How the Titanic Sank: James Cameron’s New CGI Animation

It was 100 years ago next Sun­day that the lux­u­ry lin­er Titan­ic struck an ice­berg and sank in the North Atlantic Ocean with 1,514 souls aboard. It was one of the dead­liest mar­itime dis­as­ters in his­to­ry.

Last night, the Nation­al Geo­graph­ic Chan­nel broad­cast the pre­mier of The Titan­ic: The Final Word With James Cameron, in which the famed under­sea explor­er and direc­tor of the 1997 block­buster movie about the dis­as­ter presents the lat­est foren­sic evi­dence of what hap­pened that night a cen­tu­ry ago. At one point in the show, Cameron, fresh off of his dive to the bot­tom of the Mar­i­ana Trench, gives a sort of “play-by-play” analy­sis of the mechan­ics of the dis­as­ter (see above) using Com­put­er Graph­ic Imag­ing (CGI) soft­ware. The trag­ic ele­ment is com­plete­ly abstract­ed out of the pic­ture.

For more on the Titan­ic cen­te­nary, includ­ing inter­ac­tive fea­tures and a 46-minute doc­u­men­tary film on the dis­as­ter, vis­it the Nation­al Geo­graph­ic “Adven­ture on the Titan­ic” Web page.

Hunter S. Thompson and Franz Kafka Inspire Animation for a Bookstore Benefiting Oxfam

The online book­seller Good Books donates 100 per­cent of its retail prof­it to Oxfam’s char­i­ty projects, which tells you the sense of moral “good” their name means to evoke. But what about the oth­er sense, the sense of “good” you’d use when telling a friend about a thrilling lit­er­ary expe­ri­ence? Good Books clear­ly have their own ideas about that as well, and if you’d call Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas and Meta­mor­pho­sis “good books,” you’re of the same mind they are. Hav­ing com­mis­sioned a series of pro­mo­tion­al videos on the theme of Great Writ­ers, Good Books show us the kind of read­ers they are by begin­ning it with an intri­cate­ly ani­mat­ed mash-up of the spir­its of Franz Kaf­ka and Hunter S. Thomp­son. Under a buck­et hat, behind avi­a­tor sun­glass­es, and deep into an altered men­tal state, our nar­ra­tor feels the sud­den, urgent need for a copy of Kafka’s Meta­mor­pho­sis. Unwill­ing to make the pur­chase in “the great riv­er of medi­oc­rity,” he instead makes the buy from “a bunch of rose-tint­ed, will­ful­ly delu­sion­al Pollyan­nas giv­ing away all the mon­ey they make — every guilt-rid­den cent.”

The ani­ma­tion, cre­at­ed by a stu­dio called Buck, should eas­i­ly meet the aes­thet­ic demands of any view­er in their own altered state or look­ing to get into one. Its ever-shift­ing shapes both chase and antic­i­pate the words of the nar­ra­tor’s loop­ing, stag­ger­ing mono­logue, com­ple­ment­ing the eeri­ly Thomp­son­ian voice with wave after wave of trou­bling­ly Kafkan imagery (at least, when­ev­er it set­tles into rec­og­niz­able fig­ures). Ani­ma­tion enthu­si­asts can learn more about the painstak­ing work that went into all of this in Motiono­g­ra­pher’s inter­view with Buck­’s cre­ative direc­tors. What, you won­der, was the hard­est shot to ani­mate? Prob­a­bly the one “with the teth­ered goat and hun­dreds of bee­tles,” they reply. Some fret about the increas­ing inter­min­gling between com­mer­cials and the stranger, more raw, less sal­able arts, but if this at all rep­re­sents the future of adver­tise­ments, for char­i­ty stores or oth­er­wise, I say bring on the goats and bee­tles alike. via The Atlantic

Col­in Mar­shall hosts and pro­duces Note­book on Cities and Cul­ture. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall.

