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Predicting the Future of Cinema: No Limits — and the Web Wins
APRIL 5, 2014 | 05:32PM PT
SMPTE summit sees bright future with few limits for filmmakers, but cloudy forecast for theaters
David S. Cohen
Senior Editor, Features@Variety_DSCohen
LAS VEGAS – Filmmakers got a vision of hope as well as a warning in Saturday’s presentations at the Technology Summit on Cinema in Las Vegas.
The hope is for a future where technology doesn’t limit filmmakers, where cameras and screens can reproduce almost anything the eye can see, where networks make collaboration effortless — in short, a future where filmmakers choose their own boundaries rather than being hemmed in by hardware and software.
But in that future, theaters may become the lowest-quality way to view content, trailing Ultra-HD TV and Internet devices that leave UHD eating their dust.
Those were some of the scenarios painted in Saturday’s presentations at the Technology Summit on Cinema, presented by the Society of Motion Picture and Television Engineers at the NAB Show.
Keynote speaker Chris Cookson, recently let go by Sony after serving as president of Sony Pictures Technologies, drew on his nearly 50 years of experience in the business to imagine what cinema might look like 50 years from now.
That begs the question, said Cookson, “What is cinema?” “The essence of cinema is storytelling,” said Cookson, defining the medium as a story told by a single storyteller, not controlled by the participants like a game.
With that established, Cookson told the audience of engineers and technologists from around the world: “Our job on the technology side is to make the technology disappear, to make applications and interfaces that are so powerful and intuitive that storytellers can focus only on telling their stories.”
Asked by a member of the audience what frame rate will be used in 2064, he said “In 2064 you won’t even ask the question, it’ll be whatever it takes to convey the feeling,” and went on to predict frame rates will even change scene to scene, if that’s what serves the story.
He said today’s tech already offers hints of what the future will bring: screens large and small that can duplicate nearly anything the eye can perceive; cameras that let filmmakers choose framing, depth of field, focus and brightness in post, rather than on the day of shooting; fast networks that permit “collaboration at the speed of thought” and allow people to work together regardless of how far apart they are.
He even predicted a kind of personal “holodeck” virtual reality experience like that envisioned in “Star Trek.” Noting that business models often determine what gets built and what doesn’t, he pointed out that even today there are flight simulators offering a kind of virtual reality. He predicted there will be a business model to support such individual VR experiences as the Oculus Rift.
A panel on the future of cinema following Cookson’s speech expanded on his ideas. “Filmmakers are going to have more of an infinite palette to play with: frame rate, high dynamic range… It’ll be whatever you want it to be,” said Rob Hummell, president of Group 47 and a Hollywood tech stalwart. “But don’t think any of this stuff is what’s guaranteed to get audiences into theaters,” he warned, harkening back to a survey in the early 1980s that asked theater patrons which exhibition innovations mattered most to them. “Cupholders” was their answer, said Hummel.
Disney’s VP of production technology Howard Lukk said “I think we’re in one of the most exciting times we’ve had,” adding “It’s like we’ve been painting with oils for so long, and now someone came along and said ‘Oh, here are some watercolors.”
The panel agreed that the audience craves better stories more than it craves better-quality picture and sound, but they also agreed that something will have to differentiate the theater experience from home viewing, which is improving fast. Deluxe Entertainment Services chief technology officer Steve Weinstein compared the change in exhibition to the shift in live music from stand-up-and-play bands to DJ’s with dancers. He suggested theaters will have to bring back live performances as part of the show to keep audiences interested.
Weinstein also predicted flatly “The second screen in theaters, it’s just an inevitability” — a notion that brought groans from some, who complained of seeing cell phone and tablet screens light up around them as they try to watch a film.
One of the more extreme predictions of the day came from Light Iron Digital’s CEO, Michael Cioni, on a panel on “The New Post-Production.” Cioni noted that today cinemas are the highest quality presentation, TV is next, followed by web devices. He predicted that soon that order would turn upside down, with web devices beating out TV and theaters trailing behind.
Cioni and Sony Pictures Television’s Phil Squyers — both of whom have made big business bets on UHD production and post — agreed said the future belongs to those who make “high-fidelity” content, future-proofing their libraries by capturing and mastering in 4K. “I believe this NAB will open up a massive, massive opportunity for high fidelity development,” said Cioni.
Yet while much of the day was devoted to predicting a future where formats are fluid and filmmakers face few limits, Cioni did make a firm prediction on a format that will thrive. “It’s a really widescreen future,” he said, predicting that this year’s NAB Show will have more announcements of new anamorphic lenses (for shooting widescreen formats) than ever before — not least because in a world where digital technology goes obsolete quickly, an investment in lenses holds its value better over time.
