Fish Tank Trailer
Four Lions Trailer
ART HOUSE AUDIENCE:
As seen by my reasearch of pearlanddean my target audience is hard to define because its not the age or price of the consumers, its there love for differentiating cinema, the cinema that challenges convetions and doesn't conform to the mainstream post-hollywood approach. Art film's as they're often know as are mainly independent and serious pictures that conisist to be targeted at niche audiences and the themes tend to focuss on social realism, thoughts, dreams, character depth and unclear goal driven narrative.
Most of my intrests for my product come from films that don't adopt the normality of convetional mainstream films like the trailers I have focused on like, Mike Leighs 'Naked' a small tale about an intelectual character on the run in London but that covers such a grand scale of ideological depth. I want my film trailer and print product to stand-out from others because of rewarding difference and intresting challenge convetional turns.
But to begin I most try and understand art house audiences and how they interpret film as art opposed to entertainment, they view it on such analytical and critical levels in such a way of substance of overstyle. Alot of art films are excellent and creating atmosphere through cinematgraphy and distroted sound, but often with the lack of sound can be twice as effective because of its unorthodox occurence that gives a sudden stillness, this often works well with juxtapositioning visuals. Also the use of ambient sound being reinforced can hold th repition of threat for example in the recenntly deceased Dennis Hopper's 'Easy Rider' ...
"Joe Queenan's guide to arthouse cliches
“The ideal arthouse film is set in a part of the world few of us know and even fewer intend to visit. The steppes of Central Asia or a forlorn village in Central America are fine, but rural Slovakia will do in an emergency. The arthouse film should make us feel that we understand the world better than we do, even though we don't. It should give us a sense of moral and intellectual superiority over people who go to see Tom Cruise movies. It should star Tilda Swinton, or seem like a film in which she would be likely to appear. It should be a bit grainy. Gypsies, often in distress, may be in the mix, but generally not the Amish. Ideally, a proper arthouse film should have mangled subtitles. Children should be abandoned, or on a long trip over the mountains, or trying to recover lost shoes, or sneaking scraps from the dinner table to a man they believe to be Frankenstein. Anything about Balzac is great. Ideally, the cast should include Parker Posey, Daniel Auteuil, Lili Taylor, Hope Davis, Steve Buscemi, the 2004 winner of Argentina's Cesar for best supporting actor, and Joan Plowright.
The principals in an arthouse movie should include a creepy loner who collects weird things: gynaecological instruments, a stool rescued from a bathroom once used by Abba, that sort of thing. The protagonist may be an opera buff or a train engineer fast approaching retirement or a buttoned-down Swedish time-management expert assigned to monitor the comings and goings of single, self-sufficient Norwegian males. They may have trouble breathing and need a respirator. They may be a taxidermist or a watchmaker or an Italian language student. They will not be a recent Harvard graduate seeking a job at Vanity Fair or a starting point guard for the Los Angeles Lakers. Sexually unfulfilled musicians are a fixture in arthouse films, particularly pianists. So are congenitally miserable Scandinavians and emotionally repressed Japanese. A proper arthouse film will often have an exotic animal, such as a dromedary or a yak, and it will sometimes feature a chatty dwarf who is wise beyond his years. Quite often the dwarf will be a bit cheeky. The Legend of the Cheeky Dwarf would actually make a very fine title for an arthouse film. It's surprising no one has yet tried it.
Arthouse films rarely have a feelgood quality. They may make us feel smarter or more wise in the ways of the world, but they rarely make us feel happy. If a little Jewish boy befriends a vicious anti-semite in the waning days of the second world war, the film will not end happily. If a little Afghan girl pretends to be a boy to avoid the Taliban, it will not end happily. If the movie is set in equatorial Africa or Northern Ireland, it will not end happily. If a Danish handyman reluctantly agrees to marry the daughter of the Chinese restaurateur who lives directly across the street in exchange for free meals, it will not end happily. The only arthouse movies that end happily are the ones with the yaks. No one knows why.
The arthouse film is not interchangeable with the foreign film. Many excellent foreign films are merely commercial films that happen to be in a foreign language. A basic rule of thumb: if Jean Reno stars in a film, it is not an arthouse film. If Penelope Cruz is speaking English on screen, it is not an arthouse film. If she is speaking Spanish, it almost certainly is. There are a few examples of arthouse films that include martial arts – Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon – but not many. In fact, that may be the only one.
Typically, an arthouse film has an intrusive, overbearing soundtrack that won't give the audience a chance to relax for one second. Often these films are scored by the remorseless minimalist Philip Glass, whose music is at least as annoying as anything that takes place on screen. Integral components of a good arthouse film are a song or two by Leonard Cohen, Björk, tango master Astor Piazzolla and perhaps something introspective by Bach, though Albinoni will do in a pinch. You will rarely hear Slade or the Four Seasons or Wham! in an arthouse film. You are unlikely to hear Mariah Carey. And if you do, the director is being malevolently ironic.
Not all arthouse films contain the same components, but certain elements almost never occur outside of the genre. If there is a yurt in the motion picture, it is probably an arthouse film. If the director acted as his own editor, it is an arthouse movie. If an old man sets out on a long trip atop a reconditioned lawn mower to visit the brother he has not seen in 20 years, it is probably an arthouse film. If Tom Waits is involved in a film in any way, it is an arthouse film. That is equally true of David Byrne.
There are several things that must occur in an arthouse film in order for it to work. There should be a long train ride. There should be an anonymous letter or a diary no one was supposed to read. At some point the main character must visit his mother in a nursing home. The mother may smile, but she must not speak. That would ruin everything.
