Joshua Sikora

Brooding Heroes: The Quantum of Somberness

Joshua Sikora — Sat, 15 Nov 2008 15:00:00 -0800

I liked The Dark Knight and James Bond's latest flick wasn't half-bad. I love the re-imagined "Battlestar Galactica." I've got nothing against change. Some updating here, some polishing there--it's nice to see classic franchises rejuvenated with bigger budgets, bolder choices, and deeper characters. But, I have to ask: Where has all the fun gone?

There were certain things you could count on in a James Bond film--and no, I'm not talking about counting how many women he beds before the credits roll. Remember the over-the-top villains? The extravagant underwater lairs or futuristic space stations? The campy sidekicks like Jaws or Oddjob. And Q! The best part of any Bond flick was always Q and his gadgets.

All of the fun, all of the charm--even Bond's own suave charm--are absent in his latest outing. Instead, we get brooding. Anger. A "hero" driven by revenge. No, this is not refreshing to see in a Bond film, where plots long ago became an afterthought. The bland revenge-tale told here is just as recycled and familiar--but Bond now wears it like a badly-tailored suit.

Honestly, I don't mind taking these old franchises in new directions. Compared to the original show, the new "Battlestar Galactica" is a revelation. It's fantastic storytelling that brings new life to an interesting original premise. Sometimes, this added depth is an improvement.

But please don't lose the fun. And for the love of all that is good in the world--please don't lose the heroes. Based on the success of The Dark Knight, Warner Brothers is considering taking their next Superman film in a "darker direction." Batman was born for the night. Must we re-imagine big blue and make him as impotent a hero as Bond has become?

Franchises that have existed for decades prove most interesting in retrospect--they're like time capsules that reveal a wealth of information about who we were as a people at any given time. I think the latest re-births of our steadfast heroes will say far more about us in the long-term, than it will about the fictional characters that are bearing the weight of our current dark and tragic mood-swing.

I just hope that we don't lose the souls of these characters. If Bond dies from his current depression, it will not be a great loss. But if we kill Superman, because we need him to take on some dark weight also--well, that would truly be a tragedy. Some heroes exist to show us who we are. Others point us towards who we should be. I hope we don't confuse the two.

Bite-Size Truths: Viral Videos and Serials

Joshua Sikora — Fri, 29 Aug 2008 15:00:00 -0700

Over the last year, the web series I produce have been praised by YouTube, recommended by the LA Times, and received a few other nice endorsements and accolades. Still, it remains a pleasant surprise whenever any of our shows are mentioned or referenced in established media outlets--even if that reference may come in the form of some negative press...

This last week the New York Times ran an article entitled "Serial Killers"--an almost inflammatory title for a piece that assaults the merit and purpose of serialized web entertainment. Virginian Heffernan, the Time's new media guru, writes that web serials "seem to be a misstep in the evolution of online video" and specifically cites our show "Cataclysmo" as one of the "slow, conservative, overpriced cousins to the wildly Web-friendly 'viral videos'".

Since our shows are free to audiences, I assume she's using "overpriced" to reference bloated production costs. Later, she describes web serials as "smacking of planning and budgets and all that vestigial Hollywood stuff." I wonder if it would surprise Ms. Heffernan to know just how little we actually spend on our web series--considering our all-volunteer workforce that pays for the shows out of our own pockets.

For now, I'll take it as a compliment that she lumped our low-budget independent fare in the same category as Hollywood web series that cost hundreds of thousands of dollars.

Despite the jab, Heffernan makes some solid points in her meandering article. Perhaps most compelling though is her argument that spontaneous, off-the-cuff "viral videos" are superior to planned, produced, calculated web series. At first, I was intent on disagreeing with her on this point--after all, my team and I take great care planning and producing our own shows every day. How cruel to condemn our hard work whilst praising some jokester with a camera who spent five minutes making his YouTube video, right?

But Heffernan argues that there's more truth and beauty in those brief unrehearsed video interludes than in all of the many hours of "lonelygirl15" or "quarterlife" or "Afterworld"--some of the more publicized web serials of recent memory. Why? Because she feels that web serials compromise their artistic integrity when they become focused on the almighty view counts and the ever imperative bottom line of ad revenue.

