FABRICATING THE MASKS
The use of the graphic novel’s color palette extended to costume design as well. “We wanted to be very respectful to the source material, so that affected a lot of our color choices,” notes costume designer Michael Wilkinson. “We used a lot of greens, purples, oranges and browns…the murky secondary colors that darken as the story progresses.”
With the novel spanning several decades—from 1938 to 1985—and with much cutting back and forth between eras, it was essential to choose clothing that was appropriate for each period to make it clear where in the timeline a scene is taking place. The design team settled on “archetypal pieces that really summed up each decade and gave a sense of period authenticity to the movie,” says Wilkinson. While that sounds straightforward, the task was anything but, especially considering there were, at times, more than 300 extras in a scene. “There is a myriad of uniforms in the film—everything from World War II soldiers and sailors, to 1938 NYPD, to Vietnam War uniforms from both sides—and each one had to be meticulously well-researched. Adding to that, we had diner waitresses, prison cooks, security guards, flower children protesting in the 1960s, Soviet soldiers, astronauts and much more. I estimate there must have been about 150,000 pieces in our costume stock. We had a 600-page manifest, down to every last earring, and that’s a lot to wrap your brain around.”
The costumes for the key cast, like their environments, would need to be intimately designed, particularly their crime-fighting outfits. Wilkinson worked with the specialty costume company Quantum FX to create full body casts of all the major characters, upon which they then sculpted the details of each costume in clay. “We could then take those molds and render them in foam latex so you get a stylized physique—wrinkle-free and with beautiful, sculpted details, while being flexible and breathable for the actors,” he says.
For Dreiberg’s Owl costume, Wilkinson and his team researched 1970s aerospace technology to mimic Dan’s knowledge of birds and aerodynamics. “We looked at interesting NASA-style technology, things like exposed zippers, and air vents that might help him move through the air in a smoother way,” the costume designer offers. “At the same time, Zack wanted Nite Owl to be a little fear-inspiring; it’s important that putting on his costume has a very empowering quality. It helps Dan access a side of his personality that’s different from his very shy, retiring daytime character.”
The juxtaposition of daytime personality against the masked vigilante is also quite dynamic in the character of Silk Spectre. Sally Jupiter had created a sexy costume for her teenage daughter, a yellow and black mini-dress only marginally more modest than Sally’s costume had been. Wilkinson updated Laurie’s costume to be a form-fitting latex suit. “We wanted to keep the spirit of the graphic novel intact; Silk Spectre is in the same colors and has the same graphic silhouette as her costume in the book,” Wilkinson explains. “But we rendered it in latex because we liked the idea of that extreme, hyper-sexualized version of her character. It juxtaposes so beautifully with Laurie’s day-to-day look, which is very stitched together, tailored and precise, wanting to be taken seriously. We enjoyed exploring the two different sides of her personality.”
In contrast to the characteristically extreme costumes of the majority of the Masks is the almost non-descript costume of Rorschach: a simple trench coat. “When you read about the character in the graphic novel, he has a very bleak outlook on life,” Wilkinson observes. “He’s very misanthropic. He just wants to bring a little bit of justice in the world. In terms of his costume, there is the sense that he gave up caring about his appearance a long time ago. He just wears this outfit, not to make a particular impression, just because it’s what he wears. He keeps it in a dumpster. It has years of layers of grime and other encrusted crud on it. The whole litany of his past can be read through his trench coat.”
Showing posts with label costumes. Show all posts
Showing posts with label costumes. Show all posts
Difference between the Chinese theatre and the Western theatre
The great difference, between the Chinese theatre and the Western theatre seems to me to spring from the Chinese sense of realism. Life as it is lived must be treated in an absolutely realistic way. The Chinese requires diversion from it, just as the Westerner does, but his diversion must be utterly unrealistic. A play with us, even a play which is a fairy-tale, is presented as actual happening. With the Chinese play everything possible is done to ensure that you do not forget for a moment that you are watching something fantastic. The Chinese must see something unreal and traditional.
Although most of the audience are in their seats before the curtain goes up, they are there not from any sense of necessity for seeing the play all the way through, but as part of the way of spending an evening in diversion. There is a lot of coming and going throughout the performance, the price of seats is reduced at half-time, and children come in free. You bring food, or you buy it (very good) from continually circulating attendants, you chew melon seeds and scatter the refuse cheerfully, you talk in loud tones, you take as much or as little notice as you like of what is going on on the stage. The children stand about in the aisles or sit on laps impassively gazing at the stage as though mesmerized by the colour, light and noise.
