Ben McKeown

Photographers often seek to approach their subjects from a different, unusual angle.  As a photographer hero of mine, Joe McNally, once put it (and I paraphrase), “The world is much seen; find a perspective that will enlighten your viewers.”  Essentially, the ethos of this theory is that new and valuable understanding can be gleaned by simply looking at something - even the mundane - in a different way.

The Curious Case of Benjamin Button does just this.

At it’s heart, the story of Benjamin Button is familiar.  It is a life, a much-seen tale of growth and the perpetual “intersecting of lives,” as Button himself states.  Nevertheless, the story is immensely charming, romantic, and alluring.  We are guided through the happenings of Button’s life from start to finish by his own voice in the form of a diary.  The story - a person is born, grows, learns, falls in love, goes to war, returns home, etc. - and the method are ubiquitous.  The genius, however, and the factor that makes the story of Benjamin Button truly “curious” is that we approach it from a truly peculiar angle.  And subsequently, we are able to derive an abundance of new understanding from this otherwise common tale.

When Benjamin Button is born, he is an old man.  He is wrinkled, small, blind, exhibits all the features of a person who has existed for 90 or more years.  This of course is an unpleasant surprise to many, most notably to his father (Jason Flemying) who upon seeing his child for the first time (his frustration exacerbated by the death of his wife during childbirth) , whisks him from his cradle and abandons him on the steps of a house in the middle of New Orleans, Louisiana.  Here, a young woman who we know as Queenie (Taraji P. Henson), finds the newborn and quickly adopts him as her own son.  The story of Benjamin Button thus begins its exceptional progression.

Benjamin lives with Queenie in the nursing home she maintains, where he physically finds commonality with his housemates.  Those around him are puzzled that he hasn’t died quickly, even Benjamin himself.  Despite his elderly appearance, he begins to learn and develop as would any other child.  He learns to walk, to speak, to read in this house, even finds mischief and resulting reprimand from his adopted mother.  Throughout, though, we discover that Benjamin’s body ages backwards.  This will ever be his impairment.

At around the age of 5 (physically, around 85), Benjamin meets a girl, Daisy.  She is also 5, though her age manifests itself much more normally in her physical appearance.  Daisy seems to recognize the childlike nature of Benjamin and the two develop a bond that will become the main thread of Benjamin’s story.

From here we follow a growing (mentally forwards, physically backwards) Benjamin (Brad Pitt) through his life.

A series of vibrant and lovely characters are introduced: a man in the nursing home who has been struck by lightning seven times, an eccentric urban nomad who takes Benjamin on his first trolley ride, a rugged and burly tugboat captain who longs to be an artist, and many others.  The portrayal of these characters is simply delightful.  Animated, while remaining pleasantly non-melodramatic, they serve as the charismatic landmarks along Benjamin’s road.

The performances of Brad Pitt and Cate Blanchett (the adult Daisy) are sincere, passionate, and full of respect for the story that moves them.  Simply put, these two performances are both wonderful and enchanting.

The ultimate triumph of the film, though, is the story itself.  The great F. Scott Fitzgerald’s original short story provided merely an outline around which writers Robin Swicord and Eric Roth have crafted a resplendent story.  Director David Fincher portrays the story in a manner that is whimsical, sincere, and dense.  Amazingly, and to the audience’s ultimate benefit, not once does anyone involved try too hard.  As a result, we find a tale that is enthralling because it is both believable and incredible.  The insight, then, that this story delivers is bound to linger long after the credits have concluded.

In an age where melodrama and hyperbole too often rule, and insight and understanding suffer, The Curious Case of Benjamin Button manages to circumvent the prevailing modus operandi and delivers for us our story - birth, growth, triumph, defeat, love: life - simply from a different angle.

Stopped by Schoolkids Records on Hillsborough St. in Downtown Raleigh to grab these shots for this article, written by my talented friend and colleague, Acree Graham, for www.newraleigh.com.  More on New Raleigh in the near future.

