Toy Story 3 - The Memories that Bind Us All

“Toy Story 3” is an amazing feat in storytelling. It accomplishes so many things in only 103 minutes that other trilogies and sequels – Star Wars, Back to the Future, Spider-Man, Indiana Jones, Ocean’s Eleven, The Matrix – never came close to: creating a film that is simultaneously continuous and very capable of being a stand alone. It is moving, smart, funny, dark, scary, sad, hopeful – all in an ingeniously conclusive end to one of the most beloved American stories that further reaffirms Pixar as a master of storytelling and animation. 

Warning: minor, mild and major spoilers in the article. 

It must be noted that all images of “Toy Story 3” were taken directly from trailers or were promotional stills released by Pixar. 

The Beginnings of Pixar’s Wonder and Magic

The original “Toy Story” captured the hearts of every viewer, for we all remembered our childhood filled with boundless imagination and innocence shared with and acted through our toys. It not only created incredibly human characters out of toys – pride, romance, jealously, insecurity, rational, etcetera – but established the sacredness, timelessness and preciousness of love shared between child and toy. Absolutely illogical and pure. Beautiful. 

“Toy Story 2” hinted about toy economics, specifically about their ultimate value and fate – would they become a priceless collectible or indistinguishable trash? We all know eventually a majority of childhood tokens will break, be sold or given away; such is the invariability of growth, maturity and time. However, in “Toy Story 2” Andy is still a boy and still very much in love with his toys, and that to prematurely succumb to the temptation of being a pristine collectible was unwise and ultimately unattractive – at the time, it was much more important and valuable for Woody to remain as Andy’s treasured toy, tossed and bounced and played about in pure bouts of love and joy. 

Both movies are classical childhood tales, tales based off imagination and incredibly human emotions. The politics and economics commanding the toys were hinted, but only enough to not distract away from the main focus of a child’s unbounded love for his toys. It was pure imaginative genius, touching and invaluable in message all at once – the touch of Pixar’s creative process and dedicated team. 

Unfortunately, Pixar’s genius was not valued by everyone when it first started. 

Eisner and the business of Circle 7

“Toy Story 3” was not originally planned by Pixar, nor was “Toy Story 2.” Both sequels were the result of Disney’s management and its desire to take over Pixar’s creative reins, spearheaded none other than Michael Eisner. 

Some of you remember all those terrible direct-to-video sequels that looked and felt like nothing the original theatrical releases:  "Aladdin 2: Jafar’s Return,“ "Pocahontas 2: Journey to a New World,” “The Lion King 2: Simba’s Pride” – remember these guys? They had Eisner written all over them. He saw creativity as a product to be reaped and sowed and drained for all its worth. To him, the magic and wonder of Disney’s legendary status was nothing more than a profit margin, a business model. He considered Pixar no differently. 

“Toy Story 2” was initially a direct-to-video sequel, but upon seeing the in-work imagery Disney executives were so impressed that they requested it be turned into a theatrical release; however, the creative team at Pixar were not happy with the work, eventually getting John Lasseter back on board to rewrite the entire script and finish the film in a period of nine months (leading to some animators getting repetitive stress injuries) in order to meet Disney’s deadline. Additionally, since Disney felt that “Toy Story 2” was negotiated outside of five-picture deal they had with Pixar, it would not be counted as one of the films. This negotiation left a poor spot for Pixar, the first of many they would soon have with Disney’s CEO, Michael Eisner. In his own words, Eisner believed that “all creative teams go in cycles, and Pixar is riding for a fall." 

Nice man. 

Hoping to bully Pixar into a new contract that would ultimately favor Disney’s executive control over Pixar’s creative rights, Eisner created Circle 7 Animation to franchise Pixar’s characters and stories – it was exactly like his scheme with the flux of direct-to-video sequels during the Disney renaissance all over again. Circle 7’s first production would be "Toy Story 3,” in which Buzz Lightyear would have a defect, be shipped off to Taiwan, then on some adventure Andy’s toys go to rescue him as Buzz met some new friends along the way (in a sense, it was a carbon copy of “Toy Story 2’s” plot). 

The original promotional for Circle 7’s “Toy Story 3." 

This was a million-of-dollars attempt to bargain Disney as Pixar’s sole distributor – Michael Eisner style. Of course this led to the infamous split between Pixar and Disney in 2004 when Pixar CEO Steve Jobs and Disney’s Eisner bickered vehemently about how Pixar should be handled creatively and monetarily; only with Eisner’s departure from Disney in 2005 was Pixar able to renegotiate a much, much better contract with Disney: the new Disney CEO, Rob Iger, buried Eisner’s pet projects and all of his notorious footprints, and Pixar’s John Lasseter and Ed Catmull would run all of Disney animation. No more Eisner micromanagement, no more terrible and unnecessary sequels, no more "money money money!!!”-driven projects – it was a breath of fresh air back into Disney and the barrier Pixar finally overcame. 

