Sunday, December 11, 2011

week 15 KOYAANISQATSI

Koyaanisqatsi is a film by Reggio Godfrey released in 1982. He began filming it in 1975. He didn't set out to make this film with a predetermined script but began to compile and edit the images he acquired as he went. A thesis and formal quality to the film emerged from a pile of footage - I think I found this knowledge a little bit comforting in that it justifies to a certain extent, my own approach to thinking about how to make a film. He created this film with the intention of provoking audiences by providing an experience for them rather than a story. This experience comes from looking at common, everyday images in a new light by enhancing them with editing and varying cadences. Godfrey illuminates how we have moved away from the four primal elements of nature - earth, air, water, fire - by focusing on human technology and how we not only use it but how we now live in it. Technology has replaced the natural elements. To make this comparison he focuses on life in the city and shows a lot of images of tall skyscrapers including a particularly dramatic sequence that shows the Pruitt Igoe housing development just prior to and during its demolition.


This particular clip of the film starts off a long sequence which is called 'The Grid.' It emphasizes the grid-like aesthetic of a city and how our own human interaction with it becomes automated.


Architecturally, I think this film is important because, as Godfrey discusses in the bonus features, he chose to move what is typically considered the foreground of film - characters, narrative, dialogue - to the back and what is typically considered the background of film - place, architecture, the city, climate, thesis - into the front, making that the main focus of the film. Space becomes personified. The terms he uses to discuss this idea - foreground and background - reveal a space-oriented conceptual framework for how he set up the movie.

I have been a big fan of Koyaanisqatsi ever since I first saw it in 2002 due to the power it has in presenting a thesis, which is partly due to Philip Glass's brilliant score. The style of this film has been a big influence on my perception of documentary film making,

Monday, November 28, 2011

week 14 MEDIA AND MCLUHAN'S 'REEL' WORLD



Marshall McLuhan, author of  Understanding Media: The Extensions of Man (1964) asserts that the content, or the products created by a certain medium, blind us from the character of that medium, or the over-arching by-product of the contents which is really the important part.  This is where the now famous phrase "the medium is the message" is derived from. The prime example of his concept involves electricity - electricity produces telephones, telegraphs, televisions, computers, etc - but the novelty of these amazing products blind us from the most important aspect - their ability to communicate. Certain successful companies such as Apple, Inc have fulling grasped McLuhan's concepts and have embarked on wildly successful ad campaigns which sell the message. They are not selling you extremely well-designed computers and entertainment devices, they are selling you a lifestyle and positive experiences. They utilize a "point of view" which encourages involvement with the basic notion of the medium.

McLuhan also talks about how the "paradox of mechanization is that although it is itself the cause of maximal growth and change, the principle of mechanization excludes the very possibility of growth or the understanding of change." Similarly, electricity and instant sequencing in which action and reaction occurs at almost the exact same time has arrived without the preconception of electricity's potential.  What comes next?  What is faster than instant sequencing? The most touted answer would probably have something to do with artificial intelligence and the concept of technological singularity. The Singularity Institute for Artificial Intelligence, Inc defines singularity as "the technological creation of smarter-than-human intelligence" and is based on the predilection that we are currently at unique point in time in which the human brain has reached its current computing capacity the simultaneous explosion of exponential technological computing capacity. This idea originates from science fiction writer Vernor Vinge and subsequent proponents of the concept are referred to as futurists. A couple of months ago, I was watching Colbert Nation and saw the futurist Ray Kurzweil interviewed on the show. He is the feature of a new documentary about him and the concept of technological singularity called Transcendental Man.



McLuhan's writing focuses specifically on media and film but there is a very palpable connection to architecture and that lies in the idea of architects as master builders - masters of systems, patterns, and over-arching themes.  The 2010 film Inception by Christopher Nolan makes use of this connection by making architects the designers of dream worlds that can be explored lucidly to extract secrets from other dreamers. (Aesthetically, they support the idea that these architects are the master builders of the future by surrounding themselves with everything-Frank Lloyd Wright. Yet interestingly, this exaggerated reference does not extend beyond private spaces - the actual cities of the future in Inception are nothing like Wright's Broadacre City.) A sub plot involving the main character Dom Cobb and his deceased wife Mal highlights the psychic and social consequences that may potentially arise within such complex technological systems, which McLuhan alludes to when he talks about how we live in the "Age of Anxiety" and the "century of the psychiatrist's couch." Singularity tells us that humans have not and possibly will not be able to make the next big jump of comprehension and we will need to rely on machines to continue growing information. Inception posits that architects can be the ones to transcend this barrier...or at least as master builders, they will be the ones to wield the machines.