The viral videos are unfiltered and unadulterated, often made by people who would never expect this brief moment of fame. They are, for all intents and purposes, real.

Meanwhile, Hollywood compromises and caters until they find the perfect blend for a "hit web series," releasing nothing other than derivative, unoriginal schlock. I completely agree with Heffernan on this point--having seen the basest pandering that occurs on ridiculous shows like "Prom Queen" and "Roommates." Story, characters, and art are absent in these works, while scantily clad women and discussions of sex abound.

Heffernan is right to praise the video-makers who strive for originality and artistic achievement in this wild west of new media. And I'll even agree with her bold choice to consider some of the silliest, oddest, and dumbest viral videos to be products of artists. For all the inanity that clutters YouTube, there are certainly some beautiful gems of original, artistic merit.

Concluding her article, Heffernan invokes the words of French filmmaker Jean Cocteau, who said that "Film will only become art when its materials are as inexpensive as paper and pencil." Viral videos are a strange, but at times admirable, fulfillment of that prophecy.

But don't count out the web serials just yet. While Hollywood is trying to dominate and capitalize this fledgling medium, there are still some of us who strive for something else. Sure, it would be nice to profit from our web serials--if only to be able to pay the bills and make more films. But as for me and my team? We do this because we love it. We love making art, we love telling stories. And we want to strike a chord--we want to see some truth in our films resonate with audiences in a way they never expected. If we haven't achieved that yet, then we'll just keep working until we do. And then we'll try to do it again.

Strike.TV: Is That the Best You Can Do?

Joshua Sikora — Tue, 08 Jul 2008 15:00:00 -0700

One of the byproducts of the recent writers' strike is a website called Strike.TV. The site is a new network for web series, run entirely by the creatives of big Hollywood productions. Or as the site describes itself, "a full-blown community of talented visionaries." Writers from "The Office," "The Daily Show," "Friends," even Die Hard have apparently contributed to the mass of creative product that will soon be unleashed upon us, the eagerly-awaiting public.

One glance at Strike.TV's website and "sizzle reel" though, and one is immediately forced to ask: is this is the best that Hollywood's "top talent" can produce? Certainly, I can't tell too much from the empty website and the generic reel of new content—but one thing is certain, none of it looks good. It's always a bad sign when a preview has to tell you what you're watching ("we have action"—cue a punch to the face. "We have comedy"—cue a talking knife. "And drama"—cue man saying "I still love you" and woman saying "...I don't!"). Ugh.

The big draw for the site is apparently that the writers are finally freed from studio control—presumably so that now they can be creative. You know, without the studio suits breathing down their necks, they can now be really funny, really dramatic, and really...um....creative.

I'm no fan of the studio system and it does plenty to restrict artistic freedom—but it also remains one of the most viable methods of quality control. A totally free world looks like YouTube, and the scary thing here is that these Hollywood creatives, left to their own devices, have made something that looks worse than most of what's available on YouTube.

To make matters worse, Strike.TV remains a unionized operation. Only WGA and DGA members can contribute. So, creative freedom reigns—as long as you're in the right club. It's too bad, because some of the best web series I've seen have been produced by first-time filmmakers who've never even been to Hollywood, let alone joined the guilds and such.

Perhaps most ironic though is that before Strike.TV can launch officially, they still have to recruit advertisers and investors—just like every other distribution outlet. If the sizzle reel on their site is what they're presenting to the guys with the money, I think these creative writers are in for a real shock. Maybe after laughing at the studios for so long, they'll finally understand how hard it is to make a profit off of web entertainment.

An Update on "Trunk"

Joshua Sikora — Tue, 17 Jun 2008 15:00:00 -0700

Last week, I wrote about the new web series, "Trunk: A Love Story," now available at my site, WebSerials.com. It's been great to see the response to this latest show—with more than 75,000 views in its first week of release. That makes the first episode of "Trunk" our most successful pilot to date. Congrats to Chris, Brian, and the Biola film program for their great work.