The Bayeux Tapestry Animated

We had to do it. We had to bring back a won­der­ful lit­tle ani­ma­tion of The Bayeux Tapes­try — you know, the famous embroi­dery that offers a pic­to­r­i­al inter­pre­ta­tion of the Nor­man Con­quest of Eng­land (1066) and the events lead­ing up to this piv­otal moment in medieval his­to­ry. Cur­rent­ly resid­ing in France, the tapes­try mea­sures 20 inch­es by 230 feet, and you can now see an ani­mat­ed ver­sion of the sto­ry it nar­rates. The clip above starts rough­ly halfway through the his­tor­i­cal nar­ra­tive, with the appear­ance of Hal­ley’s Comet, and it con­cludes with the Bat­tle of Hast­ings in 1066. The video cre­at­ed by David New­ton began as a stu­dent project at Gold­smiths Col­lege.

P.S. Don’t miss the many cours­es in the His­to­ry sec­tion of our big col­lec­tion of Free Online Cours­es. They’re all from top flight uni­ver­si­ties.

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The Animation of Billy Collins’ Poetry: Everyday Moments in Motion

The first time I saw Bil­ly Collins speak, he appeared at my col­lege con­vo­ca­tion, toward the end of his years as Unit­ed States Poet Lau­re­ate. Now, the sec­ond time I’ve seen Bil­ly Collins speak, he appears giv­ing this TEDTalk, “Every­day Moments, Caught in Time,” in which he makes fun of his own ten­den­cy to men­tion his years as Unit­ed States Poet Lau­re­ate. But he most­ly uses his fif­teen min­utes onstage in Long Beach in front of TED’s swoop­ing cam­eras to talk about how the Sun­dance Chan­nel ani­mat­ed five of his poems. A boost­er of poet­ry “off the shelf” and into pub­lic places — sub­ways, bill­boards, cere­al box­es — he fig­ured that even such an “unnat­ur­al and unnec­es­sary” merg­er could fur­ther the cause of elud­ing humanity’s “anti-poet­ry deflec­tor shields that were installed in high school.”

Collins also notes that the idea for the project stirred the embers of his “car­toon junkie” child­hood, when Bugs Bun­ny was his muse. Styl­is­ti­cal­ly, how­ev­er, the pro­duc­ers at the Sun­dance Chan­nel kept quite far indeed from the Mer­rie Melodies. These ani­mat­ed poems opt instead for an aes­thet­ic that takes pieces of visu­al real­i­ty and repur­pos­es them in ways we don’t expect: look at the real arm slith­er­ing across the pages in the first poem, the tan­gi­ble-look­ing dolls and doll envi­ron­ments of the sec­ond poem, or the drift­ing pho­to­graph­ic cutouts of the third. Not to get too grand about it, but isn’t this what poet­ry itself is sup­posed to do? Don’t the words them­selves also cut out frag­ments of actu­al exis­tence and posi­tion them, recon­tex­tu­al­ize them, and move them around in ways that sur­prise us? The sub­stance of these shorts — foun­tain pens, fig­urines, car keys, paper boats, match­sticks, mice — may seem like the last word in mun­dan­i­ty, but per­ceived through the dif­fer­ent­ly “real” lens­es of Collins’ poet­ry and this unusu­al ani­ma­tion, they inspire curios­i­ty again.

Relat­ed con­tent:

3 Year Old Recites Poem, “Litany” By Bil­ly Collins

Bill Mur­ray Reads Poet­ry At Con­struc­tion Site

Col­in Mar­shall hosts and pro­duces Note­book on Cities and Cul­ture. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall.

