Category Archives: Oscar Shorts

Reflecting on the day of the screening of the Oscar Nominated Short Films, I need to remind myself that I did actually see the short films, that I made it to the theater and sat perfectly still for about two hours, safe and exactly where I was meant to be.

With hours to spare between the end of our first class of the day and the 2:30 p.m. start time of the short films, a friend and classmate of mine, Izabella, and I took our sweet time to get a move on. We bonded over Press wraps and coffee, sharing personal stories and people-watching for more time than the five short films would elapse.

With about an hour to spare, and Izabella’s trusty new iPhone leading the way, we departed from our 23rd Street comfort zone and were off into the city we all pretend to know better than we actually do. The first half of the trip was a success; the whole ten minutes it took to walk to the 6 train and get off at Bleecker Street, that is.

But then, dun dun dun…

Our nemesis, the B Train. *Spoiler Alert: It won.

We waited impatiently for a train that we were not positive was the correct one to  arrive, in a station filled with sights and smells that reminded me of my humble Staten Island roots. After about ten minutes, we joked that it would never come, that it was a sign that we were waiting for the wrong train; we should have followed that sign. Finally, our chariot arrived and we eagerly jumped aboard, looking as out of place as we felt, outsiders among the Village-ers.

Among muffled conductor-isms, Izabella managed to make out a string of words which she translated to me as, “Get up right now, we’re going to Brooklyn!” I didn’t wait for an explanation.

Now, I’m not shy to admit that I rarely know my way around, but I am a stubborn fool when it comes to asking for help, a quality that I share with Izabella. Needless to say, we were screwed when we emerged from the murky underground to a slew of signs and posters in Chinese.

I feel no loss of pride by jumping in a cab and calling it quits, and I was not about to wander around China Town, if that’s even where we were, for the remaining 15 minutes we had until the beginning of the films, so I dragged Izabella to the first cab I could find and we set off on the ten minute drive to our real destination, the IFC theater, which we were clearly incapable of finding on our own.

The promised land.

I’d never been so happy to fork over fourteen bucks for a movie ticket. I triumphantly climbed the steps to the stuffy little Theater 2 and settled into my seat, safe and sound. Nothing could make me budge, not even my nagging craving for the popcorn all of my classmates were raving about.

So, if you get caught somewhere between 23rd Street and the IFC Theater, close your eyes, click your heels together, and hail a damn cab.

Short films are the biggest oxymoron ever.

How the hell is a short film decreed as “short”, anyway? By comparison to a so-called “long film”?

The mysteries of the Academy.

While short films are, for lack of a better word, short (yeah, I probably should’ve used the thesaurus on that one), they are forced to deal with elements that their two-hour-long cousins don’t have to encounter. For example, fifteen or twenty minute films have that much less time to create a bond between the character and the audience, and, well, if I learned anything in my screenplay writing class last semester, that’s damn hard. To force the viewer to feel for the character and sympathize with his or her feelings, trials, and obstacles all in less time than it takes to make it through the line at Shake Shack? If that’s not talent, I don’t know what is.

It was with this mindset that Kari Pulizzano and I ventured out from the way-too-hot hallways of Baruch and to the (gasp!) 6 train, where, being the optimistists (yeah, right) that we are, foolishly expected to end up at the theater ahead of time. We had about 45 minutes to get from 23rd Street to the Village — how hard can that possibly be?

The first leg of the trip went fine — the foul-smelling 6 took us to a stop somewhere in the deep south of Manhattan, where bums roamed and I couldn’t help but feel watched by the three cameras targeted at the tracks and all the junk and filth accumulated at the bottom.

Being the Staten Islanders and honorary Manhattanites that we are, we refused to ask anyone for directions, paranoid that we’ll be pointed toward a torture chamber or worse. Even HopStop has failed us, and deleted the directions that would lead us to safety. However, we were two Red Remington Red Riding Hood girls on a mission, and we were not about to back down in the face of potentially getting on the wrong train — which is exactly what we did.

We hopped on the next train we saw — a downtown B, and mused over our own success at outsmarting the New York City train system. Those feelings were short lived, however, as the conductor screechingly announced our demise:

The road to hell.

“Next stop, DeKalb Avenue.”

We bolted off the train as if the seats caught on fire, aghast at the thought of being in Brooklyn. Being logical (or, perhaps, missing sunlight), we ventured out of the train station and into Shanghai.

Somewhere in the back of our minds, we knew that we were in Chinatown, but with the combination of signs written in a language neither of us knew, and the fuzzy outline of City Hall (or perhaps the Great Wall of China) did little to comfort us.

