Photoshop Can't Cut Negative Effects

Photoshop is a manipulative, arguably abused, art form. It seeks to be deceptive and to leave no record of itself. It is an art that is at its best when it is undetected, mistaken for reality. Which, on the whole, is an easy task; most often, its artists are not credited because then, Photoshop would be revealed, a culprit thrown into the limelight alongside all of its projects, the models and athletes and celebrities subjected to its effects. But an art form with such great power must be brought into the limelight. Photoshop has become mainstream; it’s a standard, used for completely transforming photographs rather than mere touch-ups. And because of this, it is inevitable that consumers’ exposure to these images is taking its toll.

Take Ralph Lauren for instance. Their advertisements send the message that “perfection” is to be inhumanly slender. In an ad released in Japan in September 2009, Ralph Lauren morphed model Filippa Hamilton into a lanky creature with hips thinner than her head. Clothing draped over her skeletal features, she resembles those who suffer from severe anorexia. In whittling down a model who is slender to begin with (Hamilton is a mere size 4, 5’10, and 120 pounds), Ralph Lauren goes so disgustingly far as to suggest that such emaciation is necessary and beautiful. Even Hamilton, who was not aware of the modifications until after the ad had been printed, acknowledged the photo’s negative potential when she said, “they [Ralph Lauren] owe American women an apology, a big apology.”

Ralph Lauren is just one example among many. Between 2008 and 2009, Reese Witherspoon donned the covers of “Vogue,” “Marie Claire,” and “Elle.” Each magazine took the liberty (and where they think they derive this liberty from is a mystery) of manipulating her into “their” version of Reese Witherspoon. “Vogue” chose a Witherspoon with a soft complexion and azure eyes. “Marie Claire” crafted a woman with sharp features and eyes of steel. And “Elle” decided that Witherspoon’s face was not round but oval and that her eyes looked best hazel. It seemed they all agreed on at least one thing though, their creation would be stick-thin, exposing slender arms or protruding collarbones.

Photoshop seems to have an opposite effect on men. While magazines are shrinking women to inhuman sizes, they’re beefing men up. Andy Roddick for instance, a professional American tennis player who was a previous World No. 1, was featured on the May 2007 cover of “Men’s Fitness” magazine. Due to his career and lifestyle, Roddick is clearly not lacking in the exercise department. Even so, “Men’s Fitness” couldn’t help but alter Roddick’s figure. Inflating his biceps to the point that his head appears shrunken, the magazine constructed a Roddick who more closely resembles an action figure than a tennis player. And next to this gleaming, disproportionate body is an ad: “How to build BIG arms in 5 easy moves.” Apparently the ad must be referring to five simple clicks of a button, because even Roddick admits, “I’m pretty sure I’m not as fit as the Men’s Fitness cover suggests.” One would think it would be enough, perhaps even over-the-top, for “Men’s Fitness” to ask their target audience, men between the ages of 21 and 40, to achieve an appearance like that of (then) twenty-five year old Andy Roddick. But expecting consumers to measure up to an enhancement of a young, practiced athlete is going way too far.

As “Men’s Fitness” so blatantly suggests, these photographs are not simply “art for art’s sake;” they are a means to an end, a very manipulated and profitable end at that. And every cause has an effect, and the effects these images have on consumers couldn’t be much worse. Valerie Boyer, a French member of parliament seeking to pass a law that would require all retouched photos to be labeled, insists that “These photos can lead people to believe in a reality that does not actually exist, and have a detrimental effect on adolescents. Many young people, particularly girls, do not know the difference between the virtual and reality, and can develop complexes from a very young age.” This blurring, erasing even, of the lines between expectation and reality has left people vulnerable in the absence of boundaries, and this vulnerability translates into slews of problems and insecurities.

Obviously there isn’t really a healthy way to go about achieving the figure of a skeleton. To date, there’s no real cut-and-paste exercise routines or instant volume-erasing methods available. But these images, though falsified, still make people try to replicate these ridiculous standards or, at the very least, they mercilessly degrade people’s self worth (Who can feel thin when today’s “thin” is utter emaciation?). And since there are no healthy techniques to obtain such unhealthy figures, people have to resort to harmful measures.