Five cinema chains in Russia fined for showing 'The Wolf Of Wall Street'
The film has caused controversy in the Siberian city of of Novosibirsk
Five cinema chains in Russia have been fined for showing The Wolf Of Wall Street.
The companies were said to have broken laws relating to the promotion of illegal drugs, reports The Guardian. They were fined over four million rubles (£68,000), but the chains will likely appeal the ruling, as the film was cleared for screening by the country's culture ministry.
The chains fined were in the 'unofficial' Siberian capital of Novosibirsk. The Itar-Tass news agency stated that 10 cinemas were accused of having "idealised the use of narcotics" by showing the movie.
Martin Scorsese's The Wolf Of Wall Streetwas banned in Malaysia and Nepal. The movie also had three scenes cut in India, including the gay orgy, Jonah Hill masturbating and Leonardo DiCaprio blowing cocaine up a woman's bottom with a straw.
DiCaprio stars as Jordan Belfort in the film, a flashy New York stockbroker whose extravagant New York lifestyle comes to a sudden end when he's convicted of fraud and money laundering. It's based on Belfort's bestselling memoir of the same name, which was published in 2008. The film was released earlier this year and was nominated for a number of Academy Awards, but failed to win any. DiCaprio defended the film's content, saying it should serve as a cautionary tale.
Having created large new markets for their sound-recording technologies in the United States, Western Electric and RCA were eager to do the same abroad. Their objective coincided with the desire of the major American film studios to extend their control of the international motion-picture industry. Accordingly, the studios began to export sound films in late 1928, and ERPI and RCA began installing their equipment in European theatres at the same time. Exhibitors in the United Kingdom converted the most rapidly, with 22 percent wired for sound in 1929 and 63 percent by the end of 1932. Continental exhibitors converted more slowly, largely because of a bitter patents war between the German cartel Tobis-Klangfilm, which controlled the European rights to sound-on-film technology, and Western Electric. The dispute was finally resolved at the 1930 German-American Film Conference in Paris, where Tobis, ERPI, and RCA agreed to pool their patents and divide the world market among themselves. The language problem also delayed the conversion to sound on the Continent. Because dubbing was all but impossible in the earliest years of the transition, films had to be shot in several different languages (sometimes featuring a different cast for each version) at the time of production in order to receive wide international distribution. Paramount therefore built a huge studio in the Paris suburb of Joinville in 1930 to mass-produce multilingual films. The other major American studios quickly followed suit, making the region a factory for the round-the-clock production of movies in as many as 15 separate languages. By the end of 1931, however, the technique of dubbing had been sufficiently perfected to replace multilingual production, and Joinville was converted into a dubbing centre for all of Europe.
Because of the lack of a language barrier, the United Kingdom became Hollywood’s first major foreign market for sound films. The British motion-picture industry was protected from complete American domination, however, by the Cinematograph Films Act passed by Parliament in 1927. The act required that a certain minimum proportion of the films exhibited in British theatres be of domestic origin. Although most of the films made to fulfill this condition were low-budget, low-standard productions known as “quota quickies,” the British cinema produced many important film artists (most of whom were soon lured to Hollywood). One of the first major British talents to emerge after the introduction of sound was Alfred Hitchcock, who directed a series of stylish thrillers for British International Pictures and Gaumont British before he moved to Hollywood in 1939. His first sound film, Blackmail (1929), marked the effective beginning of sound production in England. The film was already in production as a silent when the director was ordered to make it as a “part-talkie.” It was especially noted for the expressive use of both naturalistic and nonnaturalistic sound, which became a distinguishing feature of Hitchcock’s later British triumphs (The Man Who Knew Too Much, 1934; The Thirty-nine Steps, 1935; Sabotage, 1936), as well as of the films of his American career. Among the significant British filmmakers who remained based in London were the Hungarian-born brothers Alexander, Zoltán, and Vincent Korda, who founded London Films in 1932 and collaborated on some of England’s most spectacular pre-World War II productions (e.g., The Private Life of Henry VIII, 1933; Rembrandt, 1936; Elephant Boy, 1937; The Four Feathers, 1939), and John Grierson, who produced such outstanding documentaries as Robert Flaherty’s Industrial Britain (1933) and Basil Wright’s Song of Ceylon (1935) for the Empire Marketing Board Film Unit and its successor, the General Post Office (GPO) Film Unit.
