Columbia Film REVIEW VOL 2, NO. 3 NOVEMBER 1983COLUMBIA FILM REVIEW Editors: Maitland McDonagh, Robert Lang Designer: Lynda Moss Layout: Lizzie Zucker Listings Editor: Julie O’Brien Typesetter: Kathy Frank Assistants to the Editor: Laura Gwin, Judy Perlman Contributors: Louis Morra Henry Dreher Vivek Adarkar Dennis Myers Tim Clinton Darrell Ewing Tim J. Cavale George R. Crisp Mlustrato Christopher Fay COLUMBIA FILM REVIEW wel- comes submissions. Please send material to 513 Dodge Hall, Columbia University, New York, NY 10027. Columbia Film Review cannot be responsible for original ‘material; please include telephone ‘number with all submissions. (Columbia Film Review is published ‘monthly, eight times a year by the Film Division of the School of the Arts. Opinions expressed in reviews and articles are those of the authors, not necessarily those ofthe editors or faculty. Copyright © 1983 Printed in United States of America All Rights Reserved ‘knob until spool is engaged. ‘An important consideration in narrative ci- ‘nemaisthat the filmmaker cannot assumethat be- cause he/she feels passionately about some- thing the audience is automatically going to follow suit. Carlos Saura's Carmen does not, unfortunately, avoid this pitfall. Un- like Zeffireli's successfully transferred La Traviata, Saura’s film uses Bizet’s opera. asa springboard for this drama in which life imi- tatesart. Unfortunately, he has constructed something of substantial weight on a very shaky foundation, Saura obviously identifies closely with the protagonist, Antonio. The choreographer searches for and finds what he feels is the quintessential Carmen. His peers point out how ordinary and marginally talented the woman is, but Antonio senses in her an underlying quality which will inevitably feed his latent need to become consumed with obsession. Although this film is indeed about blind obsession, it also explores the ramifications of the artist merging with his ‘work in order for the work to be, allegedly, fully realized. Saura was clearly not up to the challenge of his concept. ‘There is very little dialogue/in the filmand what there is, is forced. Flamenco dancing and lots of lingering close-ups were employed to generate the power needed to keep the story moving, but it moves slowly. ‘When it moves, it lurches forward with a lack of grace which makes the moments of passion not only implausible but uninten- tionally comic. No viable story line is developed, but perhaps it is not in narrative or intentions that Saura is interested. Inter- mittent use of the actual opera score and in- tense close-ups fails to engage the viewer and make him feel what the protagonist is supposedly feeling, a problem ageravated for those familiar with the opera. Carmen the opera is melodramatic spectacle; Carmen the film borders on camp. ‘There is one sequence which typifies the film’s flaws. Carmen arrives at Antonio's studio during the night, and asks him to dance for her in order to fan the fires which, no doubt, smolder somewhere beneath her leotard. Antonio obliges, and, when the ‘moment is ripe, Carmen mounts the stage and asks Antonio to “devour” her. The next shot reveals Carmen in Antonio's dim- lylitbedroom, slipping back into her clothes with indifference. Antonio, seduced and abandoned, lies dejectedly on his bed. The transition is abrupt and awkward and the juxtaposition of the tone of each scene, ludicrous. ‘Also insufficiently taken into account are the differences between the demands of stage and screen. On stage, in a vehicle like Carmen, the glorious voices usually more than fill the heroic or tragic dimensions of the characters, Ina film of this sort, there is need for great acting and/or actors who are icons, especially when the filmmaker relies so heavily on the use of close-ups. In addition, Flamenco dancing is much too limited a form of expression to support or supplement the narrative of a feature-length film. These actor/dancers are just not that interesting to watch for 99 minutes. That is why, among other reasons, the viewers responded with laughter during much of the film, ‘While Saura chose not to simply film the ‘opera, he still relies heavily upon the original source, producing something in between both art forms that neigher equals the opera nor transcends it. And so we have Carmen, the film, the aberration, STC.The Ballad of Gregorio Cortez United States 4. Robert M. Young] ‘A Mexican farmhand/laborer named Gregorio Corteziisinvolved ina dispute with alocal sheriff. He speaks no English and the sheriff no Spanish, so they talk through an interpreter; a misunderstanding suddenly escalates into violence and both Cortez’s brother and the sheriff are fatally shot. Cor- tez flees and is pursued by all the forces the Law can muster. After he is captured he stands trial and is sent to prison despite an eloquent defense by his initially unsympa- thetic court-appointed attorney. Justice is not done. Based on a true story, The Ballad of Gregorio Cortez is first a righteous tale of racial prejudice and miscarriage of justice, set within the confines of a genre whose hey- day is long past. As such it makes its point forcefully and with fine attention to detail ‘The famed Texas Rangers are neither tin- star heroes nor mere bloodthirsty louts, but instead men quietly panicked by the idea that their time has come and gone. Their dis- ‘banding is being discussed in some circles; they are in danger of being dismissed as holdovers from the previous century (the film is set in 1901) and they are determined to prove their worth by capturing Cortez. Even the drunken lynch mob that hangs Cortez’ godson is distinguished by attention to its composition: it includes the late sheriff's nephew and the interpreter, whose version of the events that transpired at the Cortez ranch leave, in his mind, no alterna- tive course of action. Cortez himself leans toward doe-eyed martyrdom, an inclinica- tion fostered by the fact that he seldom speaks (and when he does iti, of course, in ‘Spanish, so he is still not accessible to the ‘non-Spanish speaking viewer; even his ver- sion of the events at the ranch are rendered through an interpreter), but till hehassome ‘genuinely moving moments. When the prison translator locates the source of the ‘misunderstanding (in the fact that Spanish always differentiates between a “*horse”” and a ‘‘mare,”” while English does not necessarily do so) no translation of the phrase “My brother died for that?” is needed. ‘What is perhaps more interesting about The Ballad of Gregorio Cortez than the story it chooses to tel is the fact that in the telling it manages to allude to some issues that always crop up in relation to Westerns, ‘agenre whose popularity has, givenitsabili- ty to mutate frequently, remained remark- ably consistent until fairly recently. Greg- ‘rio Cortez is set during that period that ‘marked the end of “The West” as a real en- Western Variations (The Ballad of Gregorio Cortez) ity, as real, anyway, as it ever was, fiction- alized from the start in dime novels and spectacles like Buffalo Bill’s Wild West Show. The Texas Rangers are threatened with extinction, railroads crisscross the once ‘open plain and newspapermen can actually telephone their stories to editors miles away; the nineteenth century is over and the twen- th has begun. This decline was, interest- ingly enough, concurrent with the rise of the medium that was to exalt it; Edward S. Porter's The Great Train Robbery (land- ‘mark both in the history of the narrative cinema and its own genre) was made in 1903, and its quaint eponymous train is no clever piece of set design but a piece of contempo- rary machinery. The great myth of “The West"” took innumerable forms in the cinema. It ranged from singing cowboys to the Lone Ranger, from the orderly vision of ‘early John Ford (Stagecoach, My Darling (Clementine) to Saturday afternoon program- mers (with their good cowboys, bad In- dans, white hats and black hats) through the sardonic nihilism of Sergio Leone ef al. (The Good, the Bad and the Ugly, Once Upon a Time in the West, My Name is No- body) and Ford's late The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance, informed by a subtle di uiet, a notion that perhaps the legend is a lie. There are Western Musicals (Ok/a- homa!, Paint Your Wagon), Western hor- ror movies, (the serious Curse of the Un- dead, the parodic Billy the Kid vs. Dracula and Jesse James Meets Frankenstein's Daughter), and lots of Western epics. Even now, with the genre out of critical and popular favor, examples appear: the massively ambitious Heaven's Gate, the psychologically oriented The Long Riders and even mutant forms like Assault on Pre- cinct 13.