The Clockwork Penguin

Daniel Binns is a media theorist and filmmaker tinkering with the weird edges of technology, storytelling, and screen culture. He is the author of Material Media-Making in the Digital Age and currently writes about posthuman poetics, glitchy machines, and speculative media worlds.

Year: 2016

  • Studio teaching

    Some random observations and things to try after three semesters of teaching the studio model…

    • Put together comprehensive assessment briefs, with marking criteria
    • Use ticksheets/feedback sheets for marking everything
    • Do not take on faith that the studio ethos will be adopted by the students; the studio ethos should be encoded/scaffolded into the studio structure/assessments
    • Set up face-to-face studio time as a safe space — there are no stupid questions, no problems too small or large
    • Encourage group activity outside set groups — make use of active learning techniques to get students out of chairs
  • Stoker (2013)

    I’ve frequently maintained that the best films stay with you. I don’t mean ‘best’ in terms of quality, necessarily — though that helps — but the best films in terms of those that actually meaningfully contribute to what we call cinema. The best films keep projecting into our temporal lobes long after the credits have rolled; they haunt us, they taunt us, they call to us to watch again, to peel back the layers of their meaning, to look beneath their skin just as they have weaved their way under ours.

    A few years ago I taught a course at the University of Sydney that examined the transition from celluloid to digital. It was a wonderful course, and inspired me in many ways for the studio teaching and research I’m currently undertaking. One of the films we watched was Park Chan-wook’s Night Fishing. What a weird little film. Shot entirely on an iPhone 4, the film combines night-vision, fishing, camping, mythology, ghost stories, grief — it’s a masterful little thing. It was perfect for that course, too, because it reiterated that it doesn’t matter what tool you use to create cinema; cinema can be created with anything.

    I’d been meaning to catch more of Park’s work, particularly Oldboy and the Vengeance trilogy, but they remain on the Shelf of Shame. After seeing a screengrab from Stoker in a talk on Friday though, I was immediately inspired to get the bluray. This film deserves the highest quality, as it is stunningly beautiful. Also, with this kind of movie, you need your blacks to be really black.

    Briefly, and trying not to spoil anything, Stoker is a bottled drama starring Mia Wasikowska as India Stoker, Nicole Kidman as her mother Evelyn, and Matthew Goode as India’s Uncle Charlie. India and Evelyn are recovering from the death of India’s father, Richard, as Uncle Charlie moves back into their lives after a long absence. Long story short, some stuff happens.

    stoke-rabs

    The Hitchcockian overtones and influences are readily apparent — the Uncle Charlie/India relationship is pilfered from Shadow of a Doubt, and the tension that slowly builds throughout the film is reminiscent of [insert name of any Hitchcock film here]. But what’s neat about this film is how that tension is woven in with the beautiful imagery. Further, their are even hints of the mobile image (as in mobile phone) that I remember from Night Fishing. In one scene, India and Charlie are playing a duet on the piano. This is a weird moment for a lot of reasons, but the weirdness is reinforced by this tracking shot, about shin-height, that snakes its way between the furniture right up behind them. The tracking shot recalls The Shining, but the movement isn’t entirely smooth. Much like the visual composition of the rest of the film, this shot is not entirely stable. You wouldn’t say its unstable, but there’s definitely something not right. Take any shot of Uncle Charlie, for example. We’re never given the full picture, something is always in the way. It doesn’t hurt, too, that Goode’s performance oozes Anthony Perkins in Psycho.

    stoke-rabs2

    Stoker is one of those perfect examples of a film where everything congeals into one single vision. Camera, editing, music, performance, narrative all just happen; there’s really no separating them. There is no distinction to be made here between the analogue and the digital (for what it’s worth, it was shot on 35mm). This is a stream of information, a torrent of meaning, that brings the audience wholly into the narrative in an effortless way. This may not be a quality film (it is), but it certainly is one of the best.

  • Vale Hunter Cordaiy

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    Hunter strolling the Marche aux Fleurs, Nice. December 2012.

    Hunter Cordaiy passed away in Nice, France, on the 13th of January, 2016.

