A Virtual Tour Inside the Hayao Miyazaki’s Studio Ghibli Museum

Let us pray that organization expert Marie Kondo never comes within spitting distance of A Boy’s Room, part of the Studio Ghibli museum’s Where a Film is Born installation.

It’s not likely that every single item in the massive (and no doubt well dusted) collection of books, postcards, hand tools, pictures, figurines, and other assorted tchotchkes pictured above sparks joy, but the suggestion is that any one of them might prove the gateway to a fantastical tale, such as those spun by the museum’s executive director, master animator Hayao Miyazaki:

The room seems to belong to someone who was sketching at the desk just a few minutes ago. The room is filled with books and toys. The walls are all covered with illustrations and sketches. Hanging from the ceiling are a model of an airplane and a model of a Pteranodon. It's a place where the owner of the room has stored his favorite things. This room provides lots of inspiration for what will go on to the blank piece of paper on the desk to become the origin of an actual film.

The Museum, which announced it would delay its reopening out of ongoing concerns related to social distancing during the COVID-19 crisis, recently shared some brief video tours of the Miyazaki-designed space, perhaps all the more magical for being empty.

One lucky viewer, who had trekked to the Tokyo suburb of Mitaka for an in-person visit, recalled the experience of actually being in A Boy’s Room:

Open up the drawers in this room, take the books off shelves to look at them, touch things, look through trunks—you might find little secrets to be discovered. One time I took an art book from the shelf and one of the employees came over to me. I was expecting to get reprimanded, but instead she kindly guided me over to a couch so that I could read the book. Miyazaki took care to design the space to be friendly to the exploratory nature of children, making sure that they could play unobstructed. It's one of the reasons why you aren't allowed to take photos inside—he didn't want parents interrupting their experience to pose for photos they could care less about.

That philosophy is enacted throughout the museum. Kids can climb all over a life-size plush recreation of My Neighbor Totoro’s cat bus, but would-be Instagrammers are S.O.L.

A peek at the Space of Wonder room reveals Thumbelina-sized characters from My Neighbor TotoroNausicaä of the Valley of the Wind, and Kiki's Delivery Service frolicking in a fresco of fruit, flowers, and vines.

The architectural elements are a particular treat, and suggest that there’s serious bank to be made, should Miyazaki ever consider extending the brand into a theme park-style hotel. (Something tells us he won’t.)

Once having seen a photo essay featuring some of the fancy refreshments others have enjoyed there, the tour of the empty Straw Hat Café does underwhelm a bit. Those cute little plates are just calling out for a slice of strawberry shortcake…

We’re unsure if museum staffers will be releasing more videos during their downtime, though we’re hopeful, especially since several in-person visitors have noted that the museum’s toilets are pretty noteworthy.

That said we’d happily settle for some of the short films that screen in the museum’s Saturn Theater.

You can follow the Museum’s YouTube channel just in case.

Meanwhile, here is Miyazaki’s manifesto detailing the kind of museum he wanted to make, right down to the café and the gift shop:

A museum that is interesting and which relaxes the soul
A museum where much can be discovered
A museum based on a clear and consistent philosophy
A museum where those seeking enjoyment can enjoy, those seeking to ponder can ponder, and those seeking to feel can feel
A museum that makes you feel more enriched when you leave than when you entered!

To make such a museum, the building must be...
Put together as if it were a film
Not arrogant, magnificent, flamboyant, or suffocating
Quality space where people can feel at home, especially when it's not crowded
A building that has a warm feel and touch
A building where the breeze and sunlight can freely flow through

The museum must be run in such a way that...
Small children are treated as if they were grown-ups
Visitors with disabilities are accommodated as much as possible
The staff can be confident and proud of their work
Visitors are not controlled with predetermined courses and fixed directions
It is suffused with ideas and new challenges so that the exhibits do not get dusty or old, and that investments are made to realize that goal

The displays will be...
Not only for the benefit of people who are already fans of Studio Ghibli
Not a procession of artwork from past Ghibli films as if it were "a museum of the past"
A place where visitors can enjoy by just looking, can understand the artists' spirits, and can gain new insights into animation

Original works and pictures will be made to be exhibited at the museum
A project room and an exhibit room will be made, showing movement and life
(Original short films will be produced to be released in the museum!)
Ghibli's past films will be probed for understanding at a deeper level

The café will be...
An important place for relaxation and enjoyment
A place that doesn't underestimate the difficulties of running a museum café
A good café with a style all its own where running a café is taken seriously and done right

The museum shop will be...
Well-prepared and well-presented for the sake of the visitors and running the museum
Not a bargain shop that attaches importance only to the amount of sales
A shop that continues to strive to be a better shop
Where original items made only for the museum are found

The museum's relation to the park is...
Not just about caring for the plants and surrounding greenery but also planning for how things can improve ten years into the future
Seeking a way of being and running the museum so that the surrounding park will become even lusher and better, which will in turn make the museum better as well!

