Becky Polenberg
Writing 121
Something I Love
Every day the splendor of nature has a way of enticing me out of the rest of the world, and allowing myself to be enveloped into it’s slowed down, less complicated universe. It is a calming, eye opening sensation to observe and experience what the world has created in the outdoors, my animals at home, and wild animals, plants and insects. I am taken to an inner peace, engulfed in wonderment.
There are so many places outdoors I like to be. Fresh air and sunshine draw me out, but the details of what I see make me stay. I frequent the beach in the offseason with my dog Mocha, a German Sheppard, Lab, Pit Bull mix pound dog I adopted when I was 12. We usually have the place to ourselves. I enjoy watching her gallop happily on the cool sand, barking madly at nothing. We run together. I always stop first, distracted by the colors of the water, the possibilities that announce themselves on the horizon, the scent of air and sea and life on the wind, and the hope that I might find treasure peaking from the sand.
I stand and stare out at the waves and the calmer water beyond. The color of the water so deep, so vibrant my breath steals away from me for a moment. Deep azure blending into turquoise green then breaking into glassy white caps on top of the waves. My eyes stare unbelievingly at the most beautiful, sharp colors, knowing this is better than any one dimensional high definition screen. The sights which thump your heart and stick in the back of your throat are in the reality outside, and you can grace yourself with
it if you stand still long enough to let it show itself. When I’ve spent all the time I can outdoors, its time to get home to schedules and responsibility.
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In the midst of “To Do” lists at home, I still have pieces of nature to distract and absorb my attention. I have my animals. Each day I wake up to Mocha, her happy face and wagging tail telling me good morning and also that she is waiting for me to get out of bed so she can have it to herself. This is the kind of thing I really enjoy about my dog. I have only trained her to listen to the things that keep her safe, aside from that I just want her to be who she is. She’s a real buddy, always talkative, always happy and ready to play. She’s absolutely gorgeous too: soft, floppy ears, medium length, dark brindle coat, long tail that curls into a circle, and intelligent, comically expressive face. I can see real soul coming through her round brown eyes. When I stop to really look at her, I can’t believe that a creature can be this perfect.
I love to just watch her sometimes. She sits out on the back porch watching the sky as if she’s contemplating deep thoughts and when she doesn’t know I’m watching, I see her basking in the warm sun, rolling around the grass, barking to herself. When we take walks she stops to smell flowers in the grass. It brings a calm over me, a peace, to see her enjoy these simple pleasures and to know that she is here in my life. I feel the same with my epileptic cat Scout.
Because of the epilepsy, a neurological disorder that causes seizures, he is a bit unusual. My sister gave him to me and I am so thankful because he ended up with someone who can give him the care he needs. Scout is such a unique cat and always very entertaining. He is like a tiny acrobat, always leaping and doing midair flips out of the
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blue. Then he perks up his ears, has this comical expression as if someone’s just insulted him, and takes off running like someone’s after him. After his antics he spends a lot of time napping. Scout is the most luxurious napper I’ve ever seen. He lounges on his back, paws curled up with the most serene face I can’t help but sidle up next to him to stare. He’s very much a pretty boy; long white and gray fur, huge, round green eyes that stare into space, a tiny pink nose, and long, flowy tail. Watching him always makes me feel so relaxed and if I have no obligations to tend to, I’ll curl up with him and let myself fall asleep. It’s such a great feeling to feel an animal enjoying your presence. Scout always grabs my arm, rubs his face against my hand, and falls back to sleep holding on tightly. There is no easier way to fall asleep then when I’m watching one of my animals. I feel their slow breathing and soft fur against my arms and watch their closed eyes and small contentedly grinning faces. The rhythmic heartbeat against my chest is my lullaby. As I drift off I imagine the only thing better than this could be if we were out in a meadow.
I’m always eager to go any place that is full of trees and grass and wildlife. When I know I’m going to a park or any place new, I usually take a camera so I can capture pieces of what is there to take and keep forever. I love to find small corners of beauty hidden in our everyday world. A lot of times what I find is some kind of nature. I’m always finding interesting and wonderfully beautiful insects. I like to hold them in my palm and observe them observing me, antennas lightly tapping my skin, legs tentatively prodding as they walk. I have found insects that I didn’t even know exist; brilliant
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emerald green shield bugs, an oversized helmet headed moth, and a long, thin moth of shockingly bright orange covered with a grass green pattern. I enjoy having these
creatures hang around for a while after I find them. They are so delicate and engaging I automatically slow down, and they slow down and seem to become comfortable on my skin. Oddly, when its time to send them off, I always have trouble getting them to leave.
Other times what I find in nature are the captivating patterns created by plants. The soft greens of ground covering plants, the leaves overlapping and intertwining. The black silhouette of bare tree branches, spreading out fingers of skinny twigs and small berries against the twilight of an autumn sky. In my yard I enjoy walking barefoot on the moss, and rub supple leave between my fingers to feel the delicious softness. As I walk in my neighborhood I stop to breathe it all in, the majesty of nature that is right out at the end of my walkway. What I most long for from nature is the chance for one on one contact with animals. When a wild animal catches my eye, the challenge begins. If I am still enough, if I approach slowly enough and can communicate that I am no threat, perhaps they will stay and allow me to come closer into their presence. I never do get close enough, but even just seeing the animals from a distance ignites a thrill in my nerve endings which always leaves me looking for more.
With the swell of pleasure I feel in my chest and the lighter feeling I get in my head every time I experience a piece of nature I know this is where true peace and happiness lie. The interest sparked in me by the outdoors, my animals and every wild
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creature has inspired my appetite for studying science. I plan to get a degree in zoology so I can interact with every species of animal. I am eager to learn everything about our
world, but my personal Zen lies in nature. Allowing it to penetrate into my being, I feel simultaneously inconsequential and a part of everything, with the potential to make a difference. My soul can never tire of the fulfillment it feels from absorbing all that nature has created.
Becky Polenberg
On the Street Where I Live
Occasionally I like
to go back to my hometown and wander the streets where I grew up. I lived
in Red Bank for over 17 years of my life and it’s the only place that has ever
been home. It’s very different now, when I go there. The people I remember, the
places, are all gone or changed. But I can still see and feel everything that
used to be there, bringing back ghosts of memories that leave me with a
melancholy feeling of things lost.
