Category Archives: Short

The Song of Styrene (1959, Alain Resnais)

The Song of Styrene is gorgeous. The way director Resnais showcases the plastic press-styrene becomes plastic through chemical processes (Song of is an industrial promotional film)—it’s a solitary object, removed from the factory setting and just amazing and new looking. Even when something’s weathered, like the industrial plants, it all looks new. Very futuristic, very clean. When there’s the eventual shots of coal, it’s stunning how much it contrasts with the very clean, very futuristic look of everything else. Coal is elemental, even as the narrator talks about its mysterious origins (Song is from 1959).

You’d think someone might notice how the story of a created plastic whatever going backwards to being coal gas is visibly clean to dirty; there’s not a “look how this dirty rock turns into something beautiful” sentiment either. Song has narration. A lot of narration and narrator Pierre Dux goes from being excited about plastic being pressed to excited by the power of fossil fuels. Song is a very obvious promotion, albeit a visually impressive one.

It’s not an intellectually impressive one. Not even for 1959. Maybe it’s Dux’s narration or Pierre Barbaud’s music. Until the fossil fuel blathering starts, the Barbaud’s music is Song’s biggest problem. It doesn’t not match Resnais, cinematographer Sacha Vierny, and editor Claudine Merlin’s visual charting of an industrial plant, it just doesn’t add anything to the visuals. Resnais, Vierny, and Merlin have it covered. The music and narration are just noise, disingenuous noise.

During that visual survey of plants, tracking the pipes and so on, Song hits its peak, which is something given how cool the opening with the plastics gets. But Song tells the story backwards, which Resnais doesn’t—it’s not like visual sequences play in reverse—and it hurts the potential. For a 1959 energy company promotional video about the wonders of fossil fuel and how it makes everything clean and modern… Song’s pretty good. The visuals engage enough the narration and intent don’t really matter. But it doesn’t transcend that intent. The attention Resnais places on the solitary plastic press doesn’t carry over to the industrial plants; such a feat would be outside the technological capabilities of a 1959 promotional short. But it’s also what Song would need to be anything more. Resnais, Vierny, and Merlin letting loose instead of dancing in place, the script, narration, and music moving the film along instead of the actual filmmaking.

And opening with a Victor Hugo quote about the human condition is, in the end, a little much.

2/3Recommended

CREDITS

Directed by Alain Resnais; written by Raymond Queneau; director of photography, Sacha Vierny; edited by Claudine Merlin and Resnais; music by Pierre Barbaud; produced by Pierre Braunberger; released by Les Films de la Pléiade.

Narrated by Pierre Dux.


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The Blue Door (2017, Paul Taylor)

The Blue Door opens with home healthcare worker Gemma Whelan starting a new job working for infirm, bedridden Janie Booth. The house is a mess—the kitchen is full of dirty dishes, there’s a room with sheets on all the furniture—and Booth is a mess. Whoever last fed her not only didn’t take the dishes into the kitchen, they left a quarter of the meal on Booth’s face. Besides the general creepy factor of being alone in a strange house working for someone who doesn’t speak (or even seem to realize you’re there), Whelan doesn’t see much out of the ordinary. Booth’s got a tattoo on her wrist, which Whelan—and the short—focus on hard. A little too hard as it turns out.

After doing a handful of dishes—also, when she goes to throw out the old milk, Whelan just puts it on the floor? She doesn’t dump it so she’s presumably not recycling. Is recycling not a thing in the UK? Anyway, after doing like five dishes (leaving ninety), Whelan goes in to take the sheets off the furniture in the one room. Because… well, because it’s an effective way to introduce the titular Blue Door. It appears out of nowhere. One moment it’s there, the camera tracks away, following Whelan, then when they get back, there’s the door.

And there’s something on the other side, leading to Whelan running around the house trying to escape the blue door, which pops up and someone on the other side tries to get in. Eventually Whelan ends up back in Booth’s bedroom and it’s time for the big surprise finish. Only it’s not much of a surprise once all the pieces are revealed because director Taylor doesn’t really do nuance.

The film’s well-shot (by Benedict Spence) and Taylor’s composition is fine. The script… well, the script is thin. Because it’s just stage direction for Whelan.

Whelan’s awesome. Until the finale, her expressions reacting to her surroundings and the goings-on is the whole show. The short kind of dumps that approach in the last moments, which is just another of the many problems.

It’s disappointing; Whelan puts in a lot better work than the short deserves, especially with the predictable finish.

1/3Not Recommended

CREDITS

Directed by Paul Taylor; written by Ben Clark and Megan Pugh; director of photography, Benedict Spence; edited by Dan Mellow; music by Ben Carr; production designer, Lynn McFarlane; produced by Clark and Pugh for 13th Door.

Starring Gemma Whelan (nurse) and Janie Booth (client).


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Veracity (2015, Seith Mann)

Veracity is exceedingly impressive, in its parts and how they make up the whole. On their own, the filmmaking, the writing, and KiKi Layne’s performance are enough for the short to impress. Each has a different, perfectly suited strength. Mann’s direction flows, moving the camera to catching the actors’ performances; the actors aren’t performing their scenes for the camera. Veracity always feels bigger than its story, which the film even addresses—there’s a wider world around, Layne and her friends are just a part of it. Mann’s direction and Janaya Greene’s script imply that world. Amanda Brinton’s production design is also very important for it, ditto Christopher Dillon’s editing. Mann wouldn’t have the same flow without Dillon’s infinitely graceful cuts between angles and scenes.

