Film Review: Thor: Ragnarok

Thor has been on two stand-alone adventures and two Avengers films, saving two different worlds twice. Although he was previously shown as an Asgardian with his heart set in Earth, Ragnarok--the apocalypse--comes to his homeworld. To save it, he looks for answers across the stars, fights incredible enemies, forms unlikely alliances, and ultimately emerges as the guardian to save his people.

Previous Thor films had their sparks of action, style, and character beats, but were always hampered by their bland style, stilted drama, and underdeveloped villains. Ragnarok...still has an underdeveloped villain. Which is sad, because Cate Blanchett's performance is a joy to watch as she gleefully throws spears at everyone and uncovers the lies of Odin. I found Hela's appearance and actions imposing in its own right, and her connection to the story has implicit motivations I can jive with. A better villain than Malekith, Ronan, Kaecilius, a hair worse than Ego, Ultron, and Loki (Tom Hiddleston returns in Ragnarok, mischievous and slippery as ever, delivering the right balance of deadpan humor and tragedy). The story also feels like it's shaped from the came cookie-cutter that spat out Iron Man 3: these are both stories in which the hero loses his home and primary powers, is banished to some place with no allies, and is forced to return and reclaim everything with fantastic heroics.

Even if this is just another Marvel cookie, it is one glazed in pure color with sparkles. The plot stalls a little when Thor hangs around Sakaar, but it's very quick to introduce new characters and problems that inevitably have to be solved to bring Thor back to Asgard. The thing that keeps this from becoming droll is the sheer amount of levity. There's about as many laughs here (maybe more) than an Avengers film. But Thor maintains its identity by maintaining its focus on Thor's heritage (not even extended cameos by Dr. Strange and Bruce Banner can distract from Thor, Odin, Loki, and Hela), and through the eye-popping action sequences. The combination of Norse myth and space fantasy is more sublime than ever--visually-sumptuous sequences, such as a line of Valkyries on winged horses bearing down on Hela, or the high-powered fight between Thor and Surfur, brings the fantasy to vivid life.

Juggling princely charm and lunk-headed goofiness, Chris Hemsworth is a joy to watch in this film. Lesser characters aren't too shabby either though--Jeff Goldblum really chews the scenery, as if Mr. Malcolm from Jurassic Park suddenly became power-mad. I enjoyed Tessa Thompson's performance--her character comes off as a little too stubborn, but she has a certain ruffian charm. Karl Urban is a nice surprise--his character pulled out a few surprising punches in the beginning and end. Idris Elba returns as Heimdall, and his character plays into the story much more significantly than before (and it's a nice touch). All these characters are united by an okay script that stands out more for the humor. The film is nicely-ordained with awesome-looking sets, props, costumes, and special effects. Mark Mothersbaugh's film score tries to capture a certain 80s fantasy vibe, and it marries well with what's on-screen.

I could see how somebody could walk away from Ragnarok feeling like it's more of the same. The plot goes through some of the same beats we've seen in other superhero flicks (especially third-parters). The villain is still a tad undercooked. This is also a movie that favors humor over dramatic intensity. But at the very least, it's far from bland. Every time Thor pummeled his enemies (set to the beat of Led Zeppelin's "Immigrant Song"), I was awestruck as the camera followed his hammer slamming into so many fire minions, or as he came slamming down in an explosion of lightning. In between the gorgeous action and fantasy scenes, the humor brings light to flavor to a franchise that could have easily become droll. In the end, it's just the right flavor of cookie I crave.

4/5

Goodbye Utah

Four and a half years ago, I returned to the U.S. after spending eleven years overseas. At the time, I was excited. It was a chance to see new, unique sights. A chance to submerge myself in the land of plenty and all the commercial luxuries that were previously shut off to me. A chance to stand on my own and walk among other free people without feeling like an outsider.

There are things to feel blessed about while living in Utah. It is a beautiful state with varied and unique geographical features. It's a photographer's paradise. As it is a paradise for hikers, bikers, campers, and more. The Salt Lake valley, nestled among the towering Wasatch range, is peppered with parks and paths worth exploring. Up the canyons, there are magnificent valleys and forests full of color and life. National parks like Arches, Zion, and Bryce offer landscapes unlike any other. I've seen bison roaming on Antelope Island. I've walked through an ice castle in Midway. I've touched dinosaur bones in Vernal. Even with brief stops near the Great Salt Lake and in various small towns, I've beheld lovely sights. And going to major sites outside the state (like the Grand Canyon and Mesa Verde) haven't been far away. There are places I planned to see or revisit, but haven't found the time to. Regardless, I've seen enough to feel satisfied with my travels.

