Surveying Downtown LA, 500 Days of Summer (2009)
This is a re-post from January 2015. I originally wrote this over winter break, watching movies and dreaming about cities.
I still believe I can do this - to make and create spaces that have the same wit, humor, drama, suspense and hope -- as they are depicted in these movies.
I still believe I can do this - to make and create spaces that have the same wit, humor, drama, suspense and hope -- as they are depicted in these movies.
Movies Highlighting Cities.
(Left to Right) Cities: Los Angeles, Chicago, Paris, Tokyo, Seoul, and Hong Kong
(Left to Right) Elements: Bench, Bus, Phone Booth, Window, Subway, and Counter.
(Left to Right) Cities: Los Angeles, Chicago, Paris, Tokyo, Seoul, and Hong Kong
(Left to Right) Elements: Bench, Bus, Phone Booth, Window, Subway, and Counter.
The following films portray cities and architecture in extraordinary ways. Each about a specific city, the movies capture the uniqueness of these very real, very authentic, and very contemporary places - their urban zeitgeist, their diverse traditions, and their larger than life stories. They are not realistic visions of what the cities are today, circa 2015, but by referencing culture, nostalgia, and humor, they explain what makes these cities great in the public imagination. While these films may veer off into "contrived, commercial tourism" territory, I still find them extremely enjoyable. I consider these works of art to be a genre of hyperrealism - they transcend the ordinary through the power of narrative.
And, despite the narrator's famous dictum in 500 Days of Summer, "This is not a love story", these movies are about human connection in the contemporary world, with all the social dislocation and funny coincidences and happenstance situations that happen in modern dating. Because of that, they have a mass appeal that many other films - about architecture - lack. With excellent writing, beautiful cinematography, and fine acting, they have also garnered critical acclaim - so much that some of them have become cliches. Counted altogether, these movies have won 14 Japanese Academy Awards, 5 Hong Kong Film Awards, 4 Grand Bell Awards, 3 Golden Globe Nominations, 4 César Awards, and 1 European Film Award.
I want buildings and spaces to speak to me, with wit, humor, drama, suspense and hope, just like the following movies do.
Some day, I will figure out how to do that.
- 500 Days of Summer (2009) / Los Angeles
- Stranger Than Fiction (2006) / Chicago
- Le fabuleux destin d'Amélie Poulain (2001) / Paris
- Shall we ダンス? Sharu wi Dansu? (1996) / Tokyo
- My Sassy Girl / 엽기적인 그녀 (2001) / Seoul
- Chungking Express (1994) / Hong Kong
And, despite the narrator's famous dictum in 500 Days of Summer, "This is not a love story", these movies are about human connection in the contemporary world, with all the social dislocation and funny coincidences and happenstance situations that happen in modern dating. Because of that, they have a mass appeal that many other films - about architecture - lack. With excellent writing, beautiful cinematography, and fine acting, they have also garnered critical acclaim - so much that some of them have become cliches. Counted altogether, these movies have won 14 Japanese Academy Awards, 5 Hong Kong Film Awards, 4 Grand Bell Awards, 3 Golden Globe Nominations, 4 César Awards, and 1 European Film Award.
I want buildings and spaces to speak to me, with wit, humor, drama, suspense and hope, just like the following movies do.
Some day, I will figure out how to do that.
500 Days of Summer (2009) | Director: Marc Webb
Urban Spotlight: Los Angeles
City Sounds: Indie Rock, 1980's Brit Pop, Music by The Smiths
Urban Spotlight: Los Angeles
City Sounds: Indie Rock, 1980's Brit Pop, Music by The Smiths
Gone is the Los Angeles of the popular imagination: Hollywood hills, Santa Monica beach, and endless freeways. In 500 Days, Marc Webb shows the City of Angels in vintage, nostalgic tones, highlighting downtown LA in its Art Deco, Old Hollywood glory while capturing its twenty-first century renaissance. Imagining a vintage city, filled with greeting card offices, loft apartments, record shops and furniture stores, 500 captures the joys of modern living that we now nostalgically associate with early-20th century America. All the while, the film talks about the drama and disappointment of breakups, turning the traditional genre of romantic comedies upside down.
