This video was made by a student working on some sort of project but it very much projected their motivation and creativity. To me, there was not real content to take from it since it was more appreciation for a specific topic. It was an interesting video but I do find it difficult to write a post about it as I am not familiar with the core of the video so it sort of feels as if it were shown in class.

What I was able to gain from its videographic form was the sound and visuals – the audio from the video really paired with the visual sequence that was playing. There were little to no words actually being said but when it did appear the audio and visuals aligned with the content of what was being spoken which I believe was able to grasp the attention of viewers. It definitely followed the Pecha Kucha form with its simplicity considering it is an homage. There were obvious signs of dedication to this video despite the simplicity which makes me wonder what true influence having motivation does to one’s work.

Today I watched CinemaStix’s video on Steven Soderberg’s experiment where he removed all sound and color from Speilberg’s films, forcing the viewers of these videos to focus only on the physical movement and blocking of Speilberg’s actors. From the video essay, I learned how Speilberg balances the three-body problem of cutting, blocking, and camera movement. Often, in a Speilberg oner-kind of way, Speilberg draws out single takes and instead switches his composition and movement to draw attention to specific characters, actions, and objects of interest. In his best work, Speilberg uses cuts very purposefully to our attention to another area of the screen or to shift the dramatic tension. CinemaStix also addresses shorter cuts that emphasize clarity of action within a specific cutting pattern. Speilberg uses short shots to go back and forth between wider and closer shots to draw attention to objects that hold the wight of the action without losing track of where each action/person is in the scene. 

What I learned about the crafting of video essays from this video was the use of a monotone voice for a specific purpose. The monotone and matter-of-fact attitude the reader has toward the audience resonates strongly with the image of the black-and-white raiders and the Atticus Ross and Trent Reznor soundtrack playing in the background. It draws our attention not to the narrator, but to the words in relation to what is on the screen. 

While this video essay is from a practically unknown channel and hasn’t gotten much traction since its publication, there was much I learned, namely: anyone can make a video essay. That and diction and cadence are essential elements of the medium, and this frankly isn’t exactly the best example of an engaging speech pattern.

In terms of the composition of the video, however, I found myself frustrated for the first time doing these. The essay is voiceoverless, relying on the footage and it’s audio as well as the text blocks to delineate chapters. What frustrated me the most was the transitions, especially those of superimposed text and those between chapters. They felt very sloppy in their presentation, often cutting the film or audio at awkward moments and fading in-and-out at a pace that was both too fast and too slow. A particularly frustrating transition was when a clip was slowly shrunk to make way for a five-shot frame, but the transition to adding these clips made the shrinking clip not match up graphically with it’s final resting place, on top of fading out right on top of the clip (also, several of the clips weren’t aligned symmetrically). Despite this, I did find the division of the frame into multiple shots to be fairly creative.

I’m not gonna lie, I saw this video a while ago, but I still think it’s really worth the shout out! This video takes what feels like a simple question—“Who made the Disney Channel theme?”—and turns it into this weirdly captivating treasure hunt. You’d think someone would know where that four-note jingle came from. But as it turns out, almost no one does, and that’s where the premise that hooked me.

Defunctland digs deep, like really deep, pulling together interviews with industry insiders, searching through random internet archives, and following leads that go all over the place. It’s like watching a detective chase a case that seems oddly high-stakes for something so small. But the way it’s told is what makes it interesting—there’s humor, mystery, and this feeling of uncertainty about whether he’ll find the answer. The mystery gets more engaging the further you go, making you care about the outcome way more than you’d expect.

What really makes the video work, though, is how personal it feels. If you grew up watching Disney Channel, this theme is embedded in your brain. Defunctland taps into that nostalgia, but also spins it into a larger story about forgotten media, the quirks of the entertainment industry, and how certain pieces of pop culture just slip through the cracks. It’s the kind of video where you start watching out of curiosity and end up glued to the screen because you have to know how it all ends.

Where this video really shines is in how it evolves. As the top comment points out, by the end, the question isn’t just about who created the Disney Channel theme. The focus shifts to something more profound: What kind of legacy should artists leave behind? It’s a question that sneaks up on you, but it makes the whole video resonate on a different level. The story transitions from being about a forgotten piece of music to a reflection on how artists—and their work—can sometimes fade into obscurity, even when their creations touch millions of lives.

Fantastic Mr. Fox by Wes Anderson wonderfully blends a children’s movie about group of talking animals with a number of complex and sophisticated dilemmas. The plot centers around Mr. Fox essentially underwing going a midlife crisis and his desire to revert back to his thieving past in order to find meaning in his world once more. Yet, the film repeatedly becomes silly, with an array of comic jokes that keep the tone light and fun, despite these deeper meanings. Its style of examining wild animals with very humanlike characteristics is certainly not solely unique, but I believe it helped to inspire others such as Zootopia that would follow in the coming years. Shot with stop motion 2009, it stills looks visually pleasing and detailed in an era now where almost everything is fully animated.

