Final Project from Alyssa Maley on Vimeo.
Alyssa Maley Media 160
Monday, May 16, 2016
Sunday, May 1, 2016
Blog 4: The Museum of the Moving Image
When I visited the Museum of the Moving Image, I expected to focus on the horror movie prosthetics, as those are usually my favorite part. I had visited the museum before and was familiar with a lot of the technical exhibits, and this time I found myself much more compelled by the displays on sound design, especially the Foley simulator. Now knowing what the word Foley means and having seen it put to use in lecture, I felt compelled to sit down in front of the two computer screens set up. “Wait, guys, I know what this is, I know how they do this stuff, I want to try this,” I told my friends.
The Foley display allowed you to choose from a few movie scenes, and first watch them without sounds cues. Then, you would select your own sound for each cue from a library of Foley sounds. Having a weakness for Christmas movies and movies made in the 90s, I chose the scene from Home Alone 2 in which the two burglars enter the protagonist’s family’s apartment to find it booby-trapped. There were five sound cues removed, and it was interesting to listen to the Foley options and try to choose which one sounded the most like what I had heard in the actual film. What I found most interesting was what actions each removed sound cue corresponded to. It would make sense that the sound of a character falling down and hitting the ground hard would call for Foley. What I didn’t expect was that another sound cue was that of some sort of jelly dripping from a ladder and landing on Joe Pesci’s face. It was great to see the range of sounds that Foley can be used for-not only hard fighting and slamming sounds, but also tiny bits of action like dripping gel.
The Foley display allowed you to choose from a few movie scenes, and first watch them without sounds cues. Then, you would select your own sound for each cue from a library of Foley sounds. Having a weakness for Christmas movies and movies made in the 90s, I chose the scene from Home Alone 2 in which the two burglars enter the protagonist’s family’s apartment to find it booby-trapped. There were five sound cues removed, and it was interesting to listen to the Foley options and try to choose which one sounded the most like what I had heard in the actual film. What I found most interesting was what actions each removed sound cue corresponded to. It would make sense that the sound of a character falling down and hitting the ground hard would call for Foley. What I didn’t expect was that another sound cue was that of some sort of jelly dripping from a ladder and landing on Joe Pesci’s face. It was great to see the range of sounds that Foley can be used for-not only hard fighting and slamming sounds, but also tiny bits of action like dripping gel.
Monday, April 18, 2016
Blog 3: Editing Analysis
For this assignment, I thought it would be fun to go back to one of Lady Gaga’s first music videos (and one of only 3 of her videos that clocks in under five minutes). Lady Gaga’s music videos have always been highly stylistic and use visual and editing elements to tell a story and build on the overall experiences of their accompanying songs. The video that I am analyzing is for “Beautiful, Dirty, Rich”, a song about money and the destructive nature of many of those who have it.
What I notice first that there are a lot of cuts between shots. The video is essentially made almost entirely of cuts from one few-second shot to the next. The cuts are obvious because they cut to different people, a different room in the house the video is set in, or Gaga in a different outfit. Sometimes the cut is to a different angle of the same shot, but even then it still feels purposefully jumpy. The quick jumps between various shots of beautiful people partying in lavish outfits in a fancy house, Lady Gaga burning or eating money, and so on, help illustrate the way that the rich throw away money and how material items are disposable to them, they can always acquire more.
Monday, April 11, 2016
Wednesday, March 23, 2016
What I Hear
I live in Washington Heights. I immediately knew that I wanted to do a Soundwalk here because it is such a culturally rich neighborhood, and sound is one key element that makes up its definition.
The first things I expected to hear when I left my apartment were cars. Actually, though, they were an airplane and wind. I guess I had forgotten that planes often fly pretty loudly over my street, or maybe I’d just stopped noticing.
Then came the cars. A bus rumbling. A car idling outside of an apartment. Music from cars: hip hop, Spanish, bass. The next thing I heard as I reached the end of my block was the next to surprise me. I heard birds chirping. I’m not sure why that surprised me. I think I had gotten more accustomed to ignoring the more abrasive traffic sounds and let everything fall into the background noise.
The traffic noises continued. Large trucks and buses rumbling, cars accelerating, cars that passed more quietly than others. Horns beeping. Occasional sirens. Music continued pretty regularly from cars and storefronts. It was mostly hip hop and Spanish music, with some pop-rock coming from the Boston Market.
I began to pay more attention to the people talking. I heard so many one-sided conversations from people on phones. I heard yelling on the phone, people talking in groups playfully, laughter, shouting friends greeting each other. At one point I noticed a voice louder than all the others. It almost sounded as if someone was playing a radio until I realized that a man was reading from a bible into a microphone on the nearest corner. I also noticed the footsteps. There were shuffling steps and pounding steps. I heard the difference between an adult running for exercise and a child running excitedly.
Then came different noises. Cardboard boxes unloading onto the sidewalk, the patter of dogs’ feet and the jingling of their leashes, the tapping of canes on the pavement, ringtones, keys jangling, shopping carts that rattled or screeched, a closing door. I think I found many of these noises most surprising, not because they are any less everyday than a car or laughter, but because they are much more specific. Instead of a constant stream of cars, it was one woman’s cane on a particular block. They felt like the final layer or sound signals on top of key notes that began as cars and grew to include footsteps and voices before these signals began to mix in on top. The hip hop and Spanish music and laughter between friends and neighbors became soundmarks. The sound felt like it had a choppy texture that was still full.
