Post by Pyro on May 1, 2008 2:06:55 GMT
((OOC: This thread's born of Pyro's RL frustration with trying to write an essay on the same topic, and Bob and Laurie's suggestions that I should stop joking OOC about John writing it for me and have him do it, so here goes. Open to anyone who wants to interrupt his frustrated boredom, and alleviate mine))
This discourse aims to investigate British Social Realism as a cinematic movement, exploring its history and aesthetics. In terms of discussing history, both the context of British Social Realism in terms of wider events and the evolution of the genre over time will be considered, while in discussing aesthetics the aim is to explore what the defining features of the genre (i.e. its conventions and iconography) may be identified as.
In order to approach such exploration, however, one must first define the parameters of the genre, that is to say a definition must be reached as to what British Social Realism actually 'is'... or, at least, an attempt must be made; an examination of the critical debate reveals that this is no easy task...
Though the important question is, why the fuck do I care about any of this shit?
John sighs. Whoever it was who'd suggested Film Studies would be an easy option - just sitting around watching any old crap and spouting pretentious bullshit about it, pretending to be intellectual arthouse freaks - deserved to be burned. Slowly. Or bled to death. Or possibly both.
British Social Realism is grey films about grey people who live in grey valleys in parts of Britain which are all full of poor unemployed people living in terraced houses leading boring pointless fucking lives preparing to follow their dads 'down't pit' or 'int' factory' or 'int' mill' or whatever the fuck it is (most of the time I have no idea as I can't understand their ridiculous *regional* accents) until they find a bird, or dance, or whatever the fuck stupid plot device the pretentious director's stuck in to their film. They then enjoy a brief period arsing around *discovering freedom* before someone kills the thing they've fallen in love with and they are forced to resign themselves to the fact that their lives fucking suck. End of.
Why anyone watches this depressing shite is a mystery, though not as great a mystery as why I should give a damn.
... well, it's profound. Pure gold-plated 100% accurate observation...
... though unfortunately not exactly doing much towards Project 'Make a go of actually graduating this time'. He sighs again, and resolves to make another go of it... maybe lying back on the bed and staring at the ceiling will help?
This discourse aims to investigate British Social Realism as a cinematic movement, exploring its history and aesthetics. In terms of discussing history, both the context of British Social Realism in terms of wider events and the evolution of the genre over time will be considered, while in discussing aesthetics the aim is to explore what the defining features of the genre (i.e. its conventions and iconography) may be identified as.
In order to approach such exploration, however, one must first define the parameters of the genre, that is to say a definition must be reached as to what British Social Realism actually 'is'... or, at least, an attempt must be made; an examination of the critical debate reveals that this is no easy task...
Though the important question is, why the fuck do I care about any of this shit?
John sighs. Whoever it was who'd suggested Film Studies would be an easy option - just sitting around watching any old crap and spouting pretentious bullshit about it, pretending to be intellectual arthouse freaks - deserved to be burned. Slowly. Or bled to death. Or possibly both.
British Social Realism is grey films about grey people who live in grey valleys in parts of Britain which are all full of poor unemployed people living in terraced houses leading boring pointless fucking lives preparing to follow their dads 'down't pit' or 'int' factory' or 'int' mill' or whatever the fuck it is (most of the time I have no idea as I can't understand their ridiculous *regional* accents) until they find a bird, or dance, or whatever the fuck stupid plot device the pretentious director's stuck in to their film. They then enjoy a brief period arsing around *discovering freedom* before someone kills the thing they've fallen in love with and they are forced to resign themselves to the fact that their lives fucking suck. End of.
Why anyone watches this depressing shite is a mystery, though not as great a mystery as why I should give a damn.
... well, it's profound. Pure gold-plated 100% accurate observation...
... though unfortunately not exactly doing much towards Project 'Make a go of actually graduating this time'. He sighs again, and resolves to make another go of it... maybe lying back on the bed and staring at the ceiling will help?