Women’s Forum Australia addresses these efforts in “Getting Real!” a short documentary the organization recently created. In an interview, Melinda Tankard Reist, the forum’s director, names just a few: “These messages make women feel depressed, they affect their self esteem, they make them perform badly academically, they contribute to eating disorders […] We know that girls as young as eight have been admitted to hospitals with anorexia nervosa.” If that’s not enough, an interviewee no older than ten expresses, as if it’s commonplace, that she plans to lose weight by going on a raw fish diet.

Photoshop has become a tool used to hack away freckles and birthmarks and dimples; it strips people of their individuality, their identity, and their self-worth. Treating humans as if they’re moldable objects, Photoshop creates statue-like silhouettes of celebrities, defining them not by their differences but by their gross similarities: the iridescent, airbrushed complexions, the ivory teeth in flawless rows, and the over-toned physiques. And then magazines plaster these images on their covers, selling the idea that humans’ differentiating features are not only unappealing but are also wrong enough to be cut out.

But Photoshop has not managed to remain as hidden as magazines would like it to be. It’s a good thing that Photoshop has yet to have the ability to cut itself from the greater, moral picture. People are speaking out against it, and renowned photographers like Peter Lindbergh, who can easily trace Photoshop’s pixilated footprints, are rejecting it. For the April 2009 issue of French “Elle,” Lindbergh photographed eight European celebrities sans retouching and make-up. These eight women appeared with frizz, beauty marks, wrinkles, and all; they appeared as raw, real human beings, not as the typical idealized, altered images that Lindbergh rightfully refers to as “objects from Mars.”

So why do magazines and companies still continue to hold their consumers to alien-like standards? The detrimental effects their Photoshopped images and ads have on people today will have to come full circle at some point. And when they do, these magazines and companies should be prepared for some harsh, well-deserved repercussions of their own.

"Crazy Heart" Review

There is nothing crazy about Scott Cooper’s newest film “Crazy Heart,” which is based on the novel by Thomas Cobb. It is void of war, violence, over-the-top action scenes, and other Hollywood trademarks. But this is exactly what makes “Crazy Heart” so powerful. This simple story does not need unnecessary “wow” factors, it speaks for itself.

Jeff Bridges, recently seen in “The Men Who Stare at Goats,” plays the role of Bad Blake, an outdated country singer who, at the heckling of his agent, is attempting to make a comeback. Aimlessly bouncing from bars to bowling allies, Blake is lost for inspiration until he meets Jean Craddock, a captivating journalist played by Maggie Gyllenhaal. Before long, an enveloping romance blossoms between this unlikely pair. Though Blake’s alcoholism quickly spells the end of this relationship, the events that follow give Blake the opportunity to escape his drunken, stagnant lifestyle.

Bridges’ portrayal of Blake appears effortless. There is no aspect of Blake that he fails to capture with realistic and genuine emotion: the exasperated ruffle of his greasy hair, the desperate pleas for second chances, and his gentle performance vocals. It’s no wonder this role has put him in the running for the 2010 Academy Awards best actor.

Gyllenhaal also caught Oscar attention. Her role as Jean landed her a nomination for best supporting actress. And her performance, like Bridges’, lacks nothing. It is raw and authentic. She embraces the difficult tension that Jean faces, one between passion and apprehension; she knows the risks she’s taking by being with Blake, and her strong emotions illustrate this. Her reverent gazes evolve into fits of pained frustration where her cracking voice often breaks through tears.

And Jack Nation completes the trio, making a phenomenal debut as Buddy, Jean’s young son. His playful remarks and charismatic personality add an aspect of innocence to the film. Between Blake’s black outs and cigarettes, Buddy gives a much needed giggle or smirk.

“Crazy Heart” is a cinematographic masterpiece. The camera captures the essence of the stunning, southwestern countryside, panning across the silhouettes of gentle, sloping mountain ranges blanketed by cerulean sky. And several close-ups highlight even the slightest details: the contours of faces, the flicker of a smile, and the flutter of Buddy’s lengthy, dark lashes. These artful angles make the story of Bade Blake an intimate experience rather than mere pictures flashing on a disconnected screen.

The lighting also becomes an emotional force. Strands of Christmas lights strung in bars create a comfortable glow that enhance the personal themes Blake sings of, songs that he says come from “life, unfortunately.” And in Blake’s darkest moments, dim lighting only just illuminates him, a shadow, often shrouded in a veil of a smoke.