When I wasn't traveling, I engrossed myself in the same activities I always enjoy: writing, watching films, listening to music, and playing video games. Living in the States, I found plenty of solidarity in exploring the shopping areas and visiting the cinemas regularly. I've visited Comic Con twice, finding not only a plethora of unique merchandise, but also marveling at the sea of costumes and sitting in on insightful panels. I saw one concert live (Thievery Corporation in Park City). Above all, I've dipped into the local writing communities and attended a few conferences. Doing so has exposed me to wonderful and knowledgeable people, and I've learned more from them than in all the previous years I've noodled around with the craft. Since arriving, everybody I've met has been hospitable and friendly.

With so many good experiences, why would I want to leave? Part of my decision to move is simply that a new opportunity came up, and I decided to take it. But I made that decision because, for some reason or another, I became over-stressed. It got to the point where I developed an overly-negative viewpoint of people and my surroundings. I started to expect the worst out of everything and everybody. My self esteem chipped away until I teetered on the fringes of melancholia. This started to bleed into other areas of my life--writing and matters of personal discipline. I lost the motivation and drive to push myself.

Only now when I look back do I realize I may have taken some things personally and let negativity fester. The greatest and hardest thing I've learned is how to let go: of shame and guilt over past mistakes and behavior, of physical things that hold no meaning to me anymore, and of wondering whether people are judging me or not. Only later did I find that I could break free of the chains binding me to bad emotions--I am starting to do so by refusing to focus and dwell of failures, and by learning gratitude.

In the spirit of gratitude, if any Utahan who knew me is reading this, then you have my thanks for helping me feel at home for a while. Some of you have invited me with your families, and it was a lovely experience. I've learned so much from the co-workers and writers I've met. Everybody has made me feel welcome--one of my biggest regrets is that I didn't do more to pay people back for their hospitality.

My next phase of my life begins in Georgia now: it will be a chance to work in a position where my work can be of value, but with far less pressure. This is my first time seeing the deep south--everybody tells me it will be unbearably hot in the summers, but I am looking forward to winters with little-to-no snow. I feel I need the humidity--the arid mountain air of Utah and Colorado seems to rip my skin and my lungs up. I am not sure how many sight-seeing opportunities there will be, but the land is the greenest and lushest I've seen since living in England. I'm hoping traffic will be less intense, and the amenities I want to see will be easy to get to.

Although I have much to look forward to, there are things I will miss from Utah. Places and sights that are dramatic, unique, and stirring. Communities that are safe and friendly. Above all, people who have shown me kindness. Thank you for everything, Utah.

Recipes For A Starving Writer: Granola Bars

If you're like me, you may not want much for a snack or lunch break. I got used to throwing a pre-packaged granola bar in my backpack or messenger bag, either for work or travel. It's easy enough to just open it up, chow down, then move on. And they can't be too unhealthy for you, right? They have loads of fiber, thanks to the oats and nuts.

Truth is, they're also sugary (especially brands like Cliff, and any brand that throws in peanut butter and chocolate chips), and you end up paying a lot for so little (one box from the store will usually last me a week). So lately, I've endeavored to make my own, so the ingredients would be purer (less sugar and artificial preservatives) and to maybe save money.

After doing this a couple of times, I find that it's a quick and easy recipe, taking maybe thirty minutes to prepare and create, and it needs only a few utensils (just a baking pan, mixing bowl, measuring cup, spoon, saucepan, cutting board, baking sheet, some parchment paper). And the recipes are quite versatile--if you look around online, you can find hundreds of variants with all different ingredients and methods. In essence, all you have to do is make a sugary mixture (butter, brown sugar, honey) and combine it with some toasted oats and nuts. Chill it in the fridge, cut it into bars, then enjoy. One batch can make enough bars to last a week, and the ingredients can probably be used to make months' worth of batches. Cheap, fast, easy food for writers who need all the time and cash they can get. On top of that, they usually taste great--sometimes better than the store-bought brands.