(the urban police station as belea- guered fort), Outland (High Noon on Supi- ter mining colony) and The Road Warrior (Shane in the future outback). The quantity and diversity, if not always the quality, of forms is staggering, variations on the last ‘reat conquest, perhaps, or on the last event that escaped being oppressively fixed by the ‘motion picture camera’s hungry eye. Evocable through contemporary paint- ings, sketches, oral accounts and mytholo- izations, as well as the stiff, slighty lifeless photographs of the period, “The West” re- ‘mains untrammelled by’ the sometimes pedantic “‘realism" of the documentary cinema, Only just out of living memory (here were, after all, Civil War veterans alive when WWI was being fought), “The West" is still essentially removed, suffi- ciently amorphous that it can be shaped 10 fit any artistic end, used to support any {ideological position, made the focal point of almost any argument. The Ballad of Gregorio Cortez adopts for itself a low-key, near-documentary look The colors are fatled and washed-out look- ing, the faces of the people relentlessly or- dinary—pockmarked, pimply and weather- beaten. The pursuit of Cortez is no choreo- graphed, stylized chase, but a wearying (for the characters and viewers both) trek across distinctly unidealized landscape; the trial is no Perry Masonesque drama but a triumph of emotional polemic over reason, with un- coveringthe truth just nor the issue. Despite this laid-back visual approach, Gregorio Cortez is not naively “realistic.”” It opens with a train pulling into a station, surround- ced by clouds of white steam (simultaneously some great technological dragon and an im- age recalling early film images); the image is cone of the past meeting the future head-on, ‘clunky, antiquated (to our eyes) train that is nevertheless a harbinger of the age of the ‘machine. The soundtrack is a ballad, The Ballad of Gregorio Cortez; it both encap- sulates the story (nota usual narrativetactic, since it destroys the element of surprise, and though this isa true story, itis not one that many people know) and refers obliquely to the process by which events are transformed into stories and myths. The film’s central ‘occurence is one that points to the role of spoken language (and by extension, visual language) as a code, one that can utterly transform information while transmitting it, Within the film one sees the event undergo a variety of mutations—the lone Cortez becomes the vicious Cortez gang, the sheriff's death becomes “‘murder’* as though he had not had a gun as well (in fact, it was he who fired the first shot). After the trial, a newspaperman who has been riding with the Rangers and filing his own reports Of the action (which are read around the fire, sometimes with less than delight, by the participants) wanders through town and sees a play about Cortez being staged. _——$—$— — ‘COLUMBIA FILM REVIEW, NovENnER 1963 3Ostensibly it is to raise money so that hi cease can be appealed, in fact itis a decisive step in the rendering of Cortez’ story into Popular myth. Through this interplay be- tween events and reports, actions and their retellings, The Ballad of Gregorio Cortez ‘manages to walk a fine line between telling an “‘authentic"” Western tale and making reference to the way in which the tale is told. —M.M. Brainstorm United States d. Douglas Trumbull Brainstorm initially seems a promising project. The script, dealing with a machine that can store up sensory experiences so that they can be transmitted (in all their original intensity) to anyone at anytime, was rewrit- ten after Wood was cast in order to make herrole (that of the wife of the lead scientist, who must disarm the equipment before it is put to nefarious use) the equal of that of the scientist played by Christopher Walken. This revised script not only gave her the op- portunity (one many actresses would envy) to play a woman who must experience first- hand the horror of her child's drowning, but also more firmly established her character as viable human being. Unfortunately, these additions were scheduled to be shot last and were never done because of Wood's death, Director Douglas Trumbull immediately returned to the intial script, which was vir- tually completed, and prodiiced a film that is such a cold demonstration of hardware that it hardly qualifies as a narrative film at all. Brainstorm abounds n dialogue, special effects and plot twists and turns that do ac- tually more or less cohere, but one rarely sees a picture so unconcerned with its emo- tional center as this one. Walken and Wood hhave one juicy emotional clash, but general- ly the film’s attempts to create mood are through lifeless presentations of shiny ‘machinery. Walken, a competent actor, is hhurt by the editing—he clearly needs the warmth of his co-star to offset his rather lazy, seedy screen image, and that warmth is seldom there. Louise Fletcher's character, a camp, tough-talking scientific genius, may be the one that comes off best, even though her performance is a variation on the one she gavein The Heretic, right down to ama- jor scene involving a heart attack and a weird kind of walkman, As for Natalie Wood, it seems unfair to judge her perfor- ‘mance since the film we see is not really the one she was working on; she looks lovely, but all her hardearned onscreen maturity is lost—she has been returned to the status of a pretty, unformed piece of set decoration. It thas been reported that when Brainstorm’s rough cut was seen by MGM executives, they declared that the film could not be finished without Natalie Wood. If this is true then the hard-headed business types were being not only practical but also kind to the memory of a good actress who was also a luminous memorable movie star. Director Trumbull wasnot sokind, —T.C. L’Argent France 4. Robert Bresson A story film can be based on make-believe or it can be based on belief. ‘The backbone of belief in a story film could be a belief in the motion picture ‘camera as an eye of the material world, an eye that looks back at man, an all-secing eye, much like the eye of God. For such a camera, man, nature and the forms of civilization are equals. The opening shot of Robert Bresson’s latest film, L’Argent exemplifies such a belief. Bresson’s camera virtually locks into, the outer gate of a cash dispensing machine as it closes shut. The grey steel of this tech- nological device fills the screen with the whirr of city traffic on the soundtrack and. almost as if it were the camera of an avant- ‘garde filmmaker, Bresson keeps its gaze fix- ‘ed unflinchingly, forcing the audience to do the same as the credits flash past. No other shot in the film is held for this long. Indeed, it would be safe to say that thisis the central image around which the film is built. Much later in the film, a character refers to money as “the visible god."” That remark cor- related with the film’s opening image sets up the film's thematic polarities for the au- dence: caught in between and centered by Bresson’s cameras the visible sprit of man, ‘The catalyst in this technological parable is a fake $00 franc note that is passed off by two teenage schoolboys at a camera store. This sets into motion a chain of complicity the consequences of which leave the well-to- do characters in the film unscathed but destroy the life of an honest but impulsive oil truck operator, Yvon Targe (Christian Patey) by turning him against society and eventually leading him to perform horren- dous crimes. The moral of the parable is made all too clear; it is society that has brought the horror upon itself. At each successive stage in the develop- ‘ment of his parable, Bresson shows that the responsibility for each act of wrongdoing can be traced either to society or to its law enforcement systems: first, a schoolboy is denied extra pocket money by his parents and so is led by a friend to the tactic of the fake note; though acquitted, Yvon