Of course, one of the first decisions of Lasseter and Catmull was to dismantle Circle 7 and shelve the original “Toy Story 3” script far and away (in a generous gesture, they found work inside Disney for 140 of the 170 Circle 7 employees). Pixar once again had it’s prodigy back, safe and sound and away from the scary Eisner monster that lurks beneath the innocent beds of children’s hopes and dreams. 

The Challenge of Closure

“Toy Story 3” was no walk in the park. It took the minds of Pixar creative seniors John Lasseter (“Toy Story,” “Toy Story 2” and “Cars”), Pete Docter (“Monsters, Inc.” and “Up”), Andrew Stanton (“Finding Nemo” and “Wall•E”) and Lee Unkrich (film editor and co-director of several Pixar films) to come up with the story over a weekend at the same house where they originally conceived “Toy Story.” Stanton wrote the treatment, Michael Arndt (writer of “Little Miss Sunshine”) wrote the screenplay and Unkrich was slated to direct in his directorial debut. And hell, what a movie it was. 

The conclusion of the trilogy is significantly darker with subtexts extending well beyond the comprehension and significance of kid’s minds (Guatanamo bay, pyramid schemes, the manipulation of politics, effects of consumerism) that many older viewers are all too familiar and jaded with. And that’s just the thing: there is a certain jadedness that come with growing up. We become increasingly more self- and consciously aware of our surroundings, which in turn deters us from divulging into childhood fancies unhindered by logic or meaning and driven solely by love and imagination. 

Here, the main conflict is in the toys and Andy reestablishing their relationship and meaning to one another. The opening montage hauntingly ends with the famous musical phrase by Randy Newman, “our friendship will never die…” before fading into present day, presumably ten years later. Andy is 17, about to depart to college, and probably has not played with Woody and the gang for many years at this point. A futile attempt of the toys to be played with one last time before their assumed fate in the attic happens marks this rift:  the toys’ existence as childhood gems no longer resonate with Andy’s current transition in life from adolescence to young adult. It’s a sad opening, heartbreaking even. 

Woody, Buzz and the gang have long been self-aware of their own existence, economics and politics – however, this is brazenly clear and stated in the third installment as opposed to the first two, where the idea was presented but not particularly or deeply explored. After all, if Andy’s toys are, in a sense, sentient and aware of their own being, they must at least know their golden time with their owner must come to end. What happens and how they deal with it is the secondary conflict that drives “Toy Story 3” to greatness. 

When Woody and the gang are accidentally donated to the daycare center Sunnyside, they dive into a world populated with more toys than they could ever fathom beyond Andy’s childhood collection. The politics and economics, however, are iron-fisted by Lotso, and this in turn establishes what is otherwise an action-packed, comedic, dramatic and hilarious adventure for Andy’s toys to overcome and escape from in order to return to the comfort and familiarity of their home, Andy’s room. 

The middle act is nothing spectacularly original – a great many movies rely on this to bridge the opening and ending satisfactorily – but the driving force and ideas about toy economics and politics are very much so. To the unobservant or unempathetic, they may not notice that the middle arc subtly implies an overall thematic of the entire Toy Story lore: of the love between child and toy that transcends time through the sheer strength and significance of previous, everlasting memories. 

The middle act implies the simultaneous and last growth in the relationship between Andy and his toys: this is a pivotal moment of separation, and it is their memories and love that ultimately bind them to each other in the end. Woody is driven to go back to Andy as a testament that he and his friends are still somehow meaningful in Andy’s life – that Andy is now just a iteration of his previous self, but not entirely different, and that somehow the spirit and ghost of Andy’s childhood is very much part of the now older Andy. Reassurance and reestablishment are absolutely necessary at this point, and it’s what drives the toys to act and do in their current situation of anxiety, stress and uncertainty. 

In the end, the primary conflict of reassurance and reestablishment resolves after trials and obstacles of separation and despair presented in the secondary conflict; it helps Andy and his toys realize how in spite of the years of rift, they still and will always hold special places in each others hearts. The memories and emotions – those will always be there. Even when Woody and the gang will no longer be played with by Andy as they once were they now know that he still thinks of them, remembers them, cherishes them just as much as he once did – in mind and heart. And that’s enough for everyone to finally move on, to finally go with their respective life with the assurance and loving memories intact forever more. 

A Generational Difference

The reception and comments from critics demonstrated one of the greatest generational differences I’ve seen in awhile. Several critics have commented that this third installment lacked the heart the first two had and was significantly darker, that on several occasions it was unoriginal in conceit; some remarked that it was perhaps longer than needed; a few even believed that it lacked the emotional brilliance of last year’s “Up." 