Episode 2 is now available here.

What's Happening in "The Happening"?

Joshua Sikora — Sun, 15 Jun 2008 15:00:00 -0700

Two years ago, I found myself among the few defenders of M. Night Shyamalan's under-appreciated, misunderstood Lady in the Water (you can read an essay I wrote about it here). Now with The Happening, I'm finding that audiences are still going into the theater hoping for the twists and surprises of his earlier work and walking away disappointed.

I feel sorry for filmmakers like Shyamalan or George Lucas, who exploded early in their careers with a rare crowd-pleaser and despite showing great creativity, artistry, and diversity in later works, have always found their audiences begging for more of the same. I for one enjoy seeing these talented minds experimenting and exploring the limits of cinema and its storytelling possibilities. If I want to re-experience The Sixth Sense or Star Wars I have those DVDs easily accessible.

So is The Happening a laudable effort from Shyamalan? My initial impression was that the film was little more than Shyamalan's effort to replicate the eerie suspense of Alfred Hitchcock's The Birds, replacing the titular villains in order to make a contrived point about environmentalism. Just like that classic Hitchcock film, Shyamalan turns something ordinary and omni-present into a vicious killer. But after forty years, the suspense in The Birds doesn't hold up so well and I think modern audiences will react to some of the contrived moments in The Happening with similar amusement. When our heroes are chased by the wind at one point in the film, it just didn't seem all that scary...because, you know, it's just wind.

Nevertheless, Shyamalan's precision and restraint show a level of workmanship that far exceeds the talents of most of today's suspense and horror directors. For a film marketed as his first R-rated thriller, Shyamalan never lets the level of blood and gore get anywhere close to modern slasher films. Instead, he carefully gives you just a taste of the macabre to properly cement in our minds the tragedy of the film's events. If Hitchcock were alive today, I imagine he would approach those scenes similarly. Throughout the whole film, you can feel Shyamalan's meticulousness. If you're a music lover, you've likely listened to a piece of music that was so intricate and carefully constructed that you found yourself no longer carried away by the melody, but just caught up trying to simply comprehend the complexity of the piece. For careful film viewers, Shyamalan's films have always offered this kind of pleasure—even if they at times fail to provide the most enjoyable melodies.

To explain, I'll have to go through some key parts of the story. While this film offers no great twists like The Sixth Sense, what follows would definitely be considered spoilers for the film, so if you haven't seen it yet, consider this your fair warning.

After reflecting on The Happening for some time, I'm struck by the basic wisdom hidden beneath the surface of the film. In our "post-9/11" world, we've seen many films that serve as reactions to, or interpretations of, that tragic event and the tumultuous years since. In most cases, these films either fictionally recreate that experience without offering any new insight (War of the Worlds, Cloverfield come to mind), or they become preachy, using real world events to make political points (pick any one of the war films made in the last five years). Shyamalan takes a slightly more layered-approach to make his point and I think rather cleverly succeeds where these other films failed, shedding at least a little new light on the whole subject.

Shyamalan takes our present, maddening global concerns (terrorism, global warming, overpopulation, etc) and rolls them all into his mysterious, unseen angel of death. All we know is that a toxin in the air confuses people's speech, renders them motionless for a time, and then compels them to kill themselves. There may be nothing more chilling than seeing crowds of individuals calmly and willingly ending their own lives. And what an ingenious weapon, if it existed. At first, the world assumes that this toxin is man-made and the work of terrorists, but as it spreads new theories abound and soon the prevailing thought is that plants themselves have attacked us. The environmentalists in the audience no doubt cheer this revelation, as it seems the film is saying that after all we've done to mess up the planet, it's going to strike back.

And maybe that's all the film is saying—be kind to the environment or else. It might just be a tract for global warming, using the picture of us collectively, calmly committing suicide as a horrific illustration. It certainly is more effective than The Day After Tomorrow. But something kept bugging me throughout the film and I think it holds the key to a slightly deeper idea...as silly as it may be.

