Here is the final edit of the footage gathered in class for the In Class Montage Assignment. I worked with Quinn, and our idea was to communicate the feeling of being stressed out for an exam by using clocks as a theme. I also added a clock ticking noise in the background to further communicate the theme of time.

For this project, I wanted to create a short film that followed continuity of a lady making coffee and reading a book. As she reads the book, the set continuity changes. The consistency, continuity, and repetition brings more attention to the fact that details are being changed from shot to shot.

The breaking space style I went for was using the Metric montage style with every video being exactly 3 seconds long. the Metric style ensures that editing follows a specific number of frames, duration of shot. This gives the montage a light rhythmic visualization while the near silent ambience of the room helps create the calm and relaxed vibe.

The calm and relaxing vibe I aimed towards was filming all of the different features and décor that is within my recording room. There is no sound besides light whirring of fans and brushing up against its elements to convey the importance of the items creating their own visual experience of the room. The room has many objects from posters, plushies, and gaming equipment to showcase the variety of interests while also showing the liveliness of the room also depends on the energy its given. When the main overhead light is off but the LED’s are on, you get a sense of motion and living from all of the motionless objects.

Right off the bat, McCloud gives the reader strong examples of how our focus on the frame and the properties it holds helps the viewer fill in blanks and create a sense of time when reading multiple parts of dialogue in a single frame. Time doesn’t stay consistent specifically based on singular properties of a frame. Rather, it is comprised of the sizing of the frame, how much dialogue, what is being captured in the frame, and even the detailing often having the audience spend more time looking at the quality of the art to imply impact.

Take for example the first example McCloud gives that involves a wide spread of characters speaking but there is a series of events and timing that helps create a sense of flow. Starting on the left the man takes a picture, the guy who gets his picture taken reacts, due to that reaction a women discourages the picture taker, then another women responds to her saying that he is fine doing so, then a man responds to the fact that he is being encouraged and encourages other behavior, and lastly the man on the right acknowledges his remarks and encourages as well.

When first looking at this scene, my first initial thought is that all of these pieces of dialogue happen at the same time, because visually they ARE being presented at the same time. But it’s because of the content of what they are saying and who they are speaking to that creates a order of operations rather than a chaotic “everyone is speaking at the same time.” So now we have gotten a sense of space where everyone is and established interactions with one another as a quick judge of character. What was done in one frame is a shot that would most likely last around 15-20 seconds panning from character to character as the audience focuses on the next person.

The best connection that McCloud makes is how the rope being stranded from one dialogue bubble to the next. We can see that the flow of the events have to happen in a certain order otherwise the dialogue they provide wouldn’t match up with a different character such as one character saying “Oh Henry, put that camera away will you?” and the next saying “hmmmm, you sure you want to move there Jed?” It just doesn’t make sense!

The other point McCloud made that stuck out to me is the frame shaping and its placement with the other frames. We in our culture read from left to right top to bottom so following this flow is pretty important, but that doesn’t mean we are completely restricted to this or how these frame are expressed individually or in a sequence. Some frames use 2 frames overlayed to often emphasis a certain aspect of a frame such as a zoom in or extra dialogue that happens within the same scene. These overlay frames can be place almost anywhere overtop as long as the writer can express what is happening in the background frame in relation to the one overtop.

Last point I want to talk about is panel sizing and framing within the shot size. Frame sizing often implies stronger importance on frames that are bigger when there are more details or aspects that the author wants the reader to pick up on. This is best explained in the “I guess” comic McCloud refers to, as it helps us create a sense of time between first dialogue and the next. Looking at the 2 examples below:


The first example shows a moment of thought, its brief but still exists within the timeline. But look at the size and framing of the second example, it shows deeper more well thought out thinking, they even make him a bit smaller in the scene so that both himself and the shot have gained new perspective. Not to mention that the frame zooming back in also creates a sense of impact to admitting the “I guess” to show that he put more thought into it verses the first example.

-Rylan Eisenhauer

consider the framed panel in a comic as a cinema shot.  Wider or longer panels are like shots with longer durations (“long takes”).  Smaller panels are like shots of shorter durations.  Discuss some aspect of McCloud’s visual essay that makes you think of the possibilities of time manipulation in digital cinema or of a certain movie scene that plays with time.

