Summer has always felt like a bit of a fever-dream: a series of months bound by haze and heat that, by the end, paint a picture somewhat estranged from reality. Unsurprising, really, when you take a step back and look at the burden placed on a single season’s shoulders. We spend the majority of our year mulling forward, clinging to a few months that offer an elusive promise of getting away from it all. It’s not always possible, of course, and there are some years that are better than others, but even they have a way of making themselves somewhat memorable (if only through heatstroke). They’re allowed to occupy a place that stands in sharp contrast to the other eight or nine months out of the year, harboring on an ideal that’s often out of reach during the fall or winter when life feels tethered to a more narrow path.
That’s how I’ve always seen it and, call me crazy, it’s also how I’ve felt whenever I’ve dipped my toes into the oasis that is Eastern European poster art. There’s a similar sense of abandon mixed with a dreamlike sense of storytelling within it that couldn’t be further from the more rigid structures in much of the advertising from mid to late 20th century America. The imagery often exuded a personal, specific vision that played on a more lyrical level rather than literal, undercutting some of the more odious aspects of communist rule. Posters from the Eastern Bloc bordered on traditional art, imbued with an unmistakable energy, while their American counterparts (not without its charms) often housed itself in tried and tested methods of mass communication.
But energy isn’t necessarily always enough, and often times commonplace structures yield equally compelling work that speak more clearly to an audience than those thriving solely on one’s passionately personal interpretation. A poster is a film’s ambassador and has a responsibility to the audience it’s attempting to draw in: speaking honestly to a story and it’s themes shows a respect for the filmgoer to make a relatively informed decision for themselves about what they want to see. Tossing all that out in favor of something engaging yet tonally inappropriate places the viewer at a disadvantage, and you’re left with work that borders on art for art’s sake in arena aimed at having a conversation with those you most want to tell your story to. Regardless, there’s something captivating about those things that feel inseparable from a haze of abandon, existing to give hope to the creatively forlorn.
The way in which films were marketed both here and beyond the “iron curtain” gives a sense of that tension, with studio releases during the summer months in America allowing for a clearer picture to be displayed by two differing schools of thought. What better time of the year to see the full might of the US advertising engine pitted against techniques from overseas than in the sweltering months adorned by Hollywood studios? But while the heat is great, it’s best to remember that there’s beauty in the crisp, autumn weather – even if the sky appears a bit dull.
Rotary phones. Turn dial TV sets. Card catalogs. I’m old enough to have been on the receiving end of some humanity’s more antiquated technological innovations, and their growing pains. Most generations go through this. Just ask that slowly decaying relative of yours that preaches incessantly about how things were when they were young. Past all of their tales of snow-covered soleless shoe adversity often lies a yearning for the past, something tangible and real but also betraying of memory. Suddenly we’re older, nestled in our elder’s recliner, looking back through rose colored glasses and pining for the way things used to be, not fully understanding the way things are or remembering how they were. Thing’s aren’t the same, but what’s really changed?Star Trek has, and the best of both worlds scenario you dreamt of as a kid seems to have taken place: what you enjoyed is shared and liked seemingly by everyone, rather than being the thing that gets your school books knocked to the floor. Friday sees the second installment of J.J. Abrams’ popular space faring franchise opening in theatres after months of intense marketing, which kicked off with a poster that drew more than a few comparisons to that of a previous summer blockbusters. Originality aside, a mangled Starfleet insignia managed to convey more thought and elicit more emotion than the work that followed. Unfortunate, sure, but disappointment is often felt when reflecting on the state of modern movie posters. What puts Star Trek in a unique position is that its long history within cinema has brought a host of admirable work from a few of the industry’s more gifted craftsmen. Higher expectations are unsurprising. But like anything else, though, the franchise has showcased some particularly unfortunate instances of poster abuse. The past is rarely as clear cut and beautiful as we remember it being.From 1979 to 1989, American artist Bob Peak beautifully rendered key art for five out of six of the original classic-series Star Trek films. Having made a name for himself prior for his work on My Fair Lady and Camelot with designer Bill Gold, Peak’s output gave rise to his status as an influential father in the creation of the modern film poster. Whereas other designers or agencies joined copy and still photography to grab a viewer’s attention, Peak, a self-described craftsman, illustrated and painted layered collages that drew you in through their rich use of color and compositional placement. They play to tone and scene, channeling an atmosphere that unfolds over the journey taken by each film’s story.
