The Magic of the Movies

An enchanted village. A wonderful friendship. Star-crossed lovers. And the magic of the movies.  

So proclaims one of my favorite films of all-time, the sensational Cinema Paradiso. I mention this today not so much to promote a viewing (which I do) or another viewing (which I also do), but to illustrate the mostly overlooked art of the movie poster. And in particular, the craftsmanship of what is called, appropriately, the tagline. Sometimes also called a slogan, I like tagline better as the latter seems a touch trashy to me, like chugging slo-gin in an alley. 

The tagline is the combined art of the condensed headline mixed with a full dose of marketing. Buzz is as essential to the successful tag as alcohol is to the stiff one. It meets at the intersection of intrigue and invitation, begging attention with an almost Pavlovian rush of anticipation. Go ahead and salivate. I have always appreciated this hyper Hollywood haiku (even if more than seven syllables) but have never been quite able to nail one. The closest I have come was, perhaps, with the campaign for the 2003 triathlon documentary semi-blockbuster NW Tri '03: Tips whose tagline foretold with magical sagacity that “The more you give - the faster you get.” Not exactly a ‘An offer he can’t refuse’ or ‘We scare because we care”, but decent enough for a no-budget local multi-sport biopic. 

As I lay in the darkness of the cozy home I currently protect, along with a pair of standard poodles sleeping soundly on the plush Oriental rug beside, my end of the week recap is underway. It is Sunday night. I am backing up the files that memos, this blog, video production, script writing, the creation of three workout protocols and two letters to my brother have failed to properly store. With precious little processing power remaining and virtually out of random access memory, I scramble to get the ideas down, trusting that the details can be recalled or recreated if necessary. Tomorrow. 

As I do so, listening to a strange cacophony of new and interesting mechanical household sounds, I grab a screen shot and hold it frozen in the time-line of my wavering consciousness. It is the last paragraph I read, standing at the kitchen counter because I knew that if I tried to read laying down I would instantly fall asleep, and this was an important passage, one I scrabble to note in my road journal. I had almost forgot. The omen, the potential, the ramification. This singular incident could have completely changed the world - by destroying a large percentage of its population - just days before the US dropped fat man and little boy from the Enola Gay. Oh delicious irony!

My eyes pop open with the recollection. Bloody hell. This needs some consideration. Should I extend the current story to include such a defining moment in history, or keep nose to grindstone and resist the seductive invitation down that rabbit hole baited by such a juicy dangling carrot? WTF Doc?

Dam you Kubrick, now i can’t sleep with the image of Slim Pickens riding a mechanical bomb. Ye-haw. Stop worrying. There will be no fighting in the war room gentlemen. Roll the credits then turn the projector off. 

After a time-out to acknowledge both the obvious and subliminal brilliance of the greats, I consider the implications to the current project and try to craft a tag of my own. I see the poster. It is of an Oregon forest, a stand of majestic cedars and one mountain top and the blue Pacific in background. A lone rotary engine plane soars just above the treeline. Four samurai swords ‘grow’ amid the trees, their tips stuck in the same lush soil. One has a drop of blood on the blade. Overhead and overlaid in front of gray fog burning a reveal of blue sky, is the tagline:

THE MOST AUDACIOUS AND DARING RAID OF WORLD WAR II.  A JAPANESE FIGHTER PILOT. A TROUBLED OREGON TEEN. AND THE CODE THAT CONNECTED THEM WITH HISTORY. BUSHIDO IN BROOKINGS. 

The magic of the movies.