The short takes place mostly at Layne’s high school—though, again, there’s this implied, larger setting to it all—as Layne meets new girl Shea Vaughan-Gabor and tries to befriend her. Vaughan-Gabor’s polite and pleasant, though not overly enthusiastic about making a new friend. When Layne lets friend Christina D. Harper drag her to a party, which Layne wants to avoid because of creep ex-boyfriend Denzel Irby (who’s throwing the party), things get weird, wonderful, and then awful. Vaughan-Gabor is Irby’s cousin, who’s moved in with him to go to the high school. Layne and Vaughan-Gabor kiss, only to be interrupted by Irby, leading to Vaughan-Gabor not wanting to talk to Layne and Layne all of a sudden ostracized at school.

The personal turmoil weighs on Layne, knocking her down. If the second act ends when things are direst for the hero, Veracity manages to have two ends of second acts, but only one third act resolution. Greene was a high school senior when she wrote the script, which doesn’t matter exactly, but does just impress more. There’s so many moving layers, influencing each other at different points throughout and at different intensities. The script’s just so good.

As is Mann’s direction. As is Layne’s performance. They all work together so perfectly. Veracity is steady and assured, but also nimble and inventive. Sometimes it’s in Mann’s direction, sometimes in Greene’s script, sometimes in Layne’s performance. Vaughan-Gabor’s really good (all the acting is really good, Harper and Irby too and Aubrey Marquez in a single scene), but no one else has as many opportunities as Layne and she takes them all. Such a good lead performance.

Veracity is exceptional.

3/3Highly Recommended

CREDITS

Directed by Seith Mann; written by Janaya Greene; director of photography, Tommy Maddox-Upshaw; edited by Christopher Dillon; music by Albert Chang; production designer, Amanda Brinton; produced by Rob York for Scenarios USA.

Starring KiKi Layne (Olivia), Shea Vaughan-Gabor (Imani), Christina D. Harper (Karolyn), Denzel Irby (James), Dominica Strong (Sage), Tai Davis (Ms. Gillian), and Aubrey Marquez (Joseph).


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Crystal Lake (2016, Jennifer Reeder)

Crystal Lake opens with lead Marcela Okeke packing a suitcase; based on some of what she packs–Aliens and Purple Rain on VHS, the LPs to Tea for the Tillerman and the Muppet Movie soundtrack—the short immediately establishes Okeke as one of the cooler people to ever exist. And then comes the final item—a broken skateboard. Okeke is going to live with relatives because, we soon find out, her father is dying. We also find out her mom died some years before—when Okeke’s character was seven (she’s a teenager now)—and Okeke’s married older sister booted her out. So not a great situation for Okeke.

And not a soft-landing spot either. Her older cousin, Sebastian Summers, is presented a little mysterious and does indeed seem to have some stuff going on but it’s just an insert. Same-ish aged, cool cousin Shea Vaughan-Gabor takes a while to size Okeke up and takes a tough (but real) love approach. But Vaughan-Gabor doesn’t get even the hint of a subplot. She’s got some personality (through wardrobe as well; both Okeke and Vaughan-Gabor wear hijab, but Vaughan-Gabor with a lot of bling). But no story. Other than the tough (but real) love personality trait. It’s not even clear why Vaughan-Gabor is living with Summers, who’s just another cousin.

Okeke’s got this insert subplot about intentional self-preservation, which is really cool but it’s just an insert. As a director, even with the inserts, Reeder has every good idea. Crystal Lake is phenomenally well-made. As a writer, Reeder’s got good intentions for her scenes, but they often sputter out once the exposition gets unnaturally heavy. It doesn’t help neither Okeke or Vaughan-Gabor can do the exposition. There are plenty of natural moments in Lake but zero hint of them—or even memory of them—when there’s exposition. And drama. Reeder, writing, has a problem with the dramatic turns. They’re peculiar disconnects because the filmmaking never wavers; it’s great during the exposition, it’s great during the drama, it’s great during the action, it’s great during the natural moments. Just the writing (and then the acting) go wobbly.

Vaughan-Gabor’s the most impressive performance in the film (she and Okeke are the only two contenders really; Summers’s insert doesn’t have him doing much acting), which is great—when it clicks, it clicks—but the short ends feeling lopsided. After the set up, Okeke becomes second (and even temporarily third) fiddle. It’s still her story, Reeder just doesn’t stick with her to tell it.

Even with wonky exposition dumps, lopsided pacing, and unexplored inserts, Crystal Lake is still more than worth a look. Reeder’s direction is outstanding, the plot is good, the cast is good (often better than good).

2/3Recommended

CREDITS

Written and directed by Jennifer Reeder; director of photography, Christopher Rejano; edited by Mike Olenick; produced by Penelope Bartlett and Steven Hudosh for Forevering Films.

Starring Marcela Okeke (Ladan), Shea Vaughan-Gabor (Samiyah), Sebastian Summers (Samer), and Kristyn Zoe Wilkerson (Toni).


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