Because there are so many different ways to make these things, I'm just going to give you the recipe I used the last few times. It's originally from a recipe my mother forwarded to me. But the possibilities are endless--some people used sweet condensed milk and no honey, others add coconut, others use peanut butter, you can many different kinds of nuts and berries, and so much more. This recipe is purposefully simple and basic so you can mod it to your tastes and experiment.

Ingredients (base)

• 2 1/2 cups of rolled oats
• 1/2 cups of roughly-chopped nuts
• 1/4 cup honey
• 1/4 cup unsalted butter
• 1/3 cup brown sugar
• 1/4 teaspoon of salt
• 1 teaspoon of vanilla extract
• 3/4 cups of extra mix-in ingredients (such as  dried fruits, coconut, chocolate chips, etc)

Instructions

1. Preheat the oven to 350 degrees.
2. Line a 9-inch square baking dish with parchment paper or foil, and lightly spray with cooking spray (Note: I never used cooking spray on the parchment paper, the stuff doesn't stick to it anyway. Come to think of it, I think the original recipe just got its commas messed up).
3. Place oats and nuts on a rimmed baking sheet and bake 8 - 10 minutes until lightly toasted.
4. In a saucepan, add the honey, butter, and brown sugar. Cook over medium heat until the butter melts and the sugar dissolves, stirring occasionally. Then, remove from heat and stir in the vanilla and salt.
5. When the oats and nuts are toasted, pour them into a large bowl.
6. Add the buttery mixture and stir to combine.
7. Add the extra mix-in ingredients (Note: if you're using chocolate, be aware that it will melt and become all swirly in the mixture. Which can be good in its own way. But if you want whole chips intact, wait until the mixture cools before adding). Stir some more until everything is covered in the sticky mixture.
8. Place the mixture in the square pan. Use a rubber spatula or bottom of a greased measuring cup (or do what I do and place some parchment paper on top) and press down on the mixture.
9. Chill the granola bars for at least two hours.
10. When ready, lift the bars from the pan using the edges of the foil/parchment paper. Place it all on a cutting board and cut into desired shapes/sizes.
11. Eat. Serve. Store on a cool, dry place. Enjoy.

When I made these suckers, I used cranberries and walnuts. For my first attempt, I also tried this granola stuff I got from the store, but found it unnecessary--oats are all you really need. I also tried to use chocolate, but as the instructions said, it all melted. But it turned out wonderful all the same. Last time I made these, I didn't follow the recipe and just went by memory. I probably used too much honey and sugar, but it all bound together just fine regardless. My attempts always yielded a fistfull of oats and stuff breaking off when I cut it--I figure that's just the way it goes, but some recipes out there will be chewier and less flaky.

All About Linkin Park

Once, I thought all heavy metal was just noise, with lyrics that glorified evil and dangerous things. Then, around 2002, I was perusing the Internet and I happened across Linkin Park, without really knowing who they were. The first song of theirs I heard was "In the End." The first few bars had good beat, and I thought maybe this was electronica. Then Mike Shinoda's rapping kicked in, so even and rhythmic. For rap, I thought it was decent. Then Chester Bennington screamed the chorus. It wasn't the same grunting, growling, screamo type of noise you get from bands like KoRn or Cradle of Filth or anything. For the first time, I realized that the noise still carried melody. Above all, it conveyed feeling and catharsis unlike any other genre. That was when I discovered the power and art of heavy metal.

For most people, Linkin Park will begin and end with their first two full-length albums--Hybrid Theory and Meteora. They were unique for their time (a time in which rap and metal were experimented with other acts--Kid Rock, KoRn, Crazytown, etc) and they remain distinctive in their sound and emotional lyrics. Subsequent albums have deviated a lot from the formula as the band experimented and became more alternative metal than nu-metal. Just earlier this year, 2017, the band released One More Light. It is such a radical change--gone is all semblance of metal, leaving only the beat and far softer vocals. It's essentially a pop album. And yet, it still bears the emotional weight of their earlier work--pain, sorrow, and regret.

Just a few months later, lead singer Chester Bennington passed away--he was found in his home, having hung himself. Only recently did I hear about all the pain and depression he endured--abuse as a child, followed by years of substance abuse and addiction. I never realized there was so much suffering behind the music, but in retrospect it all makes sense. Nearly every LP song reflects something Chester must have felt or experienced. Perhaps each song was some cry for help. After 15 years of following the band and clinging to every piece of music I could find of theirs, news of his passing was a genuine shock to me. I know some folks who have decried this as a waste of a life--it is indeed sad knowing Chester left behind six children, a successful career, and a huge fanbase that genuinely loved him. I wondered what could have pushed him to such an extreme end.