The hardest place to see is the house I grew up in. Its so
different; the front room where my sister and I would play as children has been
torn down and turned into a large porch, our old garage has been demolished and
replaced, and the front yard has been landscaped. It’s hard to accept that
someone else lives there now; every inch of that house is still encoded into my
very being. I can still recall very clearly every aspect of my old home.
I walk in the front door, the feel of the knob as it recoils
after turning, the cool glass pane against my palm as I push in. Then I’m in
the small enclosed porch with the unfinished ceiling and bare bulb hanging
down. I open the next door into the foyer, the bells hanging from the knob
jangle. All the sounds of home hit at once; the creak of the stairs, the
hot air blowing from the heater grates, the click clack of my dog Max’s nails
on the wood floor.
I walk through the kitchen, out the back door. The steps
are cracked and crumbling, the screen door screams and bangs shut. My calico
cat, Panzy is sitting on the
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top step,
enjoying the fresh air. We sit together watching the morning light rise around
us. The resonating clang of church bells drifts over to us. It’s a reassuring
sound to me, the light hearted, happy notes absorbing into my skin.
Back inside the house, my family would be there. We’d all
spend time together in our living room that my parents set up special for us
kids. There was one wall that was all shelves to hold all of our art supplies,
books, toys and the television. There
were big windows covering the other two walls always with spider plants
dangling in front. I remember Friday
nights in that room, all four of us gathered around a steaming pizza and fizzy
glasses of Pepsi, watching TGIF. It wasn’t anything extraordinarily special in
the retelling, but when I was there it was the greatest feeling in the world.
Everything was secure.
Saturday mornings I’d awake early to
the sounds of pans on the stove and Moody Blues on the stereo. I could the pine
sol mop water as I descended the stairs to sit in front of the heater grate to
let the warm air blow against my feet and face. Later when the cleaning was
done and the house got quiet, I could hear the train whistle as it pulled into
the station a couple blocks away. The lonely, breathy sound still brings back
the memory of when my mom, my sister and I would walk over the station to pick
up my dad when he got home from work. We would look under the train at people’s
feet on the other side and try to guess which one was him.
As I wander further down my old street, I recall the
neighbors I had growing up. My street was filled with strange characters. There were rumors of hauntings on our
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Street Where I Live
block and
it seems that maybe the street was built on an ancient burial ground There was
one abandoned house a few houses down from me that all of us kids were sure was
haunted. One sunny summer afternoon, the
young man who lived there came out on the front lawn, crazed, and started to
pour gasoline over the lawn. The whole neighborhood watched, not knowing what
to do. He was just about to strike his match when the police grabbed him. No
one has lived in that house since. Of
course there was also a rumor told to my family by our older neighbor, Mrs.
McAlary. The patriarch of the family that lived in the house before us died in
the house and was supposedly haunting it. She thought our family was a bit
strange and reasoned to herself, and us, that it was old Mr. Soul haunting us.
All of our
neighbors weren’t strange though. There were two I was especially close to.
They were a young couple named Ton and Cruise. My sister and I would go to
their house to hang out on lazy summer afternoons. They would teach us Spanish
and let us play with their dog,
I always look at the Cirillo’s house as I pass by, hoping to see them again. My family was very close with them, and my sister and I grew up with their daughter, Nicole. As young kids we would write and perform our own short plays and make it an event by taking up a sheet on a threshold for a curtain, setting out folding chairs, and inviting all our parents. We had that kind of old fashioned neighbor relationship with them; we
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Street Where I Live
could always count on the other if we needed to borrow a cup of sugar or an egg, or to get patched up if we scraped our knees.
Every good, untainted memory I have happened while I lived
on that street; it’s where I learned how to ride a bike, its where I met my
grandpa when my mom found him after 30 years, its where we found our cat
mittens who gave birth to Panzy, its where I was proposed to by the neighbor
boy when I was 6 years old, it was where I could come home to my family and
know that everything was okay. As I drive away I take one last look at
my old home. I drive away from childhood towards a different world, full of struggles
and the unknown.
Becky Polenberg
March 19, 2008
English 121
Essay3 Draft1
We hear the
band playing from a distance; a four piece ensemble of jazzy, upbeat, simple
woodsy music. It’s a party, and the only ones invited are Grandma Pearl and me.
As we approach closer to the music, a whole wonderful, untouched forest
emerges. The drums beat joyfully, the oboe pipes in loudly, the cymbals crash,
and the accordion sings melodically. The quartet is two inch tall ceramic bunnies,
each brought to life by me and grandma’s imagination.
When I look
at my bunny band I am instantly transported back to when I was a little kid,
safe and happy inside my grandparent’s house.
The sounds, sights and smells rush back and embrace me. It’s a sunny
day, yellow light pouring in through the curtained windows as the family sits
at the dining room table: my parents, my sister, my grandparents, and I. A
medley of aromas fill the house: the fat-leaved rubber plant by the window, my
grandma’s perfume, Tabu, the decorative soaps in the bathroom, and the deli
meat and rye bread we are about to enjoy. The food is spread out; plates and
cups full of diet caffeine free Pepsi at each place setting. I hop up on a
heavy wooden chair I don’t fit into yet; the seat too large, the arms long so
and I can hardly reach my dish even when I scoot all the way in. A gentle
breeze breathes in past the vertical blinds, bringing the scent of the wide
open yard of the apartment complex.
When we’re
finished eating and everyone has left the table, the bunnies appear. Grandma
would make an assortment of different toys back then. She made reversible dolls
that would be Little Red Riding Hood until you flipped her inside out, and it
was the
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Big Bad Wolf. She sewed together the soft bodies of porcelain
dolls and attached the head, hands, and feet. We played with these too as did
my cousins, but the bunnies were just ours. I don’t remember exactly what games
we played with those bunnies, I imagine we would make music noises and pretend
to be playing for a crowd. What I do remember though is that she always played
the “mama” bunny. Her’s was the tallest and only girl. Mama bunny wore a purple
dress with apron, and played the accordion. I always played my favorite bunny
out of the remaining three. Mine wore a long sleeve orange shirt with a white
‘Y’ pattern on it and held a gold oboe type instrument to its mouth. Then there
was the drummer wearing his drum around his neck and a springy green shirt with
white polka dots, and the bunny holding his cymbals out wide and wearing a
yellow shirt, red vest and black bowtie with white dots. Each bunny has blue
eyes with lashes, white fur, pink nose and they all had broken ears that were
glued back on except for the one with cymbals who was in perfect condition.
