My mind can't help it. Every time I see a movie I immediately have to give it a grander connection beyond it's existence as an individual work. It's like a subconscious love of circles and continuity and patterns, but made nerdy.
I saw Charlie and the Chocolate Factory twice. After lusting over the creaky purple rubber gloves Willy Wonka wears I really concentrated on how much Existentialism there was in the film. It felt like I was watching something from Western Civ, especially with the monolith/candy bar connection to 2001: A Space Odyssey. Wonka's introduction to the five winners felt like hearing "starshine" in The Wall and back to the Space Cadets from 2001. The uncertainty, and the embrace of the uncertainty was also similar to the attitude of Bud's stepmom in Pleasantville toward the end. Connections everywhere, gah! Though they were not included, I think these lyrics truly should have gone into Mr. Nuccio's Western Civ. CD mix: If you want to view paradise simply look around and view it. Anything you want to - do it. Want to change the world? There's nothing to it. There is no life I know to compare with pure imagination. Living there you'll be free if you truly wish to be.
That, again, brought me back to The Wall by Sartre. There is no escape. catchyerdreams
and I fangirled leik woah over this in the theatre, poking each other whenever something was particularly obvious. What started as a joke about Civ being everywhere turned into an incr*edible* experience for both of us. My one fangirl moment came out during Willy Wonka's haircut, though, mostly because within the first few seconds he really looked like Snape.
The problem became obvious once again when I saw Animal House with _mik3_
today. It should have been a brainless romp through college adventures. It wasn't. I began to compare Bluto to Bacchus, especially the one from The Bacchai by Euripides. Bluto's love for alcohol, nay, his dependence on it was similar to Bacchus's dependence on it not only as a means of controlling his followers, but his powers. He was the god of the vine, after all. The extreme anarchy Bacchus represents in the play is similar to the sort Bluto is used to at the Delta house. His response to being expelled, to strike back with utter chaos, is similar to the havoc Bacchus sets loose when he wasn't acknowledged and worshiped. It can't be normal to think about these links when watching a National Lampoon movie.
The only time I can't do this is with art. Paintings and sculpture enrapture the part of me that goes, "Oooh, pretty!" I'm a little bit embarrassed that I can't analyze or critique art as I can, say, a book. There are no exact lines save for those that are painted. My appreciation is purely aesthetic, a split-second response to painstaking shading and contours and lines and such lush colors and compositions. I'm internally kicking myself for spending so little time in the Hermitage.
So, guys, how exactly am I supposed to look at art? What is the key to understanding it, or the artist's intent? This is true doubly so for photography.