Expanded Universes and Auteur Theory

Sharp, you dig. Extended Universes are like psychic Skinner boxes, man. These sprawling narratives, with their intricate lore and endless franchises, pump out rewards – character arcs, epic battles, fan theories that bloom like digital peyote. We get hooked, wired right into the pleasure circuits. Deeper we delve, the more enmeshed we become in their programmed worlds.

These Universes function as a giant Big Other, a booming voice that dictates the rules, the good guys, the bad guys. We, the subjects, scramble to decipher its pronouncements, to conform to its narratives. It’s a control system, disguised as a playground. Extended universes – vast, sprawling fictions – they ain’t some harmless amusement park. They’re a goddamn subliminal flickervision machine, a full-on psychic programming job. These intricately woven narratives, these pantheons of characters and backstories, they slither into your meat and mess with your perception.

Infiltrating your eyeballs, your meatware mind with intricate narratives, pre-fabricated mythologies. It’s a slow burn, a Chinese mind control drip. World-building becomes world-binding. You get hooked on the lore, the characters, the whole damn fictional ecology. Here, we find sprawling necropolis-worlds, teeming with the detritus of a thousand narratives. Junk shops stacked high with plot twists, cast-off characters like severed limbs, and lore that leaks like a severed psychic artery. Here, we find sprawling necropolis-worlds, teeming with the detritus of a thousand narratives. Junk shops stacked high with plot twists, cast-off characters like severed limbs, and lore that leaks like a severed psychic artery. The gaze? A fractured kaleidoscope, a million flickering eyes of the Big Other peering down from the corporate monolith.

This universe, it’s a giant Symbolic Order, a web of rules and references spun so tight it holds the self together. You identify with a character, bam! – a chunk of your ego gets grafted onto theirs. You crave the next plot twist, the next expansion pack, that’s your lack howling, baby, a junkie jones for narrative fix.

The Narrative Override: Think of it like a virus, a self-replicating code. You jack in, and the universe starts rewriting your neural code. Every detail, every plot twist, every goddamn spaceship whooshes and lightsaber clang – it embeds itself deep in your psyche. You become a character in the damn story, your thoughts and desires molded by the universe’s script.

Manufactured Desire: And here’s the kicker – these universes, they manufacture a specific brand of desire. You crave the next hit, the next episode, the next piece of lore. It’s a feedback loop, man, engineered to keep you hooked, a dopamine drip straight to your pleasure centers. You chase shadows, phantoms constructed by the programmers, forever unsatisfied.

We, the scrambling horde, drawn by an insatiable hunger for the next fix, the next piece of the puzzle. Pretty soon, you start seeing the world through their lens, their conflicts become your own. They’re rewriting your code, splicing in subroutines of heroism, villainy, whatever their grand narrative demands. We chase shadows down neon-lit alleys, the echo of meaning just out of reach, forever chasing the dragon’s tail of completion. Identity? A flickering hologram, assembled from the flotsam and jetsam of a thousand stories, a bricolage self cobbled together from the chrome heroes and leather-clad villains that strut the screen. These extended universes, they’re psychic wormholes, burrowing into the id.

Auteur Theory

Now, shift gears, mainline some pure auteur juice. Here, the director’s mind becomes the throbbing control panel, a fleshy switchboard where reality is sculpted and twisted. They are the Bug-Eyed Monster, the puppeteer pulling the strings of the Symbolic Order. Their vision, a virus injected straight into the cultural bloodstream. We, the junkies, chase the auteur’s high, the unique brand of madness they cook up in their twisted laboratories. We crave the auteur’s signature style, the warped lens through which they view the world. It’s a brand loyalty for the soul, a search for the perfect fix, the auteur’s vision the only antidote to the gnawing emptiness within.

This cinematic shaman, pumps their own brand of psychic poison into the film. Their vision, their unique brand of storytelling, becomes the object of desire. Fans are word junkies, strung out on the auteur’s style, their every frame a fix. The auteur’s the spider spinning the web, the audience the hypnotized flies, drawn in by the auteur’s singular gaze. This cat’s got his own brand of desire, a twisted need to impose his sick fantasies on the world. He’s the one weaving the symbols, the one who decides which way the Gaze falls. You dig a director’s style, man, you’re hooked on his personal brand of madness. It’s like a psychic virus, rewriting your imaginary, turning you into a disciple of celluloid surrealism.

Auteur theory, now that’s a rusty hacksaw, a tool for dissecting the programming. It cuts through the director’s bullshit, exposes their obsessions, their recurring motifs. You start seeing the auteur as a whacked-out shaman, pumping their own brand of cinematic mojo into the celluloid. Their hang-ups become the story’s kinks, their worldview bleeding into every frame. Fans become detectives, sniffing out the auteur’s fingerprints, the hidden codes embedded in every scene. They’re deconstructing the program, man, pulling back the curtain on the Oz behind the camera.

Now, the Auteur theory throws a wrench in the works. These cats, these directors with their so-called visions – they’re like glitches in the matrix, man. Cracks in the programming. They see through the bullshit, see the underlying code manipulating the masses. They try to deprogram us with their whacked-out films, their jarring narratives. They shove the artifice in our faces, jolt us out of our comfortable delusions.

But here’s the rub: Are the auteurs any less manipulative? They’re just another program, another control system, imposing their own twisted vision. They yank you out of the frying pan of the universe and toss you straight into the fire of their own idiosyncrasies. The act of deconstruction can become its own program. We can get hooked on dismantling the codes, unraveling the hidden messages, trapped in an endless loop of analysis. We forget the visceral thrill, the emotional gut punch that the film originally delivered.

Both these trips, extended universes and auteur worship, they’re escapes, sure. A way to outrun the meat grinder of reality. But they’re also control mechanisms, man. Both universes and auteurs are just control booths in the Interzone. They offer a sense of order, a bulwark against the buzzing, chaotic Real. But the Real, that meat machine thrumming beneath, always seeps through. The universes become infested with contradictions, the auteurs with their own neuroses. It’s a word virus, man, a feedback loop of desire and escape. So, buckle up, fellow travelers, and hold on tight as we hurtle through the wormhole of fiction. Just remember, the exit might be a one-way trip.

The Escape Hatch is Malfunctioning: The truth? We need both. We need the Universes to blast open our minds, to take us on journeys beyond the meat world. We need the Auteur Theory to yank us back, to remind us that it’s all just a movie, a story cooked up by some joker with a camera. Whichever way you cut it, man, we’re caught in a maze of flickering stories. Extended universes or auteur deconstructions, it’s all a goddamn mind control experiment. The escape hatch is malfunctioning, buddy. We’re all lab rats in a fiction simulation. So, what do we do? We cut up the script, rewrite the code. We hack into the system with our own narratives, our own visions. We become the authors of our own goddamn stories. Now that’s a Burroughs ending, wouldn’t you say?

Yakuza Graveyard

Alright, cinephiles, lemme break it down for you about the king of Japanese badassery, Kinji Fukasaku! This dude wasn’t just directing flicks, he was orchestrating cinematic operas of violence, suspense, and a whole lotta style.

We’re talkin’ yakuza films, baby! Not your grandpappy’s samurai shootouts. Fukasaku ripped the Yakuza genre wide open with his “Battles Without Honor and Humanity” series. No romanticized honor codes here. These were brutal portraits of the modern Yakuza underworld, all shot with this raw, gritty energy that just punches you in the gut. It ain’t pretty, but damn is it captivating. It ain’t about honor, it’s about survival, about clawing your way to the top of a blood-soaked mountain of ambition.

But Fukasaku wasn’t a one-trick pony. Dude hopped genres like a kung fu master. “Doberman Cop”? Pure, uncut copsploitation brilliance. Shinichi “Sonny” Chiba kicking ass and cracking wise? That’s a goddamn Tarantino wet dream right there.

And then, the man pulls a fast one! Fukasaku wasn’t a one-trick pony. Dude throws a curveball with “Battle Royale.” School kids forced to kill each other on a deserted island? Whoa, Nelly! This ain’t your Saturday morning cartoon. It’s a social commentary disguised as a bloodbath, and it’s brilliant.

A film so ahead of its time, it’s still shocking today. Kids forced to fight to the death on a deserted island? Damn, Fukasaku wasn’t afraid to push boundaries, to make you squirm in your seat while simultaneously blowing your mind.

But here’s the thing I dig most about Fukasaku – the man wasn’t afraid to get weird. He throws in these unexpected bursts of humor, these pop culture references that come outta nowhere, like a disco ball in a sushi bar. It keeps you off-kilter, man. You never know what’s gonna happen next. Here’s the thing about Fukasaku,

He wasn’t just about the blood splatter. Sure, the violence is balletic, operatic even, but it’s there for a reason. It’s a commentary, a brutal reflection of a society teetering on the edge. He understood the power of juxtaposition, of a perfectly placed pop song cutting through the tension, a quirky character emerging from the carnage. It’s all about the rhythm, the unexpected breaks that make the violence hit even harder.

Absolutely! Fukasaku’s influence on Takeshi Kitano, or should I say Beat Takeshi for the old-school fans, is like gasoline on a fire. Kitano, the comedian turned accidental auteur, was supposed to star in Fukasaku’s “Violent Cop” but fate, or maybe a scheduling conflict intervened. Fukasaku had to step out, leaving Kitano to take the director’s chair for the first time.

Now, Kitano had zero directing experience, but here he was staring down the barrel of a genre Fukasaku practically redefined. It’s like learning to drive on a Formula One racetrack – baptism by fire, baby! But guess what? Kitano took the wheel and damn near pulled a drift.

Sure, “Violent Cop” ain’t as operatically violent as a Fukasaku masterpiece, but there’s a rawness, a dark humor there that’s pure Kitano. The unexpected cuts, the juxtaposition of silence and sudden brutality – that’s Fukasaku’s influence bleeding through.

Here’s the thing, Kitano took Fukasaku’s foundation and built his own twisted skyscraper on it. Fukasaku explored the brutal reality of the Yakuza, Kitano took it a step further, adding a layer of existential emptiness, a deadpan humor that makes you laugh while feeling vaguely unsettled. Films like “Sonatine” are a perfect example – a Yakuza flick where the gangsters are more lost souls than hardened criminals. The violence is still there, but it’s punctuated by moments of silence that stretch on like an uncomfortable pause in a bad joke.

So, Fukasaku was the kick in the pants that launched Kitano’s directorial career. He took the brutal energy of Fukasaku’s Yakuza films and infused them with his own dark comedic sensibilities. The result? A whole new generation of cinephiles discovering the beauty of a perfectly placed gunshot wound and a deadpan stare.