Christopher Nolan - finally bringing back the long lost art of the dressed-in-white-action-ski-sequence.

Sunday, November 27, 2011

week 13 THE CITY IN FILM

The city as portrayed on film has one of the most important relationships to architecture. Specifically the city walk - a definitive aspect of neorealism - allows viewers to transcend the role of voyeur and become a voyageur, engaging the city in a psycho-geographic landscape, according to film historian Giuliana Bruno.  The physicality of architectural texture within the city engages us as voyageurs in an emotive sense. Bruno asserts that the city walk is "haptically driven" and that our "sensory spatiality of film...occurs through an engagement with touch and movement."  Filmic city walks are the idea of the flaneur incarnate.

L.A. Plays Itself (2003) is a fascinating 3 hour documentary made by film critic and professor Thom Andersen which discusses the role of the most photographed city in the world - Los Angeles -  as a hazy world "where the relation between representation and reality gets muddled."  He discusses over 200 films that were filmed in Los Angeles - some films actually being set in the city and many utilizing Los Angeles to portray another place.

Out of all those films, one movie that Andersen didn't mention, which I think is important, was Antoine Fuqua's Training Day (2001), a movie shot in Los Angeles which to me represents the quintessential perception of late-90's gang-riddled Los Angeles and the historic conflicts those gangs have had with the L.A.P.D. The most important aspect of the film is that the two main characters' "office" is in Alonzo Harris's souped up Monte Carlo - so we see sprawling Los Angeles and its integral suburbs from the seat of a car, exactly as everyone who lives there see's it. This is a "city walk" in a car through a city that is historically defined by car travel. The film travels from the empty, posh restaurants in downtown Los Angeles where corrupt lawmen meet to the excruciatingly poor, overcrowded neighborhoods such as the Imperials Courts housing project in Watts where resident gangs provide vigilante protection against intruders. The films strives to achieve a realistic depiction of gang violence and class struggle within Los Angeles but some of that realism is lost on the casting of supporting roles and bit parts with actual West Coast rappers and hip hop artists such as Dr. Dre, Snoop Dogg, and Macy Gray which are too recognizable.  However, this being L.A. - maybe recognizable celebrities in the cast are appropriate.


Andersen claims that he dislikes most movies that are based in Los Angeles because they lack the respect to acknowledge where it came from or what the real history is. To him, Los Angeles is "a series of villages that grew together. The villages became neighborhoods and their boundaries blurred, joined together by a mutual disdain for the city's historic center - maybe that's why the movies turn their backs on the their city of origin - they claim to come from Hollywood, not from Los Angeles."  This movie could be considered the exception to that sentiment, as the story, the imagery are most definitely from Los Angeles and not Hollywood. A great interview with Thom Andersen can be found here.

Tuesday, November 15, 2011

week 12 FILMS ABOUT ARCHITECTS

Nancy Levinson, in the chapter "Tall Buildings, Tall Tales: on Architects in the Movies" from her book Architecture and Film, discusses the portrayal of fictional American architects in film and illuminates how our perceptions of architects as people and of the profession itself have been shaped by the medium of film.  In this very enjoyable reading - I found particular lines to be exceedingly funny - Levinson analyzes a hodge-podge of films from the 1940s thru the late 1990s which include Mr. Blandings Builds His Dream House (1948), The Fountainhead (1949), Twelve Angry Men (1958), Strangers When We Meet (1960), Two for the Road (1966), The Towering Inferno (1974), Deathwish (1974), Hannah and Her Sisters (1987), The Belly of an Architect (1987), Three Men and a Baby (1987), Mystic Pizza (1988), Jungle Fever (1991), Housesitter (1992), Fearless (1993), Indecent Proposal (1993), Sleepless in Seattle (1993), Intersection (1994), The River Wild (1994), The Brady Bunch Movie (1995),  Losing Isaiah (1995), and One Fine Day (1996).  The resulting conclusions are that most of these films portray architects with an element of "silliness" in that the architects in the film do not reflect in their speech, their lifestyle, or their practice, that which most real architects would consider to be accurate.  Instead, these films present a dream reality which "capture the mystique of architecture, that heady mix of high-minded purpose and glamorous lifestyle, of the social weight of business and the romantic aura of art." (p 26)  They dwell on themes of the architect-as-messiah and the libidinous architect - the idea of the ego-driven architect who needs to constantly be producing their own creations.

