Monthly Archive for March, 2011

Paul Martineau: The “Still Life” in Photography

“Stopping Time” by Harold Edgerton.

Would you call this Edgerton photograph a “still life?”

“A Hunting Scene,” by Adolphe Braun ca. 1867.

What about this one by Adolphe Braun?

A recently closed exhibition at the Getty Museum explores the history of the genre of the photographic “still life” in an intimate single room gallery that concentrates on 26 images. A companion book extends that examination to 80 images with an accompanying essay by the show’s curator, Paul Martineau. The exhibition In Focus: Still Life is the seventh in an ongoing series of thematic shows with works drawn from the Getty’s permanent collection. Its varied subjects and styles present a broader perspective of the genre than is usually attempted. A look at the “still life” in this week’s essay (I will, in fact, be leaving it up for the next two weeks) will also offer images not featured in the Getty exhibition: my own effort to explore the definition a bit further.

Cover of Getty catalog, “Bowl with Sugar Cubes,” by Andre Kertesz, 1928.

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Ponyo, And The World Out of Balance

Ponyo, the big-eyed fish princess, daughter of Fujimoto, wants to be a human. The eponymous heroine of Hayao Miyazaki’s 2008 animé movie does get her wish and she is united with her friend Sösuke at picture’s end.

Miyazaki’s films have always been a mix of imaginative animation fantasy intertwined with a vision of a darker material world: in Ponyo, a world that has spun out of balance because of the disruptive effect of man’s intervention in the natural order. The whale-like tsunami that chases Sösuke and his mom, Lisa, along a perilous coastal highway is not just an arbitrary force of nature but the result of “magic” unleashed, a power that has thrown the world off kilter. Given Miyazaki’s pursuit of a theme of the consequences of nature under duress, it is not a far reach to see a wider metaphor for man’s hubris expressed here in tropes of Japanese animation and manga. Here is the film’s official trailer.

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The Ruins of Detroit: Yves Marchand and Romain Meffre

The advance hype for this year’s parade of Super Bowl TV commercials, for the most part, exceeded the hipness quotient of the actual commercials. It’s a challenge to come off as cutting edge when it costs more than two and a half million dollars to buy a 30 second spot. The big exception was Chrysler’s two-minute paen to the indefatigable spirit of a once great American city—a tour of Motor City from the POV of a new Chrysler 200, driven by that paragon of hip, rapper Marshall Mathers.

The decline of Detroit has loomed high on America’s radar even before Michael Moore’s 1989 documentary Roger and Me. The opening scene of Godfrey Reggio’s documentary Naqoyqatsi (Life as War) is a montage of tracking shots of the exterior and interior of Detroit’s Central Station, a fabled railroad station built in the style of a Roman bathhouse. Its Beaux-Arts architecture was the tallest railroad station in the world when it opened for service in 1913; it was placed on the National Registry of Historic Places in 1975. This is what it looks like today.

Detroit’s Central Station.

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Tommasini’s Top Ten

Anthony Tommasini's Ten: Bach (in the tondo at left), then l-r, Beethoven, Mozart, Schubert, Debussy, Stravinsky, Brahms, Verdi, Wager, Bartok.

On the night of March 30, 1955 at the Pantages Theater in Hollywood, film composer Dimitri Tiomkin made one of the more memorable and unintentionally hilarious Oscar acceptance speeches of all time. Tiomkin, a Russian Jew born in the Ukraine in 1894 and a student of the great composer Alexander Glazunov, was one of the most sought after film composers in Hollywood. A few years before, he had been the first composer to win two Oscars the same year—for the song and score of Fred Zinneman’s High Noon. Tiomkin had created a musical voice more distinctly American than any other of his other émigré colleagues. His command of English, however, was considerably less than colloquial.

Ladies and gentlemen, because I am working in this town for 25 years, [he began] I like to make some kind of appreciation to very important factor that makes me successful and adds to the quality of this town. For my award, I would very much like to thank Johannes Brahms, Johann Strauss. . .  Josef Strauss, Richard Strauss, Richard Wagner, Beethoven, Schubert, Haydn, Mendelssohn, Rimsky-Korsakov …

He likely would have continued with this litany, except the laughter so drowned him out that host Bob Hope had to intervene. Hearing the names of so many classical music giants called out during such a poplar culture celebration must have seemed wildly discordant. Tiomkin, however, was serious. Over the course of his Hollywood career Tiomkin amassed nearly two-dozen Academy Award nominations, four of them becoming Oscars. He knew whence his best ideas flowed and he wanted simply to say so to the world at large.

Today, many of our films are crammed full of pop music songs, nostalgic as well as original, with tie-ins to CDs and downloads as their own raison d’être—irrespective of the dramatic needs of the film. But film music in the Golden studio era (and for some composers today) looked over its shoulder at the giants, mining the classics for themes, sometimes employing barely reworked rip-offs. Others, such as Korngold, incorporated themes from their film scores into their “serious” music.

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