is fired from his job and so ticipating ina heist during which itis the police who fire the first shots; Lucien (Vin- cent Risterucci), adishonest employee at the camera store is threatened with dismissal and so leaves, taking the keys of the store and its safe with him, enabling him to later burgle the store; while Yvon is in jail, his wife (Caroline Lang) rejects his promise of a new life and decides to leave him, thereby driving him to attempt suicide by hoarding the sleeping pills that are dispensed to him by the authorities; finally, an old lady, who knows Yvon to be guilty of murdering the hoteliers, forgives him and does not report to the police, thereby inviting destruc- tion upon herself and the rest of the household. In contrast to Yvon, Lucien’s crime spree is idealistic. Lucien mugs a bank's customer in front of the cash dispensing machine and extracts cash from the machine in order to support his private charities and put an end to all machines. Even the judge who sen- tences him speaks of Lucien’s “pure ideal- ism." Yvon's willful crimes however are precipitated by the urge to obtain money for selfish ends and later, to arouse the con- science of society. A clue to Yvon's motiva- tion is offered when he spurns Lucien's plan ‘of escape from the prison in which they both find themselves. Lucien has earlier dis- claimed the camera store's responsibil paying Yvon with the fake note. Now, Yvon spits back, “You'll have me on your con- science and you'll answer for it.” At the film's end, it becomes clear that Yvon could well be addressing society at large, Bresson has his charactrs act out his parable with the minimum of feeling. His is not a cinema of identification but one of contemplation. His formal elegance adds resonance to his subject by paring away the thematically inessential. After Yvon pushes the restaurant waiter, Bresson cuts toa table crumbling along with its crockery. To show that Yvon has murdered the hoteliers, Bresson has him wash the blood off a denim jacket at a sink. The camera holds on the blood-diluted water swirling down the sink- hole and Yvon’s crime is revealed in as dehumanized a manner as possible, as only ‘an impersonal camera could reveal i. This impersonality is of course a key to an understanding of the film but it isn't even a handle onto what makes the film such arar- ity. That quality, no doubt a distillation of a life's work and thought, is that all too rare cohesive blend of the elements of human drama with a belief in the camera as the eye of God. VAAL 4 conumma rus Review, NovEMBER 183‘Medium Cool (Risky Business) RISKY BUSINESS In addition to having achieved predict- able box-office success, Risky Business, a film by Paul Brickman, has received ‘unusual critical accolades. It seems to evoke two distinct reactions in viewers: they loveit cr they hate it, with very litte in between. This dialogue between two regular CFR writers seeks to pinpoint the factors that make Risky Business what itis, and to ex- plore some of the issues it raises. —The Editors HD: There's an incredible fallacy cir- culating about this film, Risky Business. People seem to feel it has many virtues—that it’s funny, that its clever, that it embodies rock and rol feeling, that it’s well scripted ‘and well acted; Idon't understand how peo- pile can say any of those things. DM: What's your perception? HD: That it’s a slickly made piece of Hollywood fluff, only lightly abovetherun of teenage-male-adolescent sex films—you know the genre I’m referring to. DM: Teenploitation films HD: That's right. Perhaps in terms of production values it may be a cut above the norm, but the standard, run-of-the-mill teenploitation film is sheer muck, and to say that it’s slightly above muck isn’t much of a compliment. DM: For me there’s no question but that it’s a better film than any of the filmsin that genre. However, it’s also a better film than ‘most of the films being made today, because it shows a certain intelligence on the film- ‘maker’s part and a certain complexity of at- titudes towards the subject—however sim- ple that subject may be. HD: Its only asset is its slickness. Its in- telligence is only inthe marketing, only ints appeal to a low level of audience perception. DM: Audience perception? Or are you saying that the film is just directed at a less sophisticated audience—is that what you're saying? HD: I’m not saying that it’s a less sophis- ticated audience. Everyone seems tolike this film—it cuts across the range of movie- goers, including even film student types. ‘That’s what annoys me because the worst thing I have to say about the film is that it pawns off as acceptable values that I con- sider not only questionable but horrid. DM: What values? HD: The film sets up the characters and the story skillfully, so we identify with the main character, Joel. He’s horny, he wants to do well in school (at the same time he's afraid that the two might come into conflict ‘with each other), he doesn’t want to get into trouble with his parents. . — A DIALOGUE DM: Wait—certainly there is an iden- tification, but it’s not the same kind of iden- tification as you find in other teenpolitation films. Any identification you feel with Joel is also undercut by the fact that the other characters in the film ridicule him. The pros- ites are always mentioning how much money Joel has, like when he and Lana are leaning against the car and she comments, “How can you say this tome when you have your daddy’s $40,000.00 Porsche.’ HD: How does that undercut our identfi- cation with him? I think it has the opposite cffect—we get pleasure out of his pleasures. DM: Of course his wealth and status are undercut. They're satirized—though not blatantly. Remember, this film got made under the constraints of commercial via- bility. HD: I don’t see it; in fact, I see an affir- mation of his status. We love that car—it's probably the character we care about most ‘When that car falls into the water, Iheardan audience reaction unlike anything I've heard since The Exorcist. They screamed, and then when he got it fixed up with the money he made from pimping for those ‘irl, the audience was so happy to see that car back on the road. The film absolutely reinforces those material values. DM: Obviously they're not criticized to novenmer ves 5the point where you're forced to absolutely reject Joes values, but they are satirized. They are mocked through the prostitutes’ situation, The entire idea of business and ‘American success is mocked through the cross-cutting between the “Future Enter- prisers” club and the prostitutes. And Joel's Apparent innocence is so extreme that you have to distance yourself from the situa- it's his fantasy. HD: That's why film students like it—be- cause “*we” are in a better position, per- haps, to distance ourselves. The appeal of the fim, however, isthat many of usdoreal- Iy identify; we do share in those fantasies. DM: Ill agree that there is that degree of identification, but I can’t say that it's not suspect, or examined and evaluated within the film itself. You can't contend that there is no element of self-criticism. HD: Yes I can. I think it was considered really cool that he was able to pull off his “Future Enterprsers” project and make more money than any other kid by turning his house into a brothel while his parents ‘were away. The value that I detest most is making light of bringing all those cute young girls into the house and making a ‘mint by selling them to his friends, with Lana acting as his girlfriend and running the entire show. And he puts on his sharp sunglasses and ‘really flouts authority by pulling off this ridiculous venture. DM: The glasses themselves area joke on hhim—they're so excessive. The camera shots that track way into the sunglasses— they're deliberately excessivemoves. It'snot an endorsement of style, like Flashdance. HD: don't think so. it'sall et upso that he’s a good kid pushed into everything by circumstances—the car falls into the lake, he gets into trouble at school and he's so desperate that he does wind up saying “What the fuck," and goes alongwith Lana's plan. That's the whole philosophy of his friend Miles—“What the fuck.” That's the key thing. He says, lets forget about all those goody-goody values, Pl put on my sunglasses and sell these girs to my friends. We'te