If Stuntmen from the old movies don’t have your full respect then I just don’t know what to say to you
l tried really hard not to reblog this
Yeah, it is indeed really hard not to reblog a fucking thing.
Can we all agree that the man in the first gif is the manliest man in the world?
Are we just going to all silently acknowledge that the last guy is clearly dead and that we just saw him die.
HOLD UP FOR A SECOND
ALL OF THESE GIFS ARE ONE MAN
THE SINGULAR BUSTER KEATON
WHILE FILMING THE GENERAL
HE SNAPPED HIS NECK ON THE RAILROAD TIES AND WENT HOME AND ICED HIS BODY
AND CAME BACK FOR WORK THE NEXT DAY
HE ONCE GOT HIS HIP RIPPED OUT OF ITS SOCKET BY A MALFUNCTIONING ELEVATOR AND WAS DISAPPOINTED WITH HIMSELF FOR BEING INJURED
HE ONCE HAD TO FALL 100 FEET DOWN A WATERFALL INTO A NET
A STUNTMAN TESTED IT AND BROKE BOTH LEGS AND DISLOCATED HIS SHOULDER
BUSTER DID THE STUNT ANYWAY AND LANDED WITHOUT A SCRATCH
IN ‘THE HIGH DIVE’
BUSTER DID A TRICK DIVE THROUGH A CARDBOARD DECK THAT WAS CAMOUFLAGED TO LOOK LIKE THE REAL DECK
ONLY HE COULDN’T TELL FROM 100 FEET UP WHERE THE CARDBOARD STOPPED AND THE REAL DECK STARTED AND THERE WAS ONLY LIKE A THREE FOOT MARGIN FOR ERROR
AND WHEN HE HESITATED A SUDDEN BREEZE LITERALLY KNOCKED HIM OFF THE DIVING BOARD AND HE HAD TO JUMP ANYWAY
AND HE MISSED THE REAL DECK BY LESS THAN A FOOT BUT HE MADE IT
IN THE SECOND GIF HE’S RECREATING SOMETHING THAT THE ACTUAL GENERAL PURSUERS HAD TO DO IN THE CIVIL WAR
IF HE MISSES THAT TIE
THE TRAIN WILL BE DERAILED AND HE WILL DIE IN THE EXPLOSION
IN THE THIRD GIF AN ENTIRE HOUSE IS FALLING HE HAS ONE TAKE AND IF HE HAS NOT DONE THE CALCULATIONS CORRECTLY HE WILL BE CRUSHED
HE HAS AN INCH-WIDE MARGIN ON EACH SIDE
AND THE HOUSE LITERALLY BRUSHES HIS LEFT SHOULDER ON THE WAY DOWN
YOU CAN SEE HIS LEFT ARM JUMP BECAUSE HE’S FLINCHING FROM THE PAIN
THAT LAST GIF
HE WAS SUPPOSED TO MAKE THAT JUMP
HE WAS NOT SUPPOSED TO FALL AND THEY HADNT PLANNED FOR IT
BUT HE SURVIVED
BUSTER KEATON SURVIVED 100% OF THINGS THAT WOULD HAVE KILLED LESSER MEN INCLUDING WWI, TORNADOS, HOUSEFIRES, ALCOHOLISM, BROKEN NETS, CRUSHING DEPRESSION, THE DEPRESSION ITSELF, THE MCCARTHY WITCHHUNTS, THE END OF SILENT CINEMA, AND ABOUT 900 MORE OF THE STUNTS YOU SEE ABOVE
BUSTER LIVED TO BE 70 YEARS OLD
FATHERED LIKE FOUR KIDS AND EIGHT GRANDKIDS
HE CAME OUT THE OTHER SIDE OF ALL THAT
THINKING THAT LIFE WAS GOOD AND PEOPLE WERE WONDERFUL
BUSTER KEATON IS NOT JUST A STUNTMAN
HE IS A GODDAMN SAINT
BUSTER KEATON’S PARENTS WERE PART OF A TRAVELING SHOW.