You see, Shyamalan gives the otherwise studly Mark Wahlberg a girlie mood ring to carry around for the whole film. You know, one of those rings that changes color depending on how you feel? It really looks rather absurd on Wahlberg and seemed like the strangest prop to call attention to in this carefully constructed story. But at one point, Wahlberg—playing a science teacher in the film—explains to a young kid that our bodies gives off energy based on how we're feeling and that the rock in the ring can sense that energy and changes color accordingly. That may be the worst scientific explanation for a mood ring ever—but I think Shyamalan wants us to connect this point with the other clues in the film. Over and over again, the characters talk about how the plants can hear them, sense them, feel them. What if plants could feel our moods?

It so happens—although no one in the film seems to notice—that the attacks always start when people start to get angry at each other: when trust is broken, voices are raised, or strife is in the air. If this is the case, our central characters—a husband and wife—start off as dangerous targets. With their marriage on the rocks, they spend much of the film trying to rekindle a lost love.

In an ending that is not subtle but not obvious either, Shyamalan shows us the power of love. If it's true that the mysterious killer can sense our emotions like the mood ring can, then it might just be the overwhelming love of a family that ends the storm for a time.

This is a point that may seem obvious or trite, but tied with the rest of the film I think it's undeniably true. Are we afraid of terrorism? If the terrorists are motivated by hate, what are we motivated by? Are we afraid of global warming? Shyamalan says let's stop fighting and start listening—something that seems important regardless of where you land on the issue. I can hear my liberal friends applauding while my conservative friends shake their heads, if only because of the issues represented. Which seems to kind of miss the point. I wonder if Shyamalan is only using these current issues that plague us as the backdrop for something else. I think his point may be much larger, and yet much more practical, than any of these partisan issues. What if the film is simply saying, in order to save the world, we need to stop killing ourselves and start loving each other?

When the plague starts, the first sign is confused speech. I couldn't help but think of the Tower of Babel—the biblical story that resulted in different languages and the scattering of people across the Earth—the beginnings of global strife as it were. By the film's end, Shyamalan acknowledges that this plague will likely never end, but even as it threatens to be the cause of our own demise, an answer exists that can save us all. A truth as simple and as true as "love one another."

Lady in the Water: A Story Worth Saving

Joshua Sikora — Sat, 14 Jun 2008 15:00:00 -0700

In preparation for The Happening, I re-visited some of M. Night Shyamalan's earlier works. When his brilliant film Lady in the Water was released a couple of years ago, I found myself one of the few defenders of the film. What follows is an essay I wrote in an attempt to look deeper into a film that I found quite moving, challenging, and thought-provoking. It gets a little philosophical, so if you go to the movies just looking for a good time, I doubt this will help...

When my wife and I saw Lady in the Water, we came out of the dark theater simply loving it. Imagine our surprise when we found ourselves in an unusual minority of opinion on this vastly under-appreciated and misunderstood work of genius. M. Night Shyamlan has—I dare say—crafted one of the most intelligent, thought-provoking, and satisfying films of 2006. You just have to know what to look for. After all, the movie warns us in its prologue that we've all forgotten how to listen.

Now, I'd read all the criticism, and while there was more of it this time around, I've read it all before with each of Shyamalan's previous films, post-Sixth Sense (especially Unbreakable and The Village). The critics don't get M. Night, and he knows it, which is perhaps why he chose to ridicule them and then eat them alive with this film. Literally.

Lady in the Water is clever and unique in its construction. It strives to be original and meaningful, sometimes at the expense of being "interesting." But just because it's not as entertaining or suspenseful as his prior efforts , doesn't mean we should dismiss the film as lacking all merit. Put simply, I think Lady in the Water is not meant to be a story—at least not how we typically think of them. Rather, I suspect it is a film about THE Story. And the power of that Story. And I'm not talking about the character's name when I say that.