What many of these critics fail to realize is that "Toy Story 3” tackles one of the most difficult points in life – the transition from teenage adolescence to young adulthood when one has just graduated from high school and is about to go afar to a college or university. It’s an incredibly difficult time period, filled with anxiety, uncertainty and even a fair amount of grief as parents cope with impending separation and the transitioning individual copes with sorting out tokens from childhood and adolescence and starting afresh as a young, eager-minded adult.

Spanish Buzz is full of win. 

This is not to say tackling and addressing the fate of toys when their owner reach this transition period was not implied previously. “Toy Story” and “Toy Story 2” hinted several times that the toys would ultimately need to deal with this transitional issue, but only now has the issue been fully addressed head on. 

Depicting these pivotal moments is incredibly difficult: it’s so easy to forget distinctions of immediate joy and grief that made up childhood; commonly, we indulge in notions of bliss and innocence, conveniently forgetting or ignoring incidents and characteristics that made them distinctly dramatic, comedic and human. Even more difficult is the distinguishing traits between the end of teenage adolescence and the beginnings of young adulthood – something that “Toy Story 3” daringly confronts unlike any other childhood fable I’ve seen to grace cinema. 

Judging from the feedback I’m receiving, “Toy Story 3” has people in tears. If anything, they like it more than “Up.” – Roger Ebert via @ebertchicago

I concede that the first minutes of “Up” were absolutely brilliant: the marriage montage left me teary-eyed, emotionally moved and shaken by its incredible conceit and execution. However, the rest of the story dives into a Man of La Mancha, Don Quixote-inspired parable style, with quirky sidekick characters derived from caricatures and little else. There was an adventure that led Carl to eventually let go and move on, yes, but compared to the brilliance of the opening there was little I found that remotely compared or came close to evoking the same emotions or empathy; it was cute and funny, but the emotional impact of “Up” belongs solely to its first few minutes. 

“Toy Story 3,” on the other hand, has been in the making for over 15 years. We’ve grown up with the characters, and our fond memories of the first two films still hold strong. Pixar has gone through countless negotiations and renovations with Disney before their current business and distributional status – all in the name of creating greatly emotional and human stories that are timeless and unbounded by the technology of their animation. 

This film’s emotional impact about adolescent transition resonates deeply not only with those going through the same or clearly remembering of such a period, but with the audience that remembers the trilogy’s conceit and overarching narrative; finally, we all have closure on the story of Andy and his beloved Woody, Buzz and other toys. It’s about how an emerging young adult deals with tokens from his childhood and remembering and reestablishing what and how much they mean to him – something that I’m sure all of us could sympathize and empathize with. 

Good-Bye, Old Friends

This is a moment that has been built up since 1995 when we first saw Woody and the toys charm and grace the screen with their emotions, drama and comedy. We all knew this time would come, when Andy would grow up and leave for college – but never could we have foreseen how he and the toys would conclude their years of fun, heartbreak and imagination. 

And now that we know they’re all in good hands – that little Bonnie will be their next keeper and that there will be added ears to the tenure before their ultimate conclusion – we at least know that to Andy, his toys will forever be icons of childhood, and that Woody and the gang share these same sentients – of childhood, of reassurance in their significance and meaning to one another, and of the timeless love of a child that is ceaseless and everlasting in ghost and memories. 

Good-bye, old friends. May your next adventure be as memorable as the ones you’ve shared with us. 

Icarus and his Copycats

It’s nice to think that in the history of the universe in the greatest probably likelihood there have been at least 100,000 other civilizations just as advanced as ours who were just as utterly convinced of their importance in the universe right up until the moment when they stopped existing – Viet Le 

I recently read an article titled Merely Human? That’s So Yesterday by Ashlee Vance of the New York Times. It’s a long piece, detailing the Singularity movement spearheaded by the likes of Silicon Valley, Google, Microsoft, NASA, and other technology entrepreneurs. In particular, there was a lengthy discussion of Mr. Raymond Kurzweil, a American inventor and futurist who in his own words, believes “we will transcend all the limitations of our biology” through singularity, for “that is what it means to be human – to extend who we are.” He and likewise others believe that technological ingenuity has the potential to solve worldwide problems, that they can create the greatest reset button in the history of mankind. And after I finished reading, all I could think of was this: 

Hadn’t I heard this before? 

