March of the Penguins (France, 2005)

This documentary film serves very well at its foremost purpose, to document real life. It is a film about the difficult lives of the Emperor Penguins in their harsh Antarctic environment. The audience is easily transported to their land and they witness the penguins’ struggles to find their suitable breeding ground, withstand extreme temperatures, and suffer hunger among other things all for the sake of the fruit of their labors, a baby chick. It would’ve been impossible for the film to have the same impact on viewers had the scenes been fabricated and the action set up, but the beauty of the typical documentary film is that there is no set up; it simply records reality as it happens.

The cinematography captures the breathtaking yet life-threatening landscape that the penguins must travail through to reach their destiny. The scenery is adequately captured and portrayed through the long shots of the landscape rather than cutting constantly or closely framing the subject. Instead, the camera records from a distance, allowing for more to be seen and for a comparison between the penguin and the daunting size of the land it must cross. There are some shots that occur around sunset as suggested by the lighting and the color of the sky. There is a sharp contrast between the sunlight reflecting from the ice and the colors the setting sun is creating. The sharp contrast in turn creates some jagged lines and textures which juxtaposed with images of the vast and empty landscape suggest a deadly hostility for the penguin. It could be considered a beautiful view by some viewers, but the somber music and a shot of a lone penguin in the distance suggests a darker outcome. The audience is also aware of the dangerous task at hand for the penguin with the aid of a narrator. This all-knowing voice informs the audience in a rather poetic fashion which fittingly matches the similarly poetic visuals.

The film doesn’t always maintain the audience at a far distance, but it mixes in various medium shots and eventually some close ups of the penguins thus drawing us nearer to the subjects both spatially and emotionally. We become attached to the penguins as we saw them withstand the bitter cold environment. Once at the breeding ground they begin to look for a mate, eventually finding one, and then coming together. Even though there might not be any feelings of love between the penguins, the human audience deducts this to be a special and intimate moment. This is significantly suggested not only by the soft sounding and slow paced music, but also with the framing and editing. Again there are various long shots, and we are taken closer to the penguins with one shot after another. Eventually all we see in the screen are the white feathers of a penguin. Sometimes music works better to portray a certain moment, but in other instances, the raw sound of what is occurring works best. An example of this is during a deadly snow storm where we hear howling winds and the loud yells of the penguins as they struggle to create a “united cooperative mass” meant to create warmth and keep everyone alive. There is a mix between close up shots of specific penguins struggling through the throng, and full shots of the large collective entity.

The film portrays reality by simply presenting an event and leaving it up for the audiences’ significance. The film does not contain environmentalist ideals neither does it promote strong family values. However these are some of the meanings identified and extrapolated from the film by distinct groups. I think a film can become much more significant when it can communicate very different messages such as advocacy for environmental awareness and at the same time the promotion of family unity and values. Sometimes, however, it is best to simply appreciate a film for what it is, a nature documentary about birds.

Film Genres: Horror

It seems that previous opinions of the horror genre have been mostly, if not completely, fed by superficial concepts that have resulted from seemingly inconsequential viewing of horror films. After being informed of this genre through lectures of particular horror elements, through readings containing horrific qualities, and with thought provoking horror film viewings, the horror genre has come to be one of the deepest and most reflective of the human psyche. It seems that all horror literature and film boils down to two fears; the fear of annihilation and the fear of loss of humanity.

