The 2002 film Kung Pow: Enter the Fist was a beloved fixture of my adolescence, and its capacity to entertain me to this day probably makes it my favorite comedy of all time. For those unfamiliar, Kung Pow was a martial arts spoof that utilized extensive digital compositing, "the process of combining a number of moving image sequences... into a single sequence" (Manovich, 136), to manipulate old film footage, most notably by inserting writer/director Steve Oedekerk into the role of the protagonist, The Chosen One (he also dubbed the dialogue for almost every other character). Yet despite the fact that I’ve never met anyone who actively dislikes it, Kung Pow sports a critically notorious reputation, finding itself lumped in with all those other “movie” movies that started coming out around the same time. There’s no way I can view this film as anything other than an under-appreciated gem, which to my reckoning makes it an ideal candidate for induction into The Criterion Collection.
The Criterion Collection is one of the most prolific, certainly the most esteemed, distributors of DVDs and Blu-rays around. Emboldened as it is by the spirit of long-time collaborator Janus Films (theatrical distributor par excellence of “art house” cinema), Criterion’s catalog of movies comprise nearly all sectors of history and genre, ranging from the culturally relevant to the genuinely masterful. Those two distinctions aren't mutually exclusive (or even necessary; looking at you, Elevator to the Gallows), but they do speak to the dialogue that enlivens the fandom to which they are of relevance. Indeed, one of the most fascinating aspects of Criterion is that it should have fans at all, and that those fans would define themselves just as much by The Criterion Collection as by the films that comprise it.
Henry Jenkins writes in "Interactive Audiences" of a blending of Knowledge and Commodity cultures, a mixture of which The Criterion Collection serves as a prime example. From their resplendently posh packaging copious extras to the second to none visual and aural transfers of the films themselves (cinematic restoration projects play a significant role in Criterion press coverage), Criterion releases opperate on a kind of "relationship marketing" model, where the building of brand loyalty prioritizes the monitoring and serving of audience interests." (166). Such loyalty carries over in ways not often seen in the exclusivity-based realm of media consumption; though Criterion may lose certain film licenses from time to time, there’s a reason Criterion alumni like Contempt and Ran aren't as synonymous with their Studio Canal releases.
That element of exclusivity, part and parcel with the modern concept of a “collection,” is just another facet of the way Criterion self-identifies with its fan base. The two entities are literally conflated on the Criterion website, which gives off equal vibes social networking site and cultural entertainment outlet. The former is particularly enticing, as movie buffs can chronicle their own Criterion collections via indexed lists and more free-form blogging options (which, yes, frequently take the form of lists, because you write what you know). Some of these lists are even singled out by Criterion for public exposure, bringing full circle what the company began in showing people these movies in the first place; now they’re sharing what others are sharing, a social realization of "horizontally integrated media [which] encourages the flow of images, ideas and narratives across multiple media channels and demands more active modes of spectatorshiip." (Henry Jenkins, New Media Reader, 157)
The Criterion Collection is one of the most prolific, certainly the most esteemed, distributors of DVDs and Blu-rays around. Emboldened as it is by the spirit of long-time collaborator Janus Films (theatrical distributor par excellence of “art house” cinema), Criterion’s catalog of movies comprise nearly all sectors of history and genre, ranging from the culturally relevant to the genuinely masterful. Those two distinctions aren't mutually exclusive (or even necessary; looking at you, Elevator to the Gallows), but they do speak to the dialogue that enlivens the fandom to which they are of relevance. Indeed, one of the most fascinating aspects of Criterion is that it should have fans at all, and that those fans would define themselves just as much by The Criterion Collection as by the films that comprise it.
Henry Jenkins writes in "Interactive Audiences" of a blending of Knowledge and Commodity cultures, a mixture of which The Criterion Collection serves as a prime example. From their resplendently posh packaging copious extras to the second to none visual and aural transfers of the films themselves (cinematic restoration projects play a significant role in Criterion press coverage), Criterion releases opperate on a kind of "relationship marketing" model, where the building of brand loyalty prioritizes the monitoring and serving of audience interests." (166). Such loyalty carries over in ways not often seen in the exclusivity-based realm of media consumption; though Criterion may lose certain film licenses from time to time, there’s a reason Criterion alumni like Contempt and Ran aren't as synonymous with their Studio Canal releases.
That element of exclusivity, part and parcel with the modern concept of a “collection,” is just another facet of the way Criterion self-identifies with its fan base. The two entities are literally conflated on the Criterion website, which gives off equal vibes social networking site and cultural entertainment outlet. The former is particularly enticing, as movie buffs can chronicle their own Criterion collections via indexed lists and more free-form blogging options (which, yes, frequently take the form of lists, because you write what you know). Some of these lists are even singled out by Criterion for public exposure, bringing full circle what the company began in showing people these movies in the first place; now they’re sharing what others are sharing, a social realization of "horizontally integrated media [which] encourages the flow of images, ideas and narratives across multiple media channels and demands more active modes of spectatorshiip." (Henry Jenkins, New Media Reader, 157)
This digital media savvy, the ability to reconcile its modern identity with its aims of preservation and authenticity, helps contextualize the likes of Criterion’s Three Reasons series, a collection of 1-2 minute long videos edited together from footage of the latest Criterion release. Each installment of the series compiles clips of a given film into distinct montages, each meant to convey the titular reasons for viewing (i.e., purchasing) said Criterion release. Essentially commercials constructed in the spirit of music videos, the typical Three Reasons video "incorporate narratives within them but are not linear narratives from start to finish... they rely on film images but change them beyond the norms of traditional cinematic realism." (Manovich, 310) There's a pragmatic understanding at play of when and where authority and manipulation are best suited, with the latter being firmly ensconced in the realm of the fandom; it communicates with us in a manner separate from the film itself, in a manner befitting the online culture where said dialogue is taking place.
I do say dialogue, for the simplicity of the Three Reasons videos themselves, combined with the D.I.Y. spirit that pervades digital cultural interactions, all but invites users to respond in kind. Taking certain cues from the Kindergarten Cop Three Reasons, an April Fools promotion for the website that pokes just as much fun at its own pretension, I have cobbled together my own Three Reasons video in tribute to that aforementioned beloved comedy, Kung Pow. While functioning as a parody, it's perhaps not outlandish that such a film could cut it in the Criterion pantheon, especially given what its use of digital compositing has to say on the state of modern cinematic culture. Manovich sums up the impact of digital film-making: "The manual construction of images in digital cinema represents a return to the pro-cinematic practices of the nineteenth century, when images were hand-painted and hand-animated... It is no longer an indexical media technology but, rather, a subgenre of painting." (295) In Kung Pow, the digitization is retroactive as the older film footage is reappropriated and, in Manovich's eyes, "reduced to just another graphic, no different than images created manually." (300) Kung Pows divorcing from reality is thus the product of more than just its cartoonish humor, but also its literal cartoon aesthetic.
This is a mentality that informs much of modern cinephilia. Even Criterion are culpable in the loss of cinema's "privileged indexical relationship to prefilmic reality," what with the digital nature of all their restoration endeavors. For as much as they might espouse an appreciation for classic cinematic form, The Criterion Collection and Kung Pow both share and are endemic of their fanbases' embracing of the new digital cinema.
This is a mentality that informs much of modern cinephilia. Even Criterion are culpable in the loss of cinema's "privileged indexical relationship to prefilmic reality," what with the digital nature of all their restoration endeavors. For as much as they might espouse an appreciation for classic cinematic form, The Criterion Collection and Kung Pow both share and are endemic of their fanbases' embracing of the new digital cinema.