My grandma
died when I was about eight or nine. Shamefully, my one aunt and her daughters
showed a horrendous display of greed in trying to take as many of my
grandmothers left behind things as they could. I remember the sadness and
disgust I felt at such a young age, seeing them paw through all the toys only
wanting to accumulate them so no one else could have them. Then I saw my one cousin about to take the
bunnies, my bunnies, grandma’s bunnies. I didn’t have a claim to any of those
other toys, although they did have sentimental value to me, and I didn’t want
to be grabby like my
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aunt and cousins. But I could not let them have this last
link to my grandmother. I scooped them up just before my cousin could and
stashed them so no one saw. I don’t think grandma ever brought them out for
anyone else but me, and that made them all the more special. They’re a tangible
link to a bond only we had; happily smiling grandma
In the past
couple years my family has moved twice. In packing and moving I lost track of
my little band. Every time I remembered that I didn’t know where they were, I
went searching through boxes to find them. Last week I finally and miraculously
did.
It’s strange how it happened. That same day I
found them my mother was talking about my ongoing search to a woman she works
with at the
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figurine is. I can’t imagine it being in another box, and if
I don’t ever find it, I’d like to believe my grandma has it. Perhaps through
the spectral plane she came and took it from that box so that she has a piece
of our time together to keep with her.
Our tiny
band, minus one player, now sits atop a shelf in my room, in their rightful
place finally. Their intent little faces bringing some much needed joy and
nostalgia back to me. There’s a bit of sadness in the faces too, because it is
such a short span of memory of my grandma that I do have. And the memory, I’ve
discovered, is not as sharp as it used to be. Still, one glance and my mind is
transported back to those days that still fill my heart up. With my memory
guardians out of hiding now, perhaps they might replenish the graying bits of
my childhood spirit.
Becky Polenberg
Fairy Tale
There once
was a prince. He was not like all the other princes you have heard about. He was a bit dark, a bit of an outsider. His
father, the king, did not care about his son’s individuality; he still forced
the prince to do normal prince things.
One day,
while the prince was deeply immersed in painting, a very un-royal thing to do,
the king barged in and said
“I have a task for you. This is your last
chance to step up and be normal. There is a princess who has a curse upon her
and you are to go and rescue her.”
He told the prince the
story of the princess who was asleep. Her whole kingdom succumbed to the curse
of a witch and they all slept for ages inside the kingdom covered in vines.
Many princes had tried before to cut through the vines, but they were too thick
and none succeeded.
“I have no
interest in princesses. They’re so…traditional. This girl will be no different.
Why don’t you send one of my brothers? This is more their thing,” replied the
prince.
“You’re
going. This is your task. I will not have you tainting our royal reputation any
longer. You will rescue the princess and you will marry her and you will be
normal! If you don’t, the kingdom will be very distraught over your
disappearance. Understand?”
So the next
day the prince reluctantly set off. He hadn’t a choice, his life was being
threatened. He rode his black steed down winding, tangled forest trails while
trying to figure a way out of this predicament. He couldn’t run; palace guards
were escorting
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him. Maybe he could find a way to not marry the princess once
he rescued her. He could disappear when everyone was distracted with fawning
over the newly awakened kingdom and lead a new life, which was not an all together
unattractive option.
Finally the
prince arrived at the vine covered kingdom. He sighed resignedly and got to
work trying to hack through with the sword his father sent him with. But
everywhere he swiped his blade, the vines just grew back. It was getting
tedious. The prince decided to walk around the perimeter of the kingdoms walls
to see if there was another way in.
As he walked
he found a small door hidden in the vines. No one else must have seen this for
as he cut, the vines dropped away without struggle. He pushed the door open and
crawled through. The grounds of the court were completely empty. He walked into
the castle. Still he saw no one, but he heard a low thumping coming from the
dungeon. He drew his sword. He crept
down the winding stairs and was shocked to find that the kingdom wasn’t asleep
at all! There they all were, having a rave in the dungeon. The prince strode in
to check it all out. As he did he realized something else; these people were
all zombies. “What is going on here?” he thought. He looked around for the
princess. He made his way through the
crowd and there she was. She was darkly stunning. He approached slowly. She was
a gothic goddess. He was in love. She
was definitely his type. She looked him up and down and grinned, “Lets dance.”
The price
was completely overjoyed to find that the princess actually wasn’t a zombie.
She related her story to him. An evil witch had put a spell on her and the
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Fairy Tale
kingdom, but after so long the people of the court came into
a waking sleep. They adapted, evolved. Except her. She was asleep for a long
while until one day the spell disintegrated because the witch’s power had
weakened with age, and the princess just awoke the all these zombies. “And I
love it!” she said. “They were all so boring before, but now they all know how
to have fun.”
The prince
had finally found his perfect princess. The prince never went back outside the
castle walls. He wanted to let them all assume that he failed at rescuing the
princess along with all the others. And they did. Rumor spread through the
other kingdoms that the witch’s curse was too powerful and claimed another
life.
The two
stayed together in the zombie castle, enjoying their art and music. They didn’t
rush to get married; that was too cliché for them. They did, however, live very
happily, and mellow dramatically, ever after.
Becky Polenberg
Writing121
Hate Crime
Our society
is composed of an abundance of diversity. Unfortunately, diversity is sometimes
accompanied by hatred. The term “hate crime” has been adopted to label criminal
acts that are committed against people who are targeted merely because
something about them differs from the perpetrator’s skewed vision of what
people should and shouldn’t be. Using the “hate crime” label is a much needed
step toward raising awareness of and combating a huge social problem.