Annihilation is not only avoided by humans, but by all living organisms. Humans, along with many other creatures, develop and adapt to survive this ever changing world. The feared incapability to adapt to these changes, and eventual destruction, results from knowledge of past experiences. Many examples of this basic fear can be seen in various works of art ranging throughout all of history; from the earliest of cautionary folk talks to modern films. Monster films are first hand expressions of this fear. In The Thing from Another World (USA 1951) and The Host (S. Korea 2006), the characters witness destructive forces unknown to their world thus making it harder to avoid annihilation. The Thing from Another World depicts a threatening alien bent on destroying human life in order to sustain its own. In The Host, it is a similar destructive force that works to maintain itself alive. It is also alien in the sense that it is a unique creature not common in the world, but it was a mutation of a once harmless organism. Drag Me to Hell (USA, 2009) presents an annihilative force more common to humans, but its nature is so powerful and unique that the main character is unable to adapt or change these circumstances and is eventually dragged to a destructive realm. Throughout the whole film, the main character witnesses and tries to avoid the Lamia curse, giving her a glimpse of her likely future due to the curse placed on her. The destructive powers don’t need to be alien or uncommon in order to be feared, it only has to be potentially overwhelming thus stripping away the possibility and hope for survival. Even though death is a natural event for all human and living beings, it is still avoided and potentially feared especially if there is pain or additional physical destruction. In an essay The Uncanny, Freud suggests that humans invented a double or some sort of intangible counterpart as “an insurance against the destruction of the ego, an energetic denial of the power of death…and probably the ‘immortal’ soul was the first ‘double’ of the body.” This suggestion inevitably challenges most, if not all, religious beliefs since it marks the notion of souls as a human invention and nothing more than a result of a fear of physical destruction. Things Fall Apart by Chinua Achebe, tells the story of an African community who live the same way they had lived for centuries. Their lifestyle is savage-like and inhumane to outsiders who lack the understanding of their ways. When reading this, one might deduct that this seemingly inhumane society is the horrific aspect of the book. However, as one reads further on into the second half where outsiders enter and begin to take over of their society, one can see that the truly terrifying aspect is the destruction of their way of life. Their lifestyle which has been a part of them for centuries is annihilated. What the reader originally thought to be horrific is in fact what the main character considers to be part of their humanity. Rather than surviving without the essential parts of his life, the main character Okonkwo prefers to opt out from what he thought would be an inhumane life, thus leading to the other elemental human fear.

This other fundamental fear which feeds the horror genre is that of loss. This kind of horror deals with surviving a destructive event and the resulting overwhelming emotions, thus leading to a loss of humanity or self-control. This loss covers two extremes; having uncontrollable emotions or ideas, and the other involves shutting off oneself from these emotions so as to avoid feeling terror. There are many examples of both in films and literature. In The Killer Inside Me by Jim Thompson, the main character, Lou Ford, is constantly feeling impulses to kill not only people that are seen as threats to himself and his goal, but also friends and loved ones. These emotions and desires were a result of an abusive past event which caused a desensitizing of his emotions concerning right and wrong. Throughout the book, the character would say, “He had to die,” or “She had to die.” To him it was logical, but to the reader it is pure monstrosity. Peeping Tom (U.K. 1960) is another example in which the horror inducing character has reached a monstrous identity due to his intense emotions and impulses. Unlike Lou, who seems incapable to distinguish right from wrong, he is aware of the repercussions of his actions, yet his impulses are seemingly too strong for him to control. His character was changed by past experiences in the same way as Lou, however, in this story it involved constant exposure to strong material. Like in the previous two examples, one can see the corruption of the moral compass in The Giver by Lois Lowry. In this story, a futuristic society has willingly shut off their ability to feel in order to avoid sorrow, and as such there are certain resulting actions that are perceived to be horrific to the reader while being completely normal to the community’s members. Not only are there horrific actions taking place in the story, but the characters are unable to feel joy, love, and a wide range of positive emotions as a result of them shutting their emotional senses to avoid sorrow, pain, and suffering. Their state of being can be deducted to be something akin to depression, which to the person suffering from such an emotionless state, is so horrific that it drives the person to seek self annihilation.

The effectiveness of the horror genre and the fears it relies on all feed on human beliefs. To most people, certain phobias would be silly notions based on unrealistic situations. Then there are other fears that are more intense due to the perceived high probability of its terrifying and unwanted results. Whether it is a fear of annihilation or loss of control and humanity, the horror genre exists due to fundamental human beliefs, desires, and in some cases the lack of these elements.