My mind revved back and toggling through past history lessons, I remembered again and again similar declarations made by proud men who strut forth their innovations and said “ha-HA! This will solve society’s problems! Now we will have a greater and brighter future because of ___ !” It’s like a broken record, except each repetition is a slight variation of the previous motif: 

• Hunter gatherers diverged from nomadic life after farming and agriculture was developed for more sustainable and constant food supplies – then came the problem of irrigation and creating set communities, eventually societies that were dependent on their existing environment and paving the way to economics of trade and monetary values…

• Railroads, factories, streetcars and automobiles of the Industrial revolution developed for increased transportation, mobility and efficiency – then came social and health problems with smoke, fumes, barriers of old infrastructure and unregulated labor and production, and markedly establishes the origin of human dependence on natural carbon sources for engine combustion, petroleum, and the origins of rampant consumerism…

• Einstein postulates the theory of relativity, setting the basis for nuclear energy and the possibilities for alternative energy and other technology advancements – then WWII happens and Truman orders “Little Boy” on Hiroshima and “Fat Man” on Nagasaki, staining history with the devastations of radiation poisoning and the threat of nuclear weaponry…

• Penicillin is widely used during WWII and changes medical history, as doctors now have a remedy for bacterial infections that were previously painful or even fatal – then overuse and overprescription of antibiotics results in bacterial antibiotic resistance, causing scientists to constantly come up with new antibiotics while bacteria continue to exponentially gain resistance due to horizontal gene transfer…

• Genetically modified organisms (GMOs) take off, creating hardier crops and animal products that are more sustainable in certain areas that traditionally would not cultivate or encourage such production, thus increasing the food supply in lacking areas – then came the problem of natural selection favoring stronger GMOs over other unmodified species, resulting in extinction of plant species if respective GMO breakouts accidentally occurred…

• Plastic surgery is developed to reconstruct and correct form and function of the human body that results from birth defects or injury – then public demand for cosmetic enhancement sky rockets after numerous Hollywood stars open up about their respective procedures, ultimately resulting in multiple botched surgeries, a surge in black market procedures and advents going overseas for cheaper and/or unregulated enhancements…

Kurzweil’s and Singularity’s assumptions are all too familiar, sharing the same aspirational notion that all previous developments envisioned. The problem however is not in his vision – for it is surely a grand and futurist one – but in how he perceives the world and how it operates – and that he truly believes that “ultimately, the entire universe will become saturated with our intelligence, [for] this is the destiny of the universe." 

People will be people. Social, cultural, economic, religious and historical differences will always apply, and these may encourage or discourage the advancements that Singularity advocates. Yes, perhaps there is a possibility that with technology, we could live to be 700 years old – but for people who believe in the sacredness of the natural body, is this something they could ever endorse? How about the quality of life that goes with it? Will this development sustain in the course of change we cannot foresee? 

Additionally, there’s the economics and politics that will invariably carve and shape how Kurzweil’s and his colleague’s vision to manifest: as libertarian as they may be, singularity advocates are still operating within a society, and invariably their developments will have major effects on the societal and cultural establishments. Maintaining a sort of purity to their idea is unrealistic if they are unwilling to communicate effectively with the public they hope to help; compromise isn’t necessarily going to happen if developers play their cards right and fully understand what they’re dealing with. 

The singularity mentality is similar (if not identical) to that of James D. Watson, one of co-discoverers of DNA’s helical structure. Specifically, Watson believes that genetic engineering is the way to curing all of mankind’s problems – that in selecting genes for "intelligence” and “beauty,” humans can develop into improved beings after eliminating genetic diseases, “stupidity” and “ugliness” from the gene pool. 

What Watson and Kurzweil share is a strong belief that their way of thought could universally mend all of humanity’s problems – all without accounting differences in social infrastructures and cultural values across the globe. Who is to say what “intelligence” or “beauty” really are? And who is to say we could ever achieve complete and utter control and understanding of how the universe operates? 

No matter how many times you save the world, it always manages to get back in jeopardy again. Sometimes I just want it to stay saved! You know, for a little bit? I feel like the maid; I just cleaned up this mess! Can we keep it clean for… for ten minutes! – Mr. Incredible in “The Incredibles,” 2004. 

I am, of course, a skeptic of anyone who believes their vision creates a more perfected future. Countless times people have declared victory, proclaiming that the world’s problems seem to finally be under control – all until a new set of problems popped right back up in our unsuspecting faces, and then the cycle continues all over again. 

So assuming Kurzweil’s vision comes to life (and I have no doubts a good number of his ideas could easily come to fruition), I am rest assured there will be associated social, cultural, and/or political issues that spring forth like the woes of Hamlet. 

• Growing of viable transplant organs: human life can be extended, but there’s a good chance such viability could be privatized and prone to inflation and being exclusive only to those who can afford such. 

• Cement-like goop that allows builders to erect an entire house: labor costs go down, but construction workers lose their jobs and now you’ve got a subset of the population out of work. 