Architecture is manifested very apparently through Tom, the protagonist who loves and studies architecture. Architecture also shines in the cinematography, especially in the montage where Tom explains his love of Art Deco buildings with the uplifting soundtrack, Sweet Disposition, playing in the background. The title and transition sequences, featuring charcoal-like drawings of Los Angeles, also amplifies the presence of architecture in the story, not to mention the gorgeously restored Bradbury building lobby in the movie's final scene.
But the most powerful architectural element in the movie is the park bench, overlooking the vista of downtown LA. Tom's favorite place in the city, the park bench is a viewing device and also a narrative foil. Where Tom the architect can dream up his schemes in a god-like position, the bench is also where he fell deep for Summer (the female protagonist), let go of Summer, and where Autumn first sees him. There is a didactic between work and life.
Architecture is manifested very apparently through Tom, the protagonist who loves and studies architecture. Architecture also shines in the cinematography, especially in the montage where Tom explains his love of Art Deco buildings with the uplifting soundtrack, Sweet Disposition, playing in the background. The title and transition sequences, featuring charcoal-like drawings of Los Angeles, also amplifies the presence of architecture in the story, not to mention the gorgeously restored Bradbury building lobby in the movie's final scene.
But the most powerful architectural element in the movie is the park bench, overlooking the vista of downtown LA. Tom's favorite place in the city, the park bench is a viewing device and also a narrative foil. Where Tom the architect can dream up his schemes in a god-like position, the bench is also where he fell deep for Summer (the female protagonist), let go of Summer, and where Autumn first sees him. There is a didactic between work and life.
Stranger Than Fiction (2006) | Director: Marc Forster
Urban Spotlight: Chicago
City Sounds: Indie Rock, Post-Punk Rock, Music by Spoon
Urban Spotlight: Chicago
City Sounds: Indie Rock, Post-Punk Rock, Music by Spoon
From Art Deco Los Angeles, we journey to Modernist Chicago in Stranger Than Fiction. In Marc Forster's whimsical tale, the Windy City is frozen permanently in mid-century modernism, a neutral toned, system-driven universe that is reinforced by slick infographics on screen. Harold Krick, an insurance agent, goes on a quest to live his life, upon learning that he is a character in a struggling author's novel. On his way, Harold leaves the banality of modern living and finds love and friendship, touching the lives of everyone who he comes in contact with. The movie juxtaposes the rational order, and existential depression, of the postmodern city against Harold's search for life and self-expression.
Modernist architecture, of which Chicago is world famous for, is featured prominently throughout the movie. Harold lives in monotonous environments, shuttling daily between the infinite apartment blocks in the suburbs and the infinite cubicles of the government office. The cinematographer pays homage to Chicago's cartesian grid, as well as city landmarks like the Federal Building, the Picasso sculpture, and the L train tunnels. Later, Harold moves into his colleague's organic apartments, Bertrand Goldberg's River City, signalling his shift toward a more artistic life. The bohemian Ana Pascal, whom Harold desires, resides in equally bohemian architecture: her quirky cake shop and colorful townhouse delight.
The architectural foil here is the public bus, where Harold is transported between worlds and has respite from the daily grind; his small talk with Ana on the bus is where he first becomes fond of her. His reading of Karen's finalized script also happens en route, when his story can pause; when it continues, the bus is the narrative device that kills Harold and resurrects him anew.
Modernist architecture, of which Chicago is world famous for, is featured prominently throughout the movie. Harold lives in monotonous environments, shuttling daily between the infinite apartment blocks in the suburbs and the infinite cubicles of the government office. The cinematographer pays homage to Chicago's cartesian grid, as well as city landmarks like the Federal Building, the Picasso sculpture, and the L train tunnels. Later, Harold moves into his colleague's organic apartments, Bertrand Goldberg's River City, signalling his shift toward a more artistic life. The bohemian Ana Pascal, whom Harold desires, resides in equally bohemian architecture: her quirky cake shop and colorful townhouse delight.
The architectural foil here is the public bus, where Harold is transported between worlds and has respite from the daily grind; his small talk with Ana on the bus is where he first becomes fond of her. His reading of Karen's finalized script also happens en route, when his story can pause; when it continues, the bus is the narrative device that kills Harold and resurrects him anew.