Terry Gilliam’s Debut Animated Film, Storytime

Ter­ry Gilliam’s fun­ny debut film, Sto­ry­time, fea­tures three ear­ly exam­ples of the Mon­ty Python ani­ma­tor’s twist­ed take on life. The film is usu­al­ly dat­ed 1968, but accord­ing to some sources it was actu­al­ly put togeth­er sev­er­al years lat­er. The clos­ing seg­ment, “A Christ­mas Card,” was cre­at­ed in late 1968 for a spe­cial Christ­mas-day broad­cast of the chil­dren’s pro­gram Do Not Adjust Your Set, but the oth­er two seg­ments– “Don the Cock­roach” and “The Albert Ein­stein Story”–were broad­cast on the 1971–1972 British and Amer­i­can pro­gram The Mar­ty Feld­man Com­e­dy Machine, which fea­tured Gilliam’s Pythonesque ani­ma­tion sequences at the begin­ning and end of each show. What­ev­er the date of pro­duc­tion, Sto­ry­time (now added to our col­lec­tion of 675 Free Movies Online in the Ani­ma­tion Sec­tion) is an engag­ing stream-of-con­scious­ness jour­ney through Gilliam’s delight­ful­ly absurd imag­i­na­tion. If you’re a Ter­ry Gilliam fan, don’t miss these oth­er relat­ed items:

Ter­ry Gilliam Shows You How to Make Your Own Cutout Ani­ma­tion

Ter­ry Gilliam: The Dif­fer­ence Between Kubrick (Great Film­mak­er) and Spiel­berg (Less So)

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Cinema History by Titles & Numbers

Between the sim­ple card open­ing D.W. Grif­fith’s 1916 Intol­er­ance to the vibrat­ing neon first onslaught of Gas­par Noé’s 2009 Enter the Void, Ian Albinson’s A Brief His­to­ry of Title Design packs in count­less icon­ic, rep­re­sen­ta­tive, and oth­er­wise fas­ci­nat­ing exam­ples of words that pre­cede movies. As Edi­tor-in-Chief of the blog Art of the Title, Albinson dis­tin­guish­es him­self as just the per­son you’d want to cut togeth­er a video like this. His selec­tions move through the twen­ti­eth cen­tu­ry from The Phan­tom of the Opera, King Kong, and Cit­i­zen Kane, whose stark state­li­ness now brings to mind the very archi­tec­ture of the old movie palaces where they debuted, to the delib­er­ate, tex­tur­al phys­i­cal­i­ty of The Trea­sure of Sier­ra Madre and Lady in the Lake. Then comes the late-fifties/ear­ly-six­ties mod­ernist cool of The Man With the Gold­en Arm and Dr. No, fol­lowed by Dr. Strangelove and Bul­litt, both of which show­case the work of Pablo Fer­ro — a liv­ing chap­ter of title design his­to­ry in his own right. After the bold intro­duc­tions to the block­busters of the sev­en­ties and eight­ies — Star Wars, Sat­ur­day Night Fever, Alien, The Ter­mi­na­tor — but before the fresh­ly extrav­a­gant design work of the cur­rent cen­tu­ry, we find a few intrigu­ing­ly mar­gin­al films of the nineties. How many reg­u­lar cinephiles retain fond mem­o­ries of Freaked, Mim­ic, and The Island of Dr. More­au I don’t know, but clear­ly those pic­tures sit near and dear to the hearts of title enthu­si­asts.

An elab­o­rate work of motion graph­ics in its own right, Evan Seitz’s 123Films takes the titles of four­teen films — not their title sequences, but their actu­al titles — and ani­mates them in numer­i­cal order. If that does­n’t make sense, spend thir­ty sec­onds watch­ing it, and make sure you’re lis­ten­ing. Does­n’t that calm­ly malev­o­lent com­put­er voice sound famil­iar? Does the col­or scheme of that “4” look famil­iar, espe­cial­ly if you read a lot of com­ic books as a kid? And cer­tain­ly you’ll remem­ber which of the sens­es it takes to see dead peo­ple. This video comes as the fol­low-up to Seitz’s ABCin­e­ma, a sim­i­lar movie guess­ing game pre­vi­ous­ly fea­tured on Open Cul­ture. Where that one got you think­ing about film alpha­bet­i­cal­ly, this one will get you think­ing about it numer­i­cal­ly.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

A Brief Visu­al Intro­duc­tion to Saul Bass’ Cel­e­brat­ed Title Designs

450 Free Movies Online: Great Clas­sics, Indies, Noir, West­erns, etc.

Col­in Mar­shall hosts and pro­duces Note­book on Cities and Cul­ture. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall.