This is what I expect the museum to be, and therefore I will find a way to do it.

This is the kind of museum I don't want to make!
A pretentious museum
An arrogant museum
A museum that treats its contents as if they were more important than people
A museum that displays uninteresting works as if they were significant

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Ayun Halliday is an author, illustrator, theater maker and Chief Primatologist of the East Village Inky zine.  Here latest project is a series of free downloadable posters, encouraging citizens to wear masks in public and wear them properly. Follow her @AyunHalliday.

The Earliest Known Motion Picture, 1888’s Roundhay Garden Scene, Restored with Artificial Intelligence

No image is more closely associated with the birth of the motion picture than a train pulling into the French coastal town of La Ciotat. Captured by cinema pioneers Auguste and Louis Lumière, the 50-second clip frightened the audience at its first screening in 1896, who thought a real locomotive was hurtling toward them — or so the legend goes. Those early viewers may simply have felt a technological astonishment we can no longer muster today, and certainly not in response to such a mundane sight. That goes double for the slightly shorter and older Lumière Brothers production La Sortie de l'Usine Lumière a Lyon. Though it depicts nothing more than workers leaving a factory at the end of the day, it has long been referred to as "the first real motion picture ever made."

That qualifier "real," of course, hints at the existence of a predecessor. Whereas La Sortie de l'Usine Lumière a Lyon premiered in 1895, Louis Le Prince's Roundhay Garden Scene dates to 1888. With its runtime under two seconds, this depiction of a moment in the life of four figures, a younger man and woman and an older man and woman, would even by the standards of the Lumière Brothers' day barely count as a movie at all.

Equally disqualifying is its low frame rate: just seven to twelve per second (which one it is has been a matter of some dispute), which strikes our eyes more as a rapid sequence of still photographs than as continuous motion. Even so, it must have been a thrill of a result for Le Prince, an England-based French artist-inventor who had been developing his motion-photography system in secrecy since early in the decade.

We now have a clearer sense of the action captured in Roundhay Garden Scene thanks to the efforts Youtube-based film restorationist Denis Shiryaev, who's used neural networks to bring the historic film more fully to life. Taking a scan of Le Prince's original paper film, Shiryaev "manually cut this scan into individual frames and centered each image in the frame," he says in the video at the top of the post. He then "added a stabilization algorithm and applied an aggressive face recognition neural network in order to add more details to the faces." There followed adjustments for consistency in brightness, damage repairs, and the work of "an ensemble of neural networks" to upscale the footage to as high a resolution as possible, interpolating as many frames as possible. We may feel startled by the lifelike quality of the result in much the same way as 19th-century viewers by the Lumière Brothers' train — which, as we've previously featured here on Open Culture, has also received the Shiryaev treatment.

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Based in Seoul, Colin Marshall writes and broadcasts on cities, language, and culture. His projects include the book The Stateless City: a Walk through 21st-Century Los Angeles and the video series The City in Cinema. Follow him on Twitter at @colinmarshall, on Facebook, or on Instagram.

Watch a Screen Test of 21-Year-Old Orson Welles (1937)

We remember Orson Welles as a film director, and given the influence of Citizen Kane, we do it with good reason. It certainly doesn't hurt the image of Welles-as-auteur that he was only 25 years old when he made that movie, now considered one of the greatest of all time. Not only did he direct, he co-wrote, produced, and starred, showcasing a set of acting skills he'd been honing on radio and the stage since childhood. If any man was ever born to give commanding performances, it was Welles; when silent film gave way to "talkies," which favored actors with strong presences and strong voices both, Hollywood studios should have beaten a path to his door. And yet, when he came to Hollywood, one of its biggest studios turned him down.

These clips show a 21-year-old Welles doing a screen test for Warner Brothers in early 1937, by which time he had already established himself as a radio and theatre performer. Whatever spark of genius we feel we can recognize in Welles' line-readings today, the people at Warners' evidently couldn't see it then — or more charitably, they didn't know how to sell his preternatural gravitas.