The twang of guitars, steady drumbeats, and the occasional accordion accompany Blake on his cross-state travels. The music evokes the hard realities of a romanticized lifestyle. “The Weary Kind” especially, the song that comes from Blake’s experiences with Jean, contrasts hope with inevitable pain. The tender strums of a guitar create an almost lullaby-like melody that eases the lamenting lyrics: “Your heart’s on the loose / You rolled them sevens with nothing to lose / And this ain’t no place for the weary kind.”

Like “The Weary Kind,” or most any country song for that matter, “Crazy Heart” is a simple piece that has a lot to say.

"Velvet Goldmine" Revised

It’s been seen countless times; celebrity sensations stealing the stage. With gaudy outfits, daring ideas, and an excess of glitter, glam-rock stars were no exception. These 1970s, U.K. idols dressed, behaved, and performed in audacious ways that were impossible to ignore. Todd Haynes, director of “Poison” and “Safe,” demands the same attention in his film “Velvet Goldmine,” and it deserves the spotlight. Though in-your-face and absurd at times, this work of art is as unique and infectious as the era it illuminates.

“Velvet Goldmine” follows Arthur Stuart, a British journalist played by Christian Bale who is assigned to cover a story on the infamous Brian Slade, a bisexual, glam-rock idol played by Jonathan Rhys Meyers whose life loosely parallels that of David Bowie. A decade after Slade’s controversial death, Stuart sets out to uncover the discrepancies behind Slade’s demise. In a series of interviews and flashbacks, Stuart reveals Slade’s rise and fall as a distinguished icon and his love affair with both music and Curt Wilde, another rising star played by Ewan McGregor, a character inspired by Iggy Pop and Lou Reed.

Meyers hits every high and low of Slade’s rollercoaster-like lifestyle with the drama and passion that characterizes Slade. He is both the sensational celebrity, whose snarky attitude reeks of glamour, and the insecure individual, who falls into fits of rage and derisive laughter. But all along, he knows he’s a big deal, and he doesn’t hide it. Just one bat of his heavy lidded eyes, and he knows he has everyone’s attention.

McGregor is the perfect counterpart. He wears Wilde’s bizarre look and personality as if it’s natural, going so far as to strip entirely at a concert, jamming nude before his audience. His over-the-top performance exudes the way in which Slade idealizes Wilde.

And Bale manages to capture the essence of two eras. In various flashbacks, he joins the mobs of delirious young adults decked out in wild outfits that more resemble costumes. And in the present, he becomes the subdued, matured observer whose only traces of his past are found in his passion for covering the “Slade story.”

Acclaimed costume designer Sandy Powell, two-time Oscar nominee, epitomizes the glam in glam-rock in “Velvet Goldmine.” Glitter, glitz, sparkle: she does it all. Draping characters in everything from psychedelic, Victorian-inspired attire to skin-tight, metallic pants to outrageous platform boots, Powell’s costumes scream for just as much attention as their dramatic wearers. Most impressive is Slade who is a true icon at a concert in a luminescent body-suit adorned with glistening jewels, sequins, and an impressive collar of plumes. Taking the stage, this warped angel shimmers just as brightly as the silver confetti that engulfs him.

Celebrated hair and makeup artist Peter King, known for “The Portrait of a Lady” and “The Tango Lesson,” pinpoints an era with swooping lashes, charcoal eyeliner, and lots and lots of hairspray. In true glam-rock style, the characters don futuristic, artificial looks; Slade sports an electric-blue hairdo, and Wilde’s milky blue eyes, framed in heavy, black makeup, peer out of a greasy blonde, shoulder-length veil. In a Slade music video, humans become abstract, alien-like forms with bejeweled bodies painted blue and doused in a coat of glitter. It seems flashy and overdone, but because it is flamboyant, it captures the essence of a phenomenon that took bold risks and tested boundaries.

The “Velvet Goldmine” soundtrack is just as emotionally charged as the characters, mirroring their constantly changing, unpredictable moods. One moment Slade steals the stage to the roar of the audience and the scream of electric guitars, and the next, he is exhausted or depressed while accompanied by an ensemble of melancholy string and wind instruments. The music, though spontaneous, establishes a flow and relationship between the often-disconnected scenes and characters. This fluidity stems from multilayered melodies that weave together dialogue, background noise, and contrasting themes, such as pop and folk.

“Velvet Goldmine” is as outrageous and compelling as any rock concert: heavy make-up, guitar solos, outlandish outfits, and all.