From the beginning, LP inspired a vast number of story ideas I've conjured. Even the most outlandish of ideas hinged a lot on the sharp beats, melancholy atmosphere, and intense vocal power of the band. While Hybrid Theory and Meteora are each loaded with songs I could never skip, I was also drawn to the energy and tone of Minutes to Midnight. A Thousand Suns alienated many listeners, but despite the filler tracks I found it a particularly excellent conceptual listening experience. I'm a casual fan of Living Things and The Hunting Party. And while One More Light is a far cry from anything else the band's done, it has merit.

That's not all though--remix albums like Reanimation have been very enthralling. They did a very solid collaboration with Jay-Z around 2004, successfully mashing up their hit songs sublimely. Their fan club (Linkin Park Underground) has released a treasure trove of exclusive albums--16 iterations to date that includes B-sides, live songs, and a plethora of demo tracks. With few exceptions, their demos are just as spectacular as their fully-realized songs. The first volume of LPU is the same as their very first EP, which has been out of print for years--the Hybrid Theory EP (different than the Hybrid Theory album), which is very raw and intense.

Chester Bennington's done work outside of the band--before Linkin Park, he was the lead singer for Grey Daze (I've never heard their songs and their albums look like they're hard to find). Chester teams with Amir Derakh and Ryan Shuck for the band Dead By Sunrise (I only just downloaded it, and it sounds okay). And he did one EP for Stone Temple Pilots (High Rise, with "Out of Time" as the main single I caught on the radio repeatedly--it's pretty decent). If you happen across the soundtracks for Queen of the Damned and Underworld: Evolution, you can catch a couple of solo tracks he made: "Sysem," which is very dark and wicked, and "Morning After," which is very groovy.

Mike Shinoda is the rapper from Linkin Park throughout its career, although he's featured more prominently in the first few LP albums. In 2004, he kicked off a side project called Fort Minor, which is a very excellent brand of hip-hop. Shinoda's also been involved with bands like Styles of Beyond (one of their songs can be heard on the Transformers soundtrack). He's also worked with a few composers for soundtrack music (including the score for The Raid: Redemption). He also did a very loud and powerful remix for Depeche Mode's "Enjoy the Silence."

Linkin Park's music has been everywhere in my life, even in the most unexpected of places. Just a few years ago, I visited Bangkok and I happened to hear an acoustic version of "New Divide" playing in a taxi driver's car. Even as a tribute, it sounded exquisite. I've heard LP's songs on the radio, in films, I've heard Fort Minor's music on the air, I've caught the band member's solo acts on various albums--it's been a far-reaching career and it's always excited me when I saw Bennington, Shinoda, or LP's name anywhere. Their brand of music, no matter the style, always promised style, beat, rhythm, and vocal power that would stir my imagination and my soul. Of course, if it wasn't for LP, I might not have ever gotten into metal to begin with. I have them to thank for opening my eyes and my mind, to look past the noise and see the structure and spirit of the music.

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AL'S FAVORITE SONGS

 

Film Review: Stalker (1979)

Next time you take a roadside picnic and throw something away in the grass, take a moment to consider what happens next. Ants will come out to pick up and carry the crumbs away. Birds will peck at seeds and fruits. Maybe some badger will grab a wrapper and get his head stuck in it. Suppose you chuck an alkaline battery away, or a canister of oil? Mere leftovers for us become mysterious and deadly artifacts for lesser creatures.

This was the basic premise behind Arkady and Boris Strugatsky's book, Roadside Picnic. What if aliens landed on Earth and left some junk behind? People and governments would surely covet it. It could become a whole new kind of black market. But what effects would such artifacts have on lesser beings like us?