In France during the 1920s, as a result of the post-World War I decline of the Pathé and Gaumont film companies, a large number of small studios leased their facilities to independent companies, which were often formed to produce a single film. This method of film production lent itself readily to experimentation, encouraging the development of the avant-garde film movement known as Impressionism (led by Germaine Dulac, Jean Epstein, Marcel L’Herbier, and Fernand Léger) and the innovative films of Abel Gance (La Roue, 1923; Napoléon vu par Abel Gance, 1927) and Dmitri Kirsanoff (Ménilmontant, 1926). Because the French film industry had evolved no marketable technology for sound recording, however, the coming of sound left producers and exhibitors alike vulnerable to the American production companies at Joinville and to the German Tobis-Klangfilm, which had been purchasing large studios in the Paris suburb of Epinay since 1929. In the face of this threat, the French industry attempted to regroup itself around what was left of the Pathé and Gaumont empires, forming two consortia—Pathé-Natan and Gaumont-Franco-Film-Aubert—for the production and distribution of sound films. Although neither group was financially successful, they seem to have created an unprecedented demand for French-language films about French subjects, reinvigorating the country’s cinema. Between 1928 and 1938, French film production doubled from 66 to 122 features, and, in terms of box-office receipts, the French audience was considered to be second only to the American one.
Many filmmakers contributed to the prominence of French cinema during the 1930s, but the three most important were René Clair, Jean Vigo, and Jean Renoir. Clair was a former avant-gardist whose contributions to the aesthetics of sound, although not so crucial as Hitchcock’s, were nevertheless significant. His Sous les toits de Paris (Under the Roofs of Paris, 1930), frequently hailed as the first artistic triumph of the sound film, was a lively musical comedy that mixed asynchronous sound with a bare minimum of dialogue. Clair used the same technique in Le Million (1931), which employed a wide range of dynamic contrapuntal effects. À nous la liberté (Freedom for Us, 1931) was loosely based on the life of Charles Pathé and dealt with more serious themes of industrial alienation, although it still used the musical-comedy form. The film’s intelligence, visual stylization, and brilliant use of asynchronous sound made it a classic of the transitional period.
Jean Vigo completed only two features before his early death: Zéro de conduite (Zero for Conduct, 1933) and L’Atalante (1934). Both are lyrical films about individuals in revolt against social reality. Their intensely personal nature is thought to have influenced the style of poetic realism that characterized French cinema from 1934 to 1940 and that is exemplified by Jacques Feyder’s Pension mimosas (1935), Julien Duvivier’s Pépé le Moko (1937), and Marcel Carné’s Quai des brumes (Port of Shadows, 1938) andLe Jour se lève (Daybreak, 1939). Darkly poetic, these films were characterized by a brooding pessimism that reflected the French public’s despair over the failure of the Popular Front movement of 1935–37 and the seeming inevitability of war.
Jean Renoir, the son of the Impressionist painter Pierre-Auguste Renoir, made nine films before he directed the grimly realistic La Chienne (The Bitch, 1931) and La Nuit du carrefour (Night at the Crossroads, 1932), his first important essays in sound. Renoir subsequently demonstrated a spirit of increasing social concern in such films as Boudu sauvé des eaux (Boudu Saved from Drowning, 1932), a comic assault on bourgeois values; Toni (1934), a realistic story of Italian immigrant workers; Le Crime de Monsieur Lange (The Crime of Monsieur Lange, 1935), a political parable about the need for collective action against capitalist corruption; and La Vie est à nous (“Life Is Ours”; English title The People of France, 1936), a propaganda film for the French Communist Party that contains both fictional and documentary footage. The strength of his commitment is most clearly expressed, however, by the eloquent appeal he makes for human understanding in his two pre-World War II masterworks. La Grande Illusion (Grand Illusion, 1937), set in a World War I prison camp, portrays a civilization on the brink of collapse because of national and class antagonisms; in its assertion of the primacy of human relationships and the utter futility of war (the “grand illusion”), the film stands as one of the greatest antiwar statements ever made. In La Règle du jeu (The Rules of the Game, 1939), set in contemporary France, the breakdown of civilization has already occurred. European society is shown to be an elegant but brittle fabrication in which feeling and substance have been replaced by “manners,” a world in which “the terrible thing,” to quote the protagonist Octave (played by Renoir), “is that everyone has his reasons.” In both films Renoir continued his earlier experiments with directional sound and deep-focus composition. His technical mastery came to influence the American cinema when he immigrated to the United States to escape the Nazis in 1940.