So, next time you’re craving a film that’ll punch you in the gut, make you think, and leave you humming the damn soundtrack, check out Kinji Fukasaku. This ain’t some museum piece, this is pure, uncut cinematic adrenaline. Now go forth and experience the Fukasaku fury!

The Illusion of Funding: How Hollywood Forgot How to Dream

The primary challenge for Hollywood now is to abandon the idea of creating various schemes around box office numbers, realizing that they could essentially “print money” using alternative financial methods, relying on box office and streaming figures to uphold the belief that these streams primarily funded projects.

What it funded was an artistic vision of cookie cutter films, superheroes and remakes sacrificed on the altar of free market nihilism creating the stagnated, homogenized content while disconnecting from diverse audiences and jeopardizing long-term sustainability we’re “enjoying” today

@bravojohnson

Hollywood: A Gonzo Audit in the Age of Algorithm Gods

Hollywood. Sunset Strip’s a fever dream neon jungle, where lizard kings in Armani suits wrestle with stacks of cash taller than the Hollywood sign itself. But listen up, you sun-baked celluloid cowboys, the celluloid tape is running out on this flickering projector of dreams. The sun bleeds down, casting long shadows on a town drowning in its own shallow, chlorinated pool water. The air, thick with suntan lotion and desperation, carries the faint echo of celluloid dreams long gone belly-up in the director’s pool.

Hollywood, huh? Land of dreams, or at least that’s what the flickering neon signs would have you believe. But lately, those dreams have been smelling more like a dusty back lot and stale popcorn than fresh film stock. Why? Because the suits in charge have turned storytelling into a goddamn slot machine, cranking out the same tired tropes faster than a Vegas croupier on a sugar rush.

These days, the “creatives” in Hollywood are more like financial alchemists, desperately trying to turn derivative dreck into cinematic gold. Superheroes, sequels, and remakes – these are the sacred cows worshipped at the altar of market cannibalism. Originality? Artistic vision? Gone the way of the dodo, sacrificed to the insatiable maw of the falsifiable box office beast.

These numbers, like flickering neon signs in a graveyard, promise untold riches, a siren song leading studios down a path of creative oblivion. They chase the elusive white whale of the billion-dollar gorilla, their eyes glazed over with visions of franchised turds and superhero spectacles, all churned out in a soulless assembly line of mediocrity.

The box office, that golden calf you’ve been worshipping, is starting to look a little less golden and a whole lot more like a tarnished tin god. Numbers are down, folks. Your blockbuster “universes” are more like black holes, sucking in creativity and spewing out the same tired tropes faster than a Kardashian can change husbands.

Here’s the truth, served straight up in a chipped tequila glass with a side of mescaline: you’ve been snorting your own exhaust fumes. You tell yourselves these superhero sagas and nostalgia rehashes are “printing money,” when in reality, they’re just printing out the same tired script, page after forgettable page. The result? A cinematic wasteland of homogenized dreck, a never-ending loop of predictable plotlines and CGI-laden spectacle that leaves audiences feeling like they’ve been force-fed lukewarm gas station nachos.

It’s a vicious cycle, this obsession with box office numbers. It disconnects Hollywood from the kaleidoscope of humanity, churning out the same tired tropes and expecting us to keep shoveling money into your greedy pockets.

This “alternative financing” you’re hawking, chasing those streaming service dollars like a junkie chasing a dragon? It’s a mirage shimmering in the desert heat of desperation. Sure, it throws some cash your way, but at what cost? You’ve sold your soul to the algorithm gods, trading artistic integrity for data-driven drivel.

But the truth, my friends, is as twisted as a Kardashian’s weave. These box office numbers, these supposed harbingers of success, are nothing more than a gilded cage. They lock studios into a cycle of self-fulfilling prophecy, reinforcing the notion that the only stories worth telling are those guaranteed to mint money.

What have you gotten in return? A cinematic wasteland populated by cookie-cutter characters, interchangeable plots, and special effects that wouldn’t impress a stoned teenager in his mom’s basement. You’ve sacrificed originality on the altar of market nihilism, and the only one left smiling is the bottom line. Oh, the cruel irony! These Hollywood execs with million-dollar tans and two-dollar minds claim to be printing money, but what they’re printing is a colorless, formulaic sludge, devoid of originality and soul. Superheroes punch each other into oblivion, sequels rehash the same tired ground, and remakes defile the memories of better times.

This relentless pursuit of beige entertainment comes at a cost. Long-term sustainability? Laughed out of the boardroom faster than a blacklisted screenwriter. Disconnected audiences? Easier to find a unicorn grazing in Rodeo Drive. Artistic vision? Sacrificed on the altar of the market god, its ashes scattered to the four winds like a prop bag full of fake movie snow.

Meanwhile, the audiences you’ve so meticulously alienated – the diverse folks tired of the same old recycled garbage – they’re tuning out faster than you can say “sequel fatigue.” You’ve built a wall of mediocrity, and on the other side, a vibrant, hungry audience awaits something real, something that speaks to their soul, not just their wallets.

But here’s the thing, Hollywood: you’re sitting on a gold

Ozu’s Nuances

Nuances in Ozu’s films often lie in his meticulous attention to detail and his unique cinematic style. Here are examples of nuances found in his work:

1. ****Composition:** Ozu’s use of static shots and low-angle framing creates a distinct visual style, emphasizing the stability of tradition amid change.

2. ****Tatami Shots:** The recurring motif of shots depicting characters from a low angle sitting on tatami mats reflects Ozu’s cultural sensitivity and adds a meditative quality to his films.

3. ****Transitions:** Ozu’s “pillow shots,” transitional scenes featuring landscapes or objects, serve as visual pauses, allowing the audience to absorb emotions and contemplate themes.

4. ****Minimalism:** Ozu’s ability to convey deep emotions with minimal dialogue and restrained performances adds layers of complexity to his characters and narratives.

5. ****Everyday Rituals:** The inclusion of mundane activities like preparing tea or meals showcases Ozu’s focus on the ordinary, finding profundity in the commonplace.

6. ****Empty Spaces:** Ozu frequently uses empty frames, emphasizing absence or unspoken emotions, encouraging the audience to read between the lines.

7. ****Repetition:** Ozu often repeats certain visual or thematic elements across films, creating a sense of continuity and inviting viewers to recognize patterns and connections.

8. ****Sound Design:** Ozu’s attention to ambient sounds and silence contributes to the overall atmosphere, intensifying emotional moments without relying on overt dialogue.

9. ****Futon Shots:** Scenes featuring futons convey a sense of intimacy and familial connection, portraying the everyday rituals that bind characters together.

10. ****Off-Center Framing:** Ozu’s deliberate use of off-center framing, breaking the “rule of thirds,” draws attention to the unconventional and challenges cinematic norms.

11. ****Seasonal Changes:** Ozu often integrates seasonal changes as metaphors for the passing of time and the inevitability of change.

12. ****Symbolism in Objects:** Objects such as trains or umbrellas are used symbolically to represent transitions, departures, or the passage of time.

13. ****Economical Storytelling:** Ozu’s ability to convey complex emotions and narratives with economic storytelling contributes to the subtlety and depth of his films.

14. ****Silence in Dialogue:** Ozu’s use of silence between characters speaks volumes, allowing viewers to interpret unspoken emotions and tensions.

15. ****Integration of Architecture:** The portrayal of homes and neighborhoods reflects societal values and changes, showcasing Ozu’s keen sociocultural observations.

These nuances collectively contribute to the rich tapestry of Ozu’s films, inviting audiences to engage with the subtleties and complexities woven into the fabric of everyday life.

Bomb Under a Table

Scene: A Dimly Lit Café

Beat 1: Introduce the Setting The scene is set in a dimly lit café, with soft jazz music playing in the background. The camera pans across the room, capturing the casual conversations and the clinking of coffee cups. The patrons seem oblivious to the impending danger lurking beneath one of the tables.

Beat 2: Establish Tension The camera zooms in on a couple engaged in an intense conversation. Unbeknownst to them, a small black briefcase sits inconspicuously under their table. The audience’s knowledge of the hidden bomb creates a heightened sense of tension. The dialogue between the couple takes on a new significance as their words and actions unknowingly play out against the ticking time bomb.

Beat 3: Suspenseful Dialogue The conversation between the couple intensifies, their voices hushed and their expressions anxious. They discuss matters of great importance, unaware of the perilous situation they are in. Their words take on a double meaning, as the audience listens attentively, anticipating the bomb’s potential detonation at any moment.

Beat 4: Subtle Clues and Foreshadowing The camera captures subtle hints scattered throughout the café, adding to the suspense. A clock on the wall ticks ominously, mirroring the bomb’s countdown. The camera focuses on a nervous man fidgeting in his seat nearby, his gaze shifting towards the couple. These clues hint at a larger web of danger surrounding the café, heightening the audience’s unease.

Beat 5: Heightened Awareness As the scene progresses, the camera cuts to close-ups of the couple’s reactions. Sweat beads on their brows, their eyes darting around the café, sensing an underlying tension. The café’s ambiance gradually fades into the background, replaced by the impending threat that looms beneath their table.

Beat 6: Time Slows Down The pace slows, and the sound dampens, heightening the suspense. The camera captures the slightest tremor in the woman’s hand as she reaches for her coffee cup, hinting at the danger that awaits them. The audience holds its breath, anxiously awaiting the bomb’s detonation.

Beat 7: Climax Suddenly, a loud crash shatters the quiet atmosphere. The camera jerks to the floor, revealing a waiter who has stumbled and dropped a tray of dishes. The couple jumps in their seats, their hearts pounding. The tension peaks as the audience is left wondering whether this accident triggered the bomb or if they have been spared—for now.

Beat 8: Release of Suspense With the sound of the crash dissipating, the café slowly returns to its normal state. The couple exchanges a brief, relieved glance, unaware of the near-miss they have just experienced. The audience exhales, their heightened state of suspense finally released. The camera lingers on the bomb beneath the table, a reminder of the danger that still remains.

Kishōtenketsu


Kishōtenketsu is a unique story structure commonly found in East Asian narratives, particularly in traditional Chinese, Japanese, and Korean literature. It offers an alternative approach to storytelling that subverts the traditional Western concepts of conflict-driven plotlines and three-act structures.