Update:

I shot the video with my phone, freehand, but I didn’t like it so I will be rerecording with my friend’s nicer camera and monopod to hopefully get the feeling I pictured in my head. Below are my storyboards for the video:

Brumes d’automne (Autumn Mists), a 1928 silent film by Dimitri Kirsanoff, is a masterclass in early cinematic language. Even now, almost a century later, its experimental editing techniques remain captivating. Kirsanoff utilizes fast cuts, rhythmic montage, and close-ups to draw us into the internal world of a woman navigating a landscape of memory and emotion.

The film’s power lies in its ability to evoke a distinct mood. As the woman’s face, framed by dark eyes and porcelain skin, flickers across the screen, we are struck by a sense of unease. Her carefully sculpted eyebrows and pulled-back hair give her an unsettling, almost doll-like appearance. This, coupled with her restrained expressions, creates a feeling of something not quite human, like a porcelain doll animated by a lingering spirit.

Kirsanoff’s intention was to depict a state of mind through images of nature losing their “density and unity.” He achieves this through distorted perspectives, fragmented images, and scenes of nature in a state of flux, mirroring the woman’s inner turmoil. The fast-paced editing, innovative for its time, mirrors the fragmented nature of memory and thought. As new scenes appear, the accompanying music shifts, creating a symphony of visual and auditory cues that guide us through the woman’s emotional landscape.

However, the film’s impact may differ greatly depending on the viewer’s cultural context and experiences. While Kirsanoff’s editing was groundbreaking in 1928, modern audiences accustomed to rapid cuts and visual effects might find the film’s pace slow and its imagery dated. Furthermore, the woman’s doll-like appearance, coupled with the film’s melancholic tone, could easily be reinterpreted through a modern horror lens. Imagine the same footage with a sinister score – suddenly, the film transforms into something quite different.



This raises an interesting question: Does the meaning of a film remain fixed over time, or can it evolve alongside cultural perceptions and technological advancements? Brumes d’automne serves as a reminder that art can be a fluid and dynamic entity, its interpretation shaped by the lens through which it is viewed. While Kirsanoff’s intentions are evident in his masterful use of montage and evocative imagery, the film’s impact ultimately rests in the hands and minds of its audience

Brumes d’automne (Autumn Mists) is another strong example of the artistic creativity that comes from “silent films” tasking to present a story or in this films case, ideas and thought processes. The usage of music is key as it helps bring out tone and direction that the film is working to express visually. Not to mention being made in 1928 during black and white filming also creates a sense of tone that may have been natural and fit in with other black and white film, but has since adopted its own unique sense of artistic expression different from how film is presented today.

An aspect of Brumes d’automne that I noticed early on is how the character expresses emotion very reservedly and most of the emotional impact is shown through her eyes. In moments of putting the papers into the fire, you can see small shivers that she has as the papers burn. Perhaps these papers hold or held value at one point and she has a desire to let go in order to move forward? Or possibly the papers were love notes from a old relationship that she feels pain remembering.

Another detail I noticed while watching was the use of focus to almost show the audience memory in how well she can and cant remember details based upon how clearly the imagery is, or perhaps the glossiness of her eyes indicate the tears, maybe the visuals are based upon how sad specific details may make her cry more. It shows its intention as non of the shots of the women are blurry and we have an assortment of very clear images that keep showing up (the tree branch over the water, the mud water tire marks, and shots of water dropping on what appears to be a lake.) meanwhile new additional pieces like the silhouette of the person, and specific locations can change its clarity like tears are forming or memory is failing.

The editing is unique but almost seems sporadic. As if someone is trying to tell a dream they had and in the time you try to make sense of what you just heard, even more information has come to process. The cuts between shows flow often through the relation of certain elements such as the fire burring then cutting to the smoke coming out the top and then having more shots be done outside. I get the feeling that she is thinking on the past or going through a mixture of emotions leading her overall expression to at times feel blank almost letting her eyes solely convey how she feels.