This video essay by Meeptop is only entirely conducted through a singular male Voiceover. However, the Voiceover was compelling and entertaining enough to mostly keep me interested. There is minimal interplay between the images on screen and the actual subject being spoken (with a few exceptions) and I felt one could essentially absorb the ideas while solely listening. The video almost entirely came from the film itself, though the one section featuring the behind the scenes footage was neat. There was no use of text in the video essay.

This is another video essay by my favorite video essayist Broey Deschanel. In it she discusses how reality television has evolved as it has gained popularity. In the beginning of Love Island there wasn’t as big of an audience and so there was less pressure to behave well. However in later seasons, participants are much more aware of thee ways that their actions and words can be taken out of context. Because it’s a show where they are filmed 24/7 and the episodes are released without them being able to watch or being aware of audience’s reactions, it creates a panopticon like state. The participants are constantly aware that what they’re doing might be broadcasted to the entire world although they are not sure if it is so they feel the need to police their own behavior and act accordingly. This is a phenomenon I have noticed as the later seasons of the show have gotten less eventful as the participants are much more on guard.

The style of the video itself is pretty classic for a YouTube video essay with a close up shot of Broey Deschanel talking with clips of love island intermixed. While I don’t think this is a very interesting way to make a video essay as it tends to be more of a speech and underutilize the visual elements, she did a great job of continuing the tone and vibe of the subject matter into the video. Her talking head clips use the same background that the Love Island characters have during their confessionals, keeping the video interesting and on theme.

In the video essay, we learn about how Martin Scorsese uses silence to intensify emotional moments in his films. The essay focuses on key scenes from movies like Goodfellas and Raging Bull, where the absence of sound increases tension and highlights the characters’ internal struggles or moments of reflection. This use of silence creates a striking contrast to the fast-paced, high-energy scenes in other parts of his films. Scorsese’s control of sound and silence allows him to shape the rhythm of his storytelling, showing that silence can often communicate more than dialogue or action. It creates space for the audience to absorb the emotional weight of a scene and feel the characters’ emotions more deeply.

Tony, from Every Frame a Painting, effectively uses a clear and concise editing style to support its argument. The video essay contrasts noisy and quiet scenes to make the point about silence more impactful. The choice of clips is carefully curated, with well-timed cuts that visually emphasize the discussion. Additionally, the video essay uses voiceover in a way that doesn’t overwhelm the visuals but rather complements them, keeping the focus on the scenes themselves. This videographic form balances analysis with a compelling presentation, making its insights more digestible and engaging for viewers.

This video essay offers a comprehensive look at the beginning of Quentin Tarantino’s career, focusing on Reservoir Dogs and Pulp Fiction. It delves into his defining tendencies as a filmmaker and explores his well-documented interest in crafting a 10-film catalog before moving on to other pursuits, such as playwriting or pure writing. Tarantino has often expressed his desire to fully dedicate himself to filmmaking for 30 years, aiming to give everything he has creatively to the medium before stepping away from it. This focused, time-bound approach sets him apart from many other filmmakers who continue working into their later years.

The essay runs for nearly 25 minutes, primarily composed of clips from Tarantino’s films, interviews, and historical footage. I particularly appreciated the decision to avoid any external narration, relying instead on Tarantino’s own words and primary sources to tell the story. This creates a viewing experience that feels more immersive and authentic, allowing Tarantino’s voice and ideas to take center stage. By grounding the viewer in the world of the 1990s through these carefully chosen clips, the video also provides important context for understanding Tarantino’s rise in the film industry.

The creator’s choice to fade into the background, letting the footage speak for itself, is a refreshing departure from more overtly narrated video essays. This assembly-heavy style allows for a deeper connection with the material, as viewers are not constantly reminded of the author’s presence or perspective. Instead, we are able to focus entirely on Tarantino’s journey and creative philosophy.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ozbKHKntpCc&list=PL8Ag3uE_9V2uzOfmYWDNwGSkSudGjbLOw&index=30

When creating a film a major part of the process is the sound that is associated with the characters. The video talks about Spiderman into the Spider Verse and how the music track is essential in it’s meaning to the characters but also the setting. In this case the music can be broken down into three distinct parts, Mile’s world of just being a kid from Brooklyn, his journey of being Spiderman and then music associated with the other spider people. The various tunes chosen running from hip-hop to Jazz are needed to create that distinction in scenarios. In Mile’s world the music is more mixed and tailored to what a teenage boy would listen to such as Post Malone and Spanish music thus demonstrating who Miles is as a character. Being Puerto Rican is part of his identity as being a student, artistic and a kid from Brooklyn. The film continuously highlights that by only playing specific songs in relation to the actions of Miles Morales. Thus the audience will associate those genres and songs with the actions he completes as a regular person. 

The various music options for Miles contrats the choice when he is Spiderman. When he’s in the mask or completing actions that have to do with his powers there’s a specific set of chords that always plays in the background. The repetition will have the audience associate the actions of Spiderman with the specific chords and push the idea that the person on screen isn’t Miles Morales but another part of his identity, Spiderman. Changing the music also changes the emotion surrounding the scene. When he’s Spiderman there’s a conscious acknowledgement that it’s more dangerous and serious, therefore having the same music choice merely reiterates the idea that his actions at the moment are a result of his power. However, this chord choice is merely the association with Mile’s Spiderman and not the other spider people he will meet. When introduced to the variants the music with their first scene goes with where they are from. Spider-noir has that Jazz music that is commonly found in film noir and Spider-pig has the Looney Tunes music because of their animation and dimension they come from. Additionally, there is a different set of chords used when showing scenes of the other spider people because they aren’t Miles as Spiderman. The music difference demonstrates a separation between the characters but also has different emotions and actions associated with them.