Indeed, it is easy to become mesmerized by the noise of the clashing cymbals and gongs. They punctuate every entrance and exit and almost every utterance of the actors. Strangest of all to Western eyes is the sight of the shirt-sleeved, perspiring orchestra sitting to one side of the stage, smoking and talking among themselves. And the stage hands, too, who wander in singlets and trousers on and off the stage during the scenes, bringing on a 'prop', or carefully arranging the heroine's dress when she sits down, or quietly placing a cushion on the stage just where, a moment or two later, she must tall on her knees.
The actors and actresses wear the gorgeous robes of ancient China, and the modernly dressed orchestra and the stage hands increase the air of unreality. The audience are never led to believe that the actor is not acting, nor do they lose themselves in the story: their interest is maintained by the skill of the actor in acting, and they like their well-known actors to conform to conventional rules of acting. Amongst the actors and actresses we met was the celebrated Mr. Ma Si-Tsang, one of the most famous stars of the Cantonese school. He had introduced a kind of tremolo into his voice at certain passages, but as this was not traditional there was considerable criticism of it.
The costumes have to be conventional also, and you know whether a man is a soldier or scholar, rich or poor, by the type of costume he is wearing. Rich young women, good or bad, dress in gloriously sequined jackets and long skirts, the handmaid wears silk and sequined pyjamas, and the poor woman a plain blue blouse and black trousers.
Behind the scenes there are no dressing-rooms. The space back-stage is curtained off so that the leading actors and actresses may have separate cubicles, while the supers and small parts make up in very cramped and crowded conditions. The wonderful clothes and headdresses are hung on wires that run from one end of the dressing space to the other. The stars have their own dressers and they provide their own costumes. Smallpart players may be lent their clothes, or they can be hired for a night. One of the signs of increasing stardom is the number of costumes an actor or actress possesses, and leading stars may own a theatrical wardrobe worth thousands of dollars.
Although most of the audience are in their seats before the curtain goes up, they are there not from any sense of necessity for seeing the play all the way through, but as part of the way of spending an evening in diversion. There is a lot of coming and going throughout the performance, the price of seats is reduced at half-time, and children come in free. You bring food, or you buy it (very good) from continually circulating attendants, you chew melon seeds and scatter the refuse cheerfully, you talk in loud tones, you take as much or as little notice as you like of what is going on on the stage. The children stand about in the aisles or sit on laps impassively gazing at the stage as though mesmerized by the colour, light and noise.
Indeed, it is easy to become mesmerized by the noise of the clashing cymbals and gongs. They punctuate every entrance and exit and almost every utterance of the actors. Strangest of all to Western eyes is the sight of the shirt-sleeved, perspiring orchestra sitting to one side of the stage, smoking and talking among themselves. And the stage hands, too, who wander in singlets and trousers on and off the stage during the scenes, bringing on a 'prop', or carefully arranging the heroine's dress when she sits down, or quietly placing a cushion on the stage just where, a moment or two later, she must tall on her knees.
The actors and actresses wear the gorgeous robes of ancient China, and the modernly dressed orchestra and the stage hands increase the air of unreality. The audience are never led to believe that the actor is not acting, nor do they lose themselves in the story: their interest is maintained by the skill of the actor in acting, and they like their well-known actors to conform to conventional rules of acting. Amongst the actors and actresses we met was the celebrated Mr. Ma Si-Tsang, one of the most famous stars of the Cantonese school. He had introduced a kind of tremolo into his voice at certain passages, but as this was not traditional there was considerable criticism of it.
The costumes have to be conventional also, and you know whether a man is a soldier or scholar, rich or poor, by the type of costume he is wearing. Rich young women, good or bad, dress in gloriously sequined jackets and long skirts, the handmaid wears silk and sequined pyjamas, and the poor woman a plain blue blouse and black trousers.
Behind the scenes there are no dressing-rooms. The space back-stage is curtained off so that the leading actors and actresses may have separate cubicles, while the supers and small parts make up in very cramped and crowded conditions. The wonderful clothes and headdresses are hung on wires that run from one end of the dressing space to the other. The stars have their own dressers and they provide their own costumes. Smallpart players may be lent their clothes, or they can be hired for a night. One of the signs of increasing stardom is the number of costumes an actor or actress possesses, and leading stars may own a theatrical wardrobe worth thousands of dollars.
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