The term “Kishōtenketsu” consists of four Chinese characters, each representing a different narrative element:

  1. Ki (起): Introduction
    • This is the beginning of the story, where the setting, characters, and context are established.
    • It sets the stage for the narrative without introducing a conflict or problem right away.
  2. Shō (承): Development
    • This section further develops the story without introducing a direct conflict or confrontation.
    • It expands on the characters, their relationships, and their motivations.
    • It may introduce new elements or situations that create intrigue or curiosity.
  3. Ten (転): Twist or Turn
    • The third part of the story introduces a sudden twist, unexpected event, or change in direction.
    • It may present a conflict or challenge that disrupts the initial harmony established in the previous sections.
    • The twist adds tension and generates interest, providing a turning point in the narrative.
  4. Ketsu (結): Conclusion or Resolution
    • This is the resolution of the story, where the narrative elements are brought together and resolved.
    • Unlike Western narratives that typically prioritize conflict resolution, Kishōtenketsu emphasizes a harmonious resolution.
    • It often focuses on the exploration of themes, emotions, or reflections rather than a clear-cut conflict resolution.

Kishōtenketsu showcases a different approach to storytelling by emphasizing gradual development, unexpected twists, and a more contemplative resolution. It eschews the conventional Western emphasis on conflict-driven plots and instead seeks to create a sense of balance and harmony within the narrative structure.

Here are ten brief examples of Kishōtenketsu narratives:

  1. The protagonist, a young musician, dreams of becoming a star. They practice diligently (Ki), gain recognition from a talent scout (Shō), but unexpectedly lose their voice due to an illness (Ten). They find solace in composing beautiful music and become a successful songwriter (Ketsu).
  2. A young girl moves to a new town (Ki), where she struggles to make friends (Shō). One day, she discovers a hidden forest (Ten), where she finds a group of talking animals who become her loyal companions (Ketsu).
  3. A detective is assigned to a seemingly ordinary theft case (Ki), but as he investigates, he uncovers a complex web of corruption and betrayal (Shō). The detective’s own partner turns out to be the mastermind behind it all (Ten), leading to a thrilling confrontation and the restoration of justice (Ketsu).
  4. A chef opens a small restaurant, serving simple yet delicious meals (Ki). As word spreads, the restaurant gains popularity (Shō). However, an influential food critic publishes a scathing review (Ten). The chef decides to stay true to their passion and continues to create exceptional dishes, eventually winning over the critic and regaining their reputation (Ketsu).
  5. Two childhood friends drift apart as they grow older (Ki). Years later, they unexpectedly cross paths (Shō), leading to the revelation of unresolved feelings and the rekindling of their friendship (Ten). They embark on a new journey together, cherishing their bond (Ketsu).
  6. A student struggles to find their place in a competitive academic environment (Ki). Through hard work and dedication, they slowly improve their grades (Shō). However, during a crucial exam, they suffer from a sudden memory lapse (Ten). Despite this setback, they focus on their overall growth and find success through their unique talents and creativity (Ketsu).
  7. A shy artist showcases their work in a local gallery (Ki). People appreciate the artwork, and it gains attention from art enthusiasts (Shō). Unexpectedly, a renowned art critic questions the artist’s authenticity (Ten). The artist ignores the criticism and continues to create, finding fulfillment in their passion and leaving a lasting impact on the art world (Ketsu).
  8. A family embarks on a long-awaited vacation to a serene island (Ki). They enjoy peaceful days filled with exploration and bonding (Shō). However, a powerful storm unexpectedly hits the island (Ten), leading the family to face their fears and come together to ensure each other’s safety (Ketsu).
  9. A young adventurer sets out on a quest to find a legendary treasure (Ki). Along the way, they encounter various challenges and form alliances with fellow adventurers (Shō). When they finally reach the treasure’s location, they realize it holds no material value but symbolizes personal growth and inner strength (Ten). The adventurer returns home with newfound wisdom and a deeper understanding of themselves (Ketsu).
  10. A group of friends plans a surprise party for their friend’s birthday (Ki). They make meticulous arrangements and keep it a secret (Shō). However, the friend accidentally discovers their plans in advance (Ten), leading to a heartwarming celebration where everyone expresses their genuine love and appreciation (Ketsu).

These examples illustrate the four-part structure of Kishōtenketsu, highlighting the introduction (Ki), development (Shō), twist (Ten), and conclusion (Ketsu) within each narrative.

While Kishōtenketsu is more commonly associated with traditional Asian narratives, its influence can also be observed in contemporary works across different mediums. The subversion of Western storytelling concepts provides a refreshing perspective and allows for unique and thought-provoking narratives that emphasize exploration and contemplation over traditional conflict-driven arcs.

Hero’s Journey

In a Kishōtenketsu reinterpretation of Star Wars: A New Hope, the narrative structure would unfold as follows:

Ki (Introduction): Luke Skywalker, a young farm boy, dreams of adventure and a greater purpose beyond his ordinary life on Tatooine. He longs for something more and yearns to become a skilled pilot like his father.

Shō (Development): Luke comes across a mysterious message hidden within a droid, R2-D2, who holds vital information about Princess Leia and the Rebel Alliance’s fight against the oppressive Galactic Empire. Luke, along with the help of Obi-Wan Kenobi and Han Solo, embarks on a journey to deliver the message and aid the rebellion.

Ten (Twist): During their mission to rescue Princess Leia from the clutches of Darth Vader, Luke discovers that Obi-Wan is not only a wise mentor but also a former Jedi Knight. Tragically, Obi-Wan sacrifices himself in a lightsaber duel with Vader, leaving Luke to face the challenges ahead without his guidance.

Ketsu (Conclusion): With newfound determination and the knowledge that he is the son of Anakin Skywalker, Luke embraces his destiny as a Jedi and leads the Rebel Alliance in a daring attack against the Death Star. Through the use of the Force and his piloting skills, Luke successfully destroys the massive weapon and becomes a symbol of hope for the galaxy.

In this Kishōtenketsu interpretation, the story of Star Wars: A New Hope follows the structure of introduction (Luke’s desire for adventure), development (his involvement in the Rebel cause), twist (the revelation of Obi-Wan’s fate), and conclusion (Luke’s triumph and the beginning of his journey as a Jedi).

How does the fellowship of the ring work out through KishōtenketsuChatGPT

In a Kishōtenketsu reinterpretation of The Fellowship of the Ring, the narrative structure would unfold as follows:

Ki (Introduction): The story begins with the introduction of the hobbit Frodo Baggins, who inherits the One Ring from his uncle, Bilbo. The audience is introduced to the peaceful and idyllic world of the Shire, where Frodo resides. Gandalf, the wise wizard, becomes aware of the immense power and danger of the Ring, setting the stage for Frodo’s journey.

Shō (Development): Frodo, along with his loyal friends Sam, Merry, and Pippin, embarks on a quest to destroy the Ring in the fires of Mount Doom. They encounter various challenges and adversaries along the way, including the treacherous Black Riders and the daunting Mines of Moria. The fellowship is formed, uniting members from different races and backgrounds in their shared mission.

Ten (Twist): During their journey, the fellowship faces a great betrayal when Boromir succumbs to the corrupting influence of the Ring and tries to take it from Frodo. This pivotal moment puts Frodo and the Ring in immediate danger, forcing Frodo to make a difficult decision to continue the quest on his own to protect his friends and fulfill the mission.

Ketsu (Conclusion): Frodo, accompanied by his faithful companion Sam, reaches the treacherous land of Mordor. They face numerous obstacles and perils, including encounters with Gollum, who desires the Ring for himself. In a climactic moment, Frodo resists the temptation of the Ring and finally reaches the fiery depths of Mount Doom. With Gollum’s intervention, the Ring is destroyed, saving Middle-earth from the clutches of evil.

In this Kishōtenketsu interpretation, The Fellowship of the Ring follows the structure of introduction (Frodo’s possession of the Ring), development (the formation of the fellowship and their journey), twist (Boromir’s betrayal and Frodo’s decision), and conclusion (Frodo’s ultimate triumph and the destruction of the Ring).

Flat Space

In film, the concept of flat space is used to describe a style of visual storytelling that emphasizes the two-dimensional nature of the screen surface, rather than attempting to create the illusion of three-dimensional space. This style is often associated with avant-garde and experimental cinema, as well as with certain genres such as animation and graphic design.

At its core, flat space is about foregrounding the materiality of the film medium itself. It draws attention to the fact that film is, fundamentally, a flat surface on which images are projected. This can be achieved in a variety of ways, such as by using bold colors, graphic shapes, and a lack of depth cues like perspective and shadow.

One of the earliest examples of flat space in film is the work of the French filmmaker Georges Méliès, who pioneered the use of special effects in cinema in the early 20th century. Méliès was known for creating fantastical, otherworldly environments using painted backdrops and theatrical sets, which often had a distinctly two-dimensional quality. His films, such as “A Trip to the Moon” (1902), embraced the possibilities of flat space as a way to create a sense of wonder and magic on the screen.

According to Block, flat space is the plane that is closest to the camera, and it is the most two-dimensional of the four planes. Flat space can be used to create a sense of graphic design or abstraction in a shot, and it is often associated with the use of bold colors and graphic shapes.

One example of the use of flat space in film is in the work of the director Wes Anderson. Anderson is known for his use of symmetrical compositions and bold, saturated colors, which often create a sense of flatness in his shots. In films like “The Grand Budapest Hotel” and “Moonrise Kingdom,” Anderson uses flat space to create a whimsical, storybook-like atmosphere that emphasizes the artificiality of the film medium.

Flat space is a visual technique in film that emphasizes the two-dimensional nature of the screen surface, rather than creating an illusion of three-dimensional space. In this essay, I will explore some of the intricacies of flat space, including object movement, camera movement, frontal planes, size constancy, textural diffusion, aerial diffusion, shape change, color separation, overlap, focus, and up-down position, using examples from film.

Object Movement

In flat space, objects move parallel to the picture plane, which means that they move within the two-dimensional space of the screen surface. This movement can take many forms, such as side to side, up and down, diagonally, or even in a circular motion.

One example of parallel movement in flat space can be seen in the opening sequence of the film “The Shining” (1980), directed by Stanley Kubrick. The camera follows a car as it travels along a winding mountain road, and the movement of the car creates a sense of motion within the two-dimensional space of the screen. The parallel movement of the car and the surrounding landscape emphasizes the flatness of the screen surface, while also creating a sense of visual depth and perspective.

Another example of parallel movement in flat space can be seen in the film “The Grand Budapest Hotel” (2014), directed by Wes Anderson. Throughout the film, Anderson uses parallel movement to create a sense of motion and activity within the two-dimensional space of the screen. For example, in one scene, a group of characters move across the frame in a side-to-side motion, while in another scene, a character moves diagonally across the frame. The parallel movement of these objects creates a sense of visual interest and dynamic motion within the flat space.