What's up with all of this self-aware filmmaking? This so-called "narf"—this lady in the water has the oddest name, and yet no one ever wonders why? And what are we to make of M. Night's prolonged cameo as a struggling writer/martyr? Is this the move of a self-obssessed filmmaker who wants more attention for himself? Or is the filmmaker doing something else by placing himself so prominently in his own work? The film critic serves many purposes in the film, but again figures into the plot in such a self-aware fashion that we have to wonder his purpose.

His purpose.... One of the key questions of the film.

But about the self-awareness of the film. The innovative French filmmaker Godard would use this technique throughout his career to remind his audience that they were watching his own philosophical diatribe on film rather than some sort of immersive story-oriented experience. Godard pioneered the technique, but now it's commonplace, employed by many European, art-house, and indie filmmakers. This self-aware tone forces the viewer to engage mentally, as well as viscerally.

M. Night Shyamalan is a religious man, drawing inspiration from his upbringing as an American Hindu who attended attended Catholic and Episcopalian schools. The importance of faith to this man is most prominent in his earliest and perhaps most personal work, Wide Awake, but shows up time and again, especially in his greatest film, Signs. We also know that this filmmaker is drawn to philosophy, whether it be of the comic book sort seen in Unbreakable or the more Platonic ideas found in The Village—this man is a thinker and obviously well-read.

So, what do we make of a film about Story? What is the purpose of Story (in the classical sense, this could mean Myth, or maybe more loosely, Word)? In this film, a very special, royal Story comes from another place, taking on the flesh of a human and dwelling among us. Not everyone can recognize Story for what she really is—it takes an understanding and knowledge of old prophecies handed down through the generations in order for anyone to decipher who or what her purpose is. Story also requires a number of followers, disciples if you will. And of course, there's the writer—a future martyr—who will take the Truth that Story brings and spread it to the rest of the world. There are other roles and other elements, all that remind us of Jesus Christ and his ministry on Earth, but I think the relationship of Shyamalan's Story to the familiar Christ-story is a loose one—not meant to be a direct parallel...even if there is a nice death, resurrection, and ascension.

But no—I think this philosophical film reminds me more of Plato's Republic. In that great work, Plato demonstrates the power of Story, using it as the final method of persuasion as his character of Socrates tries desperately to save the lost and confused Glaucon.

In the most oft-remembered (although not most important) part of The Republic, we all recall the famous "Cave Analogy" where Socrates describes those lost people, imprisoned in a cave, and fed lies about their existence. The whole of The Republic is the image of an enlightened individual coming down into this cave and rescuing—no, saving—these prisoners from their purposeless existence. Shyamalan's characters also live in a dark place, isolated from the real world. A place called "the Cove"—although the ornate sign above the apartment complex almost looks like another familiar word.

Much of The Republic is focused on this question of purpose. We cannot escape, if we don't know our purpose. Socrates seeks out the meaning of Justice throughout much of The Republic, but seems to conclude that people are Just when they do what they're meant to do. He says that guardians should be guardians and healers should be healers. Or was that something from the movie—see, I get them so confused now. Cleveland Heap asks at one point in the film, "Where's the justice?" wondering why those tree monkeys hadn't done their job yet, not understanding that justice was already being accomplished as those in the Cove found their place, their role, their purpose, in their grand story.

And Cleveland (his very name—meaning "of the cliffs"—demonstrates his separation from the water, which brings healing, rebirth, and salvation in the film) is a man who needs saving and yet the community and dialogue have failed him—even as he has failed to relate back to them. After all, how do you converse with a man who's stutter prevents him from talking back? After the dialectic fails to save Glaucon in The Republic, Socrates ends his conversation by saying that all that's left to save a lost man, like Glaucon or Cleveland, is a Story—and that if we believe in that, we might be saved. In the film, as Story is about to ascend into the heavens, Cleveland's last words to her—indeed, the last words of the film—are simply "you saved me." And she has.

