Why "Pas de deux" is Comparable to Chocolate Covered Bacon

I love short films. They're the Hershey's Miniatures of movies. You watch them when you just can't fit a feature length film into your diet. Not only are they convenient and compact, but they come in any flavor you could ask for. Craving animation? Try Paperman. Looking to try a silent mystery? Sherlock Jr 's the one you want. Or maybe you're a fan of the classics: A Trip to the Moon. Despite your personal taste in genres, like Hershey's Miniatures, you can't just have one. [Side-note: If you happen to be one of the rare individuals that can eat just one of these delicious chocolates I envy your self-control. Also there might be something inherently wrong with you. Sorry.]

Anyway, during one of my short film binges, I came across Pas de deux. Keeping with my chocolate analogy, Pas de deux could be compared to chocolate covered bacon. Would I eat it again? No. Do I admire the originality of the composition? Absolutely.

Directed by Canadian filmmaker, Norman McLaren, Pas de deux was embraced instantly by the filmmaking community. Not only did it receive 17 awards, (one including the 1969 BAFTA award for Best Animated Film), it was also nominated for an Academy Award. The short is an interpretation of a ballet-style dance called, get this: the Pas de deux. Content, however, is not what launched McLaren's piece into movie history. The real beauty lay in the filmmaker's extraordinary method of production.

The Canadian cinematographer used light and photography to create a stroboscopic collection of images. First, McLaren took photograph after photograph of the dancer/s; backlit and in front of a black backdrop. This lighting scheme, along with his choice of high contrast stock, contributed to the piece's radical overall look. This ain't your run of the mill Instagram filter.

Then, using the "step and repeat" process and an optical printer, McLaren overlaid the photographs to great some of the most interesting and surreal cinematography I've seen. I can not help but to deeply admire the fact that Norman McLaren manually did the job of both the videocamera, and the editing software.

Regardless of whether you're discussing movies or chocolate; one thing can be said of both. You don't need to consume a whole portion to appreciate the taste.

It Might Be Rational to Be Irrational: "Un Chien Andalou"

When Professor Sinclair wrote the name "Luis Bunuel" on the board the very first day of class, I assumed this fellow could be someone worth knowing about. So, tapping into that "beginning of the school year ambition," I dutifully researched the filmmaker. This is what I found:

"Un Chien Andalou", Bunuel's first film, proved unable to be ignored by the world. It's shocking. It's disturbing. And it makes absolutely no sense. But then again, that was the point. Working closely with famous surrealist Salvador Dali, the filmmakers vowed that the script could contain: "No idea or image that might lend itself to a rational explanation of any kind..." Even more, Bunuel explicated that, "Nothing, in the film, symbolizes anything. The only method of investigation of the symbols would be, perhaps, psychoanalysis."

Now, one must note, I was not yet aware of the lack of rational concepts when I initially hit the play button on the sixteen minute film. You can image then, how hard my brain was working to find symbolism in the madness. If you haven't yet had the pleasure of watching this particular piece of artistry, I urge you to click the video and watch it now. If you haven't watched "Un Chien Andalou" and don't intend to, allow me to give you a quick rundown.

A woman's eyeball is cut open. A man wearing nun's habit falls off his bicycle on the side of the road. Insects come out of a man's hand. A woman gets run over. Rape almost happens. The rapist drags two pianos covered in rotting donkey corpses across the room. A woman's armpit hair grows on a man's face where his mouth used to be. AND MUCH MUCH MORE!

Even if weird isn't necessarily your thing, one has to give credit to Bunuel for his boldness. Once I understood that the film couldn't be, well, understood, I actually found myself really enjoying the piece. There's no doubt that "Un Chien Andalou" is shocking. But imagine the reactions the short must have evoked when it first came out in 1929. In conclusion, there's a reason we should research the people Professor Sinclair asks us to. If I hadn't, I would have missed out on this particular gem.