Design I Like: "Castle in the Sky" Poster

One of my favorite movie posters is for a classic Japanese animated film called “Castle in the Sky” (1986) by my favorite director Hayao Miyazaki. The poster is immediately striking for its vibrant, warm colors and complex imagery. It has a strong look of fine artistry that is rarely seen in the vapid movie posters of today, but there is also something to be said for it as a functional piece of graphic design. The two main characters, the boy Pazu and the girl Sheeta, are featured prominently in the poster floating high above a canyon landscape and gazing upwards with smiling faces that convey a sense of optimism and wonder. Flying below them, but still high above the village in the canyon, there is the pirate airship and several of its pirates on board, who start out as pursuers of the main characters in the movie but end up forming an unusual friendship with them. This spectacular and unexpected aerial perspective serves to grab people’s attention and give them a sense of the adventure they can expect when they watch the film. The fact that the two main children’s faces are featured very near the center of the frame also accentuates their glowing expressions and indicates who the main characters are. The magical stone on Sheeta’s necklace is also glowing in the center near her face, perhaps representing the idea that this jewel is indeed the “MacGuffin” of the film’s story. The bright colors on the children’s clothes, in contrast to the brown tones of the pirate ship and village below, separate them from the background and also suggest how their grand adventure brings them to wondrous new places far removed from the industrial-looking village that they leave behind.

What I See: Where the Wild Things Are

Where the Wild Things Are is one of the most special films made in recent history. In adapting this beloved children’s picture book, Director Spike Jonze defied convention by creating a darkly affecting and visually rough movie about childhood that proves especially resonant for those of us whose childhood is a bittersweet memory. Jonze, cinematographer Lance Acord , and production designer K. K. Barrett created a dynamic mise-en-scene that is both remarkably naturalistic and fantastical. The film begins and ends in “the real world”—a very recognizable suburban environment, a place in which the rowdy Max finds little solace, stimulation, or companionship. To evoke Max’s disenchantment, it takes place in winter, a season that holds both the promise of fun times in the snow, or the disappointment of being left out in the cold. The beginning outdoor scenes are lit ostensibly by a gray overcast sky that gives the feeling of a cold and gray world, as Max plays alone in the snow. Later at night, the interior of Max’s house is unevenly and dimly lit while Max is isolated in his room.

The fantasy world of the Wild Things is dynamic and ever-shifting. It is painted mostly in earth tones—shades of brown, tan, gray, and muted green—but is occasionally broken up by bright colors. The texture in these scenes juxtaposes the coarseness of bark with the softness of fur. Joy, bliss, fear, and sadness are experienced as extremes in this world, reflecting the inconstant emotional nature of childhood. Jonze and Acord chose to shoot Wild Things mostly with a handheld camera, and apparently without the aid of a Steadicam. The shaky camera is used to heighten these various emotions and evoke spontaneity, as if the camera were documenting real experiences. In particular, the rough camera work is meant to generate chaos and energy during Max’s rambunctious behavior at home or when he and the Wild Things are playing one of their wild games. However, I have to say, although I understand why Jonze and other filmmakers want to use the “shaky camera,” I don’t like it because it’s distracting. I feel that the most stunning moments in Where the Wild Things Are occur when the camera is held still. The movie’s beauty lies in what’s happening beyond the camera itself.

Museum of the Moving Image

Some of the first things we looked at in the Museum of the Moving Image were precursors to moving image technologies, including the zoetrope, which I found to be a particularly interesting toy. We had learned a little about the zoetrope in class, but I had never actually seen one in action and I couldn’t really understand how it worked or how it looked just by reading about it in text. Seeing the toy in action and the illusion it produces was surprisingly eye-popping and fascinating, albeit a rudimentary moving image device. For me, the zoetrope actualized the concept that each frame of a moving image must be punctuated by a brief and imperceptible moment of darkness (flicker) in order to give the illusion of motion.

The museum also had a collection of antique movie cameras and television sets. Early televisions were designed and manufactured to look like just another piece of furniture in somebody’s home and were encased in wood. This is in contrast to the televisions of today, which are now a larger and more imposing focal point in a home than ever. Generally, no effort is made to disguise the electronic equipment and the bigger the screen the better. I think the most peculiar of the old televisions at the museum was not a wooden piece, but one with a rounded screen that made it resemble a washing machine, of all things. Supposedly it was designed this way to appeal to the housewives of the 1950’s since it blended in with their other household appliances and because they were the stay-at-home audience. Today, the tables have turned to a sort of reversed sexism; the electronics market is now primarily based on appealing to the masculine consumer.

Artist Statement

I’ve taken up several creative hobbies in my life—including drawing, painting, singing, and acting—but from a very young age, I always knew I ultimately wanted to become a filmmaker. Although I have no experience, I have long been developing a repertoire of ideas that I hope to express someday through the art of film. I am endlessly fascinated with Japan and everything Japanese—especially Japanese animation. The best of anime represents innovative filmmaking that exceeds anything manufactured by Hollywood in recent years. This is why my filmmaking approach will be inspired partly by my favorite works of the medium, particularly the movies of Hayao Miyazaki and Studio Ghibli. I hope to direct my own anime films, and to experiment with translating the aesthetics of anime into a live-action setting. I am similarly inspired by the action and sensibility of Chinese martial arts epics. However, the themes of my work will somewhat depart from genre standards, because I will draw on my personal experiences and philosophical musings. Using symbolism and unconventional narrative structure, I’ll question religious dogmatism, expose the false dichotomy of gender roles, fight against homophobia, express hope for a peaceful planet, and explore the paradoxes of existence.