THEY WERE ACROBATS.
THEY TOOK BABY BUSTER UP HIGH IN THE AIR WITH THEM.
THEY DROPPED HIM.
LUCKILY SOMEONE WHO WAS STANDING UNDER THEM CAUGHT BABY BUSTER.
THAT MAN WAS HARRY HOUDINI.
HARRY HOUDINI SAVED BUSTER KEATON’S LIFE.
if you don’t think that’s the coolest shit you can get right out.
BUSTER KEATON STARTED APPEARED IN FILMS FROM 1917, WHEN HE BEGAN WORKING WITH FATTY ARBUCKLE AT THE AGE OF 21. BY THAT TIME, HE WAS A VETERAN OF BOTH VAUDEVILLE AND LIVE COMBAT. AFTER ABOUT 1940, HE MAINLY PLAYED SMALLER ROLES, BUT HIS FANS WERE AS DEDICATED AS EVER. IN HIS FINAL MOVIE, A FUNNY THING HAPPENED ON THE WAY TO THE FORUM, HE PERFORMED NEARLY EVERY SINGLE ONE OF HIS OWN STUNTS. HE WAS SEVENTY YEARS OLD. THE MOVIE CAME OUT NINE MONTHS AFTER HE DIED.
SO WHAT KIND OF ACCIDENT KILLED BUSTER KEATON? A FALL? BEING CRUSHED BY AN ELEVATOR? GETTING TORN APART BY ELEPHANTS AND VISIGOTHS ON SET?
IT WAS FREAKIN’ LUNG CANCER.
AND HE WAS TERMINAL WHEN HE FILMED FORUM.
FORGET CHUCK NORRIS. BUSTER KEATON WAS THE GREATEST BADASS EVER TO LIVE.
"Drawing a storyboard requires you to make ideas more precise. So showing the storyboards helps the crew to understand what I want. It’s the simplest way to achieve that, and the easiest way to show them an idea."— Akira Kurosawa
Buster Keaton is known for his stunt work and acrobatic athleticism as much as he is for his perpetual deadpan. Many comedians used their bodies in their craft but actors like Buster and Harold Lloyd took this physicality to another level, often risking (and sustaining) injury as a result. For the iconic scene in Steamboat Bill, Jr. where the facade of a house collapses around the film’s oblivious protagonist, many crewmembers had to look away or leave; the possibility that the star could be crushed if his position within the small window had been miscalculated by mere inches was very real.
Buster learned very early in life how potentially dangerous stunts could up the ante on a gag or be the basis for the gag itself, and he used this knowledge to great advantage throughout his independent film career. He was more than willing to go beyond run-of-the-mill pratfalls as long as he was sure that the audience would laugh.
He insists, for example, that his characteristic use of long master shots—ones that record an entire scene from a single camera angle—is the result of laziness, not conscious technique. “I don’t have the patience or the concentration to shoot hours of us talking in a two-shot, and then your single and my single and from over your shoulder and over my shoulder. I like to do as many pages as I can in one take.”
“In 1978, as I applied to study film at the University of Illinois, my father vehemently objected. He quoted me a statistic: ‘Every year, 50,000 performers compete for 200 available roles on Broadway.’ Against his advice, I boarded a flight to the U.S. This strained our relationship. In the two decades following, we exchanged less than a hundred phrases in conversation.
Some years later, when I graduated film school, I came to comprehend my father’s concern. It was nearly unheard of for a Chinese newcomer to make it in the American film industry. Beginning in 1983, I struggled through six years of agonizing, hopeless uncertainty. Much of the time, I was helping film crews with their equipment or working as editor’s assistant, among other miscellaneous duties. My most painful experience involved shopping a screenplay at more than thirty different production companies, and being met with harsh rejection each time.
That year, I turned 30. There’s an old Chinese saying: ‘At 30, one stands firm.’ Yet, I couldn’t even support myself. What could I do? Keep waiting, or give up my movie-making dream? My wife gave me invaluable support.
