Heraclitus Akimbo wrote:Seance wrote:Heraclitus Akimbo wrote:I don't know a lot about avant-garde film, but I did a piece last year where I incorporated chunks of the soundtrack from Michael Snow's Region Centrale.
Sounds interesting. I guess incorporating the
entire soundtrack into a new piece
would have made for a pretty long piece.
I
sorta used the whole soundtrack — I recorded it onto 3 C-60's, and then mixed in sounds from two cassette players with my other noodling. (So, in theory, it would make the piece different every time.)
Sounds in case you're curious:
https://mechanicalforestsound.bandcamp. ... ion-part-1
<pauses to see if the bandcamp embed tag is intuitive, gives up>
Side note: I saw
Region Centrale on the big screen a couple years back, which was a very trippy/mind-melt-y experience.
Thanks for providing the link. Interesting.
I've watched a few different "duration" films projected on film and it can be (depending on the film) incredible.
And of course the work of John Cage was a
huge influence for a lot of avant-garde filmmakers. So duration plus
form is an appealing equation for lots of filmmakers just as it is for certain musicians.
You can step up to a painting or sculpture and spend as much or as little time with it as you desire. I guess
it says something about musicians and filmmakers/videomakers that they want to sculpt time and control even
that dimension of a viewer's experience. They want people to walk into a dark room and quiet their thoughts and
close their mouths and open their minds and soak it all in over a specified duration. Some people rebel against
such an imposition.
I really loved the Andy Warhol duration films such as
Empire State and
Sleep. Your mind has a chance
to wander and come back repeatedly to the concrete. Things are what they are, but there is variation, and sometimes
our minds follow or flow with that variation. But of course that technique can also be a crutch...
Several of the filmmakers who I went to film school with created opaque, obtusely obscure work that relied so heavily
upon theory so as to be intelligible only by a narrow group, almost to the point of being like an inside joke. But their
reaction and (often vociferous and verbally violent) response to any critique or criticism was that people who "don't get it"
just aren't smart enough. So "getting it" becomes like a secret handshake or sign of being "in the group".
Coming from the background of somebody who wrote and who studied literature, I tended to see film/art/music/writing as forms
of conversation or communication that are either more or less open to a group of people who speak and understand a
common language. There are a set of assumed associations, and then that is balanced with personal associations and
the unfolding of the series of aesthetic decisions nested within a piece.
Each aesthetic decision posits a position—some work is heavily reliant upon a series of invisible aesthetic decisions made by
artists and theorists of the past whereby even common words or notions/approaches must be "read" through the prism of
some arcane association in a book of theory or a specific film. So it is possible for a work to contain the key to read it,
but not entirely, since it is impossible to create anything intelligible that doesn't in some way rely upon previous knowledge
or associations, even if everyone's "understanding" of red or light or darkness are all subjective and contextual.
Of course these formalist, theory-based filmmakers also bristled whenever I talked about how most of what was done in the
avant-garde film world in the middle of the 20th century had already been done 30 to 75 years prior to that in literature.
Exploding time into the minutest of minutia is something that Marcel Proust did in the 1910s and '20s and Robert Musil did
in the 1930s and '40s and something that Raymond Roussel did in the 1890s and then more fully and astoundingly in
La Vue from 1904.
And what experimental film follows as rigorous or as evocative of a "method" as
Locus Solus or
Impressions of Africa
by Raymond Roussel? And although Peter Kubelka considered his flicker film
Arnulf Rainer from 1960 to be "the perfect
film" because it encompassed all possible combinations (light/dark and sound/silence and then worked through every possible
permutation of pattern combinations), in the end it tends to resemble a strobe light. Of course the static staccato blasts of
Arnulf Rainer do send spinning fractals of phosphene-like patterns dancing across your eyes and the rhythm of the
film starts to impact your breathing/heartbeat/thought patterns palpably.
In fact I was in a film class that a young sculptor was auditing as her very first film class. The professor screened
Arnulf Rainer but
failed to warn the class ahead of time that flicker films sometimes cause certain people to go into epileptic seizures. So after
about 30 or 40 seconds into the film everyone in the class hears this thud and then some furtive rustling. Everyone turned
and saw the sculptor thrashing and flopping around on the floor. People were a bit stunned and perhaps thought that she was joking.
But no. I rushed to the lights and somebody else turned off the projector while a couple of other people helped the sculptor up
off of the floor. The sculptor had had an epileptic seizure and fallen out of her chair and onto the floor. She sat there, stunned,
for a few minutes and tried to regain her composure, but then she just stood up suddenly without a word and left the class and
never returned. Quite an introduction to film.
So the "language" or history of that type of film was not something that everybody had foreknowledge of. And although the
sculptor "felt" the film quite viscerally, perhaps she would not have done so if she had been warned ahead of time? I don't even
know if she was aware until that moment that she was prone to epilepsy.