As a contrast to the portrayal of fictional architects, we also watched a couple of documentaries that focus on real (albeit famous, and thus not the norm) architects. These films were My Architect: A Son's Journey (2003), Sketches of Frank Gehry (2005), and Citizen Architect (2010).

My Architect is the story of Louis Kahn's son, Nathaniel, and his search to discover the true nature of his father since Kahn died when Nathaniel was only eleven years old. Since all he has left of Kahn are the buildings he made, he embarks on this investigation with actually a very simple formula for making a film.  In a chronological order, he began to film his father's buildings while simultaneously collecting interviews from people who have been impacted by the buildings and/or have been impacted by relationships with Kahn personally.  The end result of this simple formula is a complex and fair portrayal of Kahn's life and the motives that drove him to be such a revered master within architecture. The other major result of the film is a beautiful picture of architecture itself. Kahn's buildings, with their stringent geometry and monolithic nature, are extremely photographic and Nathaniel eloquently captures their dynamic power with still shots, slow interior pans and time lapses which highlight the element of the timelessness that Kahn's buildings are so famous for. Vincent Scully (incidentally referenced in Levinson's book for his "exasperated" musings on the merits and influences of Ayn Rand's novel The Fountainhead during his participation in a 1992 discussion panel of distinguished architectural critics) was Nathaniel's Art History Professor at Yale and colleague of Kahn's.  He commented that Kahn, "from the very beginning he was after symmetry, order, geometric clarity, primitive power, enormous weight - as much as he could get...enduring monuments...materials that will last which is an enduring work in the world - that's what he's after." At the end of the film an architect, Doshi, who assisted Kahn on his final project in Bangladesh says that "if you go into silence, you will hear him."  I think the true gem of this film is that is that it shows how as a medium, film is particularly adept at producing a space of silence and focus in which viewers can realize an intangible, emotional relationship with the primitive power that architecture has.


Sketches of Frank Gehry was directed by Sydney Pollack a filmmaker and personal friend of Gehry's.  I actually love quite a few of Sydney Pollack's films - Out of Africa, The Firm, the remake of the Audrey Hepburn classic Sabrina, and Tootsie. As a narrative filmmaker, Pollack is very skillful at creating multi-dimensional and loveable characters.  Sketches - Pollack's one and only documentary - can be criticized for showing Gehry and by deduction, all architects in a fairly one-dimensional and disconnected context. Gehry's relationship to architecture is almost purely aesthetic and sculptural. We see him designing in a very whimsical and un-academic way that almost seems to over-simplify the job of architect.  Maybe documentaries are not Pollack's forte but I do however, enjoy certain aspects of the film. I always find it illuminating to gain better understanding of an architect's process. Gehry's process - whimsical and un-academic as it may be - is still very interesting as we see him producing ideas from artistic impulses. Also, Gehry's buildings are really loved by a great many people and the film does a good job of capturing the attraction people have to them. In contrast to how Kahn's very orthogonal masterpieces were shown in My Architect, Pollack shows Gehry's curvilinear work with abstract shots and more frenetic editing, maybe trying to capture the looseness of Gehry's process as well as trying to show the montage of experience that occurs when interacting with a Gehry building.

So far we have seen that both fictional movies about architects and documentaries about famous architects paint a pretty unrealistic and disconnected picture about how the profession actually functions and how it can serve the public.

Citizen Architect is the story of Samuel Mockbee's creation of the idea of Rural Studio at Auburn University and the lasting effect that idea has had even after Mockbee's death in 2001. I saw the film screened at the Museum of the Rockies with a Q & A session afterwards with the filmmaker Samuel Wainwright Douglas, Mockbee's daughter Sarah Ann who is deputy director at the Austin Film Society and was a producer on the film, and a member of the first Rural Studio, Ashley Sullivan who is now the partner at local firm in Bozeman. The great thing about this film was that it shows a side of architecture that historically has not had much public presence but is increasingly gaining steam, partly as an impact of Mockbee's work and of this film. Mockbee's idea of building structures for members of the public who desperately need them is an attempt to break the public disconnect that plagues the profession and establish a new perception of the role that architects can have in our society. Despite Mockbee's down- to-earth approach and successful connection with the public, this film still isn't an accurate representation of what everyday architects do since his strategy is so unique. It would be interesting to make a documentary that specifically shows what it is like to work as an average architect with the goal of demystifying the public perception and hopefully revealing the role of an architect within a community in a positive light.