Waiting for Fidel (1974)

Before watching this documentary, there were some preconceptions of Cuban life as being a miserable existence from which all Cubans wanted to escape from. Afterwards however, these ideas have been replaced with a more positive portrayal. Things might not be ideal, but they are not as bad as expected. It is important to consider that this film was made in 1974 and as such, circumstances have changed either for the better, worse, or are mostly the same.

It seems the best words to summarize this film were written by Gary Evans in his book In the national interest: a chronicle of the National Film Board of Canada and by Peter Rist in Guide to the Cinemas of Canada.

"It is a reflexive piece about documentary method and methodology" (Evans).
The film's director Michael Rubbo "makes his way to Cuba with Joey Smallwood (the socialist former premier of Newfoundland) and the film's investor Geoff Stirling (a conservative entrepreneur who owns a chain of radio and television stations)" (Rist).
"Stirling had put up the money to make a documentary on Cuba, the cornerstone of which was to be an interview between Castro and Smallwood. He was in the venture for profit, pure and simple. Rubbo wanted a film that was valuable and culturally profitable. The pugnacious Stirling attacks the Cuban revolutionary goal of socially useful work, doubting the principle of work for its own sake, when machines do it better. Rubbo, reflecting the generosity of spirit and cultivated innocence that characterized the way the Film Board embraced documentary film, is willing to accept Cuban reforms at their face value. In a sumptuous hall or on a beach where Stirling stands on his head, the film is reduced to three men waiting Godot-like for the interview that never happens before the camera. Smallwood, the self-proclaimed diplomatist and television personality, enjoys celebrity status with Castro off-screen, a frustrated Stirling attacks Rubbo and the spendthrift Film Board for wasting film footage, and a credulous Rubbo is left to show 'truth' as the Cubans and his companions reveal it to him" (Evans). "The film [thus] documents their exploration of Cuba while they wait" (Rist).

Some might share Stirling's opposing views to child labor, but to others it might appear to be a good method of teaching different skills, cooperation for sustenance, and instill a sense of self sufficiency. Similarly with the construction workers, it was interesting that eighty percent of them had some sort of medical education and did not have construction experience, and yet they learned and build.
In a way, this documentary helped portray Cuba and the government's programs as a useful tool to teach skills that will improve and help the collective progress towards stability and independence. Whether these programs have fulfilled their purpose is a different matter.

Que Viva Mexico! (Russia, 1979) *Made in 1931

After viewing Que Viva Mexico!, or after reading some general information about the film, one might wonder why Sergei Eisenstein, a renowned Russian filmmaker, would make a film about Mexico. Why would this filmmaker, who is known for his epic socialist realist films, travel to a remote country with a very unique style of art, and create a somewhat surrealist ethnographic film about such nation? After viewing the film and some extensive reading on the subject, one can understand Eisenstein’s goals and intentions concerning this film. Through his gradual exposure to Mexican culture and art, Eisenstein creates his most personal film which depicts themes of life and death in a style representative of the country’s art, history, and culture.

Up until 1926, Eisenstein’s imaginary Mexico was formulated from “incidental impressions and random facts from history, politics, literature, and from photographs and prints he saw by chance” rather than from direct contact with Mexicans or their culture. In 1926 however, he met Diego Rivera in Moscow, a famous and respected Mexican painter. In their first meeting, Rivera “spoke obsessively of the Mexican artistic heritage, of the ancient Aztec capital Tenochtitlan, of the pyramids, temples, and palaces of the Aztecs and the Mayans, and of their sculpture and painting.” Eisenstein would later write, “The seed of interest in that country…nourished by the stories of Diego Rivera grew into a burning desire to travel there."

To Eisenstein’s good fortune, he was able to visit Mexico four years later.

Que Viva Mexico could probably be best described as an artistic ethnographic documentary about Mexico, its people, and their traditions of life and death. He recorded many events such as a wedding, a funeral, a bullfight and others, but certain themes unique to the Mexican culture resulted from his style of filming.