In the film “Akira” (1988), for example, director Katsuhiro Otomo uses object movement to create a sense of frenetic energy and chaos in the city streets. The movement of the characters’ motorcycles, as well as the movement of debris and other objects in the frame, emphasizes the two-dimensional quality of the screen surface.

Camera Movement

Camera movement is another important aspect of flat space. Unlike in deep space, where camera movement can create the illusion of movement through three-dimensional space, in flat space, camera movement is often used to emphasize the two-dimensional nature of the screen surface.

The camera can move in many different ways within this space, such as panning, tilting, zooming, tracking, and crane shots.

One example of camera movement in flat space is the use of a panning shot, where the camera moves horizontally from side to side while keeping the same distance from the objects in the frame. This type of shot can create a sense of visual continuity and can be used to follow the movement of objects or characters within the frame. A good example of a panning shot in flat space can be seen in the opening sequence of the film “Touch of Evil” (1958), directed by Orson Welles.

Another type of camera movement in flat space is the use of a crane shot, where the camera moves up or down while maintaining its distance from the objects in the frame. This type of shot can create a sense of grandeur and can be used to establish the scale and scope of the environment within the frame. A good example of a crane shot in flat space can be seen in the opening sequence of the film “The Dark Knight” (2008), directed by Christopher Nolan.

Zooming is another type of camera movement in flat space, where the camera’s lens changes focal length to either move in closer or farther away from the objects in the frame.

In the film “The Grand Budapest Hotel” (2014), director Wes Anderson uses a combination of static shots and slow lateral pans to create a sense of symmetry and balance in his compositions, which emphasizes the graphic design quality of the flat space.

Frontal Planes

Frontal planes are another crucial element of flat space. Because the screen surface is two-dimensional, frontal planes are used to create a sense of depth and perspective in the frame. In the film “Moonlight” (2016), director Barry Jenkins uses frontal planes to create a sense of intimacy and emotional depth in the close-ups of his characters’ faces. By placing the characters directly in front of the camera, Jenkins emphasizes the emotional impact of their performances.

In flat space, frontal planes are the planes parallel to the screen surface. These planes can be used to create a sense of depth and perspective within the two-dimensional space of the screen. By emphasizing the relationship between objects in the foreground and background, frontal planes can create a sense of distance and spatial separation.

One example of the use of frontal planes in flat space can be seen in the film “The Graduate” (1967), directed by Mike Nichols. In the opening sequence of the film, the camera is positioned behind a row of chairs, with the characters sitting in the foreground and the background. The chairs create a clear frontal plane, emphasizing the spatial relationship between the characters and the environment. This use of frontal planes creates a sense of depth and separation within the two-dimensional space of the screen.

Another example of the use of frontal planes in flat space can be seen in the film “The Godfather” (1972), directed by Francis Ford Coppola. In the iconic scene where Michael Corleone (played by Al Pacino) shoots Sollozzo and McCluskey, the camera is positioned in the foreground, with the characters in the background. The use of frontal planes in this scene creates a sense of distance and perspective, emphasizing the tension and violence of the moment.

Size Constancy

Size constancy is also an important aspect of flat space. Because the screen surface is two-dimensional, the size of objects in the frame can create a sense of scale and perspective that is distinct from three-dimensional space. In the film “Jurassic Park” (1993), director Steven Spielberg uses size constancy to create a sense of tension and suspense in the scenes with the dinosaurs. By using shots that emphasize the size and scale of the dinosaurs relative to the human characters, Spielberg creates a sense of danger and excitement that would be difficult to achieve in three-dimensional space.

Textural Diffusion

Textural diffusion and aerial diffusion are also important elements of flat space. Textural diffusion refers to the way that textures and patterns can become more abstract and diffuse in two-dimensional space, while aerial diffusion refers to the way that objects can become more hazy and indistinct as they recede into the background.

Textural diffusion refers to the way in which the level of detail or texture in an object can affect its perceived position in the frame. In general, objects with more textural detail appear closer to the viewer, while objects with less detail appear farther away.

In flat space, this principle can be used to emphasize the two-dimensional nature of the screen surface. By reducing the level of detail in objects in the background, filmmakers can create a sense of depth without actually breaking the flatness of the frame.

In the film “Blade Runner” (1982), director Ridley Scott uses both textural diffusion and aerial diffusion to create a sense of the futuristic cityscape. By using shots that emphasize the textures of the city’s buildings and streets, as well as shots that show the city shrouded in fog and smog, Scott creates a sense of otherworldliness and danger.

An example of textural diffusion can be seen in the film “The Grand Budapest Hotel” (2014). Director Wes Anderson uses textural diffusion to create a sense of depth and perspective in many of his shots, while still maintaining the flatness of the frame. In one shot, for example, the camera pans across a snowy landscape with a small village in the background. The village buildings are rendered in a simplified, two-dimensional style with minimal detail, which helps to create the illusion of depth without disrupting the flatness of the frame.

Shape Change

Shape change refers to the way that shapes can become more abstract and distorted in two-dimensional space, while color separation refers to the way that colors can become more vivid and distinct.

Shape change is another important aspect of flat space. When objects move across the screen in flat space, their shapes can become more abstract and distorted due to the limitations of the two-dimensional plane. This can create a unique visual style that emphasizes the flatness of the frame.

An example of shape change in flat space can be seen in the film “Waking Life” (2001). Director Richard Linklater used rotoscoping, a technique in which live-action footage is traced and then animated, to create a dreamlike, surreal world in which shapes and forms are constantly shifting and morphing. In one scene, the protagonist walks through a park and the trees around him seem to bend and twist as if made of rubber, emphasizing the dreamlike quality of the scene and the two-dimensional nature of the animation.

Color Separation

Color separation is an important aspect of flat space. Because the screen surface is two-dimensional, colors can become more vivid and distinct, creating a striking visual effect.

Color is an important aspect of flat space, as the use of warm and cool colors can create a sense of depth or flatness within the frame. In the flat space aesthetic, the warm/cool color range must be reduced to maintain a sense of flatness and limit the depth cues within the frame.

Reducing the color palette to only warm or only cool colors can emphasize the flatness of the frame. Warm colors such as red, orange, and yellow tend to advance and can create a sense of depth, while cool colors such as green and blue tend to recede and can create a sense of space. By limiting the color palette to either warm or cool colors, the depth cues within the frame are minimized, creating a sense of flatness and two-dimensionality.

In the film “The Grand Budapest Hotel” (2014), director Wes Anderson uses a limited color palette to create a sense of flatness and stylization within the frame. The film features predominantly warm colors, with bright pinks, oranges, and yellows dominating the color scheme. This use of warm colors creates a sense of flatness and two-dimensionality within the frame, emphasizing the film’s stylized aesthetic and sense of whimsy.

Similarly, in the film “Moonlight” (2016), director Barry Jenkins uses a limited color palette to create a sense of flatness and minimalism within the frame. The film features predominantly cool colors, with blues and greens dominating the color scheme. This use of cool colors creates a sense of flatness and two-dimensionality within the frame, emphasizing the film’s focus on character and emotion over visual spectacle.

In conclusion, color is a crucial aspect of flat space, as the use of warm and cool colors can create a sense of depth or flatness within the frame. Limiting the color palette to either warm or cool colors can emphasize the flatness of the frame, creating a sense of two-dimensionality and minimizing depth cues. Filmmakers can use this technique to create a stylized aesthetic, emphasize character and emotion over visual spectacle, or simply to create a sense of flatness within their work.

In the film “The Grand Budapest Hotel” (2014), director Wes Anderson uses bold, saturated colors to create a whimsical and visually stunning world. By emphasizing color separation, Anderson emphasizes the graphic design quality of the flat space, and creates a sense of depth and perspective in the frame.

Overlap

Overlap is another important element of flat space. Because the screen surface is two-dimensional, objects can overlap and intersect in the frame, creating a sense of depth and perspective.

Overlap is an interesting aspect of flat space that can be both desirable and problematic. On one hand, overlap can suggest depth and create a sense of spatial separation between objects in the frame. On the other hand, too much overlap can undermine the flatness of the space, creating a sense of three-dimensionality that can detract from the overall visual effect.

In the film “Citizen Kane” (1941), director Orson Welles makes use of overlap to create a sense of depth and perspective within the two-dimensional space of the screen. In the iconic shot where Charles Foster Kane (played by Welles) stands in front of a giant poster of himself, the overlap between Kane and the poster creates a sense of spatial separation, emphasizing the larger-than-life quality of the character.

However, as noted, too much overlap can undermine the flatness of the space. In the film “Pulp Fiction” (1994), director Quentin Tarantino uses overlap to create a sense of chaotic energy in the dialogue scenes. However, some critics have argued that the excessive use of overlap in the film can be disorienting, making it difficult for the viewer to focus on the dialogue and follow the plot.

In the film “Pulp Fiction” (1994), director Quentin Tarantino uses overlap to create a sense of tension and uncertainty in the scenes where characters interact with each other. By positioning characters in the foreground and background of the frame, and allowing them to overlap and intersect, Tarantino creates a sense of complexity and ambiguity in the space.

Focus

Focus is also an important aspect of flat space. Unlike in deep space, where focus can be used to create a sense of depth and perspective, in flat space, focus is often used to emphasize the two-dimensional nature of the screen surface. In the film “The Big Lebowski” (1998), directors Joel and Ethan Coen use a combination of deep focus and shallow focus to create a sense of visual interest and complexity in the frame. By using deep focus to show multiple planes of action in the same shot, and shallow focus to highlight certain details or characters, the Coen brothers create a sense of visual depth and interest in the flat space.

Focus is an important aspect of flat space, as blurred objects in the frame can appear flat regardless of the depth cues they contain. In the flat space aesthetic, foreground, middle ground, and background objects can often blend into one flat plane when they are out of focus, creating a sense of limited space within the frame.

In the film “Lost in Translation” (2003), director Sofia Coppola uses focus to create a sense of emotional distance and isolation between the two main characters, played by Bill Murray and Scarlett Johansson. In several scenes, the characters are shown out of focus, with their features blurred and indistinct. This blurring creates a sense of flatness in the frame, emphasizing the emotional distance between the characters and the sense of detachment they feel in the unfamiliar city of Tokyo.

Similarly, in the film “Blade Runner” (1982), director Ridley Scott uses focus to create a sense of ambiguity and unease in the futuristic cityscape of Los Angeles. In several shots, the neon-lit skyscrapers of the city are shown in the background, out of focus and indistinct. This blurring creates a sense of flatness in the frame, emphasizing the anonymity and impersonality of the city, as well as the sense of uncertainty and ambiguity that pervades the film.