1979's Stalker adopts this premise into a one-of-a-kind vision. From its opening credits onward, the film is seeped in hard, gritty textures and drab colors. In this bleak setting, the nameless Stalker (Alexander Kaidanovsky, notably bald, scrawny, and kinda alien-looking) takes a job to escort two clients into the Zone--the place where a meteorite crashed and became quarantined by the military. One man is a writer (Anatoly Solonitsyn) looking for inspiration. The other, a professor (Nikolai Grinko) looking for scientific discovery. Despite the heavy guard and the threat of never coming back, the three break through and progress through the Zone. We never see any psychical threats, but the trio always react with fear and anxiety over invisible traps and unseen entities. Passing through dark corridors and ruins, truths are unearthed about each character, which puts their whole endeavor into question and endangers them all.

This is a long and mopey film. Gone are the pulp fiction roots of the original story--Tarkovsky sought to craft a meditative experience out of this, sculpting viewers' time as he always did to draw out each moment and force you to think about what's on screen and what's being said. It might be agony for some viewers, because each shot lingers for long, long, long stretches of time. It kills the pacing, especially when the characters stop moving and decide to discuss philosophy for minutes on end.

Fortunately, this film will reward patient viewers. The combination of dreary visuals and sharp writing directs the audience to contemplate greater implications of the journey. It's not so much about three guys walking through the woods--it's an allegory to religious pilgrimage, and synonymous to living life itself. The entire trip challenges each characters' faith, as they question the existence and validity of an all-powerful Room that promises them happiness and fulfilled wishes. Each performer puts on melancholy and understated performances, accentuating the stillness of the cinematography and the quietness of the soundtrack. The sheer mood suggests cynicism towards society, the arts, science, religion--the entirety of mankind. Viewers can infer any number of conclusions, as the Stalker himself distresses over how people lost their way.

This is one of the ultimates in arthouse cinema. Stalker has cinematography like no other, showcasing places and people so dark, but with a delicate touch that implies greater beauty in nature and power of forces above and beyond mankind. Best of all, the film offers content worth contemplating and reflecting on. Tarkovsky and the crew suffered toxic environments to realize this vision. Then, the film was destroyed--the Soviet laboratories were unfamiliar with the film stock and it was improperly developed. Tensions with the cinematographer (who was subsequently fired) only accentuated the frustration and cynicism Tarkovsky felt, before having to re-shoot the entire film again. What's left might be a reflection of his own anguish. And we are given a chance to stare into his abyss, to see what stares back at us.

If you have the interest, the patience, the willpower, the film is a must-see.

4/5

Film Review: Dunkirk (2017)

Imagine waiting in line, in which you don't know what's going to happen. Maybe you'll be shipped home, to safety and comfort. Maybe you'll die.

In 1940, 400,000 Allied soldiers faced awaited their fate on the beaches of Dunkirk. For nine days, these poor souls endured heavy gunfire and bombardments, while a fleet of civilian ships raced to their rescue. There was no naval fleet or air force to swoop in and save the day. The soldiers had no choice but to wait--to live, or to die.

The 2017 film Dunkirk is an intense cinematic experience that places the audience in line with the soldiers, the sailors, and the airmen. Offering little in terms of character hooks or color, the film immediately dunks the viewers in the madness of war, starting off with men running for their lives in the streets, before following them on land, sea, and air. Three specific perspectives are used to show the battle. One is the shoes of a soldier who does everything he can to find a ship home. Another takes place on the deck of a humble yacht, helmed by an old man and a pair of boys who want to do their part in the evacuation effort. The third happens through the eyes of Spitfire pilots racing to stop enemy bombers and fighters from killing more troops.

Despite each narrative having different lapses of time, they are all interwoven together. It can be a challenge to understand the order of events, since the film will show something happening (such as a plane going down), then follow-up with it again from a different angle. This method creates some fascinating disparities between perspectives, as some characters perceive events in one light, but then audiences see that their views were skewed or wrong. The finale in particular is a complex multi-sided affair, which ambiguously suggests both defeat and victory. The triptych plot also gives the film rhythm, so that it becomes a series of waves that washes over the viewers.

And it will feel like waves and waves of terror. The story by nature is terrifying, and the film is careful to remain understated and let the events speak for themselves. There's little dialogue to this (which will spark some complaints that the characters lack depth or presence). But the actors do succeed in making their struggles painstakingly convincing. It's all amplified by the film's style. Over each scene, Hans Zimmer's score washes over the soundscape with an eerie, creepy sort of industrial ambience. The camera moves organically across the geography--it gets a little rough when it follows the characters on foot and in the tight corridors of ships, but it's very smooth and elegant with the aerial footage. Most of the film is drenched in steely blue and gray--at times, it makes the environments look beautiful, but it becomes hellish when sand and water washes over the characters and threaten to smother them.