Germany and Italy
Because of its ownership of the Tobis-Klangfilm patents, the German film industry found itself in a position of relative strength in the early years of sound, and it produced several important films during that period, including Josef von Sternberg’s Der blaue Engel (The Blue Angel, 1930), G.W. Pabst’s two antiwar films, Westfront 1918 (1930) and Kameradschaft(1931), and his adaptation of Bertolt Brecht’s Die Dreigroschenoper (The Threepenny Opera, 1931). The most influential of the early German sound films, however, was Fritz Lang’s M (1931), which utilized a dimension of aural imagery to counterpoint its visuals in the manner of Alfred Hitchcock’s Blackmail.M has no musical score but makes expressive use of nonnaturalistic sound, as when the child murderer (played by Peter Lorre) is heard to whistle a recurring theme from Grieg’s Peer Gynt before committing his crimes offscreen.
After Adolf Hitler took power in 1933, the German film industry came under the complete control of the Nazi Ministry of Popular Enlightenment and Propaganda. Its head, Joseph Goebbels, believed ideological indoctrination worked best when conveyed through entertainment, so Nazi cinema put forth its political propaganda in the form of genre films such as comedies, musicals, and melodramas. The most famous and controversial films produced in Nazi Germany were documentaries by Leni Riefenstahl, whom Hitler recruited to record a Nazi party rally for Triumph des Willens (Triumph of the Will, 1935) and the 1936 Olympic Games in Berlin for Olympia (1938).
The situation was similar in Italy, where popular genre films as well as historical epics carried the messages of the Fascist government of Benito Mussolini. Italy also sought to strengthen its film culture during this era by establishing a national film school, the Centro Sperimentale di Cinematografia (founded 1935; “Experimental Centre of Cinematography”), and a major new studio complex in Rome, Cinecittà (opened 1937). Both of these institutions continued in operation after World War II and played a significant role in subsequent film history.
Although the Soviet engineers P.G. Tager and A.F. Shorin had designed optical sound systems as early as 1927, neither was workable until 1929. Sound was slow in reaching the Soviet Union: most Soviet transitional films were technically inferior to those of the West, and Soviet filmmakers continued to make silent films until the mid-1930s. As in Germany and Italy, however, sound reemphasized film’s propaganda value, and, through the authoritarian government’s policy of Socialist Realism, the Soviet cinema became an instrument of mass indoctrination as never before. The filmmakers most affected by the new policy were the great montage artists of the 1920s. Each of them made admirable attempts to experiment with sound—Lev Kuleshov’s The Great Consoler (1933), Dziga Vertov’s Symphony of the Donbas (1931) and Three Songs About Lenin (1934), Sergey Eisenstein’sBezhin Meadow (1935; terminated by Boris Shumyatsky in midproduction), Vsevolod Illarionovich Pudovkin’s A Simple Case (1932) and Deserter (1933), and Aleksandr Dovzhenko’s Ivan (1932)—but their work was ultimately suppressed or defamed by the party bureaucracy. Only Eisenstein was powerful enough to reassert his genius: in the nationalistic epic Alexander Nevsky (1938), whose contrapuntal sound track is a classic of its kind, and in the operatically stylized Ivan the Terrible, Parts I and II (1944–46), a veiled critique of Stalin’s autocracy. Most of the films produced at the time were propaganda glorifying national heroes.
In Japan, as in the Soviet Union, the conversion to sound was a slow process: in 1932 only 45 of 400 features were made with sound, and silent films continued to be produced in large numbers until 1937. The main reason for the slow conversion was that Japanese motion pictures had “talked” since their inception through the mediation of a benshi, a commentator who stood to the side of the screen and narrated the action for the audience in the manner of Kabuki theatre. The arrival of recorded sound liberated the Japanese cinema from its dependence on live narrators and was resisted by thebenshi, many of whom were stars in their own right and possessed considerable box-office appeal. In the end, however, Japan’s conversion to sound was complete.
As in the United States, the introduction of sound enabled the major Japanese film companies (Nikkatsu, founded 1912; Shochiku, 1920; Toho, c. 1935) to acquire smaller companies and form vertical monopolies controlling production, distribution, and exhibition. Production procedures were standardized and structured for the mass production of motion pictures, and the studios increased their efficiency by specializing in either jidai-geki, period films set before 1868 (the year marking the beginning of the Meiji Restoration, 1868–1912, and the abolition of the feudal shogunate), or gendai-geki, films of contemporary life, set any time thereafter. Although, as a matter of geopolitical circumstance, there was hardly any export market for Japanese films prior to World War II, the domestic popularity of sound films enabled the Japanese motion-picture industry to become one of the most prolific in the world, releasing 400 films annually to the nation’s 2,500 theatres. Most of these films had no purpose other than entertainment, but in the late 1930s, as the government became increasingly expansionist and militaristic, Japan’s major directors turned to works of social criticism called “tendency” films, such as Ozu Yasujirō’s Hitori musuko (The Only Son, 1936) andMizoguchi Kenji’s Naniwa hika (Osaka Elegy, 1936) and Gion no shimai (Sisters of the Gion, 1936). In response the government imposed a strict code of censorship that was retained throughout the war.
