Four Eyed Monsters
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An inordinate number of peppers

  • Manhood at the crossroads

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    The Duellists  (1977)

    This film presents a crossroads between two visions of manhood. Harvey Keitel plays an impulsive man who only feels himself arroused in the face of a great challenge. His opponent, Keith Carradine, is a more conservative soul who nonetheless reaps the benefits of a reputation as a duellist even if he is a reluctant one. His honor tells him he must fight, but he finds the whole thing a bit silly at first and then more than a bit fearful. Through a series of snafus, these two men end up dueling endlessly against the backdrop of many battles across the face of Europe in the early 19th century. Whether it was truly some imagined slight that set them off is made to seem unlikely. Keitel wants to fight. Carradine is there. They fight. The results are unsatisfying. Repeat. With the absurdity of endless war behind them, it seems somehow enobling that they choose to fight like this. It holds some meaning, no matter how slim. It reminds me of Peckinpah's Bring me the Head of Alfredo Garcia. A journey becomes a meaning, a reason to be. We cling to that thread because to chuck it is to chuck everything. Over time there is too much at stake. I am reminded of many a schoolyard bully who escalates a conflict for no other reason than the thrill of dominance. But these foes are too well matched. There is a sort of bond to their hatred that makes them risk all for each other. For some reason. They are in a macabre dialogue that is truer than any other their lives have shown them. This was Ridley Scott's first film. Beautifully shot.

  • The medium is the story

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    Decasia  (2002)

    I just watched the Cinemascope Trilogy by Peter Tscherkassky. It was what I expected to see more of after seeing Decasia. Interestingly, it preceded Decasia by a few years. Before that was Stan Brakhage and even Man Ray or all the way back to Lumiere.

    What I'm thinking about is the question that early film posed, you know, the train enters the station and an audience ill-prepared, barely aware that it can comprehend a series of images flashed on a screen, screams for their lives. What didn't they grasp at that moment? The extent of the illusion. They had no notion of how it all worked and so couldn't tell if the train were really coming.

    Now we know about film. Now we know so  much about film that we can distinguish between analog and digital. We know so much, can perceive through so many layers of simulation, that reality becomes a less significant touch point to our understanding. This is an amazing condition that we encounter more than we know. Every web page certainly stares at us with a myriad of illusions. The tabs in the navigation above appear to represent file folder tabs, as if I were perusing a rather large and deep filing cabinet that contains this little box for me to write in. All of this displayed on a desktop with my folders so tiny, as if this web page in fact hovered so near me while the folders below were like people seen from the top of a building. And the ground beneath is a still from Tarkovsky's "Ivan's Childhood" an old man, driven mad by war, holds a chicken to his chest and stares hard at something he doesn't understand. All this on a thin LCD screen with a translucent apple on the back. How is it I know what I am looking at?

    When I saw Decasia, a lot of ideas about narrative came to mind. With video, we became even more aware of film as an artifact. Digital accelerated that. I can watch a DVD copy of this film which is the spliced together fragments of decaying film stock set to music. What I am seeing is one man's reaction to seeing this footage. I am seeing his critical faculties assemble the pieces, applying intuitive aesthetic judgments. The music is a reaction to the result as well as a guide to the aesthetic choices. Mood, tempo, the bizarre effects of the failure of film.

    Decasia is a kind of collage of found art. Watching the CinemaScope trilogy put more pieces in place for me. This piece is the conscious desecration of footage found in Hollywood. The footage is pristine to start, the art is in the decay. Re-exposing fresh stock with subjectively assembled bits of another film. Film thrown about, solarized, twisted, layered. All to some effect. A violence to the form. But when I watch it, I see it in a frame. A fixed shape. A work of art. A portal into a tumultuous sea of imagery. This time the soundtrack is ruined as well. That jittery slice beside the image, that soundtrack is exposed as well. The resulting sound is a chaotic cacophony of layered clicks and pops, a bit of speech, a scream?

    Brakhage drew on the film stock. The result is a chaos of things flipping past with no particular discernible logic. Watching a film like Eye Myth is confusing. Mystical? Maybe. Not for me. I'm intrigued, but it strikes me as a sort of playful exploration. Idiot savant perhaps. The key is that the medium is the story. Our perception of the medium grows. We are becoming the sort of critters that can appreciate this stuff. Perhaps Brakhage was just ahead of his time. Ahead of our time as well.

 


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