Le fabuleux destin d'Amélie Poulain (2001) | Director: Jean-Pierre Jeunet
Urban Spotlight: Paris
City Sounds: Orchestral Score, Piano and Accordion Music by Yann Tiersen
Urban Spotlight: Paris
City Sounds: Orchestral Score, Piano and Accordion Music by Yann Tiersen
Across the Atlantic, "times are tough for dreamers" in the City of Light. Director Jean-Pierre Jeunet's magical romance depicts the Paris of our dreams: the romantic city bathed in golden light, full of saturated reds and greens, in a city of painters, cafes, small grocers, train stations and metros. A contemporary homage to classic French cinema of the 1950's and 1960's, Amelie tells the story of an introverted girl who finds solace in skipping stones and other small pleasures. The accidental discovery of a secret toy box launches Amelie into a career of doing good deeds for others and she gradually opens her heart to the outside world. The audience roots for the heroine to finally get together with Nino, her equally quirky and romantic counterpart, amid the backdrop of a nostalgic, fairytale Paris.
Architecture in Amelie is less about creating individual sets and more about generating a dreamy atmosphere. The city is omnipresent - through the balcony windows of Amelie's Montmartre apartment, the glazing of the Café des 2 Moulins, and the windswept platforms of the Paris metro. Paris as a bohemian spirit moves from scene to scene, manifesting in the interior decor - which even comes to life! - and character personalities. The speed of the city is experienced, when Amelie ricochets across town on the metro to find M. Bretodeau, and when Amelie and Nino speed happily through Parisian streets on a moped.
Here, the story's architectural device is the photo booth. Long obselete in the age of instagram, photo booths are interventions that serve as micro public spaces in the city. Amelie uses the photo booth as a private napping pod, a covert photo studio, and as a rendezvous marker for Nino. Much like Amelie's first theory about the mysterious man in Nino's album--the man goes to every photo booth to record his existence--the photo booths scattered across Paris is a tangible, ubiquitous token of the urban condition.
Architecture in Amelie is less about creating individual sets and more about generating a dreamy atmosphere. The city is omnipresent - through the balcony windows of Amelie's Montmartre apartment, the glazing of the Café des 2 Moulins, and the windswept platforms of the Paris metro. Paris as a bohemian spirit moves from scene to scene, manifesting in the interior decor - which even comes to life! - and character personalities. The speed of the city is experienced, when Amelie ricochets across town on the metro to find M. Bretodeau, and when Amelie and Nino speed happily through Parisian streets on a moped.
Here, the story's architectural device is the photo booth. Long obselete in the age of instagram, photo booths are interventions that serve as micro public spaces in the city. Amelie uses the photo booth as a private napping pod, a covert photo studio, and as a rendezvous marker for Nino. Much like Amelie's first theory about the mysterious man in Nino's album--the man goes to every photo booth to record his existence--the photo booths scattered across Paris is a tangible, ubiquitous token of the urban condition.
Shall we ダンス? Sharu wi Dansu? (1996) | Director: Masayuki Suo
Urban Spotlight: Tokyo
City Sounds: "Shall We Dance?", 1951 show tune by Rodgers and Hammerstein; "Save the Last Dance for Me", 1962 pop song by The Drifters
Urban Spotlight: Tokyo
City Sounds: "Shall We Dance?", 1951 show tune by Rodgers and Hammerstein; "Save the Last Dance for Me", 1962 pop song by The Drifters
The next three movies hail from the Far East; perhaps because of their non-western origin, they depict the contemporary city in experiential fragments, rather than in holistic overtures. Nostalgic still, French culture give way to English waltz in our next feature, set in the urban village of Japan. Masayuki Suo's Shall we ダンス?, or"Shall We Dance?", connects the east-west divide by juxtaposing contemporary Tokyo with a European tradition: ballroom dance. Shot during Japan's Lost Decade, Shall we ダンス? is a timely, existential take on social success in city life; it argues that creative expression can cure the cruelest urban ailment of all: spiritual malaise.