Tuesday, November 8, 2011

week 11 BLADE RUNNER'S ARCHITECTURAL LEGACY

In reviewing Ridley Scott's Blade Runner (1982), a movie which I love and have seen many times, I found myself frustrated at not being able to see more in each scene.  I noticed that the tight camera shots purposely remove from view that which is above the characters heads and evade revealing too much detail - everything is obscured by an overabundance of light or darkness.  The pastiche, postmodern aesthetic within the film creates slightly blurry scenes in which the eye does not have a place to focus. What we're left with are impressions - almost like memories, yet they are memories of the future.



These observations support the idea put forth by my instructor David Fortin in the chapter on Blade Runner from his book "Architecture and Science-Fiction Film: Philip K. Dick and the Spectacle of Home" in which he asserts that the film's imagery is used to kill the notion of the home.  I think Scott's deliberately vague and dis-composed shots leave the audience unsettled due to its recognition of place yet rejection of that place's domesticity.

This type of filming technique is almost like the antithesis of Tarkovsky's slow pans and intent observation.  Tarkovsky's goal was to illuminate the sentiment of nostaglia for domestic life, for the home. What Scott does dwell on in great detail is the moment of Roy's death, perhaps as a juxtaposition to the composition he has employed throughout the rest of the film, and consequently humanizing him. This is one of the least unsettling shots of the film as the audience finally makes a connection to Roy's quest to find authentic inhabitation.

Tuesday, November 1, 2011

week 10 BEHIND THE SCREEN: ARCHITECTURE + SET DESIGN

In thinking about set designs which have become iconic in and of themselves and whose images remain with us today, one of the first designs I thought of was the war room from Stanley Kubrick's Dr. Strangelove or: How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Bomb.


What I love about the design of the war room is that it has both the power to inspire awe as well as set the stage for visual puns and hilarious interaction between the characters.  When I did a little investigating, I found a great story about the set designer for this film.  Ken Adam was a Jewish boy born as Klaus Adam in 1921 and grew up in Berlin alongside the Bauhaus movement.  When his family immigrated to England at the beginning of World War II,  he enrolled in the military and became a Typhoon pilot, conducting daring missions in what was very modern technology at the time.  When the war was over, he studied architecture at the Bartlett and eventually began producing the set designs on very high profile films including many from the James Bond empire such as Dr. No, Goldfinger, Thunderball, and Moonraker.  His early childhood Nazi (and Bauhaus) exposure, military experience with cutting edge defense technology, and architectural education at the Bartlett probably made Ken Adam the best possible person in the world to design the sets for this film, which is why they are still so relevant and fantastic almost 50 years later.  Much more information and photos of Ken Adam and his sets from Dr. Strangelove can be found here.

This week we also read a 1992 interview by Vincent Lobrutto from his book By Design: Interviews with Film Production  Designers" with the set designer Norman Garwood who has a notable body of work including Brazil, The Princess Bride, Glory, and Hook.  The key element I pulled out of this interview was the concept of letting the style evolve, letting it undergo the actual benefits of an extended creative process.  In Brazil, Garwood started out with some sketching but let the style evolve as the set crew collected props and clothing that Garwood would either approve or disapprove and hone their sensitibilities about what he was looking for. In the end the evolution of his orignal idea was much greater than what he started out.  But this only worked becuase his internal sense about what was correct for the film made him very definitive in what he wanted.  The set designer has to be a decisive leader in knowing the look that he wants.  Garwood said "I tend not to dither around. I tend to know what I want aqnd that's not being conceited.  It's best to always be institinctive when it gets into the question time about the size, the feel, the look, and you deal with it there and then." (Lobrutto, 212)  Understanding the balance of knowing exactly what you want but still allowing a certain amount of variables to guide the direction of your vision is an important balance to strive for.

Compared to the traditional practice of Architecture, designing sets for films can be considered a lesser form of the practice, in that it is it ulitizing architectural skills to produce space that will not be inhabited in a meaningful way.  But in many ways, at least in the few examples I am aware of, it seems that set designers actually have more freedom to explore true artistic instinct. Oftentimes in Architecture, the limits of your imagination are kept in check by the whims of your client.  The impermanence of film enables creativity to dominate the process.

