Home Actor Martin Scorsese HD Photos and Wallpapers June 2020 Martin Scorsese Instagram - Repost from @thefilmfoundation_official • To read Kent Jones’ post this week about CRISIS (1963, d. Robert Drew) click the link in The Film Foundation’s bio. @ethandre #filmrestoration #cinema #film #movie

Martin Scorsese Instagram – Repost from @thefilmfoundation_official • To read Kent Jones’ post this week about CRISIS (1963, d. Robert Drew) click the link in The Film Foundation’s bio. @ethandre #filmrestoration #cinema #film #movie

Martin Scorsese Instagram - Repost from @thefilmfoundation_official • To read Kent Jones’ post this week about CRISIS (1963, d. Robert Drew) click the link in The Film Foundation’s bio. @ethandre #filmrestoration #cinema #film #movie

Martin Scorsese Instagram – Repost from @thefilmfoundation_official

To read Kent Jones’ post this week about CRISIS (1963, d. Robert Drew) click the link in The Film Foundation’s bio.
@ethandre
#filmrestoration #cinema #film #movie | Posted on 04/Jun/2020 21:44:37

Martin Scorsese Instagram – Repost from @thefilmfoundation_official
By Kent Jones
During a discussion of Welles’ The Other Side of the Wind, Scorsese remarked that the editing of many scenes “comes down to a matter of frames.” You could extend this observation to a rule of thumb. If there’s 1 clear marker that separates a great movie from an ordinary one, it’s the evidence that every image or succession of images comes down to a matter of frames: every particle of every 24th of a second counts & is bound to every other particle. If you want a clear illustration, watch Bruce Conner’s films, 5 of which—Cosmic Ray, Ten Second Film, Report, Mea Culpa and America Is Waiting—were restored by @anthologyfilmarchives with grants from the Avant-Garde Masters program, created by NFPF & TFF. A sizable amount of his work is comprised of found footage pulled from industrial films, commercials & live TV coverage. Many of his films were constructed over great lengths of time & now exist in multiple versions, each one a living force—ceaselessly changing, throbbing with associations & dynamic shifts that create the sense of being everywhere at once, micro & macro, inside & outside of an event that appears to be creating itself before our eyes, echoing our own experience. To say of Conner’s films that every frame matters is to put it very mildly. Mea Culpa & America Is Waiting, which served as rock videos for the first 2 songs on David Byrne & Brian Eno’s 1981 proto-sampling album My Life in the Bush of Ghosts, offer a stark contrast with standard rock videos of the same period: they are pure compressed kinetic energy as opposed to the vague impression of kinetic energy created by a systematic succession of shock cuts and speed changes. Cosmic Ray is also a music film (the cosmic Ray’s last name is Charles) that bursts the screen open and floods right into your system, just like the silent, mind-bending Ten Second Film. Report is Conner’s response to the assassination of JFK, a film trauma that is immediate & reflective at the same time & a shock to the system. It seems that Report is now in an intense dialogue, across the span of 50 years & counting, with Bob Dylan’s new American lament, Murder Most Foul.
Martin Scorsese Instagram – Repost from @thefilmfoundation_official
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By Kent Jones 
I don’t remember the first Albert Lewin film I saw or how old I was when I saw it, but I was immediately entranced. I was taken with his literate and touchingly formal approach to moviemaking, his moving adherence to and belief in high culture and its trappings, his powerful sense of myth, his exacting production design, and his pull toward brooding and meditative quietude. He shared many of these qualities with Val Lewton. Both men had come out of the studio system and served as right-hand men to superstar production executives—Lewton worked for David O. Selznick, Lewin for Irving Thalberg—and both of them went in far more individualistic directions than their former mentors. And apart from the respective levels of their budgets and shooting schedules, there was one crucial difference. Lewton exerted a powerful and unmistakable influence on each of the films he produced, but he never directed. He preferred to stay in the background. Lewin also produced some truly beautiful films, but when he became a director, he declared himself as an artist. You can hide as a producer. But to quote David Fincher, if you think you can hide as a director, you’re nuts. The mythic undertones and overtones, the swooning romanticism, the idiosyncratic and occasionally awkward grammar and pacing—he unashamedly owned all of it.

The Film Foundation has helped to facilitate the restorations of three films directed by Lewin—The Moon and Sixpence, The Private Affairs of Bel Ami, and his greatest, the hypnotic and throbbingly beautiful Pandora and the Flying Dutchman—in addition to So Ends Our Night, a lovely adaptation of Erich Maria Remarque’s Flotsam. I like to celebrate Lewin, because his films are very special to me, and because at this particular moment in our culture, when people are so cavalier about shutting the door on the past, they seem particularly fragile. To see the films of the past only through the lens of the present, as opposed to allowing every film to fully reveal itself and thereby illuminate the moment of its making, is a great sadness. Especially when it’s used as a means of marginalizing such soulful films.

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