Lady in the Water has its weaknesses. Perhaps it was a bit rushed or perhaps Shyamalan's experiment—to create not a story but a film about Story, is simply a fatally flawed goal. Nevertheless, by now we should know that this filmmaker is worthy of our trust. Even the lesser of his films merit discussion and thought. To dismiss it quickly, because of critics, boredom, or lack of understanding, is to miss something potentially great beyond. Shyamalan is no Plato, yet my first readings of that great philosopher left me thinking that he was simply making things up as he went along, telegraphing key points and avoiding plot and plot twists altogether. But the written word had more to offer me than the conventional Michael Crichton novel, just as we all know that motion pictures can offer us so much more than just thrills and chills.

Lady in the Water is a bold attempt by a popular filmmaker to create a marketable, and entertaining film that says something about the role of stories and storytellers in our society. How does Shyamalan view his role? If we're to take his part in the film as any sign, he's received the Truth already, from another Story, and now his purpose is simply to pass that Truth on, through his own stories, to whoever will listen. He knows his work is not always good, but if he fulfills his purpose, the powers-that-be might just use him as part of that divine plan, which is the grand story of this lost world.

Trunk: Our Latest Web Serial

Joshua Sikora — Sat, 07 Jun 2008 15:00:00 -0700

If you've seen "Cataclysmo"—one of the web series I produce—you're familiar with Brian Walton and Chris Hartwell's talents in front of the camera playing the time-travelling heroes Johnny Zanzibar and Bucky Stallion. But their latest collaboration puts them behind-the-scenes, with Brian writing and Chris directing a brand-new short film, "Trunk: A Love Story," which is airing as a mini-serial on WebSerials.com this month.

Brian's script cleverly weaves romance, action, and a little intrigue into a smartly crafted story about two bickering assassins who maybe, possibly, might have some romantic feelings for each other. It's a little reminiscent of the recent "Mr. & Mrs. Smith" but Brian manages to keep the plot fresh and the witty dialogue has its own distinct flair.

Chris brings a visual polish to the film that evokes a high-budget Hollywood production, but his real strength is mixing the well-executed comedy and action bits with genuine moments of character throughout the short fifteen-minute runtime.

And fans of "Cataclysmo" will also recognize Trunk's lead actor, the extremely talented and funny Jesse GrothOlson. Jesse is one of the best actors I've ever had the pleasure of working with and it's great to see him in this role—an impressive departure from the zany antics he brought to Cataclysmo's Dr. Crankshaft.

Lastly, I must mention the talented production team at Biola University that brought "Trunk" to life. Produced through Biola's series of film production classes, "Trunk" is the latest example of the fine student work coming out of the university's Cinema & Media Arts department.

I'm excited to be able to screen "Trunk" on WebSerials.com and would invite you to check out the first of three episodes right here...

The remaining two episodes will be released over the next two weeks—visit WebSerials.com to see them.

Video's Future: Too Many Options?

Joshua Sikora — Fri, 30 May 2008 15:00:00 -0700

Netflix has recently released a new set-top box that streams movies from the web directly to your TV. The device is neither revolutionary nor a game-changer—but it continues to cement the fact that video distribution is growing more and more confusing and disparate.

It's hard to believe that Netflix has been around now for a decade. I can't remember exactly when the video rental-by-mail trend caught on, but I've been a dedicated Netflix user for close to five years. The rental process is still an odd one for a movie viewer like myself. I'm rather spontaneous with my viewing habits—never sure what I want to watch until I'm actually getting ready to pop in a disc. Netflix must love this about me, because when I get stuck with a DVD that I'm not in the mood for, it can sit on my desk for weeks...okay, sometimes months, without being watched.

That's why instant viewing is so compelling to viewers like myself. Watch what you want to watch when you want to watch it. No rentals, no late fees, no mailing delays. Netflix's catalog of video-on-demand is still relatively small, but constantly growing. And to have that library of films and television shows instantly available to audiences transforms the very way we consume media.

Netflix has had their instant viewing available to subscribers for almost a year now, but the feature has been limited to Windows—which leaves Mac users like myself out in the cold. The delay for a Mac version comes down to digital rights management—the studios are desperately trying to ensure that their films don't get pirated and Apple, Netflix, and the studios haven't been able to settle on an appropriate standard. Of course, Apple probably is in no rush to collaborate with Netflix, considering that the iPod/iPhone manufacturer has their own video-on-demand business to watch out for.