• Nanoscale machines injected into our bodies to constantly repair cells and their respective functions: we can now theoretically live to 700 hundred years old, but what are the implications for consummation, and more importantly how do we know if future technological development will render nano machines as obsolete or worse, exploitative and futile? 

These are just some hypothesis as to what could happen should the exceptionally optimistic visions of Singularitarians come to life. I am in no position to discount their possibility, but I thoroughly believe that a holistic understanding as to the limits of control is necessary whenever one attempts to remedy and tackle worldwide problems.  Social, cultural, political and historical considerations are equally as important as one’s understanding of science, engineering, medicine and technology, and vice versa. 

We are a sentient and cognitive species – that is for certain. And though we may continuously strive towards the ultimates of truth and knowledge we are still subject to the universe and its very foundations. These are our innate limits – of our own construction and of the universe’s governing rules – that will continue to perpetuate strives towards greatness and problems that arise from such pursuits. 

Though I am curious to see if the meaning of life really is 4. 

A Brief Introduction to Punches, Kicks, and Explosions

I’ve been watching the 2010 World Cup lately. I’m a big fan of football/soccer and grew up playing it before physical injury and time ended my athletic career; watching the games, I can’t help but yell in support and outrage as players rush down the field in mad dashes to score and defend in the name of national pride. Odd, though, is that my experience as a broadcast viewer is both nostalgic and observatory – the result of multiple shots pieced together in a cohesive transmission. 

There’s something unique when one experiences such athleticism as a television spectator: oftentimes the events are framed as establishing shots, encompassing the field/court and panning left and right; occasionally the broadcasts are interspersed with close ups of the players to detail athletic prowess, enlighten upon results of a called foul, or provide reactionary shots of the players themselves; and every once in awhile, there is the unusual crane or aeriel shot as additional angles and perspectives for replay and consideration post facto. 

The result is that television spectating is both objectively aloof and personally engrossing – by seeing both the scale of the playing field and the expressions of players, television spectators are both overseeing judges of the teams’ abilities and sympathizers with intermittent glimpses into the players’ actions – in short, it’s both a very objective and subjective experience, and it’s the same basis for creating an effective action sequence in film. 

Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon, 2000. 

When piecing together an action sequence, it is important to understand the technical and aesthetic components of framing; more important is knowing when, how and how much to use different shots in order to create an engrossing and cohesive sequence. Intents and styles differ, but the aim of creating a coherent and visually unique progression of fists, kicks and guns is what every filmmaker hopes to achieve when cinematic narratives require of such. Here are some types of shots, their corresponding examples, and notes on the effects of overuse: 

 Kung Fu Hustle, 2005. 

Establishing shots put everything into context – the environment, the people involved, and the stakes at hand. It is probably one of the most important shots to incorporate in any action sequence since the viewer needs a sense of relativity in order to fully comprehend the scale of the action occurring. Overuse dulls the action sequence, maintaining too much of an objectivist’s lens and detachment from the power and emotion of the players and stakes at hand. 

 Cowboy Bebop, 1998. 

High-angle shots adds an objective feel to what is happening on screen, almost as if one were gazing directly downwards like a Greek muse. There is, in a sense, a level of detachment from the immediate action like an establishing shot except that this framing style is notably more clinical – imagine looking at bacteria on a petri dish under a microscope and (hopefully) this analogy may make more sense. Overuse becomes visually strenuous since the viewer cannot directly see the players facial expressions and thus have a harder time engaging and sympathizing with the action. 

 Enter the Dragon, 1973. 

Full figure/medium/close up shots are oftentimes reactionary and engrossing in intent. These are the kinds of shots most viewers are very familiar with, as action sequences are most glorified or jarring with these types of framing. Multiple angles and cuts on the editors desk add additional movement to what is occurring, and what may look silly from afar could easily look exceptionally impressive or brutal up close.

 Why hallo thar, Transformer 2. 

Overuse becomes claustrophobic, messy and incomprehensible as to what is actually happening; worse is that the viewer becomes tired and desensitized to the action, ultimately resulting in disengagement and boredom. 

 The Bourne Ultimatum, 2007. 

Hand-held cameras add an additional intimacy to what is occurring, almost as if the viewer is in the immediate action alongside the players. They are often employed for medium/close ups, follow shots, or even long takes of any sequence. 

Cloverfield, 2008. 

Overuse can easily result in sloppiness, obscurity, and even nausea. 

 Children of Men, 2006. 

Long takes are probably one of the trickiest shots to pull off – the wire-walkers of filmmaking. It requires incredible planning, patience, and distinct vision as to how the action plays out, and a conscious effort to maintain the viewer’s fullest attention. It is particularly strenuous on the actors, director and cameramen involved; multi-takes are not uncommon, and though digital effects can stitch together separate sequences into a seamless take it is nonetheless one of the most technically demanding envisions possible.