Hate crime
laws apply to criminal offenses such as; harassment, terroristic threats,
assault, and crimes against property. These crimes, while already deserving of
punishment, are dealt with more severely if they are proven to have been
committed out of the perpetrator’s bias toward a person or persons because of
their race, color, religion, national origin, ethnicity, sexual orientation, or
physical or mental disability. Some would say giving added punishment to hate
crimes is counterproductive, elevating one victim’s plight above another’s.
But, let’s look at the offender
instead. Deeming an act a hate crime brings awareness to the problems of
prejudice. The public has a right to know why a crime was committed so that we
can learn from it. If we do not know what is truly going on inside the mind of
criminals, we cannot fix the problem. These crimes of prejudice can be used as
an example for everyone to see how bad the problem has gotten and that it
shouldn’t and won’t be tolerated. Society needs to know that bias and bias
crimes are wrong, if for
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nothing else, so that the next generation growing up doesn’t
learn that hatred is acceptable and unchangeable.
Hate crimes isolate victims and
attack them not just physically but psychologically. Hate crimes deserve
stricter punishment because of the personal nature of the crimes. Every crime
is not the same when victims are specifically targeted. Petty crimes such as vandalism become
something more malicious when they attack a person’s ethnicity, race, sexual
orientation, or physical or mental disability directly. Take for example simple
vandalism. If you found your car spray painted with nonspecific graffiti, you’d
be angry and want the vandal caught. Now imagine you’re Jewish, and the
graffiti on your car is swastikas. This is a huge difference. You’d know you
were singled out. You’d feel afraid, violated, wondering what’s to come next.
It would bring thoughts of what happened to your people in the past. Would you
not want this latter perpetrator to be punished more severely than the former? These types of crimes do deserve to be singled
out and given harsher punishment because the victims are singled out and harshly
attacked. These victims need recognition of their plight. If the crime is
treated like any other, victims will feel more isolated and it will look as
though society agrees with the criminal’s prejudice. If the victim and the
crime are not acknowledged the victims fear or pain might turn to anger and
hatred. They might then develop a bias toward a group they associate their
attacker with and could possibly turn to hate crime themselves. It could be
argued that psychology and emotion have no place in legislature, but they do
already
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come into play in our legal system in how sexually based
crimes or crimes against minors are dealt with.
Having the hate crime label is also a
form of public awareness as to who is being targeted. It can help protect
people. If a certain group is being targeted, making it known will enable those
people to take precaution to keep safe so they don’t become victims as well. If history has taught us anything, these acts
have to be stopped before they become too large scale and out of control. Just
think of the people who could have been saved if hate crime laws were in action
during the holocaust, black slavery, or during the time when Chinese and Irish
immigrants came to
It’s a disheartening fact that the
people, who you read about in history class being targeted, are still being
perpetrated against now. The type of ignorance and hatred of back then is still
around today and the ignorant have also found new differences to hate. The specific types of attacks against these
people; hate speech, hate symbols, etc,
belittle the struggle and plight of a whole people and cause them to
relive what happened to their ancestors.
To deem an
act a hate crime is has to first be proven. The negatives of hate crime
labeling are that people do try to abuse the label for their own gain and you
could be identified as prejudiced due to the stigma of just being accused.
While these are understandable points against having a hate crime legislature,
it doesn’t change the fact that stigma and false accusations will still arise
even without people having a law to use
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in their argument. Abuse of the label just shows us that the
abuser has a bias toward whoever they are accusing. With the hate crime label
we can better pinpoint where hatred
is coming from, explore it, and through knowledge find ways
to develop understanding in everyone.
Becky Polenberg
Cine 105
June 10, 2008
Georges Melies: Antirealism
Broadly divided, most films can be placed into two categories; realist and antirealist. Realism concerns itself with documenting what is real, or representing things as they really are in life. Antirealism is focused on the abstract, speculation, and fantasy. Realism is representational. What we see conforms to our expectations of what is true. Antirealism is more subjective and explorative. When studying the development of antirealism, one name appears as the most influential of the genre; Georges Melies.
George Melies’ career spanned fourteen years and over 500 films. His interest in art started early. As a young boy, Georges would sketch portraits and caricatures of his teachers and classmates in school. When he was older, Georges is said to have taken private lessons in painting. By the time he was ten, he was constructing sets out of cardboard for marionette shows he would perform before an audience. Around that same time his enthusiasm for theatrics ignited brighter with his first trip to the theatre where he saw the famous magician Robert-Houdin.
When he was in his twenties, Melies frequented theatres where illusionists performed their tricks. Georges knew this was what an art he wanted to pursue. A first step for him was taking lessons from a man who owned a magician’s shop. Here, he had the opportunity to showcase the skills he was learning to small audiences. Then another opportunity presented itself. In 1888, Georges’ father was retiring and leaving the family
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business to his sons. Georges decided to sell his share to his brothers and used the money to buy the theatre where his passion was first sparked; the Theatre Robert-Houdin.
During this time the pioneering inventors of film were hard at work developing the new art form. Camera Obscura developed into film photography, which evolved into series photography, and finally motion picture photography. In 1895, the Lumiere brothers, another pioneering force in early film, showcased one of the very first public screenings of a motion picture. In attendance was an awestruck Georges Melies. This was a new frontier for art, a new medium to explore. Immediately Georges wanted to purchase one of the Lumiere’s Cinematographes, but they weren’t selling. He wasn’t deterred. Melies soon discovered that someone else was crafting a projector called the Theatrograph, which he did purchase. Later he would come up with his own Kinetographe.
Melies started out making realist films; documenting things as they were actually happening. Then one fateful day, a technical problem Georges experienced while filming a city street opened the floodgates to an evolution in filmmaking. While filming with his hand cranked camera, the film stock jammed. After fussing with it he got the camera going again. When he later viewed the film, Georges discovered that the people and vehicles on the street metamorphosed; men became women, carriages became trolleys. The first special effect, stop-motion, was discovered.