The Prologue has a static quality, at times resembling a photo collage. With this motionless style, Eisenstein brings to attention the perceived suspension of time since the people of the present are juxtaposed with the stone statues created by their ancestors centuries ago. With these images, Eisenstein emphasizes his own words in the film’s libretto, “the past prevailing over the present.” It becomes “a realm where history cannot exist because there is no change; no history but rather permanent prehistory hovering over the present.” The film then focuses on a funeral. At first all are static, both men and women, next to a dead man. There are close-up shots of their heads on the coffin, arranged in a certain way which resembles the stone gods. Then the men begin to carry the coffin on their shoulders while the women remain static. This sequence ends with a similarly static shot of a statue of the god of destruction, thus at the very start of the film, women are associated with death, both through an identical construction of shots with those of the deathly gods, and by the framing of the funeral scene. Eisenstein’s choice of subject matter and style demonstrates his thorough study and knowledge of Mexican beliefs and traditions, thus proving a sincere interest rather than a superficial fascination.

Unlike the static and death-themed “Prologue,” “Sandunga” is full of movements thus representing the theme of life. Additionally, the setting positions the “primitive” indigenous culture as a point of origin, representing the indigenous culture of Tehuantepec as a kind of Utopic origin of the nation. It is there that Diego Rivera was sent “to get in touch with his roots” and instill in him a sense of national pride after being abroad in France. It is then logical for Eisenstein to shoot a section of his film about life in this setting. The shots in “Sandunga” meant to give an impression of natural life taking place before the camera. Not only are the women themselves constantly moving—changing their facial expressions, fidgeting, fixing their hair, peeling bananas—but the background is full of life and constantly changes as well. The thematic contrast of life and death is also emphasized as the “Prologue” focuses on a funeral, while “Sandunga” culminates in a wedding ceremony and the subsequent birth of the protagonists’ son further accentuating the symbolism of Tehuantepec as the birthplace of Mexican civilization. Additionally, the matriarchal social organization shown in “Sandunga” reverses the patriarchal social norms of the “natural” position of women. “Eisenstein explores the image of the return to the womb as the prototype of all artistic creation." There is also a representation of paradise as a peaceful coexistence between humans and animals, including crocodiles, panthers, iguanas, monkeys, and exotic birds. This paradisiacal presentation, the idea of rebirth, and the main protagonist’s name—Concepción—emphasizes the primitive (and hence pagan) life as constructed through an overtly Christian framework, thus making a smooth transition to the next episode “La Fiesta,” which is centered on Spanish religious and cultural practices injected with pagan tradition.

“Fiesta” is set in the times of Porfirio Diaz’ dictatorship as the Catholic religion is still intertwined with pagan traditions even after centuries of Spanish dominion. “This episode helps to illustrate the permanence of the indigenous culture and rituals behind the Spanish colonial ceremonies and customs, both of which are marked by a baroque excess." This baroque style can be seen in the architecture, which is most seen in the initial sequence of “Fiesta,” and in the clothing of the heroic participants of the corridas or bullfights as well as in the dresses of their lady admirers; the tall Spanish combs, and their elaborate fans. Eisenstein’s capture of baroque design, which consists of excessive ornamentation and complexity of line, in turn helps to portray the excessive religious expression in rituals understood to have sadist/masochist themes as well as cruelty and religious ecstasy. A visual motif which also serves as a link between these themes is “that of punctures: the picador in the bullfight sequence, the self-inflicted wounds of the Christ imitators." This motif is also seen in the following episode of “Maguey” during the puncturing of the maguey plants. Unlike “Sandunga” where the feminine figure was “the center of spectacle,” in “Fiesta” it is the men who take center stage. “The overabundance of visual detail, the artificiality and theatricality of the settings and the figures in ‘Fiesta’ replace the emphasis seen in ‘Sandunga’ on the natural splendor.” The feminine natural indigenous culture becomes the background, while the focus changes to the male figures in Spanish baroque settings. Eisenstein was most impressed with the bullfights he witnessed while in Mexico. A suggested reason for this fascination was due to the unique combination of elements that interested Eisenstein at the time: “ecstatic experiences, a proximity to death, homoerotic elements of the spectacle, decorative excess, and the tension between the artificiality of the spectacle and its centrality in the forces of nature, represented by the bull."