"What's a Nice Girl Doing in this Hole?"

http://movies.nytimes.com/2010/03/05/movies/05alice.html?scp=1&sq=alice%20in%20wonderland&st=cse

As a fan of Tim Burton, I went to see "Alice in Wonderland" the night it opened. For a late school-night showing (especially on a night before an 8:30 class) and $12 (apparently 3D is expensive, this was quite an increase from the regular $5 ticket price), this movie wasn't really worth the price or the next day's exhaustion. Granted, I would still recommend seeing it, but don't expect Tim Burton's best, and don't pay the extra for the 3D.

I had high hopes for this film. It had been advertised for quite a long time, so I had been looking forward to it for quite some time. But Tim Burton failed to deliver a movie up to his own standards. He did create an entertaining sequel to "Alice in Wonderland," and the combination of live-action and animation was pretty impressive. But like Dargis says in her article, Alice seems somewhat of a side-note. Burton spent more time focusing on characters like the Mad Hatter, played by Johnny Depp, who seems somewhat of a strange combination between his previous roles as Jack Sparrow and Willy Wonka. And there were some obvious casting failures. Anne Hathaway should stick to movies like "Princess Diaries" and "The Devil Wears Prada." Her character was flat and unconvincing.

Anyhow, it was interesting to hear Dargis's opinion of the movie in her article. She describes several aspects of the movie in witty, descriptive vocabulary that was both interesting and entertaining to read, and her insights about the movie made me recognize aspects of the film that I hadn't paid much attention to before.

Oscars Review

In an amplified promo, ABC promised no less than “glamour,” “thrills,” and “emotion” for the much anticipated 82^nd Oscars. Complete with climactic music and snippets of prior shows, ABC set the expectations high. And it cannot be denied that this year had great potential. With two hosts and ten best picture nominations (the first time since 1943), bigger could have been better. But the excess could not make up for what the show lacked. Even the glittering gowns and the stunning stage could not disguise the disappointment that were the 2010 Oscars.

Neil Patrick Harris began the night with an opening number as powerless as his voice. “You Just Can’t Do It Alone” was riddled with clichés, “whether team Jacob or team Ed,” and extra hype, “tonight there’s two hosts to split the fee.” Unfortunately, what followed was no better.

Steve Martin and Alec Baldwin could have made a dynamic duo, but from the moment they took the stage, their hosting seemed reminiscent of an awful improv show. Scanning the crowd, they chose audience members at random and poked fun at them with monotone, almost desperate attempts at humor. At one point, Martin said, “Is that the director of “Avatar,” James Cameron?” Squinting into the audience, he and Baldwin then whipped out pairs of 3d glasses. “Oh look” became a redundant transition between such sporadic comments, making the show seem disconnected and more like a stream of consciousness than a professional act.

Though few and far between, the show did have its redeeming moments. Kathryn Bigelow’s film about the war in Iraq, “The Hurt Locker,” took the award for best picture. Competing against top-grossing movies, it spoke to the potential in low-budget films. Finishing with six wins, it dominated the show, even overshadowing films like “Avatar,” which received only three awards, though ones well-deserved: best art direction, visual effects, and cinematography.

Bigelow made Oscar history when she became the first woman to win best director. After the consistent hosting and performance flops, Bigelow’s speech was a much-needed breath of fresh air. Thanking the other nominees for their example and inspiration and frequently calling the night “the moment of a lifetime,” her heartfelt delivery not only epitomized her great achievements but marked a highlight in the show as well.

Another strong moment came from a welcome cast of various animated characters. They gave a series of light-hearted, comical interviews that were a clever predecessor to the declaration of the best-animated feature film. Pixar’s fantastic abilities were recognized once again when “Up” received the Oscar. The film also won best original score for its thoughtful melodies that effortlessly range from vibrant, lively themes to nostalgic laments.

“Crazy Heart” received its merited attention when its touching, country number, “The Weary Kind” took the award for best original song. The film grabbed a second Oscar when Jeff Bridges was named best actor for his role as Bad Blake. His lengthy speech, littered with an excess of “yea, man” and “oh, yea,” unfortunately detracted from his win and the powerful performance for which he was being recognized.

Just a night after receiving the title of worst actress at the Golden Raspberry Awards, Sandra Bullock stepped on stage to accept the award for best actress for her role in “The Blind Side.” Up against strong competition, which Bullock gracefully recognized in her speech, her win came as somewhat of a surprise.