Employing special effects in his films, Melies developed the genre of antirealism. He used the tricks of stop-motion, double exposure, fade-ins, fade-outs, and dissolves to
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delve deeper into the theatrics of magic. Furthermore, he developed the idea of editing together separately shot scenes instead of just recording continuous action like you would see if you were watching a stage play. Even today, with all of our technology for producing special effects, it is captivating to watch Melies’ works such as Un Homme de Tetas, in which multiple exposures of film are compressed into one to create the illusion that the magician is interacting with many copies of his own head, or The Conjuror, where you can see early stop motion at work. The most famous of his antirealist special effects films is Le Voyage Dans la Lune (A Trip to the Moon). In this creation, you can actually see the way the dissolve is employed, the film going slow enough so that you can see the way the individual frames overlap. The film became famous because of its comparatively long length of running time and the variety of new techniques employed. The sour faced moon with a rocket in his eye is one of the most widely plagiarized symbols, becoming an icon for evolution in art media.
Georges, more interested in the artistic value of his work than profitability, experienced a decline of his career. He stayed on his own path and did not continue to evolve with new developing technologies, deciding instead to perfect what he already pioneered. Audiences began to find his work outdated and not as exciting as the more complex visual effects of filmmakers like D.W. Griffith.
Much of Georges Melies works were lost due to the instability of the film stock used back then, and, it is rumored, because he himself, in an emotionally irrational state over the loss of his career, had some of it destroyed. He left the film industry and retired
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to working in a toy and candy shop. In the 1920s, visual art was immersed in a surrealist movement. In 1929, avant-garde cinema proprietor, Jean-Paul Mauclair, happened across a stash of Melies’ films. Intrigued, Mauclair wanted to know what became of this cinematic revolutionary. He tracked down Melies and helped the world rediscover this lost magician. Georges’ surviving films were restored and played for a new generation of moviegoers. He finally got his well deserved recognition when he was awarded the Legion of Honor in 1931.
Georges Melies contributed so much to the development of narrative film. He pushed a new medium forward to realize its potential to be a great escape into a fantastical world where illusions can create limitless new worlds for us to escape into.
Becky Polenberg
CINE 105
Citizen Kane Analysis
The classic
film, Citizen Kane, tells the story of Charles Foster Kane, the great newspaper
tycoon. The story takes place mostly in
The film opens on a dilapidated, eerie estate plastered with “no trespassing” signs. We see a close up of a man’s mouth whispering “rosebud”, followed by a close-up of a snow globe dropping from his hand to smash on the floor. A nurse comes and covers the man’s face with a blanket, telling us he is dead.
Next, there is a jarring cut to a loud newsreel and an announcer’s voice telling us Charles Foster Kane is dead. The newsreel, as well as the preceding death scene is the exposition leading us into the plot to come. From the third person narrative of this newsreel we learn who Kane is. Most prominent is the reel is Kane’s pleasure dome, Xanadu, a supposed monument to himself that he started to build during his second marriage. Xanadu was Kane’s own private world, too large to measure, filled with a vast collection of whatever he thought would make him happy. We learn that he is the greatest newspaper tycoon, with 37 papers as well as radio networks, grocery stores, factories, paper mills, ocean liners, and gold mines. Despite his riches, Kane came from humble beginnings, which the film goes into later. As a newsman Charles Kane got involved in politics, but never held office. He was accused of being a fascist, a communist and was hated by as many people that loved him. His political career was completely ruined when a scandal arose during his senatorial campaign. He was married to Emily Norton, the president’s niece, and was caught in his supposed “love nest” with an amateur singer named Susan Alexander. Soon after the divorce from his first wife, he married Susan and built her an opera house. This marriage ended in divorce as well and we also learn that his first wife died in a car accident with their son after the divorce. The Great Depression hit and the Kane empire collapsed. He holed up in Xanadu, still trying to keep his paper going but the public didn’t trust him anymore nor want to listen to him. Charles Kane always stated that he was an “American” and he wanted to be for the people. He ended up dying alone in Xanadu at the age of 70.
The newsreel abruptly stops and the screen opens up on half a dozen newsmen in a small screening room. This is the start of the plot. The rest of the film alternates between the plot and the story of Kane, as it is uncovered in mostly chronological order. One man, apparently the head of a newspaper, is not satisfied with the newsreel. He wants to know who KANE was, not what he was. He assigns one of his reporters to investigate Kane’s last words and find out what they mean. He thinks that maybe these words can sum up who Kane really was. This sets off the rest of the movie; the search for “rosebud”.
The reporter, who is a major character in the plot, although he is so flat that we never even get much of a look at his face, first goes to see Susan, who refuses to talk. This satellite scene is not an important one and the film could survive without it, as we do not learn any new information from it. The next scene opens on the Thatcher Library where the reporter goes into a very film noir looking room to read a journal from the library. From the journal we get our first in depth look at Kane. We learn of his humble beginnings. As a young child Charles’ parents gave him away to a bank after they came into some money. This is the inciting incident that sets off the course of the rest of Kane’s life. His parents are minor, flat characters. We don’t learn much about them other than a hint that the reason for giving their son away is that the father may have been abusive and the mother used their new found money to try and give her son a better life. The banker, Mr. Thatcher, takes the boy away to the east coast, and the child leaves behind his life. The story transitions from his old life to his new one with a shot of his old sled being covered in snow to a cut of Christmas with Thatcher giving the ungrateful, unhappy boy a new sled. Thatcher is a flat character, he is only driven by money in the story, but he is a major character.
At age 25 Charles Kane was given full responsibility of the Thatcher fortune. He didn’t want any of the money, but he did wish to keep Thatcher’s newspaper, The Inquirer. This point in the plot is a hub for the course that Kane’s life is about to embark upon. A satellite that the plot goes into is how Kane uses the Inquirer to attack Thatcher’s greed and also how Kane wishes to use the paper to help the workingman. Thatcher’s journal then tells that Kane eventually ran out of money and while still the head of the paper, he had to relinquish financial control over to Thatcher. This scene is an important satellite. We learn how Charles perceived himself; he didn’t like being rich and thought he was not a good person. This scene is one that is out of chronological order from the rest of the movie where characters narrate us through earlier events.