The video essay taught me more about the importance of audio but specifically music. Audio has the power to change the tenseness of a scene, and in turn how the audience views the clip. Having music included during a shot merely adds to the audio’s goal of having the audience feel something and be engaged with the film. Having a broad spectrum of music when utilized correctly can be beneficial just as having a single track across multiple scene can change the significance of a scene. 

This video essay produced in 2014 by Tony Zhou focuses on one essential characteristic of the films of Satoshi Kon, one of the most important Japanese filmmakers of all time, namely, his matching scene transitions.

Zhou starts his argument visually from the transition itself, but in the voice-over, he talks first about the themes in Kon’s films: the multiple lives of modern people, the overlapping of reality and dreams, etc., by which he hints to the audience what the essay will focus on, and at the same time makes them understand, instinctively, why Kon’s editing style of matching scene transitions fits perfectly with the contents of his films.

The second point I like about the essay is that Zhou gives the audience time to see for themselves. In other words, after he makes a point in the voice-over, he stops talking and lets the film scene roll. Thus, on the one hand the audience has time to absorb what Zhou has said; on the other hand, they can observe for themselves whether the provided scene proves the point he has just made. It inspires me to think of the balance of information one should consider when making video essays, especially when using voice-over.

His voice-over is clear but not dictating, and he knows the timing to be funny. For example, after illustrating a number of different types of matching scene transitions Kon uses, he comes to the final one which he describes as, “I don’t even know what to call this,” which, unlike the former list he has given, is a non-description, very informal, but remarkably matching, in its unusualness, the scene that is being shown; the protagonist exits from a restaurant, and, next second, appears on the t-shirt of a roller-skating passerby. We simply have no established vocabulary to capture the extraordinariness of the transition.

In this video by Broey Deschanel, Deschanel considers the changing role of film critics and the nature of their reputations in modern times. Deschanel gives an overview of the rise of film criticism (making sure to distinguish criticism from scholarship and entertainment journalism) and touches major figures like Pauline Kael, Roger Ebert, Andrew Sarris, and Molly Haskell whose careers rose to prominence around the beginning of New Hollywood (more or less). The video mentions how critics have long grappled with a reputation of being “pricks with unearned authority” who were/are often criticized for having ulterior motives (namely studio allegiances). Deschanel follows how film criticism has been democratized by the internet and what this means for thoughtful engagement with media. As corporate sponsorship reigns extreme on most every social media platform where film “criticism” now resides, its critical to be critical of the hyperbolic nature of modern film reviews.

As Logan pointed out in her commentary on Deschanel’s video essay about Point Break, Deschanel is not trying to reinvent the wheel in terms of editing or format. She uses a standard voiceover narration with a handful of interviews interspersed throughout. This video relies on archival footage of critics and various clips of movies and shows that Deschanel loops into her discussion. Nothing crazy, but I would argue this standard structure enhances the videos rhetorical architecture — audience attention is directed clearly to the points being made and the building blocks of her argument are given ample space to converse with one another without risk of overstimulation. Because of this, Deschanel manages to cover a whole lot of ground in her videos.

The Film Lawrence of Arabia doesn’t have a spot on the cinematic Mount Rushmore because of one aspect. A multitude of choices dictated its critical and financial success, as well as its role as a cultural touchstone. The epic scale of the story was matched by the expansive sets that required a large format to stand a chance at capturing the magic. The specific film that was used was 65 millimeter film stock. Scope was a major player in this film, and specific lenses in addition to the aspect ratio were used to capture it. The wide frame allowed for the formidable nature of the desert to shine through, dwarfing any characters and armies featured in it. What stands out is the depth of field. The director of photography wanted to show both the characters in the foreground and the landscapes in the background in crisp detail, which was feasible with the 65mm film stock that they used. Strategies for the light and how the sun would behave in the desert were painstakingly planned out. Despite this, the actual shooting was difficult because the blinding nature of the sun on the sand during the day prevented any adequate checking through the viewfinder. It was interesting to find out that one of the methods used to block in this film, the “L-System”, which prevents strobing with horizontal movement, influenced Steven Spielberg. The wardrobe was intended to represent Lawrence’s rank and his moral status throughout the film. This film has a plethora examples of lighting, grandeur, and set design, which Wolfcrow fully took advantage of. In addition to the quantity of examples, the quality is also excellent, as the points that Wolfcrow raises are immediately perceptible in the shots he cut together. In this video essay, Wolfcrow introduces many of his points with a question. This keeps the viewers on their toes and leaves them waiting for the answer. Just like the film it studies, Wolfcrow’s video essay has many elements that contribute to its impact on the viewers.