My wife was my college classmate. She was a biology major, and after graduation, went to work for a small pharmaceutical research lab. Her income was terribly modest. At the time, we already had our elder son, Haan, to raise. To appease my own feelings of guilt, I took on all housework – cooking, cleaning, taking care of our son – in addition to reading, reviewing films and writing scripts. Every evening after preparing dinner, I would sit on the front steps with Haan, telling him stories as we waited for his mother – the heroic huntress – to come home with our sustenance (income).
This kind of life felt rather undignified for a man. At one point, my in-laws gave their daughter (my wife) a sum of money, intended as start-up capital for me to open a Chinese restaurant – hoping that a business would help support my family. But my wife refused the money. When I found out about this exchange, I stayed up several nights and finally decided: This dream of mine is not meant to be. I must face reality.
Afterward (and with a heavy heart), I enrolled in a computer course at a nearby community college. At a time when employment trumped all other considerations, it seemed that only a knowledge of computers could quickly make me employable. For the days that followed, I descended into malaise. My wife, noticing my unusual demeanor, discovered a schedule of classes tucked in my bag. She made no comment that night.
The next morning, right before she got in her car to head off to work, my wife turned back and – standing there on our front steps – said, ‘Ang, don’t forget your dream.’
And that dream of mine – drowned by demands of reality – came back to life. As my wife drove off, I took the class schedule out of my bag and slowly, deliberately tore it to pieces. And tossed it in the trash.
Sometime after, I obtained funding for my screenplay, and began to shoot my own films. And after that, a few of my films started to win international awards. Recalling earlier times, my wife confessed, ‘I’ve always believed that you only need one gift. Your gift is making films. There are so many people studying computers already, they don’t need an Ang Lee to do that. If you want that golden statue, you have to commit to the dream.’
And today, I’ve finally won that golden statue. I think my own perseverance and my wife’s immeasurable sacrifice have finally met their reward. And I am now more assured than ever before: I must continue making films.
You see, I have this never-ending dream.”
(Following Ang Lee’s second Best Directing win at the Academy Awards last night, this beautiful essay resurfaced. Here is my translation of Ang Lee’s words, written in 2006 (post-Oscar win). Please credit the translation to Irene Shih (and to this blog), thank you!)
February 20, 1925 – November 20, 2006
“I watched Bob shoot a scene and he had a big wide smile on his face—and as the scene went on and on and on and the actors strayed from the script and got better and better, he turned and said, ‘This is the way. Good disintegration.’ […] From his work, I began to realize that I didn’t need any of the things I’d learned in the ‘How to Make Movies Book’. There didn’t have to be lessons or a moral to the story; things could drift in and out and stories could ramble and be more effective in glimpsing moments of truth rather than going for the touchdown. They could be long, they could be musicals without people singing, and they could be dirty and smart at the same time. Beginnings, middles and ends could all flow delicately together in any order, and weren’t even needed to be a great film. Things could just happen without explanation or too much fanfare, and the results would take care of themselves. This has been Bob’s great contribution: it doesn’t have to be spelled out. If it’s there and an audience wants to take something, they are free to. And we are lucky audiences because of it. Bob lets his mind wander and allows us to enjoy it. He’s nice to us because he’s good to his instinct. It’s hard to find heroes in Bob’s movies. Most of his characters are just folks trying to move along without too much fuss. Bob’s films taught me to trust that the most interesting thing—the only interesting thing on screen—is the people.” — Paul Thomas Anderson
Anderson’s personal approach to composition has implications in the editing room, too. “Wes likes to center-frame the actors, and he often covers dialog scenes with swish-pans rather than cutting,” says Yeoman. “There are also many long dolly shots. He designs the shots so that each part of the story is encapsulated in that one shot. When you shoot like that, there’s not really a place for a cut, though at times he can slip one in on the swish pan. As a result, he almost never cuts shots out of the movie. Everything is very carefully designed, so there really isn’t a tremendous amount of coverage. Pretty much everything that we shoot gets used.”