The next scene goes back to the plot. The reporter goes to see Mr. Bernstein, Kane’s general manager. Bernstein is another major character but he is very flat; all we know of him is how he interacts with Kane. Bernstein tells of Kane’s first day at the paper with his college buddy, Jed. There is a satellite scene of Kane asserting his position and taking over the old editor’s office. The next scene, an important satellite scene, shows Kane writing out his personal declaration of principles. He swears to tell the news honestly, and with truth, and to be a fighting champion for people’s rights. This scene adds another dimension to the protagonist who has so far been presented in only negative light.
As Bernstein’s story continues, we see that the Inquirer has a rival paper that has a higher circulation. We see a close up of the Chronicle’s staff photo and it cuts to them coming to life as the scene transitions to the next, where we learn that Kane has hired all these men over to his paper. Then there is a party to celebrate this victory. This scene is filmed in real time with a lot of long shots of the party and dancers. This scene has diegetic music; the dancing girls sing a song about “good old Charlie Kane.” This is a satellite scene that just adds some extra texture until it closes in on Jed and Bernstein. Jed is worried about the men Charles just hired and how different their politics are. Bernstein assures him that Kane will change them over to his politics, but Jed ominously says maybe they will end up changing Kane. Bernstein’s narrative ends with a satellite scene of Kane returning from a trip, getting a trophy from his staff who missed him, then hurrying out to his new wife, Emily Norton. Although the scene is a satellite, the information that Kane has a new wife is a hub.
Cut back to the plot; Bernstein tells the reporter to go talk to Jed. He finds Jed in a retirement home. Jed speaks freely of his old friend saying that he was Kane’s only friend and even he thought Kane was a swine. Jed is a major character and as the film progresses his character rounds out. Jed tells the reporter that Charles never gave anything of himself to anyone, had no convictions or beliefs, outside of himself. Jed’s voice carries over into the story as he tells of Kane and his first wife. The scene shows us Charles and Emily at the breakfast table chatting playfully. This scene is shown in compressed time; we witness the decline of their marriage over several years in only a few minutes. The scene cuts back and forth between medium close shots of Kane and of Emily talking across the table. Each cut signifies the passage of time with change of costume and the character’s demeanor. The scene end’s with the pair completely at odds with each other shown explicitly by the fact that she is reading the Inquirer’s rival paper the Chronicle. The scene dissolves back into the plot with Jed’s voice overlapping again telling us more information about Kane. Jed’s character traits are revealed in the way that he describes his former friend. He tells the reporter that Kane just wanted love, but that he didn’t have any to give.
The story picks up again and introduces Susan Alexander. There is a satellite scene showing how Susan and Charles met; she sees him on the street covered in mud that a passing car splashed on him and invites him to some to her place to clean up. They get to know each other and we learn that Kane’s mother just died and he was on his way to pick up some of her things from storage. We can infer that this is the start of his sentimental collecting of everything he could get his hands on. Meeting Susan is an important hub in the story. Susan is a major round character. We learn a lot about her internal character later on in how she deals with Kane.
Next, Kane runs for governor. He runs a smear campaign against his opponent Gettys, a minor flat character. Gettys retaliates by blackmailing Kane; he tells him he will make his relationship with Susan public. The information ends up getting out and Emily divorces Kane. Kane also loses the election. Then there is a real time scene with an intoxicated Jed confronting Kane about what he has read in the paper, and the realization about Kane needing to be loved by everyone and thus makes it so that no one can love him, is presented again. Kane marries Susan and builds her an opera house because her singing is so terrible no one will cast her. After the big opening, Jed writes a bad review, an honest review, but passes out before he finishes. Charles finishes it for him, giving an honest review of Susan’s performance, and then fires Jed. This is an important rising action toward the climax. Kane is started to alienate himself now, from even his closest friends. Cut back to Jed in the present, he tells the reporter that Kane wrote the review that way to try and prove that he was still honest and believed in the truth. Jed says that Kane was always trying to prove something; he tried to prove everyone wrong by building the opera house for Susan and making her into a real performer as a way of validating his relationship with her ending his first marriage. When all of his attempts to prove himself, to be loved, didn’t work out, he built Xanadu, his own world that he could control and make his paradise.
The next part in the plot, the reporter goes back to talk to Susan again. This time she is more willing to talk. She talks about her singing career, how she never wanted it, never wanted that opera house; it was all Kane’s idea. Everything was Kane’s idea, she says, except her leaving him, which leads us into her telling of the story. Charles forced her to keep going with her career even though she wasn’t talented. Her performance was a bust, she hated singing, but Kane wouldn’t allow her to quit. She attempted suicide and Kane finally relented. They moved into Xanadu and complete isolation. Susan passes all her time with jigsaw puzzles. The passage of time for Susan while in Xanadu, is shown with a compressed time scene of close shots of puzzles in various stages of completion, creating a montage accompanied by a rhythmic nondiegetic music that reinforces the feeling of boredom. Kane decides to throw a party to break the boredom. During the party we see Susan packing her things, getting ready to leave Kane. He confronts her and she calls him on his issues of trying to buy people. She tells him he never gave her love but wanted it from her. All the conflict from their marriage explodes in this scene and we learn more about both characters. Susan shows that she has grown stronger and smarter and walks out on Kane. He tells her she cant do this to him, and her final words to him are, oh yes I can. Back to the plot, the reporter asks about rosebud and Susan says to go ask the butler at Xanadu.
The reporter asks the butler if he knows about rosebud. He says he heard Kane say it once, and goes into the story. The butler is a flat minor character. He tells about the day Susan left. Kane went on a rampage, tearing up her room. There is nondiegetic music that accompanies his rage. This is the climax of the movie. Kane has finally completely isolated himself and goes into a sort of catatonic state after his rampage. He has nothing left and no one around to try and buy love from. He has learned that the way he has related to the world; bullying people, collecting people and things, has all led to this final isolation. Kane was his own antagonist. He tried to fill the void left by being given away as a child with artificial love and material possessions. Human emotion, the part of people that drives them to seek out companionship and contentment, was ultimately Kane’s antagonist because he didn’t know how to deal with it properly. He didn’t know how to get or give love with out buying it because he learned at an early age how highly some people regard money and how they will use it to their advantage.