Michael Pollan’s Book, Food Rules, Brought to Life with Animation

If you’ve lis­tened to the past decade’s con­ver­sa­tions about food, you’ll have noticed that eat­ing, always a pur­suit, has sud­den­ly become a sub­ject as well. One flank of this move­ment of enthu­si­asts has tak­en up Michael Pol­lan, a pro­fes­sor at UC Berke­ley’s jour­nal­ism school, as its lead­ing light. Whether they agree or dis­agree with his prin­ci­ples, intel­lec­tu­al­ly engaged eaters who don’t have at least a basic famil­iar­i­ty with Pol­lan’s books such as The Omni­vore’s Dilem­ma and In Defense of Food can hard­ly con­sid­er them­selves con­ver­sant in the food ques­tions and con­tro­ver­sies of the day.

Both Pol­lan’s poten­tial boost­ers and detrac­tors alike can get them­selves up to speed with his lat­est vol­ume, Food Rules: An Eater’s Man­u­al, which boils down his culi­nary weltan­schau­ung into a series of sim­ple sen­tences, includ­ing “Eat foods made from ingre­di­ents that you can pic­ture in their raw state or grow­ing in nature,” “Pay more, eat less,” and, “The whiter the bread, the soon­er you’ll be dead.” Pol­lan also takes posi­tions on entire­ly gnarli­er issues, such as the effi­cien­cy (or lack there­of) of agribusi­ness, and that’s when ani­ma­tors like Mar­i­ja Jaci­movic and Benoit Detalle pro­vide their enliven­ing ser­vices. In the two-minute video above, Jaci­movic and Detalle use pieces of actu­al food to illus­trate Pol­lan’s cri­tique of large-scale food pro­duc­tion.

Col­in Mar­shall hosts and pro­duces Note­book on Cities and Cul­ture. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall.

The Fantastic Flying Books of Mr. Morris Lessmore: Film for Book Lovers Wins Oscar

Remem­ber The Fan­tas­tic Fly­ing Books of Mr. Mor­ris Less­more? The short film we fea­tured a month ago? Well, it won an Oscar tonight for best ani­mat­ed short film, and we’re bring­ing it back for one more show­ing, plus adding it to our list of Oscar films avail­able online.

The Fan­tas­tic Fly­ing Books of Mr. Mor­ris Less­more offers a mod­ern trib­ute to an old world. Made with an ani­ma­tion style that blends stop motion with com­put­er ani­ma­tion and tra­di­tion­al hand-draw­ing, the silent film pays homage to a bygone era when ele­gant­ly print­ed books inhab­it­ed our world. The 15-minute short is the first made by Moon­bot Stu­dios, a fledg­ling ani­ma­tion shop in Shreve­port, Louisiana. For their efforts, Moon­bot’s founders (William Joyce, Bran­don Old­en­burg and Lamp­ton Enochs) received an Oscar-nom­i­na­tion this week (Best Ani­mat­ed Short), putting them in com­pe­ti­tion with two oth­er films fea­tured on Open Cul­ture: Sun­day and Wild Life.

We rec­om­mend watch­ing The Fan­tas­tic Fly­ing Books of Mr. Mor­ris Less­more on YouTube, or down­load­ing it for free in HD from iTunes. iPad own­ers will also want to con­sid­er buy­ing the relat­ed app ($4.99) that turns the film into an inter­ac­tive nar­ra­tive expe­ri­ence.

For more ani­mat­ed bib­lio­phil­ia, don’t miss:

Spike Jonze Presents a Stop Motion Film for Bib­lio­philes

Books Savored in Stop Motion Film

Going West: A Stop Motion Nov­el

Books Come to Life in Clas­sic Car­toons from 1930s and 1940s

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