Enter the new Netflix set-top box. It fits in nicely with this new set of devices like the Apple TV—which is to say, it's an overly-priced, niche piece of technology with a proprietary catalog of films, proprietary access and pricing schemes, and proprietary streaming and encoding technology. What does all of that mean? It means that aside from both devices delivering Hollywood films from the internet to your TV, there's hardly any other similarities between these devices.

I'm still quite curious about how consumers will react to these new devices. I mean, right now if you want a DVD player, you go to the store and you choose one. Doesn't matter if you get a Sony or a Panasonic or the store brand player—they'll all play the normal discs you buy.

Not so with these new machines. Buy the $100 Netflix player and you'll have to maintain a monthly account with Netflix in order to watch anything. The films aren't downloaded and you don't own them. They can only be played through this device.

Or with the Apple TV, you have a higher price for the device itself, but no monthly charges. There's a fee for each rental, but you can also buy films through the device and transfer them to your computer, iPod, iPhone, etc. Because it can be wirelessly connected to your Mac as well, the Apple TV will play your music library, display your photo albums, or showcase your home videos. Plus, it has special access to YouTube, if that matters to you.

And there are other devices on the way. TiVo has a video-on-demand system in the works. All of your cable and satellite companies are experimenting with how to give you more options. Then there's websites like Hulu.com that currently provide instant access to films and TV shows for free, along with some ads. It probably won't be long before Hulu and similar providers partner up with a hardware manufacturer to stream their content to your TV.

Confused yet? I am. And I love this stuff. In my business, I deal with video distribution every day, but I couldn't tell you where all of this is headed or what it's going to look like five or ten years from now. Obviously, we're on the way towards some sort of convergence between the computer, internet, and television. But the question is, will there be any semblance of consistency in how we get there? Or are we destined to have a hundred devices from a hundred manufacturers that all do the same thing in a hundred different ways?

Foreign Body: Web Series' Latest Experiment

Joshua Sikora — Wed, 28 May 2008 15:00:00 -0700

This week sees the premiere of another new web series from Michael Eisner. Last year, Eisner offered audiences Prom Queen—a poorly scripted, gratuitously lewd, high school murder mystery. Nevertheless, Prom Queen was one of 2007's most watched web series and was one of four shows that YouTube called "the best dramas the web has to offer" (two of the other shows—Project X and Cataclysmo—are shows produced by my own company, WebSerials.com).

Now, Eisner has followed up Prom Queen with Foreign Body—another thriller, but this time with a (hopefully) stronger foundation. The new web series is a prequel to a new Robin Cook novel, releasing in August. The show is serving as a rather obvious promotional tool for the book.

Everyone's experimenting with web series right now—trying desperately to find the perfect blend that will reel in audiences while generating enough revenue to actually pay the bills. Tie-ins to other mediums make a ton of sense—it turns the production budget of a series into some of the marketing costs for the established product, while using cheap distribution platforms to spread the word.

If successful, the web series Foreign Body could generate significant interest in Cook's new novel, inciting viewers to purchase the book when it's released at the end of the summer.

Unfortunately, it seems like Eisner's young production crew are falling onto the same tricks they used for Prom Queen—an overly simplistic plot, cardboard characters with dark pasts, and buxom actresses wearing as little clothing as possible. This worked out pretty well for them last year, but one has to wonder if the audience drawn to a web series like that has any crossover with the demographics that buy Robin Cook novels.

Foreign Body's success remains to be seen. As a show it holds mild promise, but with 50 episodes over the next few months, my experience suggests it will have trouble finding a consistent audience. In the end though, if it sells a few more books, it'll have done its job.

Eisner, like the rest of us, is still trying to figure out how to make a buck off this shiny new thing called the internet video. Are web series destined to serve as simply promotional tools in well-funded ad campaigns or is there still hope for original engaging, entertaining, and enlightening content? We'll see...