After Kane is done tearing up Susan’s room he grabs one thing that he does not smash; a snow globe. He holds it and walks out past all the party guests that have gathered by the door, not acknowledging their presence and only muttering the word “rosebud” as he walks away. The film goes back to the plot and the falling action. The reporter and the other newspaper people are milling about Xanadu taking photos of everything for the paper. They start going through Kane’s vast collection. The reporter openly gives up the search for rosebud saying that Kane was just a man who had everything he wanted and lost it and “rosebud” is just a missing piece of a puzzle and likely nothing important. The scene cuts to workmen going through Kane’s collection and picking out things they think are worthless junk and tossing them into a furnace. They pick up an old sled and toss it in. The film comes to its resolution as the camera closes in on the name on the sled, being eaten up by the flames. It says “Rosebud”. The newsman in the beginning of the movie was right; one word can sum up a man. Kane’s boyhood sled represented everything he lost, everything he didn’t have, and everything he wanted. The film closes with nondiegetic music. A melancholy tune plays us out as the camera cuts to an exterior shot of the chimney as the smoke of Kane’s lost childhood rises from it.
Becky Polenberg
CINE 105
Film analysis Unit 2
The film Children of Men is a futuristic story about the
disintegration and prospective rebirth of society. The film opens with the
disembodied voice of a newscaster relating the state of the world in which we
are about to enter. We hear about Baby Diego, the youngest person on earth, and
that he has been killed. The scene opens on a coffee shop and the protagonist,
Theo and we follow him outside where we watch the coffee shop explode moments
after he exits. The entirety of the movie, the camera follows Theo as he moves
through his environment. The film is shot entirely with handheld cameras,
giving us a more intimate view of the main characters and allowing us to be
right in the middle of the action with them. As we follow Theo through decimated
city streets, we start to get a feel for his world. Through design, the
characters are presented to us in a believable, verisimilistic future
environment. The lighting is one of the first elements that catches the viewer’s
attention. The light is low-key, natural light, with lots of contrast and
shadow with a cold blue and sometimes yellow tint to everything, creating a
sense of isolation and polluted air.
Next, you notice the set design. The film takes place mainly in a city
setting in
The film’s framing is closed. There is a sense that the
people hear are restricted to the general area and do not have freedom in their
lives. The decomposition of society has restricted people’s movements and the
abundance of people, technology and debris in one city creates a tangible
heaviness to the character’s surroundings. This feeling is reinforced by the
images we see in Theo’s environment. We learn much more about this world, at
the beginning of the film, from these images than we do from character action
or dialogue. First we see that every TV and computer screen is playing images
of baby Diego, cementing his symbolic importance to the people. As Theo walks
into work shortly after the explosion, he passes by a large bulls-eye poster on
the wall; seemingly foreshadowing what action is to come. At Theo’s apartment
we learn from images playing on the television that the world is destroyed and
“Only Britain soldiers on.” Further information is presented by voices from an
unseen television on the bus Theo’s riding, that
The composition of the film corresponds to the rule of
thirds. There is action on all three planes throughout the film. Employing a
wide angle lens, the DP keeps all three planes in focus throughout the movie.
Vertically the shots are well balanced also, and continually have much texture
to each scene to hold your
Polenberg2
interest and ground you in
that world. One scene that has strong composition and meaning for where the
characters are placed is the scene in which Julian is about be buried. After
abruptly being reunited with his former wife, Theo more abruptly loses her when
she is shot in the neck during a playful interaction between them as they are
riding in a car. As Julian’s friends, Miriam and Kee are giving her a sort of
last rites, Theo walks off on his own. He kneels down in the foreground next to
a tree and Miriam and Kee along with Julian’s body, are out of focus in the far
background. Theo starts to breakdown. He is isolated on the screen and in his
emotion. Looming over his shoulder we can see the others in the background and
Theo quickly regains his composure. The others are intruding on his ability to
allow himself to feel his grief and we also get a sense by the placement of the
characters, that the others are not as close to the feeling of loss as Theo is.
A key scene in the film that employs a variety of camera
angles and shots is the scene toward the end of the film where Theo goes into a
building under fire, to rescue Kee. Throughout the film Theo, Kee and others
who were their allies, were shot with high angle shots, relaying their
powerlessness and self preserving submissiveness to the many soldiers they
encountered. During this sequence there is a power shift. Kee has had her baby
and the renegade group who want her baby to use for a political uprising have
caught up to her and Theo and captured her. Theo finds her and they start to
try and find their way out of the building. Luke, the leader of the renegade
group, is positioned on the floor by a window he is shooting out of. He says
they need the baby for the uprising. He starts to break down a bit, saying her
forgot what babies look and feel like. He starts to babble and the camera
shifts its POV to a high angle shot on Luke and we know that he is no longer a
threat. Kee and Theo leave him behind as the camera zoom out on him. As they
walk through the gunfire the baby begins to cry. The other people in the
building hear. We see a close up of Theo’s face as he looks upon the people and
realizes just what this baby means to them. Theo and Kee walk through the
hallway and the people, ducking and kneeling below, are all parting the way for
them. We finally get a sense of what this birth really means to this infertile
world by seeing the reaction of all these people. Hands reach out to
tentatively touch the baby, people weep, and everyone is still and watching
with awe as Kee and her baby pass by. As the trio descends the stairs they pass
soldiers ready to shoot until they see the tiny bundle. Now they too are shown
with a high angle shot while Kee and Theo are finally shot with a low angle
shot. They are elevated above the others by the miraculous existence of this
new baby. The soldiers almost bow down as they pass, some crossing themselves
as though at church. Everyone becomes quiet and still. The firing ceases
showing us that the soldiers know that Kee and her baby gaining safe passage is
what’s most important now. Their humanity in that moment is palpable. The screen is balanced with Kee and Theo in
the middle of rows of soldiers parting the way. This baby proves new hope for
society and everyone knows it. But things are not healed that simply and an
explosion takes everyone’s attention back to their fighting.
Children of Men is overall a very innovation,
captivating, and superbly photographed, designed, and written work of art.
Becky Polenberg
CINE 105
Seven Samurai analysis
The editing in the movie Seven Samurai is very smooth and complementary in regards to the way it was cut and the sound mixing. The rhythm of the shots together is very even and paced a bit slow. Only a few times in the film does the succession of cuts speed up; one is when the bandits invade the village, the cuts are more rapid to cover all the action that is taking place and create a more hectic feeling.
