Apparent Brightness

So as not to be accused of being all ass kissy about Kubrick, let me point out a longstanding peeve. The aperture of a camera must be wide open to capture faintly visible objects like background stars. But when a bright object like the day side of the moon, and particularly the sun, is in frame, the aperture is nearly closed and the chance of those very dim and distant background stars registering is nil.

Are you listening, you idiot moon hoax 'I can't see stars in the Apollo footage' ass hats?

For as long as there's been celluloid, there has been an assumption of audience stupidity by film and television studios that wrongly perpetuates the convention that stars are always visible in space. But in space, light is not just relative, it's very relative. It's ironic that this Hollywood falsehood lead to such a monumental misunderstanding of real life.

'I know the real footage of the moon landings I saw was faked, because the faked footage of the moon landings I saw looked so real... obviously.'

In 2001, Kubrick either didn't know he was doing anything wrong, or went along with it for the sake of his little movie.

It's a minor detail and not really worth mentioning. But I went ahead anyway and made these illustrations to show how 2001's opening shot should have looked...

The background stars would be visible behind the eclipse of the moon until the instant the sun breaches the horizon. At that moment the stars would vanish, owing to the new camera setting which requires a smaller aperture so that details on the moon can be seen. Otherwise the moon would be washed out and the sun too bright. Think of exiting a darkened movie theater on a bright sunny afternoon. The eye constantly adjusts to differing degrees of light. 

Also, a crescent would advance along the top of the moon as it descends out of frame. Same goes for the Earth...

Life... in Pictures

I don't think I can ever adequately express the feeling I had the first time I saw '2001: A Space Odyssey.'

Tenth grade, 1982. My English Lit teacher showed us a horrid, non-letter boxed, pan&scan version on a twenty-four inch TV to kill the last few days before Christmas break. Despite the lousy format, I was floored.

I remember having seen a few photo stills of 2001 in my various scifi/special effects genre books, but they never engaged me, flat as they were. Without music, I guess, and motion, they had no depth.

Our teacher couldn't stuff the whole film into a fifty minute class. But on first viewing he managed to get to the flying bone transition before the lunch buzzer rang. I was hooked. I couldn't wait to get to school the next day.

I've seen it a hundred times since. But strangely, when thinking back on my first few viewings, I had the distinct impression of having seen the film in black and white. Maybe my brain misinterpreting its starkness, and desaturated my memory. When I watch it now I am often surprised by the amount of color it contains.

I don't ever remember feeling a lot of empathy for a Kubrick character (Spartacus aside). Kubrick doesn't do that. I am always very interested in what they're doing. But how they're feeling doesn't leap off the screen and into the audience. It stays up there. 

There's an imaginary narrative at the beginning of each chapter of the book 'Galaxies,' by Timothy Ferris. It describes a relativistic, near-light speed spaceship journey across the universe. The explorers outlive the Earth and Sun, not to mention their loved ones, by trillions of years as they plow through intergalactic space toward the edge of the ever expanding visible universe. That's how 2001 made me feel. Lost in the void... in a good way. 

After we finished the movie I went to the school library and found the book upon which it was based. I tore through it, and everything else I could find by Arthur C. Clarke. I didn't realize it at the time, but while Clarke certainly contributed, he wasn't actually the person responsible for the visual mind trip that was the movie. It was Stanley Kubrick who made this thing possible. Watch, 'A Life in Pictures,' which beautifully details his technique. 

Symphony of Science

In the tradition of Sagan...

The Persistence of Memory

 
Nick Sagan remembers his father.

Celebrating Sagan: Carl Sagan ten years on - Contact film/book differences

I love this guy.

pbd

...exhale... 

To Catch a Phrase...

I don't get it...

Sagan could turn a phrase better than anyone. Need proof? Watch Cosmos. He had an economy of speech, no doubt honed by years of classroom lecture, that communicated, and endeared, and endures... and simply made you want more.

And yet there isn't a single memorable quote in the entirety of Contact... except for one.

'Seems like an awful waste of space.'

...awful ...waste ...of space.

Isn't life just like a box of chocolates?