I was in 11th grade philosophy.

      The assignment: create a film. At the time, I was (and sadly, still am) an aspiring novelist, who was maybe on his second or third attempt at scribbling some barely legible smatterings of narrative, along with pages and pages of poorly illustrated characters, in any one of maybe 50 different, mostly blank, notebooks. The guidelines and marking criteria? Unimportant details. A kid who spent a great deal of his free time creating worlds and stories was handed the equivalent of a post-it note that had "Go be a director" written on it in sharpie. I grabbed one of my friends with whom I shared the class; He would be my star. I grabbed one of my friends with whom I didn't share the class; First Assistant Camera, Animal Wrangler, Bagel Delivery. For extras, we used action figures. I would write the script, direct, play a bit part, supply the camera, and edit everything together. Our 11 minute feature on action-figure communism had become my passion project lovingly crafted with my writing and my close friends, and that carried in it all the fun, stressful and downright dangerous memories that had gone into its creation. The result: a rough, janky, independent film debut masterpiece that will never again see the light of day. I remember one of the last shots that we filmed involved a quick pan-over to the protagonist's face, contorted in confusion and dismay, during which my character had to "vanish" offscreen by ditching his coat and making a run for it before the camera returned to its original position. As the camera turns, you can hear a hurried set of footsteps, and at the last possible second as the picture fades to black, you can hear me say "Fade out!" from far away offscreen.

I left it in.

      A lot of my fondest memories are tied to movies. In spite of all of the cold corporate calculations and the big hollywood egos that have become synonymous with the industry, there is still this underlying magic that pervades through all of cinema. Whether it be huddling together with your best friends in a cold living room at 3am while trying to survive a horror movie marathon, lining up a hour early and seeing all of the like-minded people who have decked themselves out in some manner of novelty, all in anticipation for an opening night screening, ending a rough day in a near-empty theater on a discount tuesday, or slipping on your headphones alone in your room just to take a 1.5 hour break from life, films have managed to find their way time and time again into our lives and imaginations. From the memories we make with others, to the key moments we witness onscreen; those bits of fantasy that stick with us long after the credits have rolled and the seats have emptied. These are the cinematic diamonds that inspire dreams: The Terminator's final thumbs up as he sinks into a vat of molten metal, Ellen Ripley's exo-suit showdown with the alien queen, the opening city helicopter shot set to Kavinsky's retrosynth "Night Call" track at the beginning of "Drive", Sam Flynn standing in the old and abandoned Flynn Arcade as it powers up once again, while Journey's "Separate Ways" blasts from the speakers in "Tron Legacy", and far too many more to mention.

      The way this 11th grade director saw it, someone would watch my creation, hear that clumsy, final, verbal bit of direction, and laugh. I wanted them to laugh because then they'd be feeling a small, small fraction of the joy and fun memories that went into its making. Like a light-hearted horcrux of sorts, there's a bit of our souls tucked away in an old video file on some dusty, forgotten hard-drive.

So, yeah. This is why I do it. I like watching films. I talk about them because, like anyone, talking about the things I like makes me happy.

I hope I can share with you even a small fraction of the happiness that Films have shared with me.

Welcome to Bite-Size Reviews.

FADE OUT


             -Aster
             (January 25th, 2018 - 3:04 AM)