Oldboy, 2003. 

However, if everything is planned and dictated accordingly, the long take can be one of the most aesthetically and narratively rewarding stylizations of action (even narrative) sequences, creating a feel of uninterrupted observation and engagement of the viewer. 

The Dark Knight, 2008. 

These are just some basic ideas in constructing any action sequence. Of course they’re not absolute, but like all other things they’re important to consider when framing any choreography of punches and flips and pain. As the basis of stylizations and notable trademarks, different shots, frames, and angles are what make any action sequence unique in itself. Film, games, sports – whatever your cup of tea happens to be. And hell, what a sequence we could possibly see. 

Anthony Bourdain - World Citizen

Travel is fatal to prejudice, bigotry and narrow-mindedness – Mark Twain. 

Anthony Bourdain is one hell of a guy. 

Bone marrow, testicles, eyeballs, beating hearts – this is man who spits in the face of culinary reserve, a distinct individual who is unpretentious about what he likes or dislikes and wholly willing to look beyond preconceived notions. A classic world citizen. A revolutionary. 

Most travel hosts put on an act of advertisement. They go to a place, brief over some facts, find a glitzy place and bam – a show. And that’s what it is: a glossed over, boxed up product devoid of intellect or cultural empathy. Past their smiles and peppy personas and happy airs they are salesmen, milking money from human restlessness to traverse. They want you to go “oooo” and “aaah” and “woww” at their clipped version of life; they want you go desire something beyond what you already have, to escape to their white bread version of travel and culture. 

Not Bourdain. He grimaces, swears, smokes, drinks, insults without hesitation. He’s imperfect, flawed and unwilling to pretend otherwise. Comfort reserve is a foreign idea, and that’s what makes his show exceptional – the complete lack of ethnocentrism. 

When “No Reservations” first broadcasted in 2005, there was something immediately different about his presentation. Bourdain was the host, but he wasn’t the focus: the scenery, the people, the culture, and by God the cuisine – it’s shamelessly food porn, cinematography and all. Ingredients, preparation, technique – absolute desire. Scrumptious. Delicious. 

“No Reservations” is more of a documentary than a travel show. Bourdain makes no pretense of how he feels or who he is, something that so many travel hosts avoid. The “wow’!” and “amazing!” and “yum-o!” and “how bizarre!” – they’re nowhere to be uttered. He’s self-referential, self-aware of his own knowledge and lack thereof. 

Most importantly, he plays by the rules of the areas he visits. Breaking away from all comfort and familiarity, Bourdain dives into the heart of cultures: without the self-delusion of “exterior wisdom” he goes straight to what is true of the places he traverses to, to learn and narrate to us what is beyond our own notions of opulence. 

This is not a show – it’s an education, a grand execution in presentation and production, an unflinching look into normality that is specific to every culture and its respective history. 

It’s the kind of mentality that I, as an ethnic minority, can’t welcome enough. 

More than once I’ve encountered peers who express shock or disbelief at certain habits or tastes of mine. No shoes in the house? Different ways of preparing tofu? You don’t refer to parents by their first name? Sticky green rice and mung bean? Gigantic bowls of phở with meat bits and red with Sriracha chili sauce? Blasphemy! they’d say, or What the hell is that?!

It’s all fun and games, but when it comes to traveling and depicting different cultures, it’s this sort of reservation that renders international locales into caricatures, exotic freak shows that lure the otherwise apprehensive white bread loving individuals fortunate enough to even travel. By presenting what is normal and empathetic to others as something “bizarre” or “exotic,” the final product is invariably ethnocentric and shallow. 

I don’t watch Andrew Zimmern’s “Bizarre Foods” for this reason. The name and premise are big ethnocentric billboards, tag lines to entrance viewers into watching a “freak show” of ethnic cuisines and practices. Maybe he’s just trying to get viewers, maybe he’s just trying to make a name for himself, maybe he’s just trying to present different cultures with a different style – regardless, I can’t support a show that posits itself on such terms. 

Bourdain and his production team shares my sentiments, and it shows very clearly in how everything is shot and focused on. Bourdain is a narrator, a familiar voice that we come back to as the camera captures scenes of passing cars, working locals, colors of flora – a portrait of what we are unfamiliar with. The people, neighborhoods, cuisine – these are the stars of the show. In a sea of culture, history and emotions, Bourdain is no disconnected commentator nor guffawing, baffled visitor who “knows better” – he’s human, a individual who understands that these are people’s lives he’s presenting, that they too have incredibly human stories to tell and share. 