In India, sound created a major industrial boom by reviving a popular 19th-century theatrical form: the folk-music drama based on centuries-old religious myths. Despite the fact that films had to be produced in as many as 10 regional languages, the popularity of these “all-talking, all-singing, all-dancing” mythologicals or historicals played an enormous role in winning acceptance for sound throughout the subcontinent and in encouraging the growth of the Indian film industry. An average of 230 features were released per year throughout the 1930s, almost all for domestic consumption.
The war years and post-World War II trends
Decline of the Hollywood studios
During the U.S. involvement in World War II, the Hollywood film industry cooperated closely with the government to support its war-aims information campaign. Following the declaration of war on Japan, the government created a Bureau of Motion Picture Affairs to coordinate the production of entertainment features with patriotic, morale-boosting themes and messages about the “American way of life,” the nature of the enemy and the allies, civilian responsibility on the home front, and the fighting forces themselves. Initially unsophisticated vehicles for xenophobia and jingoism with titles such as The Devil with Hitler and Blondie for Victory (both 1942), Hollywood’s wartime films became increasingly serious as the war dragged on (Fritz Lang’s Hangmen Also Die, Jean Renoir’s This Land Is Mine, Tay Garnett’s Bataan, all 1943; Delmer Daves’s Destination Tokyo, Alfred Hitchcock’s Lifeboat, Lewis Milestone’s The Purple Heart, all 1944; Milestone’s A Walk in the Sun, 1946). In addition to commercial features, several Hollywood directors produced documentaries for government and military agencies. Among the best-known of these films, which were designed to explain the war to both servicemen and civilians, are Frank Capra’s seven-part series Why We Fight (1942–44), John Ford’sThe Battle of Midway (1942), William Wyler’s The Memphis Belle (1944), and John Huston’s The Battle of San Pietro (1944). The last three were shot on location and were made especially effective by their immediacy.
When World War II ended, the American film industry seemed to be in an ideal position. Full-scale mobilization had ended the Depression domestically, and victory had opened vast, unchallenged markets in the war-torn economies of western Europe and Japan. Furthermore, from 1942 through 1945, Hollywood had experienced the most stable and lucrative three years in its history, and in 1946, when two-thirds of the American population went to the movies at least once a week, the studios earned record-breaking profits. The euphoria ended quickly, however, as inflation and labour unrest boosted domestic production costs and as important foreign markets, including Britain and Italy, were temporarily lost to protectionist quotas. The industry was more severely weakened in 1948, when a federal antitrust suit against the five major and three minor studios ended in the “Paramount decrees,” which forced the studios to divest themselves of their theatre chains and mandated competition in the exhibition sector for the first time in 30 years. Finally, the advent of network television broadcasting in the 1940s provided Hollywood with its first real competition for American leisure time by offering consumers “movies in the home.”
The American film industry’s various problems and the nation’s general postwar disillusionment generated several new film types in the late 1940s. Although the studios continued to produce traditional genre films, such as westerns and musicals, their financial difficulties encouraged them to make realistic small-scale dramas rather than fantastic lavish epics. Instead of depending on spectacle and special effects to create excitement, the new lower-budget films tried to develop thought-provoking or perverse stories reflecting the psychological and social problems besetting returning war veterans and others adapting to postwar life. Some of the American cinema’s grimmest and most naturalistic films were produced during this period, including those of the so-called social consciousness cycle, which attempted to deal realistically with such endemic problems as racism (Elia Kazan’s Gentleman’s Agreement, 1947; Alfred Werker’s Lost Boundaries, 1949), alcoholism (Stuart Heisler’s Smash-Up, 1947), and mental illness (Anatole Litvak’s The Snake Pit, 1948); the semidocumentary melodrama, which reconstructed true criminal cases and was often shot on location (Kazan’s Boomerang, 1947; Henry Hathaway’s Kiss of Death, 1947); and the film noir, whose dark, fatalistic interpretations of contemporary American reality are unique in the industry’s history (Tay Garnett’s The Postman Always Rings Twice, 1946; Orson Welles’s The Lady from Shanghai, 1947; Jacques Tourneur’s Out of the Past, 1947; Abraham Polonsky’s Force of Evil, 1948).