At first I felt a bit overwhelmed trying to remember every sound that I heard. Then I realized that that wasn’t the point. I realized how many sounds were repeated different times, how small the sounds were in a way. I never heard the same car engine for more than a few seconds or more than a couple of words from one conversation. It is all of the little bits of sound that make up a sort of symphony, a specific symphony for each neighborhood
The first things I expected to hear when I left my apartment were cars. Actually, though, they were an airplane and wind. I guess I had forgotten that planes often fly pretty loudly over my street, or maybe I’d just stopped noticing.
Then came the cars. A bus rumbling. A car idling outside of an apartment. Music from cars: hip hop, Spanish, bass. The next thing I heard as I reached the end of my block was the next to surprise me. I heard birds chirping. I’m not sure why that surprised me. I think I had gotten more accustomed to ignoring the more abrasive traffic sounds and let everything fall into the background noise.
The traffic noises continued. Large trucks and buses rumbling, cars accelerating, cars that passed more quietly than others. Horns beeping. Occasional sirens. Music continued pretty regularly from cars and storefronts. It was mostly hip hop and Spanish music, with some pop-rock coming from the Boston Market.
I began to pay more attention to the people talking. I heard so many one-sided conversations from people on phones. I heard yelling on the phone, people talking in groups playfully, laughter, shouting friends greeting each other. At one point I noticed a voice louder than all the others. It almost sounded as if someone was playing a radio until I realized that a man was reading from a bible into a microphone on the nearest corner. I also noticed the footsteps. There were shuffling steps and pounding steps. I heard the difference between an adult running for exercise and a child running excitedly.
Then came different noises. Cardboard boxes unloading onto the sidewalk, the patter of dogs’ feet and the jingling of their leashes, the tapping of canes on the pavement, ringtones, keys jangling, shopping carts that rattled or screeched, a closing door. I think I found many of these noises most surprising, not because they are any less everyday than a car or laughter, but because they are much more specific. Instead of a constant stream of cars, it was one woman’s cane on a particular block. They felt like the final layer or sound signals on top of key notes that began as cars and grew to include footsteps and voices before these signals began to mix in on top. The hip hop and Spanish music and laughter between friends and neighbors became soundmarks. The sound felt like it had a choppy texture that was still full.
At first I felt a bit overwhelmed trying to remember every sound that I heard. Then I realized that that wasn’t the point. I realized how many sounds were repeated different times, how small the sounds were in a way. I never heard the same car engine for more than a few seconds or more than a couple of words from one conversation. It is all of the little bits of sound that make up a sort of symphony, a specific symphony for each neighborhood
Monday, March 14, 2016
Sunday, February 21, 2016
Artist Statement
I was fourteen the first time I felt compelled to make notes about a movie while I watched it. It was Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind and I was mesmerized by how such a beautiful story was told through such a disjointed, nonlinear narrative.
I am an actor. I have always been an actor, and I have always been drawn to film. Growing up moving around often and being the perpetual "new kid", movies were something that were always constant in my life. However, when asked to produce my artist statement, I drew a blank. Looking at my biggest influences, I realized I am drawn to storytelling. As an actor, I am a storyteller. The filmmakers I admire are all unique storytellers. I admire Darren Aronofsky and the way he grips his audience and pulls them into his characters' downward spirals before you even realize where you are and end up entirely unnerved. He is someone who wholly accomplishes what he sets out to do as he builds from beginning to end. I admire Martin Scorsese and how each of his films takes the audience on a different, fully immersive journey. I admire Todd Solodnz and Harmony Korine, who each have their own way of spinning a beautiful story out of the disturbing realities of everyday life, how they can tell a story when it seems as though nothing is happening.
I also find inspiration in theatre. I admire how Lin-Manuel Miranda created and stars in Broadway's Hamilton, taking the story of America's founding fathers and turning it into something so beautifully relatable to today's audiences. I admire John Cameron Mitchell, who created both the stories and characters of Shortbus and Hedwig and the Angry Inch, directing and starring in both film, as well as taking Hedwig from the stage to the screen and back to the stage, uniting 15 years' worth of fans with a single story.
I have always been driven by film's ability to reach people and how one filmmaker's story can take on so many different meanings for such a wide variety of audiences. I want to write films and I want to perform in them. I want to create the stories that as an actor I want to tell. I want my future work to explore the scope of stories to be told and the endless styles of narratives with which to tell them.
I am an actor. I have always been an actor, and I have always been drawn to film. Growing up moving around often and being the perpetual "new kid", movies were something that were always constant in my life. However, when asked to produce my artist statement, I drew a blank. Looking at my biggest influences, I realized I am drawn to storytelling. As an actor, I am a storyteller. The filmmakers I admire are all unique storytellers. I admire Darren Aronofsky and the way he grips his audience and pulls them into his characters' downward spirals before you even realize where you are and end up entirely unnerved. He is someone who wholly accomplishes what he sets out to do as he builds from beginning to end. I admire Martin Scorsese and how each of his films takes the audience on a different, fully immersive journey. I admire Todd Solodnz and Harmony Korine, who each have their own way of spinning a beautiful story out of the disturbing realities of everyday life, how they can tell a story when it seems as though nothing is happening.
I also find inspiration in theatre. I admire how Lin-Manuel Miranda created and stars in Broadway's Hamilton, taking the story of America's founding fathers and turning it into something so beautifully relatable to today's audiences. I admire John Cameron Mitchell, who created both the stories and characters of Shortbus and Hedwig and the Angry Inch, directing and starring in both film, as well as taking Hedwig from the stage to the screen and back to the stage, uniting 15 years' worth of fans with a single story.
I have always been driven by film's ability to reach people and how one filmmaker's story can take on so many different meanings for such a wide variety of audiences. I want to write films and I want to perform in them. I want to create the stories that as an actor I want to tell. I want my future work to explore the scope of stories to be told and the endless styles of narratives with which to tell them.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)