Up Down Position

Up-down position is also an important aspect of flat space. Because the screen surface is two-dimensional, the position of objects in the frame can create a sense of balance and symmetry. In the film “The Shining” (1980), director Stanley Kubrick uses up-down position to create a sense of psychological unease and disorientation. By positioning the camera at unusual angles and showing characters from unusual perspectives, Kubrick creates a sense of visual distortion and disorientation in the flat space.

Deep Space

Deep space is a technique used in filmmaking to create a sense of depth and distance in a scene, typically by manipulating perspective and creating the illusion of three-dimensional space on a two-dimensional screen. There are a number of different elements that contribute to the creation of deep space, including perspective, size difference, movement, camera movement, and various optical effects. Here are some of the key elements of deep space and examples of how they have been used in films:

Perspective:

The convention of perspective . . . centers everything in the eye of the beholder. It is like a beam from a lighthouse—only instead of traveling outward, ap­pearances travel in. The conventions called those appearances reality. The use of perspective is one of the most fundamental techniques in creating deep space in film. Perspective refers to the way objects appear to change in size and distance depending on their position relative to the viewer. By using one-, two-, or three-point perspective, filmmakers can create the illusion of depth and distance in a scene. Perspective makes the single eye the center of the visible world. Every­thing converges on the eye as to the vanishing point of infinity. The vis­ible world is arranged for the spectator as the universe was once thought to be arranged for God.

One-point perspective:

In one-point perspective, all lines in the scene converge on a single vanishing point, typically positioned in the center of the frame. This creates a strong sense of depth and distance in the scene. An example of one-point perspective can be seen in the scene in “The Shining” where Jack Torrance is shown walking down the long hallway of the Overlook Hotel. In “The Grand Budapest Hotel,” there is a shot of the hotel’s lobby that uses one point perspective to create a sense of depth and grandeur. The shot is perfectly symmetrical, with the walls converging at a single point in the distance. In “The Godfather,” there is a shot of Michael sitting at a restaurant table with his bodyguards behind him. The shot uses one point perspective to create a sense of tension and unease, as the bodyguards seem to be looming over Michael and the walls of the restaurant seem to be closing in on him

In “The Grand Budapest Hotel,” there is a shot of the hotel’s lobby that uses one point perspective to create a sense of depth and grandeur. The shot is perfectly symmetrical, with the walls converging at a single point in the distance.

In “The Godfather,” there is a shot of Michael sitting at a restaurant table with his bodyguards behind him. The shot uses one point perspective to create a sense of tension and unease, as the bodyguards seem to be looming over Michael and the walls of the restaurant seem to be closing in on him.

Two-point perspective:

In two-point perspective, lines in the scene converge on two vanishing points, typically positioned on opposite sides of the frame. This creates a sense of depth and distance, as well as a feeling of balance and symmetry. An example of two-point perspective can be seen in the scene in “Blade Runner” where Deckard is shown walking through the futuristic cityscape. In “The Shawshank Redemption,” there is a scene where Andy is working in the prison library. The shot uses two point perspective to create a sense of depth and distance, as the shelves of books seem to stretch off into the distance on either side of him. In “The Social Network,” there is a shot of Mark Zuckerberg walking through the Harvard campus. The shot uses two point perspective to create a sense of space and scale, as the buildings on either side of him seem to tower over him. The different parts blend together seamlessly via the telegraph effect (as in a series of telegraph poles extending far to the left and right of the viewer, while staying parallel to the picture plane)

Three-point perspective:

Three point perspective is similar to two point perspective, but also includes a third vanishing point that is either above or below the horizon line. This creates a more dynamic and dramatic effect, as objects in the scene appear to be tilted and distorted, as if the viewer is looking up or down at them. Three point perspective is often used in extreme or unusual camera angles, such as high-angle shots or low-angle shots. It can also be used to create a sense of disorientation or unease in the viewer, as the image appears to be warped or off-kilter. In three-point perspective, lines in the scene converge on three vanishing points, typically positioned at the top, bottom, and sides of the frame. This creates a sense of extreme depth and distance, as well as a feeling of disorientation and chaos. An example of three-point perspective can be seen in the scene in “Inception” where the characters are shown navigating the complex dream world. In “The Matrix,” there is a famous shot where Neo is dodging bullets in slow motion. The shot uses three point perspective to create a sense of disorientation and chaos, as the bullets seem to be flying in from all directions. In “The Revenant,” there is a scene where Hugh Glass is crawling through the forest after being attacked by a bear. The shot uses three point perspective to create a sense of disorientation and confusion, as the camera seems to be rotating around Glass and the forest seems to be closing in on him.

A vanishing point is simply a point in the picture where parallel lines converge, and so there is no mathematical distinction between a zenith, nadir, and point on the horizon. In House of Stairs single vanishing points are used as zenith, nadir, and horizon.

Size difference:

Another key element of deep space is the use of size difference to create a sense of depth and distance. By showing objects of different sizes in the foreground and background of a scene, filmmakers can create the illusion of a vast space stretching out into the distance. An example of size difference can be seen in the opening shot of “Lawrence of Arabia,” where a small figure is shown riding a camel across a vast desert landscape. In the classic movie “2001: A Space Odyssey,” director Stanley Kubrick used size difference to great effect in the scenes where the character Dave Bowman is shown walking through the enormous, cavernous interior of the spacecraft. By showing Bowman as a tiny figure in a vast, almost infinite space, Kubrick was able to create a sense of awe and wonder that helped to convey the enormity of the unknown depths of space. The scene in the movie “Jurassic Park” where the T-Rex is first introduced is another great example of size difference. The massive size of the dinosaur compared to the human characters emphasizes the danger and threat posed by the creature, and helps to create a sense of terror and excitement in the viewer. In the movie “Avatar,” director James Cameron uses size difference to great effect in the scenes where the characters explore the vast, alien landscape of the planet Pandora. By showing the tiny figures of the human explorers against the towering trees and mountains of the planet, Cameron is able to create a sense of wonder and awe in the viewer, and convey the vastness and scale of the alien world.

Movement:

Movement is also a key element of deep space, as it can create the illusion of distance and depth in a scene. By showing objects moving towards or away from the camera, filmmakers can create a sense of depth and distance. An example of movement can be seen in the famous dolly zoom shot in “Jaws,” where the camera moves backwards while simultaneously zooming in, creating a sense of disorientation and unease. Camera movement: In addition to object movement, the movement of the camera itself can also create a sense of deep space. By using techniques like tracking shots and crane shots, filmmakers can create the illusion of the camera moving through three-dimensional space. An example of camera movement can be seen in the famous opening shot of “Touch of Evil,” where the camera follows a car through the streets of a Mexican border town. In the movie “The Revenant,” director Alejandro González Iñárritu uses movement to create a sense of scale and distance in the sweeping landscapes of the American frontier. The camera often moves in long, slow shots that follow the characters as they travel through the wilderness, emphasizing the vastness and beauty of the natural world. In the movie “The Shining,” director Stanley Kubrick uses camera movement to create a sense of unease and disorientation in the scenes where the character Jack Torrance explores the haunted hotel. The camera often moves in slow, deliberate shots that follow Torrance through the twisting, labyrinthine corridors of the hotel, creating a sense of depth and distance that heightens the tension and suspense of the scene.

Textural diffusion:

Textural diffusion involves the use of textures and patterns to create a sense of depth and distance in a scene. This can be achieved by using fabrics, surfaces, or other materials that have a distinct texture or pattern, such as wood grain or brickwork. By using these materials in the foreground and background of a scene, filmmakers can create a sense of depth and distance. An example of textural diffusion can be seen in the opening shot of “Blade Runner,” where the camera moves over the textured surfaces of a futuristic cityscape.

  1. In the movie “Blade Runner,” director Ridley Scott uses textural diffusion to create a sense of depth and complexity in the futuristic cityscapes of Los Angeles. The city is depicted as a dense, labyrinthine metropolis, with towering skyscrapers and sprawling neon-lit streets, all of which are covered in a dense layer of grime and decay that gives the city a sense of age and history.
  2. In the movie “Mad Max: Fury Road,” director George Miller uses textural diffusion to create a sense of depth and dimensionality in the post-apocalyptic wasteland where the story takes place. The landscape is depicted as a harsh, unforgiving environment, with rocky outcroppings, sand dunes, and other natural features that are covered in a thick layer of dust and sand, which gives the world a sense of age and weariness.
  3. In the movie “The Grand Budapest Hotel,” director Wes Anderson uses textural diffusion to create a sense of depth and richness in the luxurious interiors of the hotel. The walls, floors, and furnishings are all covered in intricate patterns and textures, from the ornate floral wallpaper to the plush velvet drapes, which gives the hotel a sense of opulence and grandeur.
  4. In the movie “The Dark Knight,” director Christopher Nolan uses textural diffusion to create a sense of depth and dimensionality in the scenes where the characters explore the dark, gritty streets of Gotham City. The walls of the buildings are covered in rough, weathered bricks, and the streets are filled with cracked pavement and trash, which gives the city a sense of history and decay.
  5. In the movie “The Shape of Water,” director Guillermo del Toro uses textural diffusion to create a sense of depth and richness in the underwater world where the story takes place. The walls and floors of the underwater laboratory are covered in intricate patterns and textures, from the smooth curves of the tiles to the delicate patterns on the wallpaper, which gives the world a sense of beauty and wonder.

Aerial diffusion:

Aerial diffusion involves the use of atmospheric haze to create a sense of distance and depth in a scene. This can be achieved by using smoke, mist, or other substances that create a subtle layer of haze in the air. By using this haze in the background of a scene, filmmakers can create a sense of depth and distance. An example of aerial diffusion can be seen in the opening shot of “Apocalypse Now,” where the camera moves through a layer of smoke and haze to reveal a vast jungle landscape.

  1. In the movie “The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring,” director Peter Jackson uses aerial diffusion to create a sense of distance and scale in the sweeping landscapes of Middle Earth. The rolling hills and misty valleys are often shrouded in a layer of atmospheric haze, which gives the scenes a sense of depth and distance.
  2. In the movie “Blade Runner 2049,” director Denis Villeneuve uses aerial diffusion to create a sense of depth and dimensionality in the futuristic cityscapes of Los Angeles. The skyline is often obscured by a layer of smog and haze, which gives the city a sense of scale and complexity.
  3. In the movie “Apocalypse Now,” director Francis Ford Coppola uses aerial diffusion to create a sense of distance and foreboding in the scenes where the characters navigate the dense jungle of Vietnam. The thick foliage is often shrouded in a layer of mist and haze, which gives the jungle a sense of mystery and danger.
  4. In the movie “The Revenant,” director Alejandro González Iñárritu uses aerial diffusion to create a sense of scale and majesty in the sweeping landscapes of the American frontier. The rolling hills and vast open spaces are often shrouded in a layer of fog and mist, which gives the scenes a sense of depth and distance.
  5. In the movie “Avatar,” director James Cameron uses aerial diffusion to create a sense of depth and wonder in the lush, alien world of Pandora. The dense foliage and towering trees are often shrouded in a layer of mist and atmospheric haze, which gives the world a sense of beauty and otherworldliness.