For a night so full of possibility, it is a shame that the 2010 Oscars show failed to mirror the exceptional talent that dominated 2009.

"How Oscar Found Ms. Right"

http://www.nytimes.com/2010/03/14/movies/14dargis.html?ref=arts

After my overall disappointment with the 2010 Oscars, Manohla Dargis's article reminded me of one of the better moments of the night, Kathryn Bigelow's acceptance of the best director award. As the first woman to receive this award, Bigelow made Oscar history, and Dargis's contemplation of this event was very thought-provoking. Explaining the male prominence and dominance in the film industry, Dargis eloquently captures Bigelow's achievement when she says, "Kathyrn Bigelow's two-fisted win at the Academy Awards for best director and best film for "The Hurt Locker" didn't just punch through the American movie industry’s seemingly shatterproof glass ceiling; it has also helped dismantle stereotypes about what types of films women can and should direct." And what follows truly helps to prove her point. Her arguments and evidence brought several things to my attention, like the fact that, for the most part, Hollywood movies are made for males and males star in such movies and apart from chick flicks (named so because these are the few movies actually made for women that star women), women are often only objects to be saved by men. Dargis's article really captures Bigelow's efforts to change these "standards" and to change the ideas or expectations about what films women are "supposed" to direct. And I admire that Bigelow does this not just through talk but through action. She is speaking against these standards and expectations by breaking them. She embraces and directs films that are not typically thought of as films that would be directed by women: "She generally makes kinetic and thrilling movies about men and codes of masculinity set in worlds of violence." And in doing so, she makes a powerful statement: "Her insistence on keeping the focus on her movies is a quiet yet profound form of rebellion. She might be a female director, but by refusing to accept that gendered designation — or even engage with it — she is asserting her right to be simply a director."

Live Review

There is something to be said for simplicity, and Aaron Geller, a sophomore at Kalamazoo College, would probably agree. His photography exhibit at the Fine Arts Building, a collection of candid, black and white shots, is eye-catching because of its simplistic style. Without being vibrant or flashy, Geller allows these raw images to speak for themselves. And in taking the time to process these shots, one discovers the depth behind their matte-paper surfaces.

Geller traveled to Israel this past summer with four cameras in tow. Favoring his Yashica 635 TLR, Geller slung this manual model around his neck for the duration of his visit. Taking advantage of the TLR’s dual format, Geller used 120 roll film; a unique but effective approach, as this film records images in squares.

The exhibit displays the photographs Geller took on his trip, and the overall effect mirrors the style of the photographs, simple. Each white wall of the square room almost becomes part of the two or three, unlabeled, unframed images tacked to its surface. The soft lighting scattered throughout enhances this connectivity between exhibit and art, blurring borders and edges. It becomes an experience rather than separate pieces. A collage composed of thirty-six snapshots heightens this effect. Together, side-by-side, the images complement each other, inevitably appearing intertwined like the lives and emotions they have captured.

In a short explanation at the forefront of his exhibit, Geller writes, “There is a tendency to stereotype people into groups – the objective of this gallery is to challenge this view.” His collection of images does just this. The square photographs reject boxed in expectations and perspectives. A group of young girls huddle around a well, a dark-haired woman clutches a paintbrush and gazes up from a canvas, a middle-aged man flashes a slight grin from a restaurant booth: the candid images are careful snippets of intimate moments that invite viewers to peer into individual experiences.

Geller has also done a fine job in terms of printing. Though the prints are large (all are 3 feet by 3 feet), the clarity has not been compromised. Upon close inspection, some of the photographs are somewhat grainy, but this is merely due to size rather than quality, and the size is worth the minor graininess. These big images boast big contrast. Not one lacks a true black or white or a broad palette of gray hues in between, which highlight vital details that would otherwise be lost: a crinkled frown, a flower loosely tangled in a bundle of hair, the texture of a brick stretch of sidewalk.

The exposure required to achieve such contrast did have its costs, however, and a few photographs could have benefited from a little dodging and burning. Ivory, cloudless skies appear unrealistic, especially when power lines are fragmented and disappearing in its brightness, and a woman’s foot looks inhuman when it blends into her surroundings.

These discrepancies aside, the exhibit is truly a showcase of Geller’s talent in the darkroom. One image in particular, a photograph composed of two overlapping shots, speaks to the greater messages and complexities that are layered into Geller’s simple works.