midnight marauder

Graphic Designer / Illustrator / Cinephile
lapitiedangereuse:

Dominique SANDA.

lapitiedangereuse:

Dominique SANDA.

(via iznogoodgood)

Jean Louis Trintignant and Dominique Sanda Circa 1970

Jean Louis Trintignant and Dominique Sanda Circa 1970

(Source: bbook)

(Source: annapurnapics)

cinephiliabeyond:

Midnight Marauder's (a brilliant graphic designer/illustrator) Criterion cover for John Boorman’s 1967 classic Point Blank.
Lee Marvin interviewed by John Gallagher (1986). In a rare and comprehensive interview conducted one year before his death, the legendary star reminisces about John Ford, John Wayne, Robert Aldrich, Fritz Lang, Michael Curtiz, Sam Fuller, and John Boorman, and such classics as The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance, Donovan’s Reef, The Big Red One, The Dirty Dozen, Point Blank, his TV series M Squad, and winning the Oscar for Cat Ballou.

Walter Hill just mentioned recently how much Alexander Jacobs’ script for John Boorman’s Point Blank influenced him.

Alex Jacobs’ script of Point Blank (1967) was a revelation. He was a friend (wonderful guy, looked like a pirate, funny and crazy). This revelation came about despite a character flaw of mine. I have always had difficulty being complimentary to people whose work I admire, when face-to-face with them. This is not the norm in Hollywood where  effusiveness is generally a given. Anyway, a mutual friend told Alex how much I admired Point Blank and John Boorman. Alex then very graciously gave me a copy of the script. This was about the time he was doing The Seven-Ups (1973). Anyway, by now I’d been making a living as a screenwriter for maybe two or three years and had gotten to the point where I was dissatisfied with the standard form scripts were written in — they  just all seemed to be a kind of subliterary blueprint for shooting a picture and generally had no personal voice. Mine were tighter and terser than the average, but I was still working with the industry template and not too happy about it. Alex’s script just knocked me out (not easy to do); it was both playable and literary. Written in a whole different way than standard format (laconic, elliptical, suggestive rather than explicit, bold in the  implied editorial style), I thought Alex’s script was a perfect compliment to the material, hard, tough, and smart — my absolute ideals then. So much of the writing that was generally praised inside the business seemed to me soft and vastly overrated — vastly oversentimental. Then and now, I haven’t changed my opinions about that. But I have changed them about the presentational style.

Anyway I resolved to try to go in that direction (that Alex had shown), and I worked out my own approach in the next few years. I tried to write in an extremely spare, almost haiku style, both stage directions and dialogue. Some of it was a bit pretentious — but at other times I thought it worked pretty well. I now realize a lot of this was being a young guy who wanted to throw rocks at windows. Hard Times was the first, and I think maybe the best. Alien (1979) — the first draft, then when David [Giler] and I rewrote it, we left it in that style. The Driver, which I think was the purest script that I ever wrote, and The Warriors. The clean narrative drive of the material and the splash-panel approach to the characters perfectly fit the design I was trying to make work. Of course all this depend on the nature  of the material; I don’t think the style would’ve worked at all had I been writing romantic comedies. My scripts have always been a bit terse, both in stage directions and dialogue. I think I’ve loosened up in the dialogue  department, but I still try to keep the descriptions fairly minimal, and in some cases purposefully minimalist. I still punctuate to effect, rather than to the proper rules of grammar. I occasionally use onomatopoeias now, a luxury I  would certainly never have allowed myself when I was younger. My favorite description of the dilemma of screenwriting comes from  David Giler, “Your work is only read by the people who will destroy it. —Walter Hill


For more film related items throughout the day, follow Cinephilia & Beyond on Twitter. Get Cinephilia & Beyond in your inbox by signing in. You can also follow our RSS feed. Please use our Google Custom Search for better results. If you enjoy Cinephilia & Beyond, please consider making a small donation to keep it going:

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cinephiliabeyond:

Midnight Marauder's (a brilliant graphic designer/illustrator) Criterion cover for John Boorman’s 1967 classic Point Blank.

Lee Marvin interviewed by John Gallagher (1986). In a rare and comprehensive interview conducted one year before his death, the legendary star reminisces about John Ford, John Wayne, Robert Aldrich, Fritz Lang, Michael Curtiz, Sam Fuller, and John Boorman, and such classics as The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance, Donovan’s Reef, The Big Red One, The Dirty Dozen, Point Blank, his TV series M Squad, and winning the Oscar for Cat Ballou.

Walter Hill just mentioned recently how much Alexander Jacobs’ script for John Boorman’s Point Blank influenced him.

Alex Jacobs’ script of Point Blank (1967) was a revelation. He was a friend (wonderful guy, looked like a pirate, funny and crazy). This revelation came about despite a character flaw of mine. I have always had difficulty being complimentary to people whose work I admire, when face-to-face with them. This is not the norm in Hollywood where  effusiveness is generally a given. Anyway, a mutual friend told Alex how much I admired Point Blank and John Boorman. Alex then very graciously gave me a copy of the script. This was about the time he was doing The Seven-Ups (1973). Anyway, by now I’d been making a living as a screenwriter for maybe two or three years and had gotten to the point where I was dissatisfied with the standard form scripts were written in — they  just all seemed to be a kind of subliterary blueprint for shooting a picture and generally had no personal voice. Mine were tighter and terser than the average, but I was still working with the industry template and not too happy about it. Alex’s script just knocked me out (not easy to do); it was both playable and literary. Written in a whole different way than standard format (laconic, elliptical, suggestive rather than explicit, bold in the  implied editorial style), I thought Alex’s script was a perfect compliment to the material, hard, tough, and smart — my absolute ideals then. So much of the writing that was generally praised inside the business seemed to me soft and vastly overrated — vastly oversentimental. Then and now, I haven’t changed my opinions about that. But I have changed them about the presentational style.