I proposed walking, claiming that there’s no way we could be that far from our destination, but Kari, being infinitely smarter than I am, suggested a cab, which ultimately took us to our destination — a sex shop.

At first, we were puzzled beyond belief that this is where our professor wanted us to meet, but after a few quizzical looks, we marched on.

A beat up little theater surrounded by naughty lingerie and NYU Tisch grad students was not what I typically imagined Mecca, Nirvana, or Heaven to be like, but it sure came pretty damn close.

Moral of the story? “A journey is a fragment of Hell.” (Bruce Chatwin)

The day Blue Valentine came out, my boyfriend and I happened to be near Angelika Film Center at Houston Street. I had passed by this theater plenty of times in the past, whether it was because I was shopping or just strolling and having a breath of fresh air, but the idea of entering the theater and actually watching a film never had much appeal. I didn’t even feel like taking a few minutes out of my time to peruse through online reviews of these independent films. Why, you ask? Beats me.

Roberto, my boyfriend, had heard decent reviews about it, so we decided to watch it and boy, was I in for a surprise. The moment we arrived at the ticket booth, we could already see the colossal line before us. This line that we would soon join was so long that it actually snaked around the center of the theater, where a nice little cafe– complete with sofas, circular tables, and readers with books and muffins in hand– was located for moviegoers with time to kill. Now, I’m a big movie buff– I make it a habit of going pretty frequently (though lately I’ve been too busy)– but I found myself amazed that I had never thought of looking at this side of the tracks. There’s a whole new world in independent films that mainstream films just don’t reach. And I must say, I loved it and can’t get enough.

So, when I heard about these Oscar-nominated live-action shorts, I immediately thought of asking Roberto to come with me to watch them. We were originally going to watch it on the oh-so-beloved Valentine’s Day, an over-commercialized day where Hallmark is plump with the fat of cash from couples, but he figured we should watch it the day before instead of on Monday, so we wouldn’t be tight on time.

Before I launch into these Oscar-nominated shorts, let’s not forget that we didn’t want to be tight on time on Monday because we were doing exactly what the other couples were planning on doing. That’s right, I got the whole deal: the bouquet of red roses, the Hallmark card (with smudged, almost illegible handwriting writing…I hope he reads this haha), and an extremely filling eight-course Valentine-special meal for two ($75 per person) at an amazing Japanese restaurant called Zenikichi in Williamsburg. I definitely recommend it, if you want to eat a delicious meal.

Anyway, let’s rewind back (back to Sunday at 2:30 P.M, that is). 106 minutes later, between the five vastly different shorts from countries around the world, and I was left awed. I have watched shorts before, specifically online ones, but never with this level of professional skill.

I felt like I was on a high– it kept my emotions raw and I was so keenly attuned to everything that was happening both around me and in front of me. Afterward, Roberto said to me: “I think that the shifting balance of emotions that changed between films was the best aspect of the collection.”

I heard nothing else but the sounds from the films; there was absolute silence because everyone, including myself, was enraptured. Humans supposedly only have a focused attention span of eight seconds, so I think that all of us that day in that eerily quiet IFC theater broke the record. Now that’s an achievement!

So, despite knowing that Valentine’s Day has long since passed, my question still remains: will you be MY valentines, Oscar-nominated Live-Action Shorts? You guys really tugged at my heartstrings.

I’ve seen live-action short films before. But this was the first time I actually went to a theatre to watch them. So I found myself wondering if anybody actually attends the movie theatre to watch a short. I mean, in this case, the screening for the 2011 Oscar nominated live-action shorts was like a feature length film and well worth the ticket and the excursion to IFC Center. But, how often do people go see a 15-30 minute film, or do they screen them before or after a regular film, or are there theatres meant just for short films? Before the first even started, I was worrying about the logistics of the thing and if the filmmakers ever made a profit anything from their art. It’s a strange thought that might just stem from my hope that I survive in the dwindling journalism industry or realize my own dreams of smalltime filmmaking –wishful thinking. But I always find myself wishing these independents well, that’s all.

But especially upon leaving the theatre did I feel that the filmmakers of  these shorts certainly deserve that strange thought and recognition. Their works are these complete but concise reels of film that hit me with the force of different emotions along varying plot lines in so short a span, but I was compelled to quickly recover from each in time for the next nominee. Sunil Ramsamooj, who was also at the screening, agreed.

“In some ways it was better than a film. The shorts were indeed short but no less powerful than a full length feature film.[…] You didn’t get a chance to get tired by a film, if anything, each left you wanting more,” he said.

I think I’m an official convert to this annual event now. Perhaps I can even form my thoughts of potential future nominees by watching the latest shorts here.