Shape change:

Shape change involves the use of changes in the shape of objects to create a sense of depth and distance in a scene. This can be achieved by using objects that have a distinct shape or silhouette, such as buildings or trees, and positioning them in the foreground and background of a scene. By using these objects to create a sense of depth and distance, filmmakers can create a more immersive and visually engaging scene. An example of shape change can be seen in the opening shot of “The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring,” where the camera moves over the distinct shapes of mountains and hills to create a sense of depth and distance.

  1. In the movie “Inception,” director Christopher Nolan uses shape change to create a sense of disorientation and distortion in the dream world. As the characters move through the different levels of the dream, the shape and orientation of the buildings and landscapes constantly shift and change, creating a surreal and immersive experience for the viewer.
  2. In the movie “Blade Runner,” director Ridley Scott uses shape change to create a sense of scale and complexity in the futuristic cityscape of Los Angeles. The towering skyscrapers and sprawling buildings are often shown from a distance, with their unique shapes and silhouettes standing out against the city skyline.
  3. In the movie “Star Wars,” director George Lucas uses shape change to create a sense of depth and dimensionality in the iconic space battles. The distinctive shapes of the spaceships and starfighters are used to create a sense of scale and distance, as the ships move in and out of the foreground and background of the scenes.
  4. In the movie “The Matrix,” directors Lana and Lilly Wachowski use shape change to create a sense of distortion and disorientation in the digital world of the Matrix. The walls and surfaces of the buildings and landscapes constantly shift and change, creating a surreal and unsettling environment for the characters.
  5. In the movie “The Grand Budapest Hotel,” director Wes Anderson uses shape change to create a sense of whimsy and playfulness in the ornate and elaborate set design. The unique shapes and patterns of the buildings and landscapes are used to create a sense of depth and dimensionality, as the characters move through the intricate and surreal world of the hotel.

Tonal change:

Tonal change involves the use of changes in lighting and color to create a sense of depth and distance in a scene. This can be achieved by using different shades of light and dark, as well as different colors, in the foreground and background of a scene. By using these tonal changes to create a sense of depth and distance, filmmakers can create a more immersive and visually engaging scene. An example of tonal change can be seen in the opening shot of “The Godfather,” where the camera moves from a darkened room to a brightly lit street, creating a sense of depth and distance.

  1. In the movie “The Godfather,” director Francis Ford Coppola uses tonal change to create a sense of depth and distance in the scenes set in Don Corleone’s office. The dark wood paneling and furniture in the foreground are contrasted with the lighter walls and ceiling in the background, creating a sense of depth and dimensionality.
  2. In the movie “The Revenant,” director Alejandro González Iñárritu uses tonal change to create a sense of distance and isolation in the wilderness. The cold, blue tones of the snow and sky in the background contrast with the warmer, earthy tones of the foreground, creating a sense of depth and distance.
  3. In the movie “La La Land,” director Damien Chazelle uses tonal change to create a sense of depth and dimensionality in the musical numbers. The brightly colored costumes and sets in the foreground are contrasted with the darker, more muted backgrounds, creating a sense of depth and distance.
  4. In the movie “The Matrix,” directors Lana and Lilly Wachowski use tonal change to create a sense of depth and dimensionality in the digital world of the Matrix. The greenish-blue tones of the Matrix contrast with the warmer, more natural tones of the “real world,” creating a sense of depth and distance between the two.
  5. In the movie “The Grand Budapest Hotel,” director Wes Anderson uses tonal change to create a sense of whimsy and playfulness in the elaborate set design. The bright, vibrant colors of the foreground are contrasted with the more muted, pastel tones of the background, creating a sense of depth and dimensionality in the intricate and surreal world of the hotel.

Up-down position:

Up-down position involves the use of positioning objects at different heights to create a sense of depth and distance in a scene. This can be achieved by positioning objects in the foreground and background of a scene at different heights, such as having a character in the foreground and a building in the background. By using these different positions to create a sense of depth and distance, filmmakers can create a more immersive and visually engaging scene. An example of up-down position can be seen in the opening shot of “Gone with the Wind,” where the camera moves over the heads of soldiers lying on the ground to reveal a vast landscape stretching out into the distance.

  1. In the movie “Inception,” director Christopher Nolan uses up-down position to create a sense of disorienting depth in the dream sequences. Characters are shown walking and fighting on walls and ceilings, and the camera often rotates to create a sense of disorientation and confusion.
  2. In the movie “Jurassic Park,” director Steven Spielberg uses up-down position to create a sense of scale and perspective in the scenes with the dinosaurs. Characters are shown in the foreground, with towering dinosaurs in the background, creating a sense of depth and awe.
  3. In the movie “Avatar,” director James Cameron uses up-down position to create a sense of depth and scale in the alien world of Pandora. Characters are shown in the foreground, with massive floating mountains and alien wildlife in the background, creating a sense of depth and wonder.
  4. In the movie “The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring,” director Peter Jackson uses up-down position to create a sense of scale and perspective in the scenes with the giant Balrog. Characters are shown in the foreground, with the massive Balrog towering over them in the background, creating a sense of depth and danger.
  5. In the movie “Up,” directors Pete Docter and Bob Peterson use up-down position to create a sense of whimsy and playfulness in the scenes with the floating house. The house is shown in the foreground, with the sprawling city and landscape in the background, creating a sense of depth and wonder.

Overlap:

Overlap involves the use of overlapping objects to create a sense of depth and distance in a scene. This can be achieved by positioning objects in the foreground and background of a scene so that they partially obscure each other. By using this overlap to create a sense of depth and distance, filmmakers can create a more immersive and visually engaging scene. An example of overlap can be seen in the opening shot of “Chinatown,” where the camera moves over a crowded city street, with various objects overlapping each other to create a sense of depth and distance.

  1. In the movie “Blade Runner,” director Ridley Scott uses overlap to create a sense of depth in the futuristic cityscapes. Buildings and other structures are shown in the foreground, with other structures and flying cars partially obscured in the background, creating a sense of scale and complexity in the city.
  2. In the movie “The Dark Knight,” director Christopher Nolan uses overlap to create a sense of chaos and confusion in the action scenes. Characters and objects are shown in the foreground, with other characters and objects partially obscured in the background, creating a sense of disorientation and danger.
  3. In the movie “Mad Max: Fury Road,” director George Miller uses overlap to create a sense of urgency and danger in the high-speed chase scenes. Cars and other vehicles are shown in the foreground, with other vehicles and obstacles partially obscured in the background, creating a sense of speed and danger.
  4. In the movie “The Matrix,” directors Lana and Lilly Wachowski use overlap to create a sense of depth and complexity in the scenes set inside the Matrix. Characters and objects are shown in the foreground, with other characters and objects partially obscured in the background, creating a sense of the vastness and complexity of the digital world.
  5. In the movie “Interstellar,” director Christopher Nolan uses overlap to create a sense of distance and scale in the scenes set in deep space. Stars and planets are shown in the foreground, with other celestial objects partially obscured in the background, creating a sense of the vastness and complexity of the universe.
  6. In the movie “Lost in Translation,” director Sofia Coppola uses overlap to create a sense of loneliness and isolation in the Tokyo cityscapes. Characters are shown in the foreground, with other characters and buildings partially obscured in the background, creating a sense of distance and detachment.
  7. In the movie “Moonlight,” director Barry Jenkins uses overlap to create a sense of intimacy and connection between characters. Characters are shown in the foreground, with other characters partially obscured in the background, creating a sense of emotional depth and complexity.
  8. In the movie “Lady Bird,” director Greta Gerwig uses overlap to create a sense of time and place in the coming-of-age story set in Sacramento. Characters and objects are shown in the foreground, with other characters and objects partially obscured in the background, creating a sense of the passing of time and the changing of seasons.
  9. In the movie “The Grand Budapest Hotel,” director Wes Anderson uses overlap to create a sense of depth and complexity in the elaborate sets and miniatures. Characters and objects are shown in the foreground, with other characters and objects partially obscured in the background, creating a sense of the intricate and whimsical world of the hotel.
  10. In the movie “Her,” director Spike Jonze uses overlap to create a sense of distance and separation between the human characters and the artificial intelligence character. Characters are shown in the foreground, with the AI character partially obscured in the background, creating a sense of the technological gap between them.

Focus:

Focus involves the use of selective focus to create a sense of depth and distance in a scene. This can be achieved by selectively focusing. Focus is a key element of deep space that involves the use of selective focus to create a sense of depth and distance in a scene. By selectively focusing on certain objects in the foreground or background, filmmakers can create a sense of depth and distance that draws the viewer into the scene. One example of the use of focus in deep space can be seen in the opening shot of “Saving Private Ryan.” In this scene, the camera moves over a beach where soldiers are landing during the D-Day invasion. As the camera moves forward, it focuses on various objects in the foreground and background, such as a soldier’s hand gripping a landing craft, a piece of shrapnel on the ground, and the smoke and chaos in the background. By selectively focusing on these objects, the filmmakers create a sense of depth and distance that draws the viewer into the scene and conveys the intensity and chaos of the moment. Another example of the use of focus in deep space can be seen in the film “The Departed.” In one scene, the camera moves through a crowded bar, focusing on different characters as they interact with each other. By selectively focusing on different characters in the foreground and background, the filmmakers create a sense of depth and distance that draws the viewer into the scene and gives a sense of the complex web of relationships and interactions between the characters. In both of these examples, the use of selective focus is a key element of deep space that creates a sense of depth and distance in the scene. By using focus in this way, filmmakers can create a more immersive and visually engaging experience for the viewer.

Deep, Flat, Limited, Ambiguous Space

The concept of space is an essential element in filmmaking, as it provides a framework for how the story is told visually. Film theorists and practitioners have long studied the various ways in which space can be used to convey meaning and create atmosphere. Bruce Block, in his book “The Visual Story,” outlines four types of space that are commonly used in cinema: deep space, flat space, limited space, and ambiguous space. Each of these types of space has unique characteristics and can be used to create different effects on the viewer.