I believe that the montage work does work for the sense that is doesn’t have sound besides music and creates its sense of tone by almost having a rush of different imagery reflect on our minds racing thoughts on locations and feelings. Although as much as it evokes its purpose, the style doesn’t really evoke anything from me. The lack of an exact story doesn’t make me feel very invested in the woman or in the shots it is showing because of the imagery changing so quickly it seems like the film doesn’t care if I am “caught up” or not. It makes me just keep asking “why are there so many shots of water, ponds, rain, and even a beach?” leading me to create my own sense of story such as the woman having a love interest that she lost to the ocean and her sorrow is so strong she wants to rid of the pain by forgetting the memories of him while having regrets doing so.

I can see the vision that Kirsanoff was going for and can see the benefit it holds towards a specific feeling to evoke with your audience. but because the film is so “long” (for what is being conveyed) it almost was leaving me confused as to if the points I was drawing from it were correct, like the movie was showing me more because I might have drawn an incorrect conclusion so it keeps showing more to potentially clear that up. But for me it kind of makes it seem like the movie is trying to hold my hand explaining it carefully and cautiously, but its in words I can’t fully understand. So visual queues and music work helps try to put my brain into the right mindset to possibly make my own connections to what the woman is feeling. Maybe I myself was losing my density and unity as a result being shown so much imagery and scenic shots working to evoke those feelings.

-Rylan Eisenhauer

This was shot on Sunday after sitting in my recording room brainstorming ideas when I realized I left my headphones in another room. I was struck with the idea of making continuous space by shooting multiple shots on the same camera direction but in different spots to create the illusion of my arm stretching to grab something while my body sits in a chair.

The music was an intentional addition as the audio of me breathing and making other sounds would break the illusion as you could hear the rest of my body being closer to the camera than I would like it to seem. The grabbing of incorrect items in different spaces I believe helps add to the effect that I am blindly letting my arm move through space while making educated guesses due to having no visual queues. I had a lot of fun trying to ensure my arm moved as straight forward and back as possible so that the stretch  illusion would work best rather than it seeming like I have a bunch of joints all extending outward.

Run Lola Run isn’t your typical heist film. It’s a vibrant, 90’s gamification experiment in cinema storytelling, where the protagonist, Lola, races against time to save her boyfriend, Manni. The film’s discontinuous style, blending film, animation, and polaroid photography, could easily become chaotic. Yet, the director, Tom Tykwer, masterfully maintains coherence and momentum, keeping us on the edge of our seats through three iterations of the same 20-minute sprint.

One key to this coherence is the repetition of Lola’s quest and driving motivation to obtain $100,000. While the broader narrative shifts with each “run,” familiar elements ground us. We see Lola repeatedly leaving her apartment (in animation) and navigating the same Berlin streets (in film), encountering recurring characters that aren’t essential to the main plot, like the older woman with her baby and the nuns getting in her way. This repetition creates a rhythmic structure, allowing the audience to anticipate certain events while remaining alert for deviations.

But repetition doesn’t mean stagnation. Tykwer cleverly uses these recurring encounters to explore the butterfly effect. Each time Lola interacts with someone, even in passing, their lives, and ultimately hers, are subtly altered. A bumped shoulder here, a different reaction there, can lead to vastly different outcomes, visually conveyed through rapid-fire flash-forwards of their potential futures as Polaroid still photography.

Driving this narrative is Lola’s fierce determination to save Manni, a desire born from love and a questioning of her own devotion. This propulsive energy fuels the frantic editing, mirroring her racing heartbeat and the ticking clock. The urgency is palpable, heightened by the recurring motif of clocks and timepieces.

Tykwer manipulates time not just through editing, but also through pacing. The first run feels incredibly compressed, bombarding us with information and new faces. This mirrors Lola’s initial panic and the audience’s own disorientation. As the film progresses, time seems to stretch and contract. The final run, with Lola’s casino gamble, feels almost suspended in time, building suspense as the roulette wheel spins.

Furthermore, the intimate scenes between Lola and Manni, bathed in red light, provide a crucial break from the frenetic pace. These moments, detached from the external chaos, offer a glimpse into their emotional connection, reminding us of the stakes involved.

Run Lola Run is a testament to the power of cinematic storytelling. Through innovative editing, visual motifs, and a compelling narrative, Tykwer crafts a film that is both thrilling and thought-provoking, leaving us to ponder the nature of time, chance, and the choices that shape our lives.