supposed to think that that’s jut great. DM: Let's discuss the whore—Lana. HD: That’s the other thing that really bothered me. Here's this character who ‘comes into his life in slow motion with wind blowing leaves all over the place and they have vaseline-on-the-lens type sex... DM: That's an example of the film's whole attitude toward sexuality; it's all Joel's fantasy. The whole picture is a teenage fantasy. HD: That's the whole problem—these tcenpolitation films create an aura about sex that makes it totally unattainable for your average teenager. Ithas to do with unbeliev- able, unrealizable, impossible situations. DM: In a normal teenploitation film the unattainable expectations are presented as perfectly possible—normal, in fact. In ‘Risky Business they're presented asa point- of-view fantasy; they might be what you want, but they're not necessarily what you can expect to get. HD: But there are all those touches of realism—it’s that midpoint between out- and-out fantasy and cinematic realism that makes you identify. To get back to Lana, look at her character: she's a model-esque beauty, tough-minded, independent and cynical, but she’s a whore and there's no way around it. We're made, conveniently enough, to forget about that, but she really represents an absurd contradiction—she’s supposed to embody feminist convictions, but she has to make her living screwing these dumb highschool boys, DM: To me that isa feminist point. Ifthe only way she can make it in business is by prostituting herself, and we're presented with the image of “business’ asa male dom- inated institution, then clearly she is work- ing as a feminist critique. The only position she can hold in business, because she is a ‘women, is that of prostitute HD: That’s absurd—where are we shown that she has become a prostitute for eco- nomic reasons? DM: It’s there. HD: It’smentioned once. If we were truly shown that she is a prostitute because she is ‘economically deprived and there is no other way for her to make a living, then I'd grant your point. Instead, we're made to think that this is something wonderful that she's doing—she can make a ton of money and get lai all the time and still be tough, inde- Pendent, cool and straight in her personal relationships. That contradiction embodies the real emotional plague of this film. DME: I agree that her background i sup- pressed, but one ised to assume that she has to-do what she does because it's her way of ‘moving up in the world—she says that she does it because there are things that she wants and needs. Perhaps the suppression of her background isin partan avoidance of op-psychologizing—bad childhood, ete. She's just the image of a woman who stands for women in general. HD: To me that’s nonsense. Because she has al the attributes ofthe privileged class— she’s white, blond, gorgeous, has a terrific body, we know that she oculd make a living in any of a number of ways. DM: Maybe it’s saying that no matter hhow she makes it she's whoring herself, be- cause of the way women with those atri- butes are seen. That she wouldn't necessar- ly make ton her aggressive qualities, her in- teligence, or wittiness, but instead on her beauty, color and Waspishness. HD: How many prostitutes are like Lana and her friends who come trooping into that house? DM: It’s not a reality based film. HD: Yet it works well at manipulating us into the reality of those circumstances. DM: That’s the basic identification pro- ‘cess, used to undermine the images, to create an awareness of the situation, HD: Again, Isay to create un-awareness. ‘That’s our basic difference on this film, DM: Let’s talk about the scene where they make love on the train, HD: A terrible scene, by the way. DM: It’sone of the most erotic scenes... HD: Wholly unerotic. DM: One of the best fully-clothed sex HD: Every time they cut to ihat bum chewing his cud I wanted to die, DM: That was part of the comic over- tone... the whole feeling ofthe scene is not cone of release and relief and you're glad they're together. Instead, it has a kind of a sad quality, a certain complexity. It starts ‘with a certain set of realities that you expect from a Hollywood teen product, but then it adds elements that make it a hard film to handle, HD: What can I say? I found it unerotic, and I didn’t see any complexity. DM: Did you feel any type of sadness from it? There wasn’t any boy-meets-gt! feel to it. HD: If I had any feelings for the charac- ters up to that point, perhaps I would have ‘been moved. But I found Joel callow, self absorbed and rigid; I found Lana’ one- dimensional. I didn’t like these characters and I didn’t care what happened to them. If they had been flesh and blood I might have enjoyed that train scene. DM: You didn’t feel anyt Lana? HD: [felt that the casting director found a really terrific looking woman to play that towards we see the same film? Lonely Hearts Australia 4, Paul Cox A film that can seriously accommodate two lines as diverse as “I love Melbourne in the winter” and ‘The people here are no 00d; they've hidden the toilet,” must be either ridiculous or demonstrating a certain ambitiousness, however small its subject ‘might seem to be. In fact, Lonely Hearts, despite its potentially sentimental story of love between two awkward, sheltered peo- ple, portrays the story through a sort of stylized, comic grittiness. Itremains unabashedly romantic: the au- dienceiis encouraged to identify with thetwo ‘main characters and their developing rela- ____ 6 convmnia rum REVIEW, NOVEMBER 1983Fulnain mevieu tionship. Nevertheless, they have certain or- dinary, unromantic shortcomings. Patricia hhas been so sheltered that she is somewhat, awed by a bingo game, not to mention sex. Peter isa very likable aging piano tuner, but he also frets over his toupee and habitually ‘engages in a bit of small-scale shoplifting. Patricia discovers that several snapshots of his family and friends are wrapped in atorn- out centerfold. After a frustrating sexual disagreement, Patricia retreats to the isola tion of her apartment; Peter goes to aporno movie, then to a prostitute, and later, un- wisely, pockets some cheese at the super- market. This somewhat de-glamorized psycho- logical realism manifests itself particularly in several sorts of carnality, broadly con- ceived. Not only is this the realm of nickel- and-dime crime and penny-ante sexual depravity, it is also a world laced with loneliness, death, both past and future, and bathrooms. Peter is almost fifty; his mother hhas just died; his father isin a nursing home; and his customers are all elderly, isolated or both. Much of the action takes place with the characters alone on the screen with ob- jects: pianos, telephones (of course), answering machines (certainly a highly dis- jointed form of communication), an Italian conversation record, mirrors, a package of cheese. Interaction is thus often tentative and sometimes frustrating. Patricia is not even in control of her own phone: either her mother uses it to chatter at her unremit- tingly, or, when visiting her father preemp- tively’ answers it for her. Unlike people, bathrooms are always around: several scenes are played in them; people keep ask- ing for them; a sign points to them even in the graveyard. Certainly it sounds as though Patricia and Peter might be better off dead than in love. Yet, the film is not about the deadliness of death, or the banality of anality, or vice ver- sa, Instead, the marriage of the sentimental and realistic is accomplished through wit and style, rather difficult in a film set in neither Parisnor the East Village. Inthe first place, the characters are mostly matter-of- fact about matters of fact, though hardly unaffected by them. Asa graveis being dug, Peter and Patricia have to step around the shovelfuls of water that are being tossed up from it: the grave is surely a presence, but the immediate concern is not to get wet. Secondly, the film has a certain styliza- tion, which examines its subjects without dwelling on them. The style is occasionally insistent: the camera pans and tilts around the huge, modernistic emptiness of the bar where Peter first takes Patricia later, it un- movingly takes up the point of view of the bed when Peter and Patricia hesitantly hover around the entrance of her bedroom. In each case the tone is both serious