There is an abundance of ambient sound is the film. No scene has absolute silence. If you are not hearing dialogue or music, you are hearing the wind, rain, birds, fire crackling or stream trickling in the background. Some of the dialogue, it is obvious that it was rerecorded later; the sound doesn’t match up precisely with the actors. One place this is obvious is towards the end of the film when one of the samurai is killed and another is mourning him. His cries continue even though his facial expression does not match the sound that is supposed to be coming from him. Another instance in the movie where you can tell the sound was put in later is when you see the bandits riding their horses through the village. The sound of the horses’ hooves is constant and unchanging, clattering loudly as if on solid ground even when they are riding through mud, which makes me think the sound was pulled from a library of sound effects.
Nondiegetic music is used through out the film. Diegetic music is used twice; once in the beginning we see a man playing his instrument inside a barn when the villagers are searching for samurai, then again at the end of the film when the village is saved and everyone is planting crops. This diegetic music adds to the sorrowful and uplifting moods in the scenes it is in. The nondiegetic music adds accompaniment to traveling scenes and scenes where we are introduced to characters. The same music is used repeatedly for some characters such as Kikuchiyo, the farmer samurai, and Shino, the villager’s daughter. Kikuchiyo’s music is playful and up-tempo and Shino’s has a feminine, romantic feel to it. The music matches the mood of the scenes it is used in and adds some comic relief in scenes with Kikuchiyo when he is embarrassing himself trying to be macho. Shino’s character is the only one that every time we see her she is accompanied by music, which plays into the romantic feelings that we know are between her and the youngest samurai.
There are instances where the music does not change to enhance the action on the screen. The scene where Shino is discovered as being a girl, the music stays constant and doesn’t change with the palpable change of atmosphere between the characters. The same goes for the scene when the samurai are burning down the bandits’ hideout and one man discovers the woman inside is his wife.
During the second half of the movie the music comes and goes unpredictably. Scenes that could be enhanced by music don’t have any and other scenes that don’t necessarily need musical accompaniment to enhance them, have music. There are also prolonged absences of music, such as during the start of the invasion when the bandits are circling the village. More time passes between music accompaniments during this half of the movie than the first half.
The shot transitions used in the film are constant. Most scenes which cut between time and/or space are transitioned with a wipe across the screen from right to left(sometimes varying with left to right). There are also a few dissolves during more poignant scene transitions and a couple fade outs and fade ins. The cuts used are mostly cut on action and most cuts don’t have a lot of time lapse between the actions. One instance where this is not true is when Kikuchiyo is holding a baby they are rescuing and the action is cut from that scene directly to that night. Its doesn’t go with the continuity of all the other cuts as so much time has passed and we are left to guess at what happened during all that time between the two scenes. Another instance of discontinuity is toward the beginning of the film when the first samurai is rescuing a child from a bandit. He goes into the shack where the bandit is and we see the bandit come out and stubble to the ground after being fatally stabbed. The action goes into slow motion, the only time in the film that this happens.
During a pivotal scene in the last battle, there is no added sound to strengthen the visual images. There is no dramatic music as the hero, Kikuchiyo falls, to emphasize the importance of what is happening. What we do hear is the rain, the horses hooves, and the shouts of the men, all of which we can see the sounds’ sources. Kikuchiyo charges to kill the bandits’ leader after one of his comrades is shot. Kikuchiyo gets shot as he charges, and we hear his gasps and cut to his friends calling to him. While he’s walking toward the bandit we see the bandit from behind, exiting the barn then a cut to the two men still inside the barn. It’s a very quick cut but is an example of discontinuity. Kikuchiyo stabs the bandit and the cuts on action don’t match up here. We see the bandit get stabbed, cut to him falling off the bridge, then cut to Kikuchiyo’s body. There isn’t a smooth flow of action. This discontinuity calls attention to the action and was possibly done to be stylistic.
All together Seven Samurai did not have a lot of complicated editing. It was kept simple with cuts, transitions and sound, which complements the scenery and the proud, simple lives of the characters.
see becky. see becky take the GED.
..sitting here. But not just sitting. Jumpy, nervous energy. Twitchy withdrawal. I wonder if anyone notices. If they think maybe Im just coming off of something. Looking at the clock, wondering when this will start. How long it will take. If I can make it. Hoping I have the strength to stay in this chair and not jump up and bolt out that door. Its looking really good right now, that door. Freedom and sunshine on the other side. Relief. Home. Imprisonment. I cant leave. Drumming fingers, bouncing legs, staring eyes. Just hand out the goddamn test already and let me take it. I know how to fill out my name already, can we move on? Head feels light. Im shaky now. But I cant leave. I could but I wont let myself. Have to prove it to me that I can function like everyone else. That I am better than this. I will not have to come back and take it again. I dont like to do things twice. I need to get it on the first try. I dont know why, I just do. Great, Im gonna be here till three. Ok, now I can start. Distract me reading comprehension skills. Damn this is easy. Are they for real? Is this really equal to a real diploma? Coz hell, anyone can do this. Now my diploma wont mean as much coz this test is so damn easy. But my test isnt really the grade. i could care less.
Its me being here. pushing myself. to the top of this mountain. they dont know my test isnt on paper. And that, already, im acing it. or maybe at least getting a B... plus.
No
You cant feel this
Remember
We swore
Never
Get tangled
In something
Too messy
Disconnect
The way to be
For us
I’ll hold you down
If I have to
Im deciding
And ive decided
Were not getting into this
Don’t tell me
you ache
this aint the time
for that
danger lurks
that I don’t need
wont take
that rip-gut
feeling
swallow yourself
down deep
be smart
be cool
don’t get sick
float above
its better there
9. one of those ‘you had to be there’ deals
Church basement curses
What was lurking
Beneath fresh paint
And new skin
That penetrated through
To the darkest blood
Followed
took its chance
Sneak attack
strangle
Bring down fire
Our young lives
Caught in the web
Eternal
Connected
Through the choking fog
And triumph
That we’re still here
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