At The Theatre Door
Thursday, September 8th, 2005 02:39 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
seraiI love making screencaps. Ever since I got a computer, I've discovered another way to see films, by looking at the shots and frames individually and learning to appreciate them as works in themselves. Obviously there's great enjoyment in Pictures of Pretty Guys, but for me the real joy occurs when I find something unexpected, a frame that has a particular energy or atmosphere, a singular visual arrangement or line of movement.
In other words, it's truly enchanting to find unique works of art hidden in the current of movement that is a film. I'd like to do a series of posts on such images that I've found, as there've been several that I found arresting, each for different reasons. But for now, I'll stick to this one, which I've found just now:
At The Theatre Door - full version
To my eye this is a singularly artful still. There is a sense of solidity, of reality to it, and each of he subjects has his own focus, his own personality. There are a number of painters I can see in it - some Rembrandt, some Degas, a little Toulouse-Lautrec, others whose names I can't pick out of the air. It actually looks like a painting, with its calm lighting and the story that is hinted at in the arrangement and attitudes of the subjects. Is the little dark-coated figure a beggar? A messenger? Why is the blond man bent over him so? Is it concern, or is he waiting for an answer to a question, or can he just not hear the smaller man very clearly? And is the figure in the foreground listening to them, or is he simply walking past, steeped in his own thoughts?
All of these things contribute to the particularly classical feeling of the image. Indeed, it takes very little effort to transform it into something I would not be surprised to find hanging on a museum wall:
There is drama in this picture, the possibility of an engaging tale.
The picture above is a still from the 2002 production of Nicholas Nickleby, starring Charlie Hunnam in the title role. In the picture, Nicholas is coaching Smike (his crippled friend, played by Jamie Bell) on his lines for a stage production of Romeo and Juliet. In the foreground, one of their fellow thespians (played by Alan Cummings) is pacing as he repeats his lines to himself.
This film, apart from being a charming adaptation of the Dickens novel, boasts a lavish production design, and is full of wonderful still images. This one particularly caught my eye for the classical references. (I hesitate to say that because I don't think it was necessarily intended, but it's tough not to see the correspondences regardless of intent.) It's definitely worth leisurely exploration.
As to why I'm watching it, I suppose it's a mischievous desire to cause as great a cognitive dissonance for myself as possible when I go see Hooligans tonight. As this is the only thing I've seen Hunnam act in, I figure the yob'll be quite a shock.
In other words, it's truly enchanting to find unique works of art hidden in the current of movement that is a film. I'd like to do a series of posts on such images that I've found, as there've been several that I found arresting, each for different reasons. But for now, I'll stick to this one, which I've found just now:
At The Theatre Door - full version
To my eye this is a singularly artful still. There is a sense of solidity, of reality to it, and each of he subjects has his own focus, his own personality. There are a number of painters I can see in it - some Rembrandt, some Degas, a little Toulouse-Lautrec, others whose names I can't pick out of the air. It actually looks like a painting, with its calm lighting and the story that is hinted at in the arrangement and attitudes of the subjects. Is the little dark-coated figure a beggar? A messenger? Why is the blond man bent over him so? Is it concern, or is he waiting for an answer to a question, or can he just not hear the smaller man very clearly? And is the figure in the foreground listening to them, or is he simply walking past, steeped in his own thoughts?
All of these things contribute to the particularly classical feeling of the image. Indeed, it takes very little effort to transform it into something I would not be surprised to find hanging on a museum wall:
There is drama in this picture, the possibility of an engaging tale.
The picture above is a still from the 2002 production of Nicholas Nickleby, starring Charlie Hunnam in the title role. In the picture, Nicholas is coaching Smike (his crippled friend, played by Jamie Bell) on his lines for a stage production of Romeo and Juliet. In the foreground, one of their fellow thespians (played by Alan Cummings) is pacing as he repeats his lines to himself.
This film, apart from being a charming adaptation of the Dickens novel, boasts a lavish production design, and is full of wonderful still images. This one particularly caught my eye for the classical references. (I hesitate to say that because I don't think it was necessarily intended, but it's tough not to see the correspondences regardless of intent.) It's definitely worth leisurely exploration.
As to why I'm watching it, I suppose it's a mischievous desire to cause as great a cognitive dissonance for myself as possible when I go see Hooligans tonight. As this is the only thing I've seen Hunnam act in, I figure the yob'll be quite a shock.