and comic. More often, the director relies upon a swift cutting between scenes and the con- tinual presence of comedy, ranging from the barely noticeable to the nearly slapstick, to achieve a fusion of the comic and the grim. Sordid situations are stil sad but also amus- ing: Peter's liaison with a prostitute is embarrassingly halted when his bother-in- law bursts in, exclaiming, “Jeez, am I busting for a leak Through such devices the film earns its final moment of sentimentality—hardly realistic, only comic upon reflection—as the ‘camera leaves the two characters and pans slowly over an unplayed piano as areprise of Peter’s rendition of “Blackbird” plays on thesoundtrack, DE. Passion France d. Jean-Luc Godard Is there really any passion in it, Hanna ‘Schygulla was asked at the NY FilmFest press conference for Godard’s latest film, juestion came up is & ‘measure of how oblique Godard remains in Passion. That the relation to narrative/linear film-making. There is greater narrativity in Passion than in other Godard “essays.” A link is made between emotion and intellect. It tells a story, and t's also about filmmaking. When it’s about filmmaking, there's passion on the screen. The film can be outrightly comic, too, ‘The best gag is when Jerzy, the director Tableaux Vivants (Passion) (played by Jerzy Radiwilowicz) tries to get past an actor in an angel costume blocking his way. The two men spontaneously enact. the famous painted pose of Gabriel and the angel wrestling all night. ‘There are several “living painting” scenes of extreme beauty, created as part of the movie being made. Art (here painting) becomes the one means of transcendence, and the symbol of a higher purpose. The “reproductions”? (really translations) of Rembrandt, Goya, Delacroix and others ‘echo the deep and (they're mostly Biblical) religious beauty of the originals. In these scenes, the kind of passion chronicled by Godard reveals itself ‘When Hanna Schygulla watches a rehearsal videotape she made with Jerzy, in which he directs her lip-synching of an operatic aria, passion surfaces in her con- cer for her performance. “Can you use it?” she asks. ‘Is it really any good?” They ‘embrace tentatively and she appears satis- fied. Later she searches for Jerzy, panic- stricken, and finds him with Isabelle Hup- pert. He tries to avoid her and acts coldly Does she become empty-looking because there's no affair, or because she thinks she won't get to make the film? Is there any dif- ference? Did she prostitute herself for her art? These are examples of passion—passion for art, for making art, for making film and creating Beauty. Passion also as a means of survival. The scene of Gabriel/Jerzy wrestl- ing God’s messenger is an emblem or mise ‘COLUMMA FILM REVIEW, NovennER wes 7cen-abyme for Passion, a sign for the type of passion the film is about. At the close, financing for the film hasn't worked out, and Jerzy is packing up for Poland. Hanna picks up Isabelle walking on an icy roadway. Another young actress won't go with her, but waits until Jerzy drives by, The sense of flight and search is strong as the {wo cars speed off into the snowcovered landscape. What are they pur- suing? Passion is almost naively transparent if you understand its way of telling a story. ‘The narrative connections between events are clearly stated. It’sas though the abstruse angularity of the surface is just a device to ead you into closer contact with the film. Passion’s style is intellectually difficult but emotionally direct. I bet it'd go over great onnetwork TV. —LM. Ernesto Italy 4. Salvatore Samperi ‘There is amoment in Ernesto which ex- presses the dilemma squarely. Ernesto (who is 18) must choose between Emilio and Rachele. Emilio and Rachele are beautiful (nearly identical) twins. The 28-year-old warehouse worker, Emnesto’s first infatua- tion, is by now ruled out of the picture (of possibilities) by virtue of the class difference that exists between them; we know their pas- sionate and tender relationship cannot last, for the dozen symptoms of incompatibility we've witnessed. But these cther two. Why ‘mustit be Rachele and not Emilio? Hismar- riage tothe lovely Rachele will make the two of them such a lovely couple; it will cancel ‘out the bad marriage his own (Jewish) ‘mother made with his (Gentile) father; the Liizzato family is rich, while Ernesto’s ‘Obscure Passions (Pauline at the Beach) legacy is ted to his aunt and mother in some complicated way; the marriage will make ‘everyone happy (except the worker, Emilio, and possibly Ernesto). Marriage to Rachele will bring wealth and blessings, children, societal approval, etc.,etc., etc, solet’s just wish Emilio out of the picture. It is a tribute to Samperi, Umberto Saba (the poet on whose novel the film is based) and to the success of the gay movement in raising the general consciousness regarding sexuality, that one does, for a moment, say “Why not Emilio,”” and that the problem of Emilio's love for Ernesto, and Ernesto’s for him, is not easily wished away. The film is formally quite simple, sweet, attractive— an Italian “art” film like so many “art” films that come and go, but when Emilio is dressed in his sister's clothes, and Rachele is in her brother's—a game they played often as children to confuse their relatives and parents’ friends—one has to ask what i sexual difference? Only in the cinema can the spectator's identity float so freely, suspending normal patterns of identifica tion, and one senses that in 1911,a time so before the myriad of possibilities that we have now, Ernesto is like the film spectator: subject to pressure and manipulation; he is easily persuaded and pushed, like Freud's bisexual child, into heterosexuality. ‘The film is handsome, and convincingly integrates the various locales in and around Trieste where this story takes place: the ‘warehouse where Emesto works for his un- cle, supervising the workers, the house where Ernesto lives with his aunt and uncle and mother (Vina Lisi) the city streets, the Luzzato family villa and gardens, and the Adriatic Sea on which Emnesto’s former school chums sal their gleaming, expensive sailboats. The film is not just about a dreamy, confused adolescent, and is worth seeing as another discourse on love, RL. Pauline at the Beach France d. Eric Rohmer What do we have here in Pauline at the Beach (Pauline a la Plagey? Postures and gesticulations, T. & A.French-style; is there more here than meets the eye? Actual- ly, there is—Pauline a the Beach is another civilized comedy of manners of a very Roh- ‘meresque type. Marion (Arielle Dombasle), fan about-to-be-divorced sylph, and het cousin Pauline (Amanda Langlet) take their rest and relaxation on the Northern shore. ‘There Marion meets an old flame, Pierre (Pascal Gregory), and a new paramour, Henri (Feodor Atkine). As things would happen, jealousy rears its ugly head. Pauline, the sole paradigm of wisdom inthis. film, also has someone over whom to be in ddespair—her boyfriend Sylvain (Simon de la Brosse). Luisette (Rosette) is something. of a ringer. Within the appropriately subtle settings and with simply perfect timing Rohmer makes and unmakes a fine mess, ‘managing to move the cultivated film-goer 10 self-deluding ecstasy. As is usually the case with Nester Alemendros’ photography, there are pastels positively coming outof the eyes, ears, noses and throats of the charac- ters. Theeditingis, thankfully, unassuming, Itmay sound like nit-picking, but before I start let me say that I actually like this movie. I also like Philip Berry plays and their movie adaptations, John Singer ‘Sargent paintings and other such things. I generally try, however, to keep these pecca- dilloes within the bounds of critical per- spective Rohmer belongs in the same cate- gory of passive, slightly self-indulgent plea- sures—petitsriens. The conversations of the characters are as rich as creampuffs, and ultimately as worthless. Perhaps the reason that so many otherwise intelligent people like Rohmer’s films is that they are flattered by what they perceive as the thrill of self- recognition. Some foolhardy prole went so far as to compare Eric Rohmer to Jane Aus- ten—pardon me while I laugh up my long. sleeves. So, then, what is Rohmer trying to do in this third and last of the “Comedies et Pro- verbes'” series? Is this