Anyway I resolved to try to go in that direction (that Alex had shown), and I worked out my own approach in the next few years. I tried to write in an extremely spare, almost haiku style, both stage directions and dialogue. Some of it was a bit pretentious — but at other times I thought it worked pretty well. I now realize a lot of this was being a young guy who wanted to throw rocks at windows. Hard Times was the first, and I think maybe the best. Alien (1979) — the first draft, then when David [Giler] and I rewrote it, we left it in that style. The Driver, which I think was the purest script that I ever wrote, and The Warriors. The clean narrative drive of the material and the splash-panel approach to the characters perfectly fit the design I was trying to make work. Of course all this depend on the nature  of the material; I don’t think the style would’ve worked at all had I been writing romantic comedies. My scripts have always been a bit terse, both in stage directions and dialogue. I think I’ve loosened up in the dialogue  department, but I still try to keep the descriptions fairly minimal, and in some cases purposefully minimalist. I still punctuate to effect, rather than to the proper rules of grammar. I occasionally use onomatopoeias now, a luxury I  would certainly never have allowed myself when I was younger. My favorite description of the dilemma of screenwriting comes from  David Giler, “Your work is only read by the people who will destroy it. —Walter Hill

For more film related items throughout the day, follow Cinephilia & Beyond on Twitter. Get Cinephilia & Beyond in your inbox by signing in. You can also follow our RSS feed. Please use our Google Custom Search for better results. If you enjoy Cinephilia & Beyond, please consider making a small donation to keep it going:

lapitiedangereuse:

THE SEA GULL

lapitiedangereuse:

THE SEA GULL

janusfilms:

“Inimitable ethnographer of offbeat and unknown Americana, the late, great documentarian Les Blank chronicled the music, food, and rituals of regional micro-cultures. From odes to garlic and gap-toothed women, to intimate portraits of blues and folk music legends, to broadcasts from the wacky world of Werner Herzog, Blank’s films are joyous celebrations of folk traditions and larger-than-life personalities.”A 16-film retrospective starts September 2nd at BAMcinématek.

janusfilms:

“Inimitable ethnographer of offbeat and unknown Americana, the late, great documentarian Les Blank chronicled the music, food, and rituals of regional micro-cultures. From odes to garlic and gap-toothed women, to intimate portraits of blues and folk music legends, to broadcasts from the wacky world of Werner Herzog, Blank’s films are joyous celebrations of folk traditions and larger-than-life personalities.”

A 16-film retrospective starts September 2nd at BAMcinématek.

keyframedaily:

Tilda on the cover of Zembla, 2003.

keyframedaily:

Tilda on the cover of Zembla, 2003.

lapitiedangereuse:

Klaus Kinski in Paris
I make movies for money, exclusively for money.
Klaus Kinski
Orson Welles’ The Magnificent Ambersons Poster by Midnight Marauder

Orson Welles’ The Magnificent Ambersons Poster by Midnight Marauder

Magnificent Obsession

One of the great tragedies in cinematic history was the fate of Orson Welles’s 1942 epic, The Magnificent Ambersons, which was cut, reshot, and mutilated by studio functionaries while its visionary director was working on another project in Brazil. Sixty years on, the 132 minutes of the original version—if indeed they exist—are still the holy grail of certain film buffs. The author follows the making, and unmaking, of a movie that Welles believed was the death of his Hollywood career.

There are two great “lost” movies in the annals of Hollywood filmmaking, Erich von Stroheim’s Greed and Orson Welles’s The Magnificent Ambersons. Neither film is lost in a literal, vanished-and-gone sense—both are available on video, are occasionally screened in theaters, and are highly regarded by film critics (four stars apiece in Leonard Maltin’s Movie & Video Guide, for example). Rather, their tragic “lost” status stems from the fact that they exist only in truncated, bowdlerized form, having been wrested from the hands of their visionary directors by studio functionaries who were too craven and bottom-line-obsessed to cut these directors some auteurist slack. Since both films well pre-date the preservationist era of film-as-art-and-heritage—Greed was released in 1925, The Magnificent Ambersons in 1942—they have suffered the further indignity of being unreconstructible; studios back in those days didn’t hang on to excised footage for the sake of future director’s cuts on DVD, so the reels upon reels of nitrate film trimmed from the original versions were—depending on which movie you’re talking about and which story you believe—burned, thrown in the garbage, dumped into the Pacific, or simply left to decompose in the vaults.

Wanna read more Click on the Link at the Top

design-is-fine:

Heinz Edelmann, illustration for film poster The Ladykillers with Alec Guiness and Peter Sellers, 1966. Atlas film, Germany. Source

Hal Ashby’s “Coming Home” French Film Poster

Hal Ashby’s “Coming Home” French Film Poster