Falling Slowly: Fair Play to Oscar Dreamers

Joshua Sikora — Tue, 26 Feb 2008 15:00:00 -0800

There weren't a lot of surprises at last night's 80th Oscar Ceremonies. The Coen Bros. did well with four wins for No Country for Old Men—my personal favorite film of the year. Daniel Day-Lewis and Javier Bardem dominated the actor categories from the beginning, while it was anyone's guess which actresses would walk away with awards. If anything, the biggest surprise for me was when The Golden Compass beat Transformers and Pirates 3 for best visual effects. I guess the Oscar voters dig those CG polar bears.

I enjoyed Jon Stewart's irreverent jabs at an all-too-insular Hollywood ("...before spending the next 4 to 5 hours giving each other golden statues, let’s take a moment to congratulate ourselves"). Stewart has a knack for making all of us at home laugh at the town's absurdity, whilst leaving all of the Oscar attendees squirming in their seats. It's fun to watch—at least from the comfort of home.

But the night's best moment came when two strangers from halfway around the globe sang a moving duet together, and minutes later accepted the award for Best Original Song. Glen Hansard and Marketa Irglova's charming song "Falling Slowly," from their little film Once proved that Hollywood can still recognize a little magic when they see it (or hear it). Their film, shot in a few weeks with a couple handycams for less than a $100,000 didn't look like much when put up against the polished work of the Coen Bros. or P.T. Anderson—but it may have had more heart and more soul than any of the other films recognized that night. The two young lovers—partners on film and in real life—had shared their souls with us through their art, and even Hollywood had to recognize that. Something that personal stands out pretty well amongst the films being made these days.

The young nobodies found themselves on stage, greeted by the most genuine cheers of the night (pull it up on YouTube and just watch the reactions of George Clooney, Daniel Day-Lewis, Jonah Hill, and others as the duo make their way to the stage). The truth is, for most of the people in that audience, I think they identified with the two young dreamers on that stage. Once, they too had been strangers plucked out of obscurity and honored for their talents. Some have won Oscars, others are still waiting for their due. But they all know the dream.

When I was a kid, I remember the rare Oscar speech that would challenge me or encourage me to go make movies. Hansard's speech was that moment all over again, as between breathless thanks, he explained how they'd made their tiny film, never expecting to be where they were now. "Make art," he said to every artist in the audience and every dreamer at home, "make art." Irglova, in an unprecedented return to the stage for her own set of thanks, echoed Hansard's sentiments and said in no uncertain terms, "fair play to those who dream and don't give up." At a night—that Stewart all too appropriately identified as self-indulgent—it was good to see even the seasoned veterans looking up to these young, talented artists and their renewing message of hope.

Oscar turned 80 last night, and its age could be felt. I don't think Hollywood has aged well over this last century—it's sort of a sinking boat, looking for a way home. The show producers filled the night with recaps from past Oscar parties and one could almost feel the light slowly dimming as we came closer to the present. When famed production designer Robert Boyle was presented with his Honorary Oscar, it seemed like the grand age of Hollywood was as frail as he was—its best days far behind. A grand legacy left, but now too spent, too tired to offer anything new.

But then, there was Glen Hansard's old guitar, which he'd brought to play "Falling Slowly". It too, was well worn with age. It had dents and holes and scars across its body, but it played music so beautiful, a song so deep. It filled us all with hope. And dreams. I remember when the movies did that. Maybe someday, they will again...

Falling Slowly

I don't know you
But I want you
All the more for that
Words fall through me
And always fool me
And I can't react
And games that never amount
To more than they're meant
Will play themselves out

Take this sinking boat and point it home
We've still got time
Raise your hopeful voice you have a choice
You've made it now

Falling slowly, eyes that know me
And I can't go back
Moods that take me and erase me
And I'm painted black
You have suffered enough
And warred with yourself
It's time that you won

Take this sinking boat and point it home
We've still got time
Raise your hopeful voice you had a choice
You've made it now

Take this sinking boat and point it home
We've still got time
Raise your hopeful voice you had a choice
You've made it now
Falling slowly sing your melody
I'll sing along