Just a few days after spending a night at Hillside, I had the privilege of meeting eight area high school girls basketball players.  We met at the local YMCA for a cover shoot for Vype Magazine

As I’ve indicated before, I’m a huge fan of high school basketball.  It was a pleasure to meet each of these girls, all of whom have demonstrated an admirable level of skill and leadership for their respective teams.  If you’ve watched the aforementioned multimedia, you may recognize one of the girls from this shoot, Kelsey Evans of my high school alma mater, Wakefield.

As always, lighting these shots was an interesting challenge in a gym.  With only about 30 minutes to unload/set up/prepare, a lot of the procedure was improv.  For the group shot shown here, I lied on the floor (looking quite foolish) with a softbox just to the right of my head pointing upward towards the girls.  The basket is lit by one light pointed in its general direction.  Unfortunately, without time to adjust significantly, much of the wall behind the basket is also lit; I would’ve liked to have toned this down a bit.  However, with time restraints also come creative restraints - in addition to the group shots, we had to finish 8 individual portraits (a few displayed here).

I expect the shots to yield another intriguing Vype cover.  This issue is due out in January.

Last night I was in Durham shooting the Hillside vs. Douglas Byrd playoff game.  The winner would win the chance to move to the state championship game.

It was cold.  Very cold.  And the temperature kept falling.  An icy wind penetrated my thick boots and covered my toes, which by the end of the game felt close to frostbitten.  Even shielded by gloves, my fingers were stiff and hard to use.

Despite the biting temperatures, a palpable and collective electricity filled the facility.  Players, coaches, photographers, and fans all recognized the importance of the game and thus seemed to place a bit more energy into the implementation of their respective roles.

I remembered why I love high school sports.

There is hardly anything more valuable than learning how to operate as a team, how to put every ounce of your soul and body into the pursuit of a common goal.  It is for this reason that sports are a vital part of the school experience, as vital as any math or history class.  Their importance comes not in the form of wins that may be accrued or even in the form of competition, but rather in the form of an ever-applicable set of skills.  I can attribute much of what I believe are my positive traits to what I learned as a member of my football team in high school.

Additionally, I am drawn quite strongly to the raw and unfettered emotion that accompanies high school sports.  The incentives are completely intangible, making the desire to play well an almost spiritual pursuit.  The absence of a tangible reward brings out the true humanity in each participant.

The game finished on a questionable and devastating call against Hillside.  The final score was 9-7 in favor of Douglas Byrd.  These images presented depict an outpouring of the aforementioned spiritual and human elements.  My goal is not to exploit the anguish of the players and coaches, but rather to tell their story, for its importance is universal.

Short excerpt from an email I sent last night… thought I’d share it with you:

I’m still not ready. I need to meditate. I need to find myself in a peaceful place and simply reflect on the season the way I’ve done for years. I can remember sitting alone in my mom’s house listening to quiet Christmas music and just staring at a 13-foot tree in the living room, thinking. Mostly I remember thinking about how I wish Christmas could be good again, how I wished my family could be happy again, how I felt scared and depressed and trapped in a place with little hope, as if failure or death was imminent. I also, though, remember other moments alone in reflection.. A moment in the driveway, a song called “Simple Praise” on the speakers, thoughts of Jessica and a first kiss on an early New Years’ morning; a moment on the top of the dam on December 20th, wind steadily freezing my fingers while I wrote, while I lamented the dying Autumn, mourned the slow retreat of darkness, wished deeply to be like the winter; a moment in my car on the way home past a Christmas-light-lined shopping center when I felt the pull of the goodness that the baby should represent, while I bemoaned the perversion of his story; a silent moment in the woods with friends, listening for owls in the dark midnight, looking awedly at stars, sowing the seeds of relationships that continue to grow to this very day…

I need this. I need a long walk or a hike or a moment alone. I think I’ll make it my goal this month to find that. After all, this is preparation during a season of just that - preparation. For the light, for the new year, for the dawn of possibilities, seen and unseen, real and impossible. I believe the cold and the profound darkness lead me somewhere within myself that I cannot otherwise see. I deeply hope I might again allow myself to follow. Reflection gives me life.