This shot from Star Wars: Revenge of the Sith was directly based on an 1847 painting called The Fallen Angel, by Alexandre Cabanel.
Films imitate paintings all the time. Why?
Because cinema has replaced painting as the definitive art form of the 21st century...
Films imitate paintings all the time. Why?
Because cinema has replaced painting as the definitive art form of the 21st century...
There are many other examples of this.
Sometimes it makes obvious sense. In Frida (2002), about the legendary Mexican artist Frida Kahlo, several shots from the film directly reference her paintings.
Like Frida's self-portrait with her husband, the painter Diego Rivera.
Sometimes it makes obvious sense. In Frida (2002), about the legendary Mexican artist Frida Kahlo, several shots from the film directly reference her paintings.
Like Frida's self-portrait with her husband, the painter Diego Rivera.
But sometimes it is less obvious why a director has either referenced or essentially imitated a painting.
In Shutter Island (2010) Martin Scorcese has his protagonists embrace in a way directly reminiscent of The Kiss, painted by Gustav Klimt in 1908.
In Shutter Island (2010) Martin Scorcese has his protagonists embrace in a way directly reminiscent of The Kiss, painted by Gustav Klimt in 1908.
Another example, less direct, is how Terrence Malick drew on the art of Andrew Wyeth for his 1978 film Days of Heaven.
We don't quite see a direct imitation so much as the evocation of Wyeth's artistic world: his atmosphere and motifs, of fields, skyscapes, and lonely figures.
We don't quite see a direct imitation so much as the evocation of Wyeth's artistic world: his atmosphere and motifs, of fields, skyscapes, and lonely figures.
The examples go on and on... but why? Is it just a gimmick, or is it pastiche, or even some sort of artistic easter egg?
That might be the case on occasion, but more often than not directors have a very good reason to draw on art: cinema and painting have lots in common.
That might be the case on occasion, but more often than not directors have a very good reason to draw on art: cinema and painting have lots in common.
Perhaps the most straightforward example of this is when it comes to the imaginative power of art.
No wonder Guillermo del Toro, the director of Pan's Labyrinth, was inspired by a Francesco Goya painting called Saturn Devouring His Son, from 1823.
It's terrifying.
No wonder Guillermo del Toro, the director of Pan's Labyrinth, was inspired by a Francesco Goya painting called Saturn Devouring His Son, from 1823.
It's terrifying.
The same is true of John Martin.
He was a 19th century Romantic painter whose vast landscapes, fantastical cities, and scenes of natural catastrophe, all drawn from the Bible, inspired directors like Cecil B. DeMille, George Lucas, and Peter Jackson.
He was a 19th century Romantic painter whose vast landscapes, fantastical cities, and scenes of natural catastrophe, all drawn from the Bible, inspired directors like Cecil B. DeMille, George Lucas, and Peter Jackson.
Stanley Kubrick famously recreated a Vincent van Gogh painting called Prisoners Round, which was itself based on an engraving by Gustave Doré, in A Clockwork Orange.
Artists have been using their imaginations for centuries: so why not borrow from them?
Artists have been using their imaginations for centuries: so why not borrow from them?
But there's more to this. Many technical elements of painting apply directly to film-making.
Take composition, which is where and how each element of an image is positioned in relation to every other.
Why is each thing where it is, and why is it that size, shape, and colour?
Take composition, which is where and how each element of an image is positioned in relation to every other.
Why is each thing where it is, and why is it that size, shape, and colour?
Composition is a very subtle art. And those who have mastered it are able to create images which, for some reason, compel us absolutely; we simply cannot forget them.
Something about Gustav Klimt's The Kiss has captivated popular imagination for over a century.
Something about Gustav Klimt's The Kiss has captivated popular imagination for over a century.
John Everett Millais' Ophelia, from 1853, is another example.
Something about the combination of colour and imagery and composition, of Ophelia's expression, her dress floating in the water...
It has been recreated and referenced in cinema time and time again.
Something about the combination of colour and imagery and composition, of Ophelia's expression, her dress floating in the water...
It has been recreated and referenced in cinema time and time again.
Edward Hopper's Nighthawks, from 1942... there's just *something* about that painting.
Ridley Scott used it as atmospheric inspiration for the production design of Blade Runner, and in 1997 Wim Wenders straightforwardly rebuilt the painting as a set for one of his films.
Ridley Scott used it as atmospheric inspiration for the production design of Blade Runner, and in 1997 Wim Wenders straightforwardly rebuilt the painting as a set for one of his films.