That's ultimately the point of all this: the experience of war-time fear. The style and script focus on the hopelessness of the situation, before exploring all the horrifying situations in which soldiers could die: obliterated by bombs, shot by guns, drowned in the hold of a ship, drowned in the cockpit of a sinking plane, struck or crushed by falling structures, and more. With the film showing so much danger and threat, it struck me that there is a (perhaps unintentional) parallel between the English channel and the River Styx. After all, these were men trapped in a state of limbo, being picked off by unseen, faceless enemies, while waiting for a safe crossing. Even if the soldiers get out alive, they still face an ambiguous future where war continues and more will face death.

Christopher Nolan's Dunkirk is an industrial-grade thrill ride. It's looks and sounds steely, cold, and oppressive, but it hits hard--the cinematic equivalent of a Rammstein song. The narrative is rather odd, but it does succeed in dipping audiences into all the dangers of war. With the film's dedication to showing realistic replications of ships and planes used in the evacuation, it's also a faithful and insightful view of historic events I was otherwise unaware of. In spite of this, the film is a valuable experience in its own right.

4/5

From The Inspiration Shelf: Koyaanisqatsi

I don't remember how or why, but one evening in Seattle I was at a flea market with my dad and uncle. Among all the used household goods people had out for sale, I found a single DVD that caught my attention: Koyaanisqatsi. I knew it only by name, and even then I would have never known about its existence if it wasn't for my previous exposure to Baraka (a blind-buy I made years ago on the merits of its Blu-Ray picture quality). For a single dollar, I took a chance on Koyaanisqatsi.

Once I was home, I had it playing in the background while I busied myself with other chores and tasks. On the first glance, the movie bewildered me. It showed landscapes and cityscapes--no narration or apparent premise, just images and music. I knew it would be that way, given it's the same way Baraka is presented. But I kept wondering what the point of Koyaanisqatsi was and why should I care?

Then the ending happened--so startling and somber. The last title cards appeared to finally explain what the odd word Koyaanisqatsi means, and what the Hopi prophecies embedded in the music says. Then it all came together: life out of balance. The film showed the great rise of mankind's achievements, and warned of its potential downfall. All it took was a few key images, the right tone, and a select theme. Realizing the true depth and power of the film, I rewatched it immediately to let the entire experience soak in properly. I've since watched it three or four more times--the film still captivates me with its visual prowess, and it still staggers my mind with all it has to say. No other film stimulates thought or feeling the same way this one does--it is a stirring and cathartic experience that encapsulates human nature and sheds light on our world.

What Is It?

In short, Koyaanisqatsi is the Hopi term for "life out of balance." The film is a documentary that starts off showing still, peaceful nature, then transitions into human cityscapes where people work and play in a constant buzz of activity. The film uses some very long and nutty amounts of time-lapse photography and slow-motion to emphasize speed and drama. Collectively, the film shows a little bit of everything--men and machines, factory workers, cars, planes, entertainment, war, peace, demolition, construction, food supply, energy supply--to show how mankind has altered the Earth and turned it into an artificial place where life is truly out of balance.

There is no narration to point any specific detail out--it's totally up to the viewer to soak it all in and make their own conclusions. Some themes are pretty blatant, others not so much. Philip Glass composes the score--a very repetitive and rhythmic orchestration that accentuates the visuals and manages to be very hypnotic. The experience overall is cathartic and bittersweet--there are moments of grandeur to this film as there are somber moments. All together, the film suggests that mankind might be doomed in our current state of living continues the way it is.

Suffering.

I've gone into a lot more detail in a previous post that analyzes each scene.

Inspirations

The film and its themes might elicit a "so what" response for some people, but for me a film can't get more important than this. It's one of very few films I've seen that captures something as it is and projects it in a way that underscores universal truths.

All that being said, I don't necessarily believe in the doom and gloom the film suggests. If for no other reason than the level of awareness that exists now--when the film was made, notions of climate change and our understanding of the food industry were never mainstream. These days, it's all we hear about. People are aware of our unbalanced lifestyles, and some people are taking a stand and working to make it better. With all the knowledge we have, I don't really believe mankind will explode like a rocket any time soon.