As history shows, Welles could in any case make more of a mark with projects under his own control. Later that same year he would co-found the Mercury Theatre, the repertory company now best remembered for its radio broadcasts, specifically the 1938 adaptation of H.G. Wells' alien-invasion novel War of the Worlds that, so the legend goes, proved a little too real for many listeners across America.

Mastering the dramatic arts is one thing, but setting off nationwide controversy — now that's the way to get the entertainment industry's attention. Welles found himself able to parlay the interest generated by War of the Worlds into a historically generous three-picture deal with RKO Pictures, one that allowed him total creative control as well as the use of his actors from the Mercury Theatre. After coming to grips with the art of filmmaking as well as the art of putting together projects, Welles came up with the story of the rise and fall of character modeled on William Randolph Hearst, Howard Hughes, and other American tycoons. Released in 1941, Citizen Kane would mark the zenith of Welles' fame, though over the next 44 years he would labor over many other cinematic visions — efforts more acclaimed now than they were in his lifetime, and all financially supported by the acting skills that never deserted him.

via Eyes on Cinema

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Based in Seoul, Colin Marshall writes and broadcasts on cities, language, and culture. His projects include the book The Stateless City: a Walk through 21st-Century Los Angeles and the video series The City in Cinema. Follow him on Twitter at @colinmarshall, on Facebook, or on Instagram.

Watch Jean-Luc Godard’s Filmmaking Masterclass on Instagram

As the last living major French New Wave director, Jean-Luc Godard has become a kind of oracle for younger filmmakers and cinéastes. Despite having turned 89 last December, he remains in a sense what film scholar David Bordwell not long ago called "the youngest filmmaker at work today." When Godard started working in cinema just about 65 years ago, it didn't take him long to make his name by breaking its rules. Ever since, he's warded off complacency by continuing to rethink, at the most fundamental level, not just film but the nature of images, sounds and words themselves. And he pursues this line of thinking in any available medium, including, as demonstrated in the conversation above on "images in the time of the coronavirus," Instagram Live.

This form, as a filmmaker like Godard would surely appreciate, suits the substance. No venue could be more of the moment than Instagram Live, as performers of all kinds have taken to streaming themselves from home in the midst of the global pandemic. But where many such figures use the opportunity to take viewers' minds off the coronavirus, Godard and his interviewer Lionel Baier, head of the cinema department at Lausanne's ECAL University of Art and Design, use it as a starting point. What begins as a discussion of Godard's news-watching habits turns into a conversational journey across such subjects as filmmaking, writing, painting, philosophy, science, medicine, law, and language. "I don't believe in language," goes one of Godard's characteristic pronouncements. "What needs to be changed is the alphabet. There are too many letters and we should delete lots of them."

Perhaps that doesn't come as a surprise from a director whose recent pictures include one called Goodbye to Language. But spoken or filmed, Godard's ideas on the matter also reflect his personal experience: he tells of having for a time lost the memory of names of certain fruits and vegetables, and consequently developing a visual method of remembering his grocery lists. Such everyday stories come along with references to a wide range of artists, scientists, philosophers, and "adventurers" in history, especially from the history of the Francophone world. More than once arises the name of Nicéphore Niépce, the 19th-century French inventor responsible for the first known photograph ever taken (previously featured here on Open Culture) and a subject of one of Godard's current works-in-progress.

"In the film I'm going to make," Godard explains, "I ask what Niépce believed he was doing or what his intentions were when he simply wanted to copy reality." All throughout his decades as a filmmaker, Godard has clearly kept asking the same question about himself: in making films, does he want to "copy reality" or do something more interesting? Fortunately for cinema, he always seems to have opted for the latter, back to his days with his Nouvelle Vague compatriots François Truffaut, Jacques Rivette, Claude Chabrol, and Éric Rohmer, all of whom figure into his reminiscences here. And will COVID-19 figure in a future Godard film? "It'll have an influence but not directly," he says. "The virus should definitely be talked about once or twice. With everything that comes with it, the virus is a form of communication. It doesn't mean we're going to die from it, but we might not live very well with it either."

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Based in Seoul, Colin Marshall writes and broadcasts on cities, language, and culture. His projects include the book The Stateless City: a Walk through 21st-Century Los Angeles and the video series The City in Cinema. Follow him on Twitter at @colinmarshall, on Facebook, or on Instagram.

Watch Picasso Create a Masterpiece in Just Five Minutes (1955)

"One day in Paris a wealthy woman goes into a café and sees Picasso," writes Alastair Dryburgh in Everything You Know About Business Is Wrong.