another case in which “a child shall lead them,” or, at least, should lead them? Or is he suggesting that ‘most people, especially those with some rea- soning power which they habitually use, generally bring their problems upon them: selves and are too denseto realizeit? The lat- ter seems most likely, and unlike Ozu, he hhas been unable to transcend his material. But then again, perhaps he doesn't want to. GRC. 8 couusmis mM REVIEW, NOVEMBER 1983OU P.O.V.: Some Early Thoughts on the Nature of the Shot and Its Relation to American Avant-Garde Film Fire of Waters (Stan Brakhage) ‘Audiences spellbound by the first moving Pictures of workers leaving a factory can be ‘excused for not catching on to the real signi- ficance of the event that they were witness- ing. We can’t imagine how they must have been hypnotized by these images of every- day life. This was, afterall, their own image they were seeing. People actually moved on screen. Yet when you come right down toit, audiences sitting in a hall and watching peo- ple move was nothing new. It happened all the time in theatre. Actually, in that early film of workers leaving a’ factory, the workers were the least significant part of the image. You didn’t need film to point out those workers. Lumiere’s camera did not point something out as much as reproduce, to a degree of identifiable verisimilitude, a sight his audiences were familiar with. If anyone in that audience were to be standing. near that factory exit at that time of day, his or her natural inclination would have been tolook at the workers streaming out. And it is this natural inclination that Bazin raises to the level of a “guiding myth.”"'. The “‘con- crete order of causality” leading to the ear- ly Lumiere films, seems to have been dic- tated, according to Bazin, by the need toadd movement, the illusion of life, to the im- ‘mobile human figures of still photography. ‘This explanation of the humanistic origins of cinema throws light on the force which seems to have dictated not only the course of filmmaking since the Lumiere films, with its ever greater reliance on human figures, facial expressions and the concomitant theatricality, but also the course of theoretical thought on film which, in the ‘main, has oscillated between using film to reflect the verisimilitude of a humanistic reality and making film serve the ends of ‘man’s existing languages. No thought on film, except for avenues suggested by cer- tain work of the American avant-garde, has sought to examine the significance of Lumiere’s factory gates, a significance of a different order from that of the overall inematic image of workers streaming out. AAs we examine theoretical thinking on the nature of the shot and the application of this thought to filmmaking, it will become clear to us that the unique significance of Lumiere’s factory gates and in general, the role of inanimate physical reality in cinema appears to form an ideological monolith blocking the evolution of film theory and re- stricting cinematic expression, in the main, toa sterility of forms. Within the dark void of Lumiere's audi- torium, the gates of the Lumiere factory were having their day, as it were. For the first time, in the cultural history of man, in- animate" physical reality which no one ‘would bother noticing was being spotlighted against a dark void via means of an image containing a degree of verisimilitude ‘“un- burdened,” as Bazin would put it, “by the freedom of interpretation of the artist." It is in this fundamental respect that the early Lumiere films differed from being, as itis usually referred to, just a moving photo- graph, whose essence, as Reisz and Millar utit, “could have been equally conveyed in Asiill photograph.” ‘The earliest deducible thought on the nature of the film shot can be traced to the earliest films of the Lumiere brothers. Their procedure was simple. As described by Reisz and Millar, it consisted of choosing a subject which they thought might be inter- esting to record, setting up their camera in front of it and shooting until the stock ran ‘out. It is important to note here that, what could be called the most futuristic of film forms, that of the film installation, turns the clock right back to adopt the technique of the earliest Lumiere films, a technique ex- cemplified by Last Dance (1981) by James Benning. In the program notes to the film installation, John Hanhardt, Curator of the Film and Video Department of the Whitney ‘Museum in New York, says that Benning’s work takes it “to the proto-cinema and ear- ly films of Louis Lumiere.” Benning’s im- ages though are devoid of human figures. His film installation, which is meant to fill the four walls of a room, consists of four static shots of four oil pumps taken at four different times of the day. By means of loops and back projection, the images on the four screens run endlessly. The only technical flaw is the jerk that can be detected at the end of a loop. Albeit in an embryonic form, the futuristic film-as-en- vironment notion can be deduced from the earliest Lumiere films, which Kracauer describes as films “whose themes were Public places.””* If one assumes that what is basic to any art form is timeless as well, then it follows that after film art has shorn itself Of this historical humanistic flotsam of nar- rative technique, theatricality and ideolo- gical content, what remains is the environ- ‘mental essence at the heart of the film shot, ‘Rot so much the “is-ness”” of things, the framing of which is determined by the human eye behind the camera, but the *is- ness" of pure three-dimensional space, which the human eye behind the camera cannot fragment or encompass. The space within a shot continues outside the frame of the shot. Hence, the notion of environment ‘as comprising the essence of cinema. How- ‘ever, between the purity and simplicity of Lumiere and Benning falls an entire gamut of thought on the nature of the film shot ‘hich tries to make the shot fitinto the Pro- crastean bed of humanistic notions. ‘A radically original conception of the nature of the film shot was actually pur for- ward by Sergei Eisenstein and isalso evident in his work. For Eisenstein, the very process of filming was ‘‘a materialization of the conflict between the organizing logic of the director and the inert logic of the object. and hence conflict lay at the very center of Eisenstein’s vision of cinema. However, ac- cording to Eisenstein, the conflict, on wit ever level it operated, was intended to serve the needs of ideology, by which he meant Marxist ideology. It must be noted that while beginning with general assumptions which, ostensibly, seek to free the film ‘medium from the limitations imposed upon it by the Hollywood-type narrative cinema, Eisenstein ends by making the film ‘medium express particular verbal truths and ideological concepts instead of allowing it to express truths of its own. As an analogy to depict the revolutionary aspect of his cine- matic vision, Eisenstein cited the difference between a large coach and a locomotive and stressed that it was not by revolutionizing. the forms of the large coach that the steam engine was produced but “‘but the correct technical calculation of the practical discov- ery of a revolutionary form of energy which hhad not existed before—steam.’