    Hunter was born in Sydney on 20 April 1950. In his 65 years he wrote 25 essays and over 200 film reviews, and contributed to many anthologies of films and directors. He interviewed the likes of Jane Campion, Ray Lawrence, Wim Wenders, Gillian Armstrong, John Sayles, Ian Pringle, Mike Leigh, Robert Connolly, Phillip Noyce, Rolf de Heer and Ana Kokkinos. He taught film studies and screenwriting at New England College (1976-80), University of New South Wales (1988-90, 2010-13), and University of Western Sydney (1990-2010).

    From 2009 until his death, he was working on telling the story of cinema on the French Riviera. In February 2015, he finally fulfilled his lifelong dream of moving to Nice.

    In February 2016, Hunter’s ashes were scattered by his family in a private memorial in Nice. Hunter now rests in the memorial garden at the Crématorium de Nice Côte-d’Azur.


    I met Hunter in my first year of uni, 2006, when he took over our class for Screen Media. By the end of semester, I knew what my major would be. Little did I know, though, how much my tutor had yet to influence me.

    Hunter and I remained in contact through the remainder of my degree; we enjoyed meetings in his office at UWS, where he would regale me with stories of his adventures in the screen trade in Europe and America. When I decided to take up Honours, Hunter was my first call for supervisor.

    He was a generous supervisor, brutally honest but very fair, and highly congratulatory when he approved of my work. We both indulged our love of cinema and stylish writing. Following my Honours graduation, Hunter left UWS in mid 2010, just as I’d begun the PhD.

    In late 2010, however, he was delighted to learn that I was moving to the Blue Mountains. Hunter and I became even closer, and before long he asked for my help with some of his documentary projects. I travelled with him to Nice and Paris in 2012 for production and scoping meetings; it was a work trip, but full of fond memories of time with Hunter.

    Hunter’s family contacted me in January 2016 to inform me of his passing. I was shocked. In spite of adversity, Hunter was always so vital and full of life, so giving and so kind.

    I will miss you very much, my dear, dear friend. And in this case it’s actually true: we’ll always have Paris.

  • Ziggy played guitar

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    I can’t remember precisely when I bought The Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders from Mars, but I can definitely remember the first time I listed to it all the way through. I was catching the train from Sydney to Melbourne for a wedding in 2006. I’d been a Bowie fan throughout my teenage years; any Queen fan naturally transitions to the Thin White Duke at some point. But listening to and absorbing such a perfectly-crafted, wonderfully rich album was a life-changer.

    Musically, it’s diverse. From blues to rock to old-school R&B, the album has all of it in spades, each track with its unique Ziggy-ish twist. And it’s spacey and druggy and rocky and everything in between. More than that, though, if you let the words and the music roll over you for the album’s length, it becomes a transcendent experience. Think of Major Tom, now returned to Earth and suffering the worst kind of comedown/depression; or better still, having flown through a wormhole (a la 2001: A Space Odyssey) and met the Starman himself. What kind of stories would they tell each other? What prophecies would Ziggy pass on? 11 prophecies in all, ranging in length from two five minutes, and making use of some of the most iconic musicians and styles and motifs of the era.

    Do yourself a favour and track down the D.A. Pennebaker-directed concert film of the album. This was another of those revelatory high school moments. It’s a top film in and of itself, capturing the persona of Ziggy in that signature grainy Pennebaker style, making the character seem grounded, real, if unapproachable and ethereal.

    It’s hard to describe how I’m feeling. Rumours had been circulating that Bowie was unwell for a decade or more, but he was a name, a figure, a character, that, despite removing himself from public life, was always so present. He was at the forefront of popular culture, not really giving a damn, for nearly half a century. I came to Bowie late, but I fell head over heels for the man, the music, the myth. Funny how culture, art, music in particular, can make you feel like you know someone. Suffice to say, there’s a hole in my heart today. Listening to the music dulls the ache, but it will take some time to heal.

    And he was alright, the band was altogether.
    Yes he was alright, the song went on forever.
    And he was awful nice,
    Really quite out of sight

Her language contains elements from Aeolic vernacular and poetic tradition, with traces of epic vocabulary familiar to readers of Homer. She has the ability to judge critically her own ecstasies and grief, and her emotions lose nothing of their force by being recollected in tranquillity.

Marble statue of Sappho on side profile.

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