After a few minutes, she summons up the courage to approach him. 'Monsieur Picasso,' she asks, 'would you make a portrait of me? I'll pay you anything you want.' Picasso nods, grabs a menu, and in five minutes has sketched the woman's portrait on the back of it. He hands it to her.

'Five thousand francs,' he says.

'But Monsieur Picasso, it only took you five minutes.'

'No, Madam, it took me my whole life.'

This anecdote has been elevated, in books like Dryburgh's, to the status of a "Picasso Principle." Individuals and businesses alike, this principle states, should price their goods and services in accordance not just with the time and effort required to do the job, but the time and effort required to make doing the job possible in the first place.

Whether Picasso ever actually charged a rich lady in a café 5,000 francs for an impromptu portrait, nobody knows. But that he possessed the skills to create a fully realized work of art in five minutes is a matter of cinematic record, and you can witness such an act in the Royal Academy of Arts video above.

The video's source is Le Mystère Picasso, a documentary by Henri-Georges Clouzot, the filmmaker best known for 1950s thrillers like The Wages of Fear and Les Diaboliques. Officially declared a French national treasure and previously featured here on Open Culture, the film captures Picasso in action, creating original artworks right before the camera. "Not many of the works he created for the documentary survive," say this video's notes, but three of them were recently displayed in the Royal Academy's exhibition Picasso and Paper, a virtual tour of which appears just above. In Le Mystère Picasso the artist paints 1955's Visage: Head of a Faun in just five minutes, a severe time constraint imposed by Clouzot's supply of film stock.

The director's tension comes across as clearly as the painter's concentration. While Clouzot puffs away on his pipe, Picasso gets right down to work. "Picasso plays with the drawing," says the video's onscreen commentary, "taking it from flower to fish to chicken to face and builds up from a monochrome drawing with bright, saturated colors." As the rolling counter on Clouzot's camera ticks off the final meters of film, Picasso transforms the work-in-progress almost completely, conjuring up a wild-eyed figure in silhouette, neither man nor beast, to dominate the foreground. He executes every brushstroke unflinchingly, filled with the confidence of a painter long since assured of his mastery. In one sense, Visage: Head of a Faun took Picasso five minutes; more truthfully, it took him 74 years and five minutes.

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Based in Seoul, Colin Marshall writes and broadcasts on cities, language, and culture. His projects include the book The Stateless City: a Walk through 21st-Century Los Angeles and the video series The City in Cinema. Follow him on Twitter at @colinmarshall, on Facebook, or on Instagram.

Watch 12 Classic Chinese Films Online, Complete with English Subtitles (1920s-1940s)

The Chinese film industry began around the turn of the 20th century, but unfortunately nothing survives of those first two decades--films lost to fire, to age, and just plain lost. Any person wanting to study this history must make do with synopses, photos, and imagination. However, after that? This YouTube playlist curated by the Department of Asian Studies of the University of British Columbia features a dozen notable films and influential classics from two and half decades of Chinese history, some of the most tumultuous years for that nation. China ousted the British, fought off the Japanese, and began a revolution under Mao. The print quality varies here and there, but all are entertaining, from musicals to horror movies to social dramas.

The collection begins with the oldest surviving film in the series, Labourer’s Love, a two-reeler from 1922 directed by Zhang Shichuan. Most of the original Chinese filmmakers were trained by Americans, so early shorts like this tended to be silent comedies filled with visual gags--this one features a carpenter who opens up a fruit stand to woo a woman, and uses his woodworking skills and tools to increase his business.

By the late 20s however, China was already developing its own genres and styles, just as it was developing a modern nationalist pride away from colonial influence. The first martial arts film would be produced in 1928. Other studios opted for folklore tales or family melodramas.

Trained and educated in the United Stated, Sun Yu was one of the major filmmakers of the 1930s (a group of directors known as the Second Generation filmmakers) until the invasion of Japan sent him fleeing Shanghai for the interior. But the films he made for the leftist film studio Lianhua are now classics. Three of his are represented here: 1933’s Daybreak, a tale of a young country couple who get corrupted in the big city; Queen of Sports, a 1934 drama of a plucky track star who has to navigate class stratas as well as competitions; and maybe Sun Yu’s most famous film The Big Road (above), a story of six young men building a road for the Chinese army to battle the Japanese. Yes, it’s wartime propaganda, but Sun Yu was always focused on working men and women. These three films also star Li Lili, considered by some to be the “Chinese Mae West,” and who lived to a ripe age (as did Sun Yu). She has a role in Stanley Kwan’s Center Stage from 1992, his ode to the movie stars of the 1930s.