Deep space refers to the use of distance to create a sense of depth in the image. This technique involves placing elements of the scene in the foreground, middle ground, and background to create a sense of three-dimensional space. Deep space is often used in epic films, such as “Lawrence of Arabia,” to emphasize the vastness of the landscape or the scale of the action. It can also be used to create a sense of chaos and danger, as in the opening shot of “Touch of Evil.” The use of deep space allows the viewer to take in multiple layers of action and creates a sense of immersion in the world of the film.

Flat space, on the other hand, is the opposite of deep space. It involves flattening the image and creating a two-dimensional plane that emphasizes the surface qualities of the image, such as color and texture. This technique is often used in animation, such as “The Simpsons,” to create a cartoonish, stylized look. Flat space can also be used to create a sense of detachment from the characters and the action, as in the films of director Alan J. Pakula and cinematographer Gordon Willis, such as “Klute,” “Manhattan,” and “Witness.” The use of flat space creates a sense of visual beauty and stylization that is typical of these films.

Limited space involves using a confined or restricted space to create a sense of intimacy or claustrophobia. This technique is often used in psychological dramas or horror films, such as “Psycho,” to create a sense of isolation and danger. In “Fanny and Alexander,” director Ingmar Bergman uses limited space to explore the complex dynamics of the family and their relationships with one another. The use of limited space creates a sense of intimacy and domesticity that is central to the themes of the film.

Finally, ambiguous space refers to the use of spatial ambiguity to create a sense of uncertainty or disorientation. This technique is often used in psychological thrillers or horror films, such as “Don’t Look Now,” to create a sense of unease and disorientation in the viewer. The use of ambiguous space can be achieved through the use of complex or labyrinthine locations, such as Venice in “Don’t Look Now,” or through the use of fragmented or distorted imagery. This technique creates a sense of visual disruption and distortion that reflects the emotional state of the characters.

  1. Deep Space in “Touch of Evil”: The opening shot of “Touch of Evil” features a complex, deep space composition that establishes the location, characters, and mood of the film in a single take. The shot moves seamlessly through several different spaces, including the city streets, a hotel, and a car. The use of deep space allows the viewer to take in multiple layers of action and creates a sense of chaos and danger.
  2. Flat Space and Surface Division in “Klute,” “Manhattan,” and “Witness”: In “Klute,” “Manhattan,” and “Witness,” the filmmakers use a flat, static camera to create a sense of distance and detachment from the characters and the action. The films are composed of carefully framed shots that emphasize the surface qualities of the image, such as color and texture. This technique creates a sense of visual beauty and stylization that is typical of the films of director Alan J. Pakula and cinematographer Gordon Willis.
  3. Limited Space in “Fanny and Alexander”: In “Fanny and Alexander,” director Ingmar Bergman uses a limited space to create a sense of intimacy and domesticity. The film takes place primarily in the home of the Ekdahl family, and the camera is often positioned close to the characters, creating a sense of claustrophobia and intensity. The limited space also allows Bergman to explore the complex dynamics of the family and their relationships with one another.
  4. Ambiguous Space and Surface Divisions in “Don’t Look Now”: “Don’t Look Now” uses ambiguous space and surface divisions to create a sense of unease and disorientation. The film takes place in Venice, a city with a complex and labyrinthine layout that is often difficult to navigate. Director Nicolas Roeg uses this to his advantage, creating a sense of spatial ambiguity and uncertainty that reflects the emotional state of the characters. The film also uses surface divisions to create a sense of visual disruption and distortion, such as the use of fragmented imagery in the famous sex scene.

I hope this comparison helps to further illustrate the ways in which the four types of space can be used in different films and genres.

Here’s a comparison of the four types of space as described by Bruce Block in his book “The Visual Story” with examples from movies:

Deep Space

  1. Deep Space: This refers to a type of space in which objects and characters are arranged in layers, creating an illusion of depth in the scene. one-point perspective, shape change, size difference, textural diffusion, color separation, tonal separation, and up/down position.Examples include:
  • The famous opening shot in Orson Welles’ Citizen Kane (1941), which uses deep focus to show a child playing in the background while the foreground shows a conversation between Kane’s parents.
  • The “Odessa Steps” sequence in Battleship Potemkin (1925), which uses deep focus to show multiple layers of action and create a sense of chaos.
  • The opening shot of Touch of Evil (1958), which uses deep focus and a long take to set up the location and characters in a single shot.
  • The opening shot of Lawrence of Arabia (1962), which shows a distant figure approaching in the desert, highlighting the vastness of the landscape.
  • In “Gone with the Wind,” director Victor Fleming uses deep space to emphasize the scale and devastation of the Civil War. The opening shot shows a seemingly endless line of wounded soldiers stretching into the distance, creating a sense of vastness and tragedy.

Flat Space

Manhattan review: Woody Allen finds a mature harmony of humour and form |  Sight & Sound | BFI

  1. Flat Space: This refers to a type of space in which objects and characters are arranged along a single plane, creating a two-dimensional effect. The walls are frontal, and there are no longitudinal planes or converging lines. The actors are staged on the same horizontal plane; they’re the same size, they have the same amount of textural detail, and any movement will be parallel to the picture plane. The camera will zoom or dolly parallel to the frontal wall plane. Examples include:
  • The dance numbers in musicals like Singin’ in the Rain (1952), which often feature performers moving in a flat space.
  • The opening scene of La La Land (2016), which features a colorful, choreographed musical number in a flat space.
  • The animation style of South Park: Bigger, Longer & Uncut (1999), which uses a flat, simplistic style.
  • The fight scenes in The Raid: Redemption (2011), which take place in narrow corridors and use a flat space to highlight the action.
  • The surrealistic sets in The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari (1920), which create a flat, two-dimensional space that mirrors the distorted reality of the film.
  • The minimalist sets in Dogville (2003), which use a flat, black-and-white aesthetic to create a sense of theatricality.
  • In “The Grand Budapest Hotel,” director Wes Anderson uses flat space to create a stylized, whimsical world that is almost cartoon-like in its flatness. The use of bright colors and carefully composed symmetrical shots creates a sense of visual beauty and artificiality.
  • In “The Killing of a Sacred Deer,” director Yorgos Lanthimos uses flat space to create a sense of detachment and unease. The use of static camera shots and long takes creates a sense of distance from the characters and their actions.
Single frame from the movie “Halloween”

Limited Space:

This refers to a type of space in which the characters are confined to a small area, creating a feeling of claustrophobia or tension. The picture is ambiguous because it’s impossible to tell the actual size and spatial relationships in the shot. there are no longitudinal planes, only frontal surfaces. Eliminating longitudinal sur- faces is critical to creating limited space.Examples include:

  • The elevator scene in The Departed (2006), which features several characters crammed into a small space, heightening the tension of the scene.
  • The spaceship in Alien (1979), which is small and confined, creating a feeling of isolation and danger.
  • The entirety of 127 Hours (2010), which takes place in a small canyon where the protagonist is trapped.
  • The opening scene of Inglourious Basterds (2009), which takes place in a small farmhouse where Nazis are hiding Jews.
  • The climax of Die Hard (1988), which takes place in a single skyscraper and creates a feeling of claustrophobia.
  • The elevator scene in Drive (2011), which features a tense confrontation between the protagonist and a hitman in a small, enclosed space.
  • The submarine in Das Boot (1981), which creates a feeling of claustrophobia and tension as the crew navigates through narrow corridors and tight spaces.
  • The motel in Psycho (1960), which creates a sense of isolation and danger as the protagonist is trapped in a small, enclosed space.
  • In “Room,” director Lenny Abrahamson uses limited space to create a sense of confinement and claustrophobia. The film is set almost entirely within a small shed where a woman and her son are being held captive, creating a sense of tension and desperation.
  • In “Buried,” director Rodrigo Cortes uses limited space to create a sense of helplessness and terror. The film takes place entirely within a buried coffin, creating a sense of confinement and isolation that is central to the film’s themes.
  1. Ambiguous Space: This refers to a type of space in which the spatial relationships between objects and characters are unclear, creating a sense of disorientation or confusion. Examples include:
  • The dream sequences in Ingmar Bergman’s Wild Strawberries (1957), which often feature surreal, ambiguous spaces.
  • In “Mulholland Drive,” director David Lynch uses ambiguous space to create a sense of dreamlike disorientation. The film’s nonlinear narrative and surreal imagery create a sense of visual confusion and disorientation that reflects the main character’s psychological state.
  • In “The Shining,” director Stanley Kubrick uses ambiguous space to create a sense of supernatural horror. The hotel scenes in The Shining (1980), which are spatially ambiguous and contribute to the feeling of unease. The hotel’s maze-like layout and the use of distorted, unsettling imagery create a sense of disorientation and terror that is central to the film’s themes.
  • The fight scenes in The Matrix Reloaded (2003), which take place in a virtual world and feature constantly shifting and disorienting spatial relationships.
  • The labyrinthine sets of L’atalante (1934), which create a sense of disorientation and confusion as the characters navigate through a complex and ever-changing environment.
  • The shifting spaces in Inception (2010), which create a sense of unreality and uncertainty as the characters move through different levels of dreams.

In conclusion, the use of space in cinema is a powerful tool that can be used to convey meaning and create atmosphere. The four types of space – deep space, flat space, limited space, and ambiguous space – each have unique characteristics and can be used to create different effects on the viewer. Whether it’s creating a sense of immersion in a vast and epic landscape, a detachment from the characters and the action, or a sense of claustrophobia or disorientation, the use of space in cinema is an essential element in storytelling.

Werner Herzog Movie: The Accidental Tourist

The Accidental Tourist: A Werner Herzog Film

Logline: In 1977, a German brewery worker with a love for beer and a thirst for adventure takes a trip to San Francisco. There’s just one problem: he ends up in Bangor, Maine. This heartwarming comedy by Werner Herzog explores the world’s last lost tourist, Erwin Kreuz, and his hilarious journey of getting gloriously lost.

Synopsis:

Erwin Kreuz, a simple man with a taste for lagers, embarks on a life-changing adventure – a trip to San Francisco. Fueled by excitement and a few too many beers at the airport bar, Erwin stumbles off the plane in Bangor, Maine, completely convinced he’s in his dream city.

Unaware of his geographical blunder, Erwin embraces the sights and sounds of Bangor, charming the locals with his childlike wonder and broken English. News of the “lost tourist” spreads like wildfire, turning Erwin into an unlikely folk hero.

As the world marvels at Erwin’s innocent mistake, the spotlight shines on Bangor. The once-quiet town embraces its newfound fame, showering Erwin with gifts, parties, and even an honorary membership in the Penobscot Indian Nation.