Tuesday, October 25, 2011

week 9 MONTAGE AND ARCHITECTURE

With this week's reading of Sergei Eisenstein's essay "Montage and Architecture" and Giuliana Bruno's chapter "A Geography of the Moving Image" from her book Atlas of Emotion: Journeys in Art, Architecture and Film combined with Juhani Pallasmaa's essay on Andrei Tarkovky's film Nostalghia, I feel like we're really starting to get into the meat of where my interest in a film and architecture lies.

Eisenstein describes montage as "the path followed by the mind across a multiplicity of phenomena, far apart in time and space, gathering a certain sequence into a single meaningful concept."  The juxtaposition and combination of different shots merges together in our minds to form a singular idea.  In this clip we see an example of Eisenstein's use of intellectual montage in his film October, to alter our concept of a divine ruling class.



Why do our minds make these kinds of connections and what role does architecture play here?  Giulana Bruno examines passages in Eisenstein's essay in which he discusses the role of architectural interiors and she determines that the critical component in the montage path is that it reveals a pilgrimage of various sites that provide narrative linkage which has meaning due to to our own bodily inhabitation and connection to space, as described by Henri Lefebvre: "Space - my space - ...is first of all my body ...it is the shifting intersection between that which touches, penetrates, threatens or benefits my body on the one hand, and all the other bodies on the other."  Bruno asks the question, "Is this corporeal process, at work in the cinema, the nature of the architectural bond?"  She (and I) feel that yes, the critical component is the connection of "corpus and space" which links the narratives of life and becomes emotive - architecture in film becomes the "site of emotions."

This connection ties together a whole cast of thinkers and architects including Walter Benjamin and the concept of flaneur, Guy Debord's theory of the derive and his situationist maps and, among many others, Bernard Tschumi's use of narrative montage, or storyboarding to not only explain his projects but to design them - specifically in this case, Le Fresnoy National Studio for the Contemporary Arts.


The corporeal-space connection is where it all starts to come together for me - my interest in film and architecture as separate and combined entities can be attributed to this narrative map-making process.


This week's reading has given me an entirely new idea for making my own film which would require abandoning last week's previous writing on my film thesis which I intend to explore as a viable option.

Tuesday, October 18, 2011

week 8 FILM THESIS

“TO BUILD A HOME”

The film I am proposing is an allegory that is meant to illuminate our relationship with the natural environment, specifically water, and even more specifically, water in the west.  By using the built environment to represent both the notion of Progress in our culture as well as a natural, indigenous approach to living, I am showing how we as a society affect the land we live on and the natural resources we consume.

The central concept I am trying to underline is the idea of abandoning an old system once it can no longer be saved –sometimes it’s better to wipe the slate clean and start over.  In architecture school, we’re encouraged to keep drafting, keep making iterations, to do something than throw it away and start over – every new iteration can be an improvement from the last.  In the built environment our approach is the opposite – once a system is in place, we go to the greatest limit in order to keep that system in place, by fixing it, repairing it.  It is a system perpetually in motion, linear instead of in circular.  I am proposing to break the machine – the current system, and that the only way to feasibly do it, is violently through force.


The storyline occurs as such (without any dialogue): A man, who represents the individual man, small settlements or indigenous cultures (and our best intentions as part of mankind), is seen trekking across an uninhabited, de-saturated (possibly snowy) western American landscape. Establishing shots of this landscape will convey the complexity of systems within it.  He comes to a river which represents all water as well as the female counterpoint to The Man, nurturing his existence.  The Man looks at The River and falls in love with her.  He drinks from her, washes his hair and lies down beside her to sleep.  The Man is happy and The River still rushes on.  The River sends floating white rectangles down the water as a present to the man.  The Man pulls the rectangles out of the water and stacks them up.  Then he builds a box with the white rectangles.  This is his house, The Home.  The Home represents the comfort and desire to settle that is genetically intrinsic within all of us.  He looks at it and he is happy.  It is white because it is a pure gift from The River to be utilized only for the humblest of purposes, a simple shelter.  He sleeps between The Home and The River – his two loves.  A day passes signifying the passage of time.