Take Michelangelo's famous Creation of Adam, from the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel, painted in 1512.
The positioning of Adam in relation to God, their outstretched arms, the mix of empty space and active space, the balance of colour and movement... it just works.
The positioning of Adam in relation to God, their outstretched arms, the mix of empty space and active space, the balance of colour and movement... it just works.
It is this same mastery of composition that makes certain shots in cinema so legendary.
The twin suns, the house to the left, a young man looking into the distance... it's probably the most iconic shot in Star Wars — because it is a masterpiece of painterly composition.
The twin suns, the house to the left, a young man looking into the distance... it's probably the most iconic shot in Star Wars — because it is a masterpiece of painterly composition.
And it also uses a motif beloved of painters for centuries, and now so frequent in cinema: the Rückenfigur.
A person seen from behind, surveying the landscape in front of them.
Most famous in Caspar David Friedrich's Wanderer Above the Sea of Fog, from 1818.
A person seen from behind, surveying the landscape in front of them.
Most famous in Caspar David Friedrich's Wanderer Above the Sea of Fog, from 1818.
And just as painters laid out their work along very deliberate lines and segments, to guide our eyes and create balanced imagery, so too do film-makers balance their shots.
Ensuring the focus of an image isn't centered or dividing it into thirds are two obvious examples.
Ensuring the focus of an image isn't centered or dividing it into thirds are two obvious examples.
Caravaggio's use of chiaroscuro — strong contrast of light and dark — is a technique available to film-makers and frequently used by them.
His half-obscured and half-illuminated scenes, mixing thick gloom with bright spots, are familiar to us through the language of cinema.
His half-obscured and half-illuminated scenes, mixing thick gloom with bright spots, are familiar to us through the language of cinema.
Some of the connections between film-making and painting are even more surprising.
Back in the 15th century, at the start of the Italian Renaissance, painters were learning how to create an effective illusion of reality.
Trying to make two-dimensional into three-dimensional.
Back in the 15th century, at the start of the Italian Renaissance, painters were learning how to create an effective illusion of reality.
Trying to make two-dimensional into three-dimensional.
And this is *exactly* what CGI has been trying to do for thirty years.
One direct comparison is how Renaissance artists studied human anatomy, and how skeletons and muscles interact, in order to create more *lifelike* figures.
Consider Leonardo's anatomical sketches:
One direct comparison is how Renaissance artists studied human anatomy, and how skeletons and muscles interact, in order to create more *lifelike* figures.
Consider Leonardo's anatomical sketches:
This also true for CGI artists, who design and simulate skeletal and muscular systems in order to create lifelike figures, be they human or otherwise.
Leonardo and his contemporaries did the same thing, sketching skeletons and muscles beneath their figures.
Leonardo and his contemporaries did the same thing, sketching skeletons and muscles beneath their figures.
What makes the Mona Lisa so brilliant is, however strange it may sound, the same thing that has made Gollum so enduringly popular.
They are, up to a certain point, milestone technical achievements of exactly the same nature.
The graphical illusion of reality.
They are, up to a certain point, milestone technical achievements of exactly the same nature.
The graphical illusion of reality.
The examples here go on and on. What about water simulation, or smoke, or fire, or cloth, or lighting?
These are all crucial for effective illusions of reality, and Renaissance painters and CGI artists have both faced the challenge.
Different mediums, same principles.
These are all crucial for effective illusions of reality, and Renaissance painters and CGI artists have both faced the challenge.
Different mediums, same principles.
There are further similarities, related not so much to technique as to the position film-makers now hold in society.
People once queued up to see the latest paintings of famous painters.
The Heart of the Andes, painted by Frederic Edwin Church in 1859, was a public sensation:
People once queued up to see the latest paintings of famous painters.
The Heart of the Andes, painted by Frederic Edwin Church in 1859, was a public sensation:
And so, just as thousands of people once queued up to see the latest exhibitions of new paintings, they now fill cinemas to see the latest releases from blockbuster masters, arthouse auteurs, and everything in between.
Each era has its definitive art form...
Each era has its definitive art form...
...and so perhaps cinema is the definitive art form of the 20th and 21st centuries.
And perhaps, as we speak of Van Eyck, Raphael, Titian, Caravaggio, or Turner, one day people will speak of Tarkovsky, Kurosawa, Kubrick, and so on, in the very same way...
And perhaps, as we speak of Van Eyck, Raphael, Titian, Caravaggio, or Turner, one day people will speak of Tarkovsky, Kurosawa, Kubrick, and so on, in the very same way...
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