face conversation, this is where I would usually brace for the laugh. Since this is text, however, I can gamely press ahead.

There are many reasons why attempting to tease this genre back to life would be fulfilling. First and foremost, sci-fi from this period was fun in a way that its mature descendent simply cannot match. What many people describe as the "B" or "schlock" quality of fifties sci-fi movies is to me a kind of manic enthusiasm towards technology and the future bubbling up from the subtext of the film. Modern "B" movies don't really have the same feel at all. While sci-fi has come a long way since the still excellent Forbidden Planet, that nebulous sense of fun has been all but lost.

Now I don't want to get too involved in the many underpinnings of these films, but a brief detour into this genre during the fifties may prove enlightening. Post World War II America was an amazingly unique time in our country's life. It's almost impossible for those who didn't live through it to understand the explosion in technology that occurred during that decade -- there's really no other word for it. In the span of just a few years our society fully embraced television, the automobile and dozens of other technological innovations at a rate that must have seemed dizzying. It's hard for us to realize how plausible it would be to someone in this environment that we'd be living on the moon by the 1970s, and that jetpacks and food-pills were "right around the corner." It was a decade of such rapid technological advancement (really the forging of our modern societal structure), that a kind of awe took hold of the masses over the wonders of science and technology. Ten years previous no one could have envisioned that radio would soon be toppled from its throne, much less that we'd soon have the capability to wipe ourselves off the map with the atom-bomb. But even when the products of scientific progress were terrifying, that sense of awe remained. Unlike its modern counter-part, most science fiction of this time wasn't really about science at all, but rather, about the possibilities of science. No one thought that slapping some ornate fins on a car was going to make it take off, but to many such decoration was a wonderfully inspiring sight. It was like the people of this time got so excited they developed a style (involving lots of slick ornamentation and chrome) in anticipation for a future that would never really arrive. To fully understand the mood I'm trying to recreate (that ephemeral sense of "fun"), one must first understand the unabashed enthusiasm for "progress" that helped to define this era. Bill Bryson does an excellent job covering a lot of these points in his recent book The Life and Times of the Thunderbolt Kid: A Memoir.

So now that we've got the broad style bracketed, we can discuss how the sci-fi of early television was distinct in its own right. First of all, it was generally cheap. Sometimes dirt cheap. One popular anecdote describes the early episodes of Captain Video (created by the cash-strapped Dumont Network) as being budgeted at $20 a piece! Now obviously this didn't help the quality of the work any (it takes quite a connoisseur to appreciate these "classics"), but there was an unintentional side-effect: by being so low-budgeted, each series often fell back on tried and true science-fiction aesthetics. In the fifties, that meant the serials, whose approaches to the genre had largely been cemented in the thirties.

Seeing as how you're already facing a daunting wall of text, I won't go off on another tangent, but suffice it to say, while the higher budgeted features were exploring new forms and styles (this is the era that brought us the infamous Flying Saucer, after all), the television series often had the fantastic "Rocket Ships and Rayguns" approach that had been pioneered with serials like Flash Gordon. The TV heroes even sounded like they could have leapt right off the lobby cards from this earlier era: Buzz Corry, Captain Video, Tom Corbett.

But these series were not just poorly funded imitations. As discussed above, a primary difference is that they possessed a viewpoint more closely aligned with the 1950s. This outlook, combined with the violence restrictions present even then in early TV made for a kinder, gentler fare than the serials. There was also a greater emphasis on technology to solve problems. That being said, it is interesting to note that traditional fisticuffs and even the occasional death still occurred, a fact that stands in stark contrast to modern programming (the only series that has any correlation to these shows would be Power Rangers, which chooses to depict violence as a kind of flashy dance between super-powered combatants with little to no consequences).

I would be remiss if I didn't mention one other factor that contributes to the unique feel of these shows: like all early television, they were filmed completely live, special effects and model shots included. Sometimes actors would be required to engage in an extended fist fight and then go right into promoting a sponsor’s product! This thesis film will of course use more traditional methods, but I wanted to mention this as a testament to those early actor's steady nerves and endurance.

The final reason why this project has a special place in my heart is my deep desire to make this film a lasting tribute to these largely forgotten -- and in some cases almost completely lost -- series. Captain Video stands as a particular tragedy. Filmed live five days a week (with an additional show on Saturday) for over three years, CV eventually racked up well over a thousand episodes! It was routinely watched by an audience of millions (the Honeymooners poked fun at the number of fans in an episode where we learn that Ed Norton is a devoted follower), and in 1951 its popularity spawned the first big-screen adaptation of a TV show when a serial of the same name was produced. Unfortunately, however, the vast majority of these episodes are now gone forever, their kinescopes destroyed by Dumont to salvage the silver in the prints. Of these hundreds of shows, a mere six remain in circulation, and the copies are uniformly bad. It fills me with great sadness to think of the sacrifices these hardworking men and women made to bring these stories to air, only to have their legacy almost completely wiped out today. If this thesis project can in some small way help keep their memory alive, I will count it a success on that alone.

I apologize for the length of all this, but when one is trying to define something so narrow, brevity is impossible (it doesn't help that I'm longwinded to begin with). After I've rested my fingers, I can hopefully go into more detail about my take on this genre: Spacemen.

For those not running for the door by now, check out "Roaring Rockets," a wonderful site that goes into a lot more detail about the specific shows I've mentioned (including where to get them).

Cat attacks mouse. Owner fumes.

I woke up this morning to find that our cat had chewed through my mouse cord, rendering my computer impotent. I mention this solely because I'm pissed. Really pissed. So pissed that even the humorous irony of a cat killing a computer "mouse" only brings a faint smile. So L (my lovely wife) and I bought a new mouse and some of that foul-tasting bitter stuff that you put on cords to prevent cats from chewing on them. Well, our kitty layed into the new mouse and almost immeadiatly chewed the cord down to bare wire. Expletive. Expletive deleted EXPLETIVE!! The mouse still works (or I wouldn't be typing this), but now I have the cord taped down in a gambit to deter our monumentally stupid cat. And what, the non-existant reader may ask, does this have to do with 50's sci-fi filmmaking? Well... the cat's name is Video. After Captain Video. We're thinking of changing it to Expletive.

The Long Haul

The problem with blogging is that it's easy to exhaust yourself. Four or five long posts teeming with your "A" material and you're done. There's no shortage of blogs that died after 5 to 7 posts. I have one (and this might turn out to be numero two). So I'm going to keep my posts brief and lackluster as possible, and hope that some glimmering traces of my personality shine through. I will try to regularly put together snippets of info on my ongoing film project(s) as well as tidbits about the little known sci-fi gems of this era.

For at least a week.