Arthouse movies are often set in the waning days of the Raj. They frequently star accomplished English actresses of a certain age who look a bit shopworn. These women are checking into a hotel to die or consorting with quirky expats in some florid fascist country or maintaining a stiff upper lip in Lahore.
Arthouse movies frequently have twee names like Io Sono l'Amore and Mrs Palfrey at the Claremont and Tea With Mussolini and Miss Pettigrew Lives for a Day. That's how moviegoers can tell in advance that Bruce Willis isn't in them.”
http://www.guardian.co.uk/film/2010/oct/20/arthouse-cinema-cliche-breathless
"
“The ideal arthouse film is set in a part of the world few of us know and even fewer intend to visit. The steppes of Central Asia or a forlorn village in Central America are fine, but rural Slovakia will do in an emergency. The arthouse film should make us feel that we understand the world better than we do, even though we don't. It should give us a sense of moral and intellectual superiority over people who go to see Tom Cruise movies. It should star Tilda Swinton, or seem like a film in which she would be likely to appear. It should be a bit grainy. Gypsies, often in distress, may be in the mix, but generally not the Amish. Ideally, a proper arthouse film should have mangled subtitles. Children should be abandoned, or on a long trip over the mountains, or trying to recover lost shoes, or sneaking scraps from the dinner table to a man they believe to be Frankenstein. Anything about Balzac is great. Ideally, the cast should include Parker Posey, Daniel Auteuil, Lili Taylor, Hope Davis, Steve Buscemi, the 2004 winner of Argentina's Cesar for best supporting actor, and Joan Plowright.
The principals in an arthouse movie should include a creepy loner who collects weird things: gynaecological instruments, a stool rescued from a bathroom once used by Abba, that sort of thing. The protagonist may be an opera buff or a train engineer fast approaching retirement or a buttoned-down Swedish time-management expert assigned to monitor the comings and goings of single, self-sufficient Norwegian males. They may have trouble breathing and need a respirator. They may be a taxidermist or a watchmaker or an Italian language student. They will not be a recent Harvard graduate seeking a job at Vanity Fair or a starting point guard for the Los Angeles Lakers. Sexually unfulfilled musicians are a fixture in arthouse films, particularly pianists. So are congenitally miserable Scandinavians and emotionally repressed Japanese. A proper arthouse film will often have an exotic animal, such as a dromedary or a yak, and it will sometimes feature a chatty dwarf who is wise beyond his years. Quite often the dwarf will be a bit cheeky. The Legend of the Cheeky Dwarf would actually make a very fine title for an arthouse film. It's surprising no one has yet tried it.
Arthouse films rarely have a feelgood quality. They may make us feel smarter or more wise in the ways of the world, but they rarely make us feel happy. If a little Jewish boy befriends a vicious anti-semite in the waning days of the second world war, the film will not end happily. If a little Afghan girl pretends to be a boy to avoid the Taliban, it will not end happily. If the movie is set in equatorial Africa or Northern Ireland, it will not end happily. If a Danish handyman reluctantly agrees to marry the daughter of the Chinese restaurateur who lives directly across the street in exchange for free meals, it will not end happily. The only arthouse movies that end happily are the ones with the yaks. No one knows why.
The arthouse film is not interchangeable with the foreign film. Many excellent foreign films are merely commercial films that happen to be in a foreign language. A basic rule of thumb: if Jean Reno stars in a film, it is not an arthouse film. If Penelope Cruz is speaking English on screen, it is not an arthouse film. If she is speaking Spanish, it almost certainly is. There are a few examples of arthouse films that include martial arts – Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon – but not many. In fact, that may be the only one.
Typically, an arthouse film has an intrusive, overbearing soundtrack that won't give the audience a chance to relax for one second. Often these films are scored by the remorseless minimalist Philip Glass, whose music is at least as annoying as anything that takes place on screen. Integral components of a good arthouse film are a song or two by Leonard Cohen, Björk, tango master Astor Piazzolla and perhaps something introspective by Bach, though Albinoni will do in a pinch. You will rarely hear Slade or the Four Seasons or Wham! in an arthouse film. You are unlikely to hear Mariah Carey. And if you do, the director is being malevolently ironic.
Not all arthouse films contain the same components, but certain elements almost never occur outside of the genre. If there is a yurt in the motion picture, it is probably an arthouse film. If the director acted as his own editor, it is an arthouse movie. If an old man sets out on a long trip atop a reconditioned lawn mower to visit the brother he has not seen in 20 years, it is probably an arthouse film. If Tom Waits is involved in a film in any way, it is an arthouse film. That is equally true of David Byrne.
There are several things that must occur in an arthouse film in order for it to work. There should be a long train ride. There should be an anonymous letter or a diary no one was supposed to read. At some point the main character must visit his mother in a nursing home. The mother may smile, but she must not speak. That would ruin everything.
Arthouse movies are often set in the waning days of the Raj. They frequently star accomplished English actresses of a certain age who look a bit shopworn. These women are checking into a hotel to die or consorting with quirky expats in some florid fascist country or maintaining a stiff upper lip in Lahore.
Arthouse movies frequently have twee names like Io Sono l'Amore and Mrs Palfrey at the Claremont and Tea With Mussolini and Miss Pettigrew Lives for a Day. That's how moviegoers can tell in advance that Bruce Willis isn't in them.”
http://www.guardian.co.uk/film/2010/oct/20/arthouse-cinema-cliche-breathless
"
Alot of people view the art house film audiences as a bunch of interlect but they're open minding people who agree with difference and change but mainly daring and risk taking films that the multi-plex or mainstream avoids with jeopardy.
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