So toss out your nutrition labels and calories, your paved roads and air conditioning, your shopping plazas and towering malls, your PETA and McDonalds – in order to see beyond the familiar, you have to willingly disconnect yourself from the familiarity – the breaking point of ethnocentrism and gateway to world citizenship. It is the ultimate awakening to a greater understanding of our own mortal and universal condition of being human. 

Bravo, Mr. Bourdain, bravo. I’m sure you’ve Mark Twain quite a run for his money. 

Scene Dissection – Human Fundamentals (Why Visual Composition is not distinctly Western nor Eastern)

To a unexpected and pleasant surprise, Roger Ebert graciously tweeted my last article on visual composition. I received some wonderful feedback from some visitors, feedback that I can’t thank enough for. 

One response was particularly interesting and provided me with much food for thought: 

I enjoyed your analysis of stills from Fullmetal Alchemist and especially your sketches of how you would change the compositions so they would follow the 180º Rule and the Rule of Thirds.

However, I would not expect anime to necessarily follow either of these rules. Both are traditions of Western art history that were not widely followed by Japanese art prior to the 20th century. Film has Western origins, but Japanese films often apply Japanese aesthetics and cultural rules to still compositions.

In your first example, I believe a Japanese artist may have felt it necessary to show all three characters to cover the interactions between the group as a whole. Of course Ed is the main character, and he is nearest and takes up most of the picture plane. But the feelings of Ling and Lanfan in this scene are also important, as the feelings of an individual in Japanese society often change to reflect the attitude of the group as a whole. An Asian audience would be more focused on interactions *between* characters and the emotional temperature of the group as a whole than on just the protagonist or just the character currently speaking. This is not an *inferior* method of composition for not following Western rules, but a different one following a different set of rules.

-T.L. 

Before I can begin with my main points, a brief background is probably necessary:

If you Google my surname, you’d likely learn that I am Vietnamese; what some of you may not know is that I grew up in the States and that Vietnamese is my first language. I am fluent in English and can speak, read, and write conversational Vietnamese and Japanese, and am quite knowledgeable of Eastern and Western cultural distinctions and social norms. I strongly identify with my Eastern cultural roots and with the Western society which I was born into and grew up in. In short, I am very familiar with both Western and Eastern aesthetics. 

Background aside, I believe very strongly in considering differences in Western and Eastern cultural, social, political, historical, and narrative functions: I understand that these distinctions are necessary, given how the latter emphasizes the individual while the latter emphasizes the communal. Representations and depictions of particular subjects differ, and these differences are important in understanding the cultural distinctions which respectively make up the Eastern and Western hemispheres of thought. 

However, visual presentations are not bound by respective Western or Eastern conventions – the subject and its respective depiction are, but the visual compositions are not. We naturally intake information visually, so there are some basic rules on framing anything that are humanly universal. 

“Women diving for abalone” by Sangi Takamura, 1840s. 

The 180º and Thirds rules are not exclusively Western or an invention of the 20th century – visual presentation is strictly human, and to claim that a depiction that does not understand such fundamentals is actually “following different rules” illogically disclaims the movement of the human eye and how we focus on and intake visual information and displays. 

“Reading in a Bamboo Groove” by Tenshō Shūbun, 1446 AD. 

Many classical Japanese art works employed the thirds rule by simple visual cue: the human eye naturally looks for a focal point in any given frame, and this rule is a very basic outline for artists and critics to create and assess any work. Chinese, Korean, and other famous Asian art also employ this visual cue. How these focal points are utilized and where the subjects are placed creates a distinct ocular movement, resulting in a composition with a distinct visual dynamic. 

National Noh Theatre of Japan. 

Film is a medium. It may have created by Westerners, but the medium has its true origins in theatre: the first films were heavily composed with theatre conventions. With this in mind, anyone will agree that film has never been Western based – both Eastern and Western cultures have their respective theatrical aesthetics, their productions limited by the stage; and of course, the first films drew much from their respective theatre origins. 

That said, film conventions also arise from human visual comprehension: numerous film movements, directors and cinematographers, through trial and error and technological development, established visual aesthetics that are universally appealing to the human eye. 

七人の侍、"Seven Samurai" by Akira Kurosawa, 1954. 

Considered the Golden Age of Asian cinema, the 1950s had a great many Asian directors who not only maintained their cultural narrative roots but beautifully executed visual compositions that stem directly from Eastern art history – in fact, Japanese cinema was a main inspiration for the New Hollywood movement in the 1960s and ‘70s. Akira Kurosawa, one of the greatest Japanese directors of all time, distinctly employed the Thirds and 180º rules in all his films. 

乱、"Ran" by Akira Kurosawa, 1985. 