Of all the episodes, “Maguey” is the one which has the most traditional narrative structure. It begins with peons singing a mournful song before going to harvest the maguey juice from the plants to make pulque. Afterwards, a peon by the name of Sebastian, goes to present his fiancée, Maria, to the owner, as custom requires. This eventually leads to her rape by one of the owner’s drunken guests. Informed by a fellow peon, Sebastian and others plot for revenge during which they will rescue Maria. Their plan fails and they are pursued by the owner, his friends, and his daughter, who is excited by the events and the opportunity to shoot. She is eventually shot to death and the peons are captured. As execution, they are buried up to their chests in the ground and are subsequently trampled to death by the men on their horses. Like the previous episode, “Maguey” is set in the pre-Mexican Revolutionary times of Porfirio Diaz. This episode has a stronger socialist style similar to those in Eisenstein's previous films Strike and The Battleship Potemkin. He portrays the struggle of the oppressed peons in relation to the wealthy and cruel hacendados or plantation owners. There are many times when the scene cuts to the portrait of Porfirio Diaz, reminding the audience of the struggle of pre-Revolutionary times. The last shots of the episode are close-ups of peons’ eyes that demonstrate the increasing rancor which eventually resulted in the revolution. The oppression and eventual death depicted in “Maguey” is symbolic of the people’s spiritual death as a result of being stripped of humanity by their oppressors.

“Soldadera” was meant to be an episode demonstrating the struggle of the Revolution specifically aided by the soldaderas who were wives of the soldiers. Unfortunately, Sergei was forced back to Russia before he could finish his film, thus “Soldadera” became a representation through photographic stills. The Revolution, as it was meant to be depicted in “Soldadera,” was to be a symbolical presentation of rebirth as the people took back their humanity by taking up arms. It resulted in many physical deaths, but it also resulted in the spiritual liberation and gain of a desired livelihood for the survivors and their future generations.

Sergei’s sensitive appreciation of the interrelationships of Mexican art, history, and ritual would find a focus and a frame of reference in Anita Brenner’s book, Idols Behind Altars. The book offers enlightenment on a more obscure subject found in Mexican culture. She observed: “This familiarity with death is shocking to the European. But where death is so much at home as in Mexico, he is no longer a dreaded and a flattered guest…” In Mexican art, death is mocked. It is conceived as a clown, a circus figure; but this conception is also of an image intended as a “control.” Eisenstein’s use of this image can be seen towards the end of his film as he makes a respectful mockery of death in the “Epilogue” as he captures the celebrations of Day of the Dead. The initial shots show the mourning and remembrance of passed loved ones as the people eat in the graveyards, next to the tombstones. It then transitions to a lively celebration with dance, music, and costumes of death and it is here that death is mocked. The narrator comments as the celebratory dancing and lively music is seen and heard: “A skull under a minister’s top hat, a fireman’s helmet, a policeman’s cap, a general’s cocked hat. Not a cult of death this, not the stillness of stone and the awesomeness of stone idols, but man’s triumph over death through mockery of it.” The dancing stops, and the music becomes somber. The shots become static as it depicts non-moving human figures with masks. The only movement is the removal of the masks which uncovers real skeletons, dressed in aristocratic attire, as the narrator comments: “Not sham skulls now but real ones. The corpses of a doomed class.” The episode, and thus the film, ends with the unmasking of a young boy and the poignant words: “Whom will we see behind this mask? A soldadera’s son? One of those whose hands are destined to forge a truly free Mexico?" This “Epilogue” finely wraps up the theme of life and death’s cyclic association as found in Mexican tradition.