China’s first horror film is also in this list: 1937’s Song at Midnight, Ma-Xu Weibang’s retelling of Phantom of the Opera (with a bit of Frankenstein thrown in--the Universal Studios influence is very apparent here). It’s also a musical, with karaoke-like subs for you to sing along if you know Cantonese.

Lastly, Fei Mu’s Spring in a Small Town from 1947 is one of the most influential on this list. A sickly man’s friend visits in the aftermath of the Sino-Japanese war, and the wife recognizes him as a lover from long ago. Romantic tensions soon begin to smolder. Wong Kar-Wai’s In the Mood for Love borrowed its repressed, longing mood. And filmmaker Tian Zhuangzhaung remade it in 2002, keeping the original setting. Many Chinese filmmakers and critics consider it one of the best of all time, China’s Casablanca.

Hopefully this dozen will whet your appetite for more Chinese cinema and provide an alternative to watching another binge-worthy but shallow Netflix series.

via Metafilter

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Ted Mills is a freelance writer on the arts who currently hosts the Notes from the Shed podcast and is the producer of KCRW's Curious Coast. You can also follow him on Twitter at @tedmills, and/or watch his films here.

New Hilma af Klint Documentary Explores the Life & Art of the Trailblazing Abstract Artist

It's not often an entire chapter of art history textbooks needs rewriting, but as fans of Hilma af Klint see it, one such time has come. A Swedish artist and mystic who lived from the mid-19th to the mid-20th century, af Klint left behind a body of work amounting to more than 1,200 paintings — all of which she insisted not be taken out of storage until 20 years after her death. She suspected the public wouldn't be ready for them before then, and she was more right than she knew: offered the paintings as a donation in the 1970s, Stockholm's Moderna Museet turned them down. Only in the following decade did the art history world begin to understand that, far from just a productive amateur painting in obscurity, af Kint might be the very first abstract artist.

Today af Klint's abstract paintings, the first of which she produced in middle-age in 1906, have appreciators all over the world. Some, we'd like to think, came because of all the times we've previously featured her here on Open Culture; others were brought in by the Guggenheim's recent retrospective Hilma af Klint: Paintings for the Future.

These paintings, says the museum's web site, "were like little that had been seen before: bold, colorful, and untethered from any recognizable references to the physical world. It was years before Vasily KandinskyKazimir MalevichPiet Mondrian, and others would take similar strides to rid their own artwork of representational content." This year the story of af Klint and her work is told cinematically in Beyond the Visible, a new documentary by German filmmaker Halina Dyrschka whose trailer appears at the top of the post.

In his review of the filmNew York Times critic A.O. Scott briefly recounts af Klint's early years: "Born in 1862 to an aristocratic Swedish family and raised partly on the grounds of the military academy where her father was an instructor, she trained at the Royal Academy of Fine Arts in Stockholm, mastering the traditional genres of portrait, still life and landscape. By the late 1880s, her notebooks and paintings began incorporating forms that, while they sometimes evoked natural phenomena (like snail shells, flower petals and insect wings), did not resemble anything in the visible world." This change in the artist's aesthetic sensibility came along with her growing interest in mysticism and ways of accessing a realm beyond human senses. (She even offered a painting to the Anthroposophical Society founder Rudolf Steiner, who rejected it.)

Scott calls Beyond the Visible "a chapter in the wholesale revision of the critical and historical record that began only recently, and it enlists a passionate and knowledgeable cadre of curators, scholars, scientists and artists to press the argument for af Klint’s importance." But "the paintings themselves are the best evidence — even through the mediation of a home screen, their vibrancy, wit and formal command is thrilling." With many movie theaters temporarily shut down by the coronavirus epidemic, you can watch the documentary through Kino Marquee's "virtual cinema," a service that streams over the internet but also supports local art houses. Most of us may be no closer to the unseen world into which af Klint yearned to tap than were any of her everyday compatriots. But as far as historical moments in which her work and life can find a fascinated audience, there's never been a better one.

via Colossal

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Based in Seoul, Colin Marshall writes and broadcasts on cities, language, and culture. His projects include the book The Stateless City: a Walk through 21st-Century Los Angeles and the video series The City in Cinema. Follow him on Twitter at @colinmarshall, on Facebook, or on Instagram.

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