The dynamic interplay between dance and the city form the film's underlying architecture. Through familiar yet claustrophobic urban sets - the crowded subway, the small office, the narrow streets, the clinical home, the bucolic suburb - the audience feels the stagnation of M. Sugiyama, a bored salaryman. Our protagonist cycles through these mundane environments half asleep, only to be awakened by the free spaciousness of the dance studio - the antithesis of the planned city. He learns how to move through life again, tapping and swerving with a new lightness of foot. When Sugiyama's mentor Tamako draws out the ballroom routine for him to practice - a playful loop, full of spins and turns and fast hops - he already occupies this virtual space by heart; in his mind, Tokyo has transformed into a grand, lively ballroom.
The titular architectural element here is the window. More than just a device to let in light and air, the window of the dance studio becomes a communication portal between individuals in the city. M. Sugiyama is drawn into the world of dance when the beautiful dancer Mai, the female lead opens the window and gazes out in sadness. The ritual of opening the window also opens up the hearts, and lives, of M. Sugiyama and Mai.
The dynamic interplay between dance and the city form the film's underlying architecture. Through familiar yet claustrophobic urban sets - the crowded subway, the small office, the narrow streets, the clinical home, the bucolic suburb - the audience feels the stagnation of M. Sugiyama, a bored salaryman. Our protagonist cycles through these mundane environments half asleep, only to be awakened by the free spaciousness of the dance studio - the antithesis of the planned city. He learns how to move through life again, tapping and swerving with a new lightness of foot. When Sugiyama's mentor Tamako draws out the ballroom routine for him to practice - a playful loop, full of spins and turns and fast hops - he already occupies this virtual space by heart; in his mind, Tokyo has transformed into a grand, lively ballroom.
The titular architectural element here is the window. More than just a device to let in light and air, the window of the dance studio becomes a communication portal between individuals in the city. M. Sugiyama is drawn into the world of dance when the beautiful dancer Mai, the female lead opens the window and gazes out in sadness. The ritual of opening the window also opens up the hearts, and lives, of M. Sugiyama and Mai.
My Sassy Girl / 엽기적인 그녀 (2001) | Director: Kwak Jae-yong
Urban Spotlight: Seoul
City Sounds: Funky Comedic Transitions, Piano Score, Theme Song "I Believe" by Shin Seung-hun, Pachelbel's Canon in D
Urban Spotlight: Seoul
City Sounds: Funky Comedic Transitions, Piano Score, Theme Song "I Believe" by Shin Seung-hun, Pachelbel's Canon in D
Tokyo's maturity and sentimentality is succeeded by Seoul's youth and quirkiness in My Sassy Girl. Kwak Jae-yong's romantic comedy showcases a city of incidents and coincidences, of fluorescent lights and pastel colors, of drunk encounters and underground rendezvous. Throw in some jail time, imaginary scripts, and besieged amusement parks, and you have a bizarre, lighthearted take on Nietzsche's phrase "There is always some madness in love. But there is also always some reason in madness." In the universe of My Sassy Girl, there is much madness and little reason, but every moments is endearing.
Architecture follows, word-by-word, the narrative and encounters of the two protagonists: Gyeon-woo, a directionless college student, and the "Girl", a sweet but abusive girl prone to drunkenness. They go on a survey of Korean culture and Greater Seoul landmarks: Soju bars, BBQ restaurants, underground malls, Bupyeong station, Yonsei university, Gwacheon Seoul Land, and Misara Regatta in the outskirts. These random places emphasize the couples' spontaneity, but they also exude a common air of intimacy and innocence that lie at the heart of their relationship. The scenes highlight the placelessness of contemporary Seoul, a series of programs that transpire across a thousand spaces, connected only by language, laughter, and the subway.
The world's longest metro system with eighteen lines, the Seoul Metropolitan subway has been dubbed by many as an "underground highway," and Seoul itself an "underground city". It is not surprising then, that Gyeon-woo first meets the Girl on a platform, and the train car is a recurring foil. Puking, playing games, and passing one another - the subway houses their romance, a transient, subterranean haven from the pressures of growing up.