As a film, I admire it a lot for its craftsmanship, especially since it was made on such a low budget from a group of people who had nothing to do with Hollywood to begin with. It's 100% experimental. I don't even think the themes of the movie came together until much later in its production--the filmmakers simply captured what they could and assembled the structure later.

Additionally, I like the film for its imperfections. There are other documentaries (including sequels to this one) that are a little more polished and "perfect" in their presentation, but they never hit me as hard as Koyaanisqatsi. This film has an organic look and feeling to it--partly because of the 16mm and 35mm elements that gives it so much grit and texture (whereas Ron Fricke's Baraka and Samsara were made on such premium formats they look so perfect and clear--but they do miss out on texture because of that). The organic nature of the film extends to its style--it's not perfect. Some shots are so candid and plain-looking, they might look rather boring. Color schemes are equally drab. But then there are inventive shots where the camera gets pulled around in various ways--hanging off a helicopter, hand-held on the street, placed in a shopping cart. A lot of it was unplanned and nobody set out to film scenes with the forethought of a "koyaanisqatsi" theme. They simply filmed, and the ideas came together in editing. That's just how the creative process flows.

As Far As Writing Goes...

If you're writing non-fiction, this film can help show the structure of how to present a theme, then use examples to reinforce it, then conclude. That's pretty much what the film does--it opens and closes with a visual "thesis" in the form of shots of the Great Gallery. Then it goes into all the different scenes to collectively underscore this theme. Then the movie concludes with all the definitions. Many folks say this movie is a tone poem, but structurally it's not too far off from an essay. It just happens to be composed with images and no words.

When it comes to fiction and literature, this film can still be an inspiration. It shows everything and tells very little, especially on a grander thematic scale. The only clues viewers get concerning the movie's themes occur at the end and they remain rather cryptic. It is left up to the viewer to put the pieces together and come up with their own conclusions. And it was made that way on purpose. It's cobbled together to show certain things broadly, with a few recurring motifs, but nothing is explicitly explained to viewers. Writers can do the same thing with the same technique.

• Provide direction with few words, reinforce them with the action, images, and emotions of the story. It can be done effectively with all the usual "show don't tell" rules.
• Let the scenes and action speak for themselves.
• Avoid on-the-nose dialogue or narration.
• If you're writing with deep POV, use author voice as least as you can.
• Use action and active verbs to keep everything punchy and fast.
•  Use motifs, metaphors, comparisons, contrast, and figurative language.
• The film repeats certain images to allow viewers to make connections--roads and rivers, construction and demolition, factories and street life, nature and cities, and so much more.
• Metaphors exist in the film--the rocket at the end is one, and it's an image that drives home the theme that human achievement will reach an apex before something catastrophic happens and declines. The rocket becomes humanity--in one minute, the entire movie is summarized without any narrator drawing attention to it.
• As potential exercises...
• Look at the people shown in the film. Look at their faces. Are they happy? If not, why could that be? If you look at the people--who they are, how are they dressed, what are they doing--you could draw conclusions about them. One one hand, it's an exercise in your imagination--you could question if they're suffering from drama or stress. You could draw up a whole backstory for a person if you wanted. This is also a good way to think about the "show don't tell" rules for characters--the only thing you get out of this movie are looks, physique, clothes, ages, races, and the way they carry themselves. How else could you fill in these characters, and what are the possible motivations for the way they act or express themselves?
• Think about how this film would be if there was a narration. Would you really like it if somebody like Morgan Freeman came along and explained everything you're already seeing on-screen? It's not really necessary, is it?
• That being said, what about a character voice? Imagine an off-screen character narrating--not explaining anything on-screen, but solely focusing on personal thoughts and feelings. Would this same movie work if it was structured like a Terrance Malick film (Tree of Life, The Thin Red Line, The New World, etc)?

On top of that, this is one of very few films you could potentially watch while you write material without becoming distracted by dialogue. All you'll hear is music, and if you look up once in a while at the TV, you might get a burst of visual stimulus to keep your mind working. However, not everybody can manage that--it's quite possible the film could still distract with its onslaught of visual stimuli.

As Far As Filming Goes...