Framing anything is not about “following” rules: it’s about understanding them – their origins, their intentions, their effects – and knowing when to use or break the rules for any desired effect. There is no “inferiority” on subject or intention; there is, however, a distinct effect as to how one visually frames the subject, and how such a framing creates an effect that does or does not reflect the original intention. Visual composition rules are human-based and do not reside exclusively to either Eastern or Western aesthetics: these fundamentals are universal for us humans. 

Original panel from Fullmetal Alchemist by Hiromu Arakawa that was depicted here in episode 15 of the anime adaptation. 

Running back to my example on Fullmetal Alchemist, perhaps the storyboard artist wanted to incorporate both Ling and Lanfan’s emotions while establishing Ed as the main focus. Assuming that this was originally intended, Ling and Lanfan’s respective emotions can be framed much, much better. With a rudimentary planar composition, their emotional state – as inferred solely from the stills – is non-distinguishable, basic at best. You can easily incorporate both Ling and Lanfan but frame them differently to infer their same emotional states with differing visual effects. For instance: 

A Dutch angle indicates something unusual/uncertain is occurring. There is a degree of control which is lost when the establishing horizon is tilted. 

In this scribble, the horizon (green) is skewed at an angle (the “dutch”, represented by the red arrowed-line). There is an unusual emotive effect since the horizon is not at its natural planar position. Note that Ed is still the focus even though Lanfan is in frame and in the foreground. Ling is still Mr. Happy-go-lucky while Lanfan is still Ms. Happy-go-knifing, as she is in the controlling foreground and Ling is in the less dominant background. 

A Fish-eye lens creates a claustrophobic effect, filling out the frame with rounded ends – almost like trying to fit a circle inside a square. There is both a discomfort for the subjects depicted and the viewing audience.

 

Here, the horizon is a curvature. The camera is directly focused on Ed, but since the frame is curved as dictated by the curved horizon, there is facial and body distortion in conforming with the odd effect/framing. Everyone seems stuffed into frame, so there is a further discomfort emphasized by the situation. With this curvature, Lanfan’s kunai looks even more pressed up against Ed’s throat, highlighting her utmost seriousness in getting information from him. Ling is still the least claustrophobic in frame, again emphasizing his lightheartedness despite the tense (and claustrophobic, in this framing case) situation. 

The above examples and other types of shots, angles, and framing styles can easily be employed to the same scene and have vastly different effects/inferences for the viewer. 

Lastly, anime is a 20th century artistic establishment, a result of the film and animation media taking off. Anime is a style of animation, which in turn stems from the development of cinematic techniques – in short, anime origins trace back to the human aesthetics of visual presentation applied to moving pictures. Anime has never been exempt from these fundamentals, and it never will be: claiming that it “follows a different set of rules” is again a fallacy and ignores the cinematic origins of the medium. Some of the best anime masterfully employ the 180º and Thirds rules (among other human visual establishments) in creating distinctly anime stylizations and aesthetics universally appealing. Examples include: 

Cowboy Bebop, 1998. 

Ghost in the Shell: Stand Alone Complex 2nd Gig, 2004. 

Akira, 1988. 

Grave of the Fireflies, 1988. 

Samurai Champloo, 2004. 

What is distinct to either Eastern or Western aesthetics is the social-cultural depiction of a subject, and the historical significance behind such a depiction. For example, on the subject of mythical beings Western narratives maintain absolutes of good and evil while Eastern narratives maintain the unabsolutes of such entities. Classic examples of such distinctions would be Walt Disney’s “Sleeping Beauty” and Hayao Miyazaki’s “Princess Mononoke." 

The evil Malificent and the good Fairies in Disney’s "Sleeping Beauty,” 1959 .

The magnificent and terrifying boar god Okkoto and wolf god Moro in Miyazaki’s “Princess Mononoke,” 1997. 

Both subjects involve mythical entities, yet their depiction vastly differ: Disney’s classic story beholds an absolutely evil Malificent and absolutely good fairy godmothers; conversely, Miyazaki’s story beholds fearsome forrest gods in their elemental supreme, extraordinary and terrifying at the same time. Excellent essays that further explain these distinctions have been written by the prolific Viet Le, who’s articles you can find by clicking here (on Miyazaki’s distinctly Eastern narrative) and here (on the differences between Western and Eastern mythology and theology).

Neither narrative depiction is wrong – the narrative structures simply reflect historical and social-cultural differences between the established Eastern and Western hemispheres of thought. Both do, however, employ the same visual composition rules that adhere to human eye movement. 

Love 'em, hate 'em – however you feel, understanding these rules about visual composition is key. Once you do, you can use or break them – your choice. Regardless of who the audience is, we’re all human, and we all like our eye candy and ocular diabetes.