For the first time in his creative life, Eisenstein worked with images free from any social, political, or religious conflicts, and he enjoyed it. Que Viva Mexico! was Eisenstein’s most personal film as it dealt with topics and styles that were “suppressed” in the Soviet Union since it had adopted a socialist realism whereas Mexican art and culture was a more expressive and surrealist style. As previously mentioned, Eisenstein was forced to return without completing the film. Upton Sinclair, who was funding the project, promised to send the negative and work-print of the film, but the promise was not kept. Instead several short films were released as Sinclair sold footage to filmmakers who butchered the footage, taking it out of its intended thematic context. It was later acquired by an American museum and decades later, it would be sent to Russia and be assembled by Eisenstein’s assistant, Grigori Alexandrov, based on their discussed goals for the project and by using Sergei’s notes. It is considered by some to be “his greatest film plan and his greatest personal tragedy." However, through careful study of the film’s composition and style, and through some extensive reading on the subject, one can oversee this cinematic tragedy and comprehend the intended themes which Sergei Eisenstein desired to express of life and death through Mexican art, culture, and history.

Grandeur Through Simplicity - Le Fils (France 2002)

(Originally Posted on my other blog on December 12, 2008)

I chose to see this film for my French & Italian Cinema class Term paper during the Fall 2008 semester at BYU. (I highly recommend the class FREN 217/ITAL 217)

Le Fils (France., 2002)
From the very beginning, the main character Olivier shows a strong interest in a boy. The reason for this interest is not known until it is revealed by Olivier’s ex-wife and mother of their late son. The film presents the simple yet complicated story of a man meeting and interacting with his son’s murderer. Unlike criminals presented in other films, the murderer is a simple boy and not a typical troubled or malevolent being. It seems the only complexity to this character would be the fact that he is an unintentional killer. Olivier's ex-wife asks him a question which any one would ask; why has Olivier taken in Francis beyond the necessary bounds of a mentor's duty? What are his intentions? How can he interact so easily with this boy and show no anger or rancor? It takes a long while and patience to find this out as it is unclear throughout the beginning of the film. It slowly becomes clear that Olivier had an unsatisfied curiosity about the character of his son’s killer. He looked for answers to the obvious and unrelenting questions that unsettled him; "Why did he kill my son? How does he feel about it?" How is it possible for a child to become a murderer? There are so many reasons that might come to one's mind, but the Dardenne brothers show how it may be less complicated than one thinks.
The Dardennes amazingly step away from the much exploited theme of revenge and instead present a story of forgiveness through a nontraditional style of film, at least nontraditional to the mass audience that creates big box office revenues.

The Dardenne brothers do an incredible job with Le Fils of portraying exceptional circumstances in such a simple way that makes the whole story believable. The plainness of the film’s presentation through long lasting shots and its framing are some aspects of the film that empower it. There is a deepness to the general image of the film that gives way to subtle visual discoveries. One discovers certain details, certain diamonds in the rough, that gives the film greater significance. By allowing to make these findings, the Dardennes make the viewer an active participant in uncovering the characters' motivations, their concerns, and their desires. Hopefully the viewer will independently recognize the film's intention to enlighten with a compelling story about forgiveness and ultimately create compassion for a fellow sinner.

Jean-Pierre and Luc Dardenne’s choice of actors is another credit to them. Olivier Gourmet’s acting was very simple and neutral which was a necessary balance for the emotionally charged situation. Anything more would have been an excess.
The same goes for Morgan Marinne who plays Francis, the murderer. There was little or no emotional expression from his part as well. Both characters expressed neutrality, from their looks, movements, and voice. In the film, Francis says that it’s a shame that he spent five years in prison, but he is unaware of all the consequences brought forth by his actions. It occupies his mind and he feels guilty about it, but he doesn’t fully understand the impact this had on another person; the boy’s father.
The actors appropriately bring to life two heavily burdened characters. The father, who is haunted not only by his son's death but also by the killer's presence, is finally at peace and able to forgive. The murderer comes to full terms with his actions and in the end becomes a son.