In the morning The Man, drinking water between The Home and The River, hears a sound and stands up to get a better understanding.  There he sees two men on the western side of the River, whacking at the river bank, digging ditches perpendicular to the flow of the water.  The Men represent the whole of society, specifically Western Culture and the notion of Progress.   The Men don’t notice the Man as he watches quietly from the eastern side of The River.  Almost instantly we see two red boxes appear, The Houses.  We now see all the elements in spatial relation to one other from West to East, we see The Men, The House, The River, the Man, and The Home.  The River is the great separation between the two ways of living.  The Man on the east exists between The River and his house.  The Men place The Houses between them and The River.  The Men walk into (behind) The Houses and stay there, where we don’t see them again for quite a while.  The Man stares at the red boxes, not quite knowing what to make of them.  Another day passes, again signifying the passage of time.
The next morning The Man gets up to take a drink of water from The River like he does every morning.  As he bends down to The River he notices something strange across from him.  A few red balloons are bobbing in the water next to one of the red boxes – a little cluster of them.  They are a curiosity to him and he can’t stop staring.  After a while, more balloons start to appear in the River.  Most of them don’t move, they just sit there bobbing and sort of attaching to each other in clusters.   The clusters start to get bigger.  The Man is kind of delighted at the novelty of their beauty.  The balloons are representative of the changing effect that the Men (Society, Progress) have on the built environment.  It is a very visible difference but they really aren’t a nuisance and are actually kind of beautiful and interesting, much like the Hoover or Glen Canyon Dams which are also beautiful in their simplicity and their defiance of the force of gravity.  Another day has passed.

The following morning, The Man wakes up to see that there are so many red balloons in The River that they almost completely obscure the water.  He bends down to take a drink of water but his hands cannot touch the water any longer due to the balloon.  The Man is befuddled; he looks again at The River filled with red balloons.  He remembers it like it was and is suddenly filled with grief over his loss.  His grief turns to anger at The Houses.  He takes one of the shovels that was used to dig a ditch for The Houses and he raises it high over his head, bringing it smashing down on top of The House.  He smashes it again and again, building materials and snow flying, until it lies in a heap of rubble.  Dead.  He is symbolically killing the system of destruction which he started.  As he stands over his rubble pile, The Men appear once again, standing by their houses and finally noticing The Man.  For the first time, we see a close up of one of The Men.  He looks unnervingly familiar to The Man.  He has a moment of anagnorisis, realizing the impact he’s had on something else.
The Man walks away from The House, the same way he originally came from.  We don’t know where he’s going but we infer that he is either going back or starting over somewhere else.

The beginning half of the film will utilize static camera shots in which movement only occurs within the frame or coming into and out of the frame.  Once The Men are introduced, the camera will begin to utilize tilting and panning techniques to convey the idea that Men are concerned with progress.  But the panning and tilting will be very slow, emulating Andrei Tarkovsky’s slow pans and trying to create a sense of nostalgia.  I will also utilize split framing, or tri-framing techniques to show the process of something building quickly (since is only occurring over the course of a day in this film).  This would include the relationship between The Man and The River and the building of The House and The Houses.  I will probably use a little bit of animation, possibly to represent the red houses and the majority of red balloons when they fill up The River.  High angle shots will be used when the primary subject is The Man or The Home, especially when River is also in the frame, showing that they are a part of and dependent on their surroundings.  Low angle shots will be used when showing The Men and the Houses to show less of the land within the frame enforcing their lack of consideration and general ambivalence for the land.  Jump cuts and choppy editing along with slow motion and fast motion will be used in the scene when The Man destroys The Home to help convey the how emotional The Man is as he commits this act.  An example of the style I am trying to achieve in this scene is the opening Battle scene from Gladiator (2000).  As the battle wears on, it starts to snow, the color becomes less saturated and the movement becomes more frenzied.


I hope to be able to do the majority of my filming in the snow which will help to create a stark world of high contrast in which the effect of The Men is obvious and dramatic.  Most of the film will be partially de-saturated keeping the color scheme fairly monochromatic besides the red elements.  During the scene in which The Man destroys The Home, the film will become less de-saturated to show his participation in the world of The Men and the affect they’ve had on him.  The following clip from Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind (2004) is an example of a highly contrasted, de-saturated world in which the characters are shown in stark relation to their environment.

Besides portraying my thesis in the truest possible way, the goal of this film is to create a true world of cineplastics “in which film would transcend plot, and architecture would be more than static object,” as described by Mitchell Schwarzer in “Zoomscape: Archicture in Motion and Media.”  The role of the built environment in this film is to be both representative of ideas and also to create sensual connections to our psyches, to engender emotional reactions based on the places that architectural elements play in our everyday lives such as our homes, our places of work, our schools, our neighborhood grocery store, etc.  Juhani Pallasmaa describes Tarkovsky’s work as “evok[ing] an experience of pure existence, the metaphysical poetry of being” through imagery, light and time.  This is one of the reasons I decided to include actual actors within the film, to highlight the reciprocal relationship between humans and their built environment.