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martha polk

born in: st. paul
lives in: new york city
Some years ago I realized how much I love pretty and smart things. Now I'm learning how to be more of a person everyday!

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Even if you don't really like Stevie Nicks, just watch this video. The singing's spontaneous, the white greecian wear is out in full force, the entourage is in place, and the hair's blowin' in the wind--she's just compelled to be a Diva here. Her voice comes through a huge noisy room, through the shitty camcorder, through the internet and it sounds pitch perfect.

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posted on 03.09.09

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David Lynch
Michealangelo Antonioni
Jean Renoir
Inland Empire
Toni
L'eclisse

It seems great trailers are few and far between, most films choosing to go with a revved-up music video that manages to hit every plot point in 2 minutes. I think this is too bad; to my eyes, the film trailer can be a space where the world of advertising can give itself over to art, where a commercial can be a work unto itself. I know people argue that commercials always carry this potential and I know that the winners of this year's Television Advertising Awards probably want to hold up their own medium as an artistic one. But film trailers are an especially intriguing form; at 2-4 minutes, they can drop gags and hooks in favor of things that take just a bit more development, like rhythm or a tone for instance. What other form of advertising could work to establish rhythm and tone without the weight of a clear, pushy message? Further, with a parent film behind them, in the trailer's best form it's a fascinating editing exercise that--in movement, language, and concept-- both capture something essential of their parent features and create something new and beautiful unto itself. With that, let's hit my top three:

#3: Inland Empire--David Lynch
I love this thing because with every terrifying breath it seems to elude to a firm plot. "This looks riveting! What are those creepy bunnies doing in there?! Why is Laura Dern freaking out like I've never seen her before!?!? I've gotta see this thing!" And then you hit the opening night performance or add it to your netflix queue only to ask basically the same questions throughout the film. Both trailer and film use strange tonal devices to terrify, but the trailer holds a hope that these will be revealed in a fantastic play-by-play Hollywood escapade while the film just throws a nightmare at you with no hope of explication. Once any allusions to a firm narrative are found faulty, the trailer becomes a perfect miniature of the film itself.

#2 L'eclisse--Michealangelo Antonioni
This trailer works beautifully because, in a way, it really embraces its advertisement yet manages to be a pretty and intriguing object unto itself. We get Antonioni's name up on our screen first, then the name of the film in big block letters, and then our two big stars get portraits with their names shining bright. We're told it's "an exceptional film!!!" and it's bookended with that silly twist that makes you wanna shake a leg in 1960s Italy as soon as possible. And behind all these traditional hooks, we have just seven shots, dispersed among a full 2 minutes, that mathematically set up oppositions. The distance and space of the first shot coupled with the crowd of the stock market; the portraits of individuals in their elements against that strange lovers' hand-tango; that dark barn beneath the "The Eclipse"--these things play off and against each other in a tidy sort of poem. I find it at once quite practical and quite beautiful.

And Finally,

#1 Toni--Jean Renoir
I could watch this thing once an hour for the rest of my life. I've really stopped thinking of it as connected to a larger project because it stands alone so extraordinarily. A tune welcomes us into a world where a train gives birth to two lovers walking down a path. Grapes to bees to hugs. Then a series of dark, shocking images and, though the tune progresses, the ominous sounds of moving trains slowly rise. These mechanical churnings push the tune into mournful territory and suddenly we find ourselves among the surreal--on a quiet lake, alone and scared; standing by while rock slides and crumbles; a moment of confrontation; a desperate sprint out of town. In 1 minute and 21 seconds and without a word of dialogue, this thing conjures grand emotions. From those bright grapes to desperation above frighteningly serene water, this trailer demands we take it seriously unto itself and feel its beauty without reference to another site.

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Georgia O'keeffe

I visited this early Georgie O'Keeffe painting from her 1917 Nude Series four times during my walk through the remarkable Georgia O'Keeffe Museum in Santa Fe New Mexico. Off of the internet and in real life, this watercolor fades and floods more delicately and the paper crinkles outward beneath the red smudge, radiating from this painful moment on the canvas. It lay in stark contrast to her later, better known flowers. I prefer this early series and its suggestions of something harsh, something hidden, something loving. It all seems very troubling and sexy.

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posted on 03.06.09

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Silent Light
Carlos Reygadas
Prayer
International Film
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Maybe film stills, individual frames, aren't the building blocks of moving pictures and maybe the cinema's constitution is based in movement itself (or an idea of movement), but sometimes it seems still frames betray a film's deepest sentiments, even illuminate its greatest accomplishments. Watching Carlos Reygadas' recent marvel, Silent Light, I was struck by a desire to break down this already very still, very quiet movie even further, to sit among its most impacting frames, and experience their sum in a different way. My impulse to take Silent Light to a base, photographic form seems in line with Reygadas' larger aim toward both the celestial and the simple; it's a film about moral struggle in a religious community and, opening and closing with a meditation on things (the sun and its spectacular will to rise and fall!) much greater than humankind, the film takes on the form, pace, and focus of a prayer. Help us be better than we are. Help me find and recognize my place among the cosmos above and the flowers within reach. In form and content, Silent Light works to break things down and then recognize the grandeur of the pieces. If I've succeeded in carrying (what I believe to be) Reygadas' driving force to its next incarnation--that of the still/ photo essay-- you'll find each piece below at once basic and overwhelming, simple and humbling, and the sum of the parts to be somewhat of a prayer.





















“And yet here the images move from one to another as sequences, as montage and in ensemble or totality and then again to singular moments and the moments within each image. I love the hands that move to the person framed in the window and then the road and the hand again and the light, i love the sunlight, the earth, the sky, the night and yes the water. I love the warmth. ”
Posted over 5 years ago
“truly beautiful. i can hear it humming, even in its silence. the still is a lie, too: these images move. each of his compositions moves the eye and asks it for its time, its generosity. each image in his film seems to, yes, pray.”
Posted over 5 years ago
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