Architecture follows, word-by-word, the narrative and encounters of the two protagonists: Gyeon-woo, a directionless college student, and the "Girl", a sweet but abusive girl prone to drunkenness. They go on a survey of Korean culture and Greater Seoul landmarks: Soju bars, BBQ restaurants, underground malls, Bupyeong station, Yonsei university, Gwacheon Seoul Land, and Misara Regatta in the outskirts. These random places emphasize the couples' spontaneity, but they also exude a common air of intimacy and innocence that lie at the heart of their relationship. The scenes highlight the placelessness of contemporary Seoul, a series of programs that transpire across a thousand spaces, connected only by language, laughter, and the subway.
The world's longest metro system with eighteen lines, the Seoul Metropolitan subway has been dubbed by many as an "underground highway," and Seoul itself an "underground city". It is not surprising then, that Gyeon-woo first meets the Girl on a platform, and the train car is a recurring foil. Puking, playing games, and passing one another - the subway houses their romance, a transient, subterranean haven from the pressures of growing up.
Chungking Express (1994) | Director: Wong Kar-wai
Urban Spotlight: Hong Kong
City Sounds: "Dreams" by The Cranberries, cover by Faye Wong, "California Dreamin'" by The Mamas and the Papas, "Baroque" score by Michael Galasso
Urban Spotlight: Hong Kong
City Sounds: "Dreams" by The Cranberries, cover by Faye Wong, "California Dreamin'" by The Mamas and the Papas, "Baroque" score by Michael Galasso
In the previous film, letters in a time capsule reunite lovers under a lone pine tree; in our final movie, letters have the ability to slow down and fast forward time in the city. Chungking Express, by legendary filmmaker Wong Kar-wai, sets the gold standard for filming the contemporary city. As much an essay on cinema as it is on urban life, Chungking Express is a sultry love letter to 1990's Hong Kong: a gritty metropolis of neon streets and indigo corridors, film noir chases and coffee romance, and loneliness in a city of 6,600 people per square kilometer. Before the Chinese handover and millennial gentrification, Hong Kong is nostalgic escapism, full of nights and moments that last forever or a millisecond.
Architecture is manifested in the film's bipolar narrative. Part I, a romantic thriller, is set primarily in the tenement micro-city of Chungking Mansion, a complex notorious for illegal traffic. Here, the lost melancholy of the protagonists, Cop 223 and a beautiful drug smuggler, is physically realized by meandering corridors and dark recesses, in addition to intimate hotels and vast airports. In part II, a comedic romance blossoms between Cop 663 and cafe girl Faye at Midnight Express, a fluorescent snack bar. Just as the cafe is an urban refuge, Faye becomes a respite for the lovesick cop, who struggles to get over a flight attendant who left him. Beautiful scenes of the Mid-Level Escalator transpire.
A sense of longing--and the Midnight Express--connect the two stories together, but the defining narrative foil is the counter. Cop 223 encounters the drug smuggler at a whiskey bar, just as Cop 663 meets Faye at the cafe counter. The counter represents distance, an architectural barrier to permanent love, but it offers a romantic chance. In fleeting, rootless Hong Kong, that chance, not letters or calls, is enough for loneliness.
Architecture is manifested in the film's bipolar narrative. Part I, a romantic thriller, is set primarily in the tenement micro-city of Chungking Mansion, a complex notorious for illegal traffic. Here, the lost melancholy of the protagonists, Cop 223 and a beautiful drug smuggler, is physically realized by meandering corridors and dark recesses, in addition to intimate hotels and vast airports. In part II, a comedic romance blossoms between Cop 663 and cafe girl Faye at Midnight Express, a fluorescent snack bar. Just as the cafe is an urban refuge, Faye becomes a respite for the lovesick cop, who struggles to get over a flight attendant who left him. Beautiful scenes of the Mid-Level Escalator transpire.
A sense of longing--and the Midnight Express--connect the two stories together, but the defining narrative foil is the counter. Cop 223 encounters the drug smuggler at a whiskey bar, just as Cop 663 meets Faye at the cafe counter. The counter represents distance, an architectural barrier to permanent love, but it offers a romantic chance. In fleeting, rootless Hong Kong, that chance, not letters or calls, is enough for loneliness.
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