I later talked to my professor about it and he pointed out how it has strong Christian symbolisms and undertones like the fact that Olivier is a carpenter, and the whole story revolves around sin and forgiveness. The movie poster is symbolic for Christ bearing the cross. Christ bears that burden and Francis bears the burden of having taken someone's life.

I found a separate review on the film and I liked this particular paragraph.

“Now you must absolutely stop reading and go see the film. Walk out of the house today, tonight, and see it, if you are open to simplicity, depth, maturity, silence, in a film that sounds in the echo-chambers of the heart. "The Son" is a great film. If you find you cannot respond to it, that is the degree to which you have room to grow. I am not being arrogant; I grew during this film. It taught me things about the cinema I did not know.”
-Roger Ebert

Rotten Tomatoes gave it an 88% on the Tomatometer and the consensus was "Austere, finely crafted, and compelling."

I realize it is a tough movie to watch, but it was worth it. At least for me it was.

Ramblings of a Media Arts Student

I forgot I had created this blog for the intent of sharing all that stuff about movies presently stuck in my head. I don't pretend to know much about film (I do know some though) and as such please forgive me for any ignorance that might be translated onto this blog.

In any case, I thought, "What better way to start off a blog about movies than to share my experience with them." Now that it's on the screen it doesn't seem like such a great idea, but I have none other than this. Sad.

Well to make it nice and short. I like (or love) movies. I'm still trying to figure out if it's not a simple infatuation. I've liked them since I can remember, but I never thought I'd pursue it as a career choice. As I travailed through high school with questions such as, "Who am I? What is my purpose? (in the short term sense), "What am I going to do with my life!" etc. The answer came after making a short video for a class project. The end product was terrible, but I enjoyed the editing process. After that and other class video projects, I leaned towards a film major and career, unsure whether it was even remotely possible for me to accomplish.

I applied to Brigham Young University which was the only school I applied to. I didn't apply to any other schools because I had a strange and silly idea that if I applied to other schools, it would diminish the possibility of me getting into BYU. I know, silly. Anyhow, I got accepted! The next objective: get into the Media Arts program. I figured if I didn't get in I either wasn't good enough or it simply wasn't meant to be. Many told me it was very difficult to get in. I don't remember what percentages of students got in, but it wasn't much.

Sometimes I felt confident and thought, "Yeah, I can do it." Then there were other times, especially after seeing other students' work that I thought, "There's no way I'm getting in." So it was a very unsure thing. I intended to apply the semester of Winter 08, but due to 18 credits, work, and some procrastinating, I didn't. Then came Fall 08, and this time I got it done. I turned in the application packet and signed up for the interview.

I felt very intimidated by the fact that I was with all these knowledgeable film people. I don't remember exactly what was asked... but I think I mentioned something about me watching Life is Beautiful, I'm not sure. Then they asked me about what I'd like to do with film. I think I answered something along the lines of, "Share the message of Hope." I think it was Tom Lefler who asked me to explain... oh my goodness! I scraped up what I thought mixed with certain feelings. The idea was actually based on my preconceptions of popular Mexican film. I'd heard about Amores Perros, Y Tu Mama Tambien, El Crimen del Padre Amaro, and even though I hadn't seen them, I thought there were more appropriate messages to be shared in a more appropriate manner. I told them that there were many more positive and hopeful stories and messages that could be shared, in this case about Mexican culture, and that was something I wanted to be a part of. I don't remember much about what happened afterward. I was dismissed, I left, I called my mom. Sometime later in the month of December (I think the 18th) I got an email saying I was accepted into the Media Arts Department.

I am now in my 3rd year of college, a year and a half into the film program, and wanting to learn much more.

Isn't this awesome?!