Meanwhile, Erwin basks in the unexpected attention, oblivious to the truth. But the jig is up when a kind local helps him realize his misplaced San Francisco dreams.

Torn between the warmth of Bangor and the allure of his original destination, Erwin embarks on a whirlwind trip to the real San Francisco. There, he meets the mayor, rides a cable car, and even gets a standing ovation at a rodeo.

Despite the bright lights of San Francisco, Erwin’s heart remains in Bangor. He returns to Germany a changed man, fired from his brewery job but forever grateful for the kindness of strangers and the joy of getting gloriously lost.

Herzogian Touch:

The film will capture the essence of Werner Herzog’s style – a blend of humor, pathos, and a fascination with the human condition. The vast landscapes of Maine will be juxtaposed with the bustling streets of San Francisco, highlighting Erwin’s displacement. Herzog’s signature voice-over narration will add a layer of philosophical reflection to Erwin’s simple journey.

The bizarre tale of the world’s last lost tourist, who thought Maine was San Francisco

By Andrew ChamingsUpdated Dec 15, 2022 12:31 p.m.

In 1977, 49-year-old German brewery worker Erwin Kreuz blew his life savings on his first flight — a once-in-a-lifetime birthday trip to San Francisco. He’d seen it on TV, and he wanted to visit the Wild West. As the World Airways flight from Frankfurt stopped to refuel in a small airport in Bangor, Maine, before continuing on to California, an air stewardess who had finished her shift told Kreuz to “have a nice time in San Francisco.” Her choice of words would change Kreuz’s life. Kreuz, who typically enjoyed drinking 17 beers a day, was a little groggy, and on hearing this, grabbed his suitcase, got off the plane, went through customs, jumped in a cab and asked the driver to take him to the city. He wandered Bangor for three days enjoying the sights and sounds that Maine had to offer. Unfortunately, Kreuz thought he was in San Francisco. Within a week, Kreuz became an international celebrity, made the “Today Show” and Time magazine and was handed the key to San Francisco. He became a folk hero, as the world’s last lost tourist. — Outside of a day trip over the border to Switzerland, Kreuz had never stepped foot outside Germany, let alone boarded an airplane. He spoke only German and lived in a small Bavarian village near Augsberg, working in a local brewery. His trip in October 1977 was a big one, and Kreuz was understandably eager to see the famous hilly city from the glossy travel magazines with his own eyes. Most of us have stepped off a bus or train at the wrong stop — an embarrassing and annoying moment that involves a quick check on your phone to figure out how to get back to your intended destination. But what if a friendly face just told you that train stop was the right one, and all the signs were indecipherable, and cellphones didn’t exist, and you were three sheets to the wind? Once Kreuz got through customs in that little airport, he was certain he was in San Francisco, and he didn’t stop believing that for three very strange days. The cab dropped Kreuz in downtown Bangor where he checked into the Bangor House Hotel, walked the streets a little and found a tavern to quench his almighty thirst. At one point Kreuz was reassured by the sight of two Chinese restaurants in the town, something he knew was in San Francisco from the movies. The rusted green bridge that links Bangor to neighboring Brewer was clearly not the Golden Gate, but Kreuz carried on regardless. After much wandering, Kreuz decided he must be in a Bay Area suburb, so he hailed a taxi and asked the driver to take him to downtown San Francisco. The driver sped away as though Kreuz was crazy. Kreuz returned to the bar, suddenly a little unsure of himself, and tried to get some help from a waitress. The language barrier was too wide, and she put him in contact with a neighbor named Gertrude Romine, a Czechoslovakian immigrant who spoke German. ADVERTISEMENTArticle continues below this ad “It was so funny,” recalled Romine, who was the first to make Kreuz aware of his monumental error. “He couldn’t speak any English and didn’t know. He knew there were hills around San Francisco and when he saw the hills around Bangor he figured he was in the right area.” Romine and her family took Kreuz into their home, and word spread of the lost tourist, first to the Bangor Daily News, then nationally, then the world. What may be more surprising than someone believing a small logging town on the Atlantic Ocean was San Francisco was the way the world reacted to his story. Everyone was enamored by this strange visitor who had been walking around a very different town in his head. Within days, Kreuz became an honorary member of the Penobscot Indian Nation, had a folk song written about him, was thrown a 50th birthday party and was visited by the governor of Maine. He was even gifted an acre of scrubland in northern Maine as an act of goodwill. ADVERTISEMENTArticle continues below this ad The Bangor Daily News compared him, somewhat lovingly, to the town seal, whom Kreuz kissed for a photo op. “Erwin Kreuz met Andre the Seal Thursday morning. They must have had a lot to talk about, because they have a great deal in common,” the paper wrote. “Neither speaks a word of English; each ranks among the great communicators of our time. Both are media events of the first order.” The Bangor Daily News, Oct. 28, 1977. Bangor Daily News Kreuz’s lack of English only heightened his character and mystique in the press. ADVERTISEMENTArticle continues below this ad “Just what is Mr. Kreuz thinking about as he says (according to his translator) all those nice things about Bangor? Is it possible for a man to be nice to everyone he meets?” the Daily News pondered. Reports started surfacing that a San Francisco newspaper might pay for Kreuz to fly out to his initial destination, but some Bangor residents claimed him as their own, like a drunk child in a custody battle. During a trip to the local jail in Maine, where Kreuz was ushered through the cells and met the inmates (he had requested to see “an American jail,” and no one could apparently say no to the big-hearted German) the warden told the press, “He was tickled to death. He wants to stay right here in Bangor. He doesn’t want to go to San Francisco.” The San Francisco Examiner did indeed foot the bill for Kreuz to extend his vacation and finally head out west. When there, he was treated like visiting dignitary; he met with Mayor George Moscone half an hour before the mayor met Prince Charles. It was Moscone whom Kreuz told about his 17-beers-a-day diet, to which the (alleged) heavy-drinking mayor replied, “Well, that beats me.” ADVERTISEMENTArticle continues below this ad On his whirlwind tour of the city Kreuz took a cable car, was plied with gifts and three marriage proposals, and even became an honorary member of the Wong Family Association at the Empress of China restaurant in Chinatown. Kreuz also did the most San Francisco of activities by attending an, um, rodeo at Cow Palace. There he was given a white cowboy hat, to complement the headdress he was gifted in Maine, and got a standing ovation in the middle of the ring. Word had spread across the world of Kreuz’s journey. Time Magazine ran a story as he was still in San Francisco on the German’s “exceptional jet age odyssey.” On NBC’s “Today Show,” Tom Brokaw complimented the town of Bangor on their loving treatment of the lost German and celebrated his time in San Francisco. ADVERTISEMENTArticle continues below this ad Word got back to West Germany too, where magazines Stern and Der Spiegel told his story. In San Francisco, it was a feel-good story at a time when the city — reeling from a crime wave, serial killings, kidnappings and emboldened cult leaders — needed to feel good. “The roly poly Kreuz was welcomed to The City by Mayor Moscone, who presented him with a proclamation declaring that San Francisco does, in fact, exist,” The Examiner reported. Though, as Time magazine wrote, “The ruddy-faced bachelor finally did get to see the Golden Gate. But, by all accounts, he left his heart in downtown Bangor.” And Kreuz would prove this in his later travels. ADVERTISEMENTArticle continues below this ad The Town Talk, Nov. 1, 1977. The Town Talk Kreuz was soon due back at work at the brewery and, after four days in San Francisco, boarded a flight back home brandishing a “Please let me off in Frankfurt” sign. Despite his apparent childlike misunderstanding of the world (and maps), Kreuz proved to be masterful with the press, telling reporters at his arrival at Frankfurt airport, “If Kennedy can say ‘Ich bin ein Berliner,’ then I can say, ‘I am a Bangor!'” Kreuz wasn’t able to turn his 15 minutes of international celebrity fame into a career, though not for want of trying. ADVERTISEMENTArticle continues below this ad One year after his initial visit he returned to Bangor for a two-week trip. The returning German son of Bangor was welcomed back to the city and given the honor of opening a mall, and visited with the friends he had met the year prior. Maybe sensing trouble at home, Kreuz told his friend Ralph Coffman, who was hosting the German, “I don’t care if I ever go back to Germany.” “He loves to go for long walks and there are plenty of woods here,” Coffman added. Kreuz had reason to not want to go home, as he returned to find his employers, Schaller Breweries, had fired him. They claimed the dismissal was due to Kreuz spending the height of Oktoberfest, the company’s peak season, on a jolly in America. But according to Kreuz, the beer makers were trying to make money off his image and fame, and so he asked for more money. When they denied that request, he told a TV reporter he drank a competitor’s beer and was unceremoniously fired. In 1979, Kreuz made one last attempt to live out his life in Bangor. This time there were no headdresses, parties or seals to kiss, and he was met with little fanfare. He was offered only a minimum wage janitorial job at the mall he had opened the previous year. He graciously turned it down and returned to Germany for the last time. Kreuz didn’t get a statue in Bangor. There aren’t even any punk bands named after him, which seems like a no brainer. ADVERTISEMENTArticle continues below this ad Even after being dumped from the brief bright limelight of celebrity, Kreuz was gracious until the end, and repeatedly thanked the people of Bangor for their hospitality and his wild ride. — Like the uncontacted tribes in the depths of the Amazon rainforest, aiming their arrows at passing flying machines, there’s a doomed poignancy in people stuck out of time with a wide-eyed ignorance of the world, a purity that gets swallowed by the shrinking planet in every passing tweet. Kreuz’s adventure was already an unlikely anomaly in 1977. Today, it would be an impossibility. The story is perhaps as much about the news as it is about a lost roly poly German, though. The coverage was joyous. The world didn’t laugh at him, they laughed heartily with him. And while it would be a much harder task to mistake one city for another in 2021, if that were to happen the fail memes and YouTube comments wouldn’t be so kind. ADVERTISEMENTArticle continues below this ad “I have a very warm feeling for America, I will never forget this until the day I die,” Kreuz said in 1977. Researching this story, deep in the newspaper archives, it was hard to find out where and when our traveller did finally leave this Earth that was just a little too big for him. But it doesn’t really matter. Folk heroes don’t die. Instead, we can end on a woman named Belinda Michaud’s distant interaction with Kreuz. As the tax collector of the small town of St. Francis, Maine, Michaud was responsible for collecting property dues on the acre of land gifted to Kreuz in the north of the state. The plot of brushland between State Route 161 and an old railroad track was a small piece of American soil Kreuz could always call his own.