I have a hobby: I film the places I've been. When I started in 2001, my videos were a mess--I spun around frantically trying to capture everything on tape, and I wound up getting fast, jerky, plain-looking shots that are rather hard to watch. But I always wanted to put music to it for that added oomph. I did this for the past 16 years, but thanks to Koyaanisqatsi and similar films, I started to look at these projects differently. I slowed down a lot over the years, preferring slow and steady pans and still shots over constant movement (even when I move, it helps to have a camera with an image stabilizer). Above all, I started toying with time-lapses, and I've been taking time-lapse shots like a fiend these days. On a newer camcorder with HD, you can make some very beautiful shots with clouds flowing over landscapes or behind buildings. Add nice music, and it becomes an experience to show off.

The film has also inspired me in the way I cut and edit video. I used to make videos in chunks, so I always faded them to black--these days I prefer to cut them into big 40 - 90 minute features with no breaks, and with the music tracks cross-fading, so it becomes a continuous flow. Because Koyaanisqatsi had a knack for fitting images together to spark thought over certain themes, I often find myself doing the same, trying to piece shots together in logical ways that could suggest one idea leading to another. My videos will always be mere travelogues--I don't think I could pull off anything as thematically meaty as Koyaanisqatsi without going out of the way to shoot very specific things. But it can create an impact even in the most mundane of video to put shots together in a structural way.

Soundtrack

Philip Glass' score can be an inspiration as well. Even though it becomes repetitive, each composition has rigid structure. Sometimes, it sounds somber--parts of the score sound funereal as with the organs and the deep "koyaanisqatsi" chant. It accentuates the movie somberly, but on its own it's just as disquieting. When the tempo picks up, the music goes through some radical ups and downs, with a lot of heavenly choir-like vocals. Orchestral strings, brass, and synthesizers gives the music a lot of oomph to melodies that are otherwise very simple. It's a hypnotic, mesmerizing score, but it also has enough crescendos to make it a powerful piece. I can easily see any writer latching onto this.

Home Video

For years, Koyaanisqatsi was out of print due to copyright issues. A DVD was put out by MGM in 2002--it's perfectly watch-able and sports a few extra features. Blu-Rays popped up in Germany and Australia, but my copy from the inspiration shelf is the Criterion Collection Blu-Ray (part of the Qatsi Trilogy box set). It has probably the best quality one could ask for out of this film--the stock footage won't hold up as well in high-def, but all the original 16mm and 35mm scenes look quite sharp and natural. There is a lot of fine film grain, but given the history of the film, that's to be expected. Sound quality is really nice. There is a plethora of extras worth diving into, including a demo version of the film as originally put together in 1977. If you're seeking out a copy of this film, the Criterion edition gets my hearty recommendation (yes, even as part of the trilogy, the whole box set is worth getting).

Additional Inspirations

This film yielded two sequels: Powaqqatsi and Naqoyqatsi. The former (meaning "life that consumes another life to survive") focuses on the third world and how its labor supports the first world countries. The latter (meaning "life at war") has more to do with technology, the Internet, and virtualization, and how it creates conflicts through its myriad of languages and barriers. Both these films are worth a look--Powaqqatsi is a gorgeous feature with plenty to contemplate. I'm not a fan of Naqoyqatsi, because it does look rather gaudy and weird, and it's a harder feature to comprehend, but it does have nuggets of interesting ideas and scenes.

Godfrey Reggio went on to make the film Visitors, which is a highly experimental piece. It's extremely slow in pace--there's only 70 or so shots in the movie, and they're all about one minute long or longer. Its point is to show how people become entranced by technology, and it does so by putting the viewer into the POV of technology (thus, portrait shots in the film stare directly into you).

Cinematographer Ron Fricke went on to direct his own films. Chronos is a nice, short documentary that showcases a lot of time-lapse scenes in and around Europe. Baraka is a must--thematically, it's all about spirituality and human connections across multiple cultures and continents. It is a film that shows a lot of places and cultures I'll probably never see in my lifetime, and that alone makes it a must. Shot in 70mm with lovely time-lapses and slow-motion, it's also a beautiful film. Samsara is another film of similar quality--also shot on larger film formats, it looks striking and highly-detailed. It's described as a guided meditation--I've personally found that the film explores a lot of issues concerning the human form and how people in many cultures alter their bodies or make caricatures in their likeness.

There are few other films these guys have made that I haven't seen yet. All of these are pretty phenomenal and deserve to be watched at least once.