™ (Author's emphasis) In the case of film, the ‘new form of energy" (Author’s emphasis) in Eisen- stein’s argument was “the ruling ideo- logy’? which was integral to the production of “forms of revolutionary art." The significance of Eisenstein’s thought on the nature of the film shot is that his general assumptions can be examined independent Of their subservience to technology. Eisenstein traced the montage principleto the combination of hieroglyphs to form an ideogram in Japanese writing. He drew at- tention to the fact that the combination of ‘two hieroglyphs of the simplest series is not regarded as their sum “but as their product, i.e. asa value of another dimension. . .each, separately, corresponds to an object, to a fact, but their combination corresponds toa concept." An example which Eisenstein cites is of the hieroglyph for water combin- eee ‘coum rust neview, Novenmen is 9‘ith the hieroglyph for eye to form an ideogram which signifies to weep. Applying the principle to cinema, Eisenstein argues that the film shot is “‘depictve, sinle in ‘meaning, neutral in content” (Author's ‘empbasis) and thus, shots can be combined “into intellectual contexts and series’ Eisenstein refers to the film shot asa ‘mon- tage cel” (Author's emphasis) a concept arrived at not independent of ideology, as ‘Wollen points out. Wollen quotes a sentence from Lenin's Philosophical Notebooks: ‘in ‘any proposition we can (and must) disclose asin a ‘nuceleus’ (‘cell’) the germs of all the elements of dialectics!" and traces Eisen- siein’s concept of the shot as cello this one sentence. Eisensten's oversimplification of the nature ofthe film shot in order to haveit fit into the Procrustean bed of ideology corresponds to his oversimplification ofthe significance of hieroglyphs. What escapes Eisenstein is the undepictable value in each ofthe strokes which comprise a single hiero- slyph. Ching Ying quotes a noted call srapher, Chang Yen-Yuan as describing the seven basic strokes of ancient Chinese calli- graphy in poetic terms, such as the “first stroke (@ horizontal line)—Clouds stretch ing a thousand miles. Second stroke dot)—a rock falling from a high peak” and so on. Ching goes on to say that “every ny stroke ofa piece of calligraphy has the energy of a living thing.'"" If one applies Eisenstein’s mode of reasoning to Ching’s conception of a hieroglyphic stroke, then the importance ofthe film shot (as a com- bination of hieroglyphs) would le in the ds- rmemberment ofthe film shot through an ex- ploration of the plasticity of the film medium rather than in a combination or “collision” of the film shot with another shot. Nevertheless, the significance of Eisenstein’s conception of the nature of the film shot lies in his highlighting its integral aspect, an idea which came to be developed in the films of the American avant-garde, most notably in the work of Brakhage. isenstein’s own use ofthe integral aspect of the film shot can best be illustrated by the Gods” sequence from his film October. “The sequence begins with the ttle, “In the name of God and Country.”” To decon- struct this concept, Eisenstein starts with a full shot of four cupolas ofa church, each with a cross and ends 28 shots later with a tedium shot of the trunk and round head of an idol. Eisenstein intrjects this progres- sion most notably with shots ofthe bust of a baroque Chris, the bust of a Hindu god, a seated Buddha, a Shintoist Japanese mask and objects of pagan worship. The progres- sion of shots could be said to serve a meta- ‘omic function since the space within which cach of the objects of religious worship is shown to exist bears no relation to the space within which the film’s narrative unfolds. Such a progression of shots of objects in 20 conunems rita review, NovEMBER 183 Last Dance (nstallation by James Benning) unrelated spaces occurs in the American avant-garde film Zorns Lemma by Hollis Frampton with the difference that the ob- jectsin the shots are words and letters which are parts of commercial signs and through the spatial settings within which these commercial signs are shown to exist are unrelated to each other, many of these signs ‘evoke a definite spatial setting lying outside the film frame. While keeping to Eisenstein’s vision of the integral aspect of the film shot, Framptom doesnot negate the space within the film frame in which the subject of his shot is shown to exist. In negating this fundamental aspect of space within the film frame, Eisenstein’s concep- tion of the nature of the film shot could be said to limit the potential of the film medium by keeping it in a state of perpetual subservience to ideology. ‘What has to be noted in the above outline of the early history of thought on the nature Of the film shot is, as Annette Michelson points out, that the debate, “fruitful or aca- demic, took place within a context of broad agreement as to the probable or desirable directions of the medium. Styles, forms, inventions and theoretical preoccupations were largely complementary, not contradic- tory. A spectrum, rather than a polarity, of possibilities was involved.’ According to Michelson, this international ‘framework of concord’” came to an end in the late 1920's when the craft of film became an industry, resulting in “a fall from Grace’ and a “dissociative principle”? brought about by the division of labor. The impact Of this was felt in the field of film theory as, ‘well since, as Andrew puts it, ‘the goal of film theory is to formulate a schematic notion of the capacity of film.””™ The industrialization of film craft combined with the theatrical mode of film viewing resulted not only in limiting the exploration of the plasticity of the film medium but, until the ‘emergence of the American avant-garde films of the 60's, the content as well of the film shot to recognizable elements. Thus, Brian Henderson is able to classify the prin- cipal film theories that have developed into ‘two types: theories concerned with “the relations between cinematic parts and wholes’ such as those of Eisenstein and Pudovkin and theories concerned with “the relation of cinema to reality’”™ such asthose of Bazin and Kracauer. No doubt the thea- trical mode of film viewing with its con- comitant need for aready comprehension of the film shot resulted in the development of the second type of film theories. What Hen- derson does not emphasizes that both types of film theories limit the content ofthe film shot to recognizable elements. What Hen- derson does point out is that both types of theories ‘‘consider shot and sequence in terms of cinematic form and then the whole film in terms of literary models.””” Hender- son is thus correct in saying that ‘there has ‘not yet been a comprehensive or complete film: theory.” theoretical vision, there has not yet emerged. a film theory that has set forth the properties Of the film shot, its relation to other shots and a precise method based upon the preceding whereby two hours of film can be held together by an organic cohesiveness. ‘What has emerged is a radically different conception of the nature of the film shot as. ‘evidenced in the writings and films of the American avant-garde filmmakers, most notably those of Stan Brakhage. It is interesting to note how critical opinion towards such a radically different concep- tion of filmmaking changes over a period of ‘eight years even though the filmmaker in question has not added significantly to his body of work. Writing in 1966, Michelson sees the films of Brakhage as representing an “uncritical parody of Abstract Expression- ist orthodoxy." Writing in 1974, Michel- son finds that ‘“Brakhage has moved through the climate and pace of Abstract Expressionism’? and that ““Brakhage posits optical space as the ‘uncorrupted? ‘dwelling of the imagination which consti- tutes it.”*" Such a change of opinion could ‘be explained by the anomaly that Brakhage is pethaps the firs filmmaker in the history of film to demand a different mode of film viewing for his films. When Brakhage’s Dog ‘Star Man is seen in a conventional way, the result isa critical opinion much like that of Parker Tyler who found that the ‘image se- quences went by at express-like speed’”™= and that "This ‘effect? loses value minute by minute, even second by second””® since “form requires rest as well as propulsion, definition as well as impression.” (Author's emphasis) However, it must be noted that it isn’t just the speed at which Dog Star Man unfolds that seems to con- found critical opinion. Peter Yeager points ut a fundamental difference in Brakhage’s aesthetic which marks a departure from the belief that binds together all of modern art, namely that ‘no part of a work of modem art can be removed without damaging the unified shape and so obscuring the mean- ing.”” According to Yeager, “any number of inches or feet of celluloid. . .could be cutIv. or added (to Dog Star Man) with no effect cn the form.’ Yeager goes on to conclude that whereas “in familiar modern art, all parts work together to make up a whole, in the Brakhage movie, each part is the whole.” (Author's emphasis) Yeager does not define what he means by “part."” Ho ‘ever, itcan besaid that Yeager’s conclusion valid in appreciating Brakhage’s aesthetic provided the viewer attempts to grasp the sig- nificance of each part in addition to that of the whole and not in place of it and more important, the viewer takes each “part” to ‘mean not ‘each sequence or movement or soene or shot but each frame. This is what lies at the core of Brakhage’s conception of the nature ofthe film shot. art Il of Dog Star Man serves as an ideal illustration of this. This part opens with a drawing of a single snow crystal that moves, across the frame from the lower right to- wards the center left against a black back- ground. The path of the crystals significant as it jolts the viewer out of a conditioned mode of perception determined by language. According to Brakhage, “most movie pans are left-to-right because of the habit pattern of reading.” The crystal is followed by certain other cut-outs that move jerkily across the screen. At the normal speed of projection, it is virtually impossible to discern the images contained within these cut-outs. It is only when the {film is projected in stop-frame motion that itbecomes evident that one cut-out isacolor photograph of a litte girl while another cut- out is a photograph of a part of a nude female torso in dark green monochrome. This animated movement is followed by a live-action shot of the protagonist of the film descending down a snowy mountain- side towards the lower left ofthe frame. The important shots that follow, in terms of recurring visual elements, are those of a baby, first asleep then awake, flickering shots of a rock, shots of the sun and trees, shots of rushing blood, an extreme close shot of a woman's nipple, dripping milk and shots of the protagonist fallen in the snow. AAs the shots are very brief and blend into ‘one another through layers of superimposi- tion and hand-painted designs, it would seem that Brakhage intended the entire Part to be seen as one shot, since through the continuity of superimposition and hand- painting, he does away with the clear de- marcation between one shot and another. Sitney points out with referece to Anticipa- tion of the Night that Brakhage “challenges the integrity of the shot as the primary unit of cinema.” However, it must be noted that try as hard as he might, Brakhage cannot destroy the spatial or temporal identity ofa film shot. No amount of super- imposition or paint can gloss over the granite aspect of a film shot, an aspect, Eisenstein emphasized. What_is radical in Brakhage’s filmmaking is that the film shot relates almost wholly to space, lacking any temporal aspect whatsoever. Itisthis lack of temporal aspect in Brakhage’s conception Of the nature of the film shot—his total dis- regard for the time taken for the visual elements of a shot to register at the normal speed of projection—that appears to confound most of the published critical opinion on this film. Furthermore, the wholly spatial aspect of a film shot in Dog ‘Star Man becomes emphasized when one considers that Brakhage dispenses with any use of sound whatsoever, thereby freeing the viewer’s sensibility from the bondage to time that exists with every sound film. This wholly spatial aspect in Brakhage’s conception of the nature of the film shot provides for the fullest exploitation not only ‘of what can be registered on film but also of what can be done to alter what has been tered on film. What has to be borne in mind is that Brakhage emphasizes in his, writings that technical innovation in film- making must grow out of the filmmaker’s act of seeing with an eye “‘unruled by man- made laws of perspective"™ and ‘unpreju- diced by compositional logic.” Brakhage admits that he makes it a point ‘never 10 contrive a ‘trick’’"* in his filmmaking “by ‘making all technical explorations the direct expression of acts of seeing (rather than making an image to-be-seen).""*? An example of this could be the instance when Brakhage was photographing the birth of, his children and ‘‘saw that with their first in takes of breath their whole bodies were suf- fused with rainbow colors from head to toe—but the film stock always recorded only the spread of reddish blotches across the surface of the skin."" Brakhage then “felt compelled to paint some approxima- tion (of what he had seen) directly on the surface of the 16mm film and superimpose, as it were, this over the photographed images of birth.’** The above creative process combined with the lack of any temporal aspect linked tothe film shot demands certain sensibility fon the part of the viewer which could be described as antithetical to that required in the theatrical mode of film viewing. The need for such a sensibility seems to have cluded the gamut of published criticism of Dog Star Man, However, Brakhage himself writes of “bypassing the theatrical limitation of film viewing entirely,""® his films ‘‘created not only with a sense of the projected experience, but also. ..with an eye to their speaking just as strips of cellu- loid held in the hand and to the light which can illuminate their multi-colored forms" so that ‘‘such a viewing (or any other, such as a frame at a time through a slide pro- jector) can and should be so integral with the projected experience as to add another mension to that projected experience. If a conception of the nature of the film shot can be held as valid “if and only if,” as ‘Andre Breton, quoted by Michelson, writes, quiver with a sense of the future," then itis undoubtedly with Brakhage at one ‘end of the spectrum and with Benning at the ‘other that hope fr a pure cinema is, ve For a pure Cvivek Adarkar 1, Ande Bain, Whot fs Cinema Volume 1 (Ber keiey, Univer of California Pres, 195). pp. 2 2. Bazin. op pp. 3. Bazin. op cit pp 2. 4. Karel Rela and Gavia Mir, he Technique of, Fim ding (Communication As Books, 1968), pp. 6. Program notes ofthe Whitney "scum of ‘American Ar, "New American Fitumaters Sve," September 24October I, 198 6 SfriedKracauer, Theor) of Flm (New York Oxford Univesity res, 1960). pp. 3 7 Serge Eesti, Flint Form (NewYork: Harcourt, Brace, and Co, 1949) pp. 40 8. Adams Sitney, ed. Te Avan Cade Cinema: A Reade of Theory and Cram (New York: New ‘York Unversity Pres, 1978) pp 7 9 sites, bd pp. 7. 10, Sine. bd. pp. 1. 1 Siey: bd: pp 17 12, Ebene, opt. pp 30. 1B, Bsenstin op. stp. 30. 14. Eisenstein, opt pp. 30 15, Essen op. pp. 36. 16, Peter Wot, Sins and Meaning inthe Cinema (London: Secker and Warburg, 196) pp 7. 17. Ching Ying, "The Ida inte Brus and the ews inthe dea” (Aipen No 10, Section 8) 1. Ching Ving, op. ci 19, Beaten, op. cpp 36 20. P. Adams Stes, Flr Culture Reader (New York: Praeger Publishers, 1970) pp. 40 21. Sey, dp. 08 22 Seyi pO, 23 Snes ip. 0, 24. J. Dudley Andiew, The Major Fl Theories (Condon: Oxford University Pres, 1976 pps. 25 ll Nichol, e. Moves and Methods Berkeley: Universty of Cafornia Pres, 196) pp. 390. 40, Anette Michelson, “Camera Obscura: The Cinema of Stan Brakhage™ (New Forms in Fin— Montrese, Aust $24 1974) pp. 4. 31. Michelion iid. p40. 52. Parker Tyler, "An Open Letter to Stan Brakhage fiom Parker Tyle” (Finis 35. Tyler, bid. pp. 18. M4. Tye ibid pp. 18 35. Peer Yeager, ‘Dog Star Man: An Appreciation” ‘niholopzed nn Iirdution fo Fim Cite by Jetre H. Richards. (Chapel Hil: Department of Engl, Unversity of North carolina at Chapel Hil 1979 pp. 29. 236, Yate, iid. pp. 260 37, Yeager, ibid: pp. 289 43, Stan Hrakhane, In Defense of the Amateur Fl maker" (Rimmaker’s Newleuer “Vol 4 No.1, July-August, 197) pp. 23. 59:8 Ais Sty, Vor Film Ovo: Qian Unersiy Pres, 179) p, Te the vont arae Chea Road? of Theory land Citi pp. 120, ei pp. 19, {2 “In Defense ofthe Amateur Filmmaker” pp 23. 2. Bid. pp 2. 446 1d. pp. 2 48. 1. pp. 2 46. Bi. pp.28 47. Brakhage, Metaphors on Vision (New York: Fim ure Ine, 1963) Unpaginate. i. Unpagnated 1, Fim Culture Reader pp, 421 COLUMBIA FEM neviEW, NovenpeR 1m 11Ou WEEK OF NOV. 1—7 NOV. 3: MEPHISTO, (1981, Istvan Szabo), Zooprax; Altschul Hall, Barnard; 8pm, 10:30pm; $1 admission. YVICTOR/VICTORIA, (1982, Blake Edwards) Ferris Reel; Wollman Auditorium, Ferris Booth Hall; 6pm, 8:30pm, 1pm. NOT A LOVE STORY—A Film About Porno- graphy Reelpolitik; Earl Hall; 8pm; $2 donation, THE TENANT (1976, Roman Polanski) Cine- matheque; 511 Dodge; 8pm INVESTIGATION OF A CITIZEN (1970 Elio Petri) Casa Italiana; Piccolo Teatro; 7pm; $2 w/CUID, 83 others. FRANCES (1982, Graeme Clifford) Ferris Reel; Woll- man Auditorium, Ferris Booth Hall; 6pm, 8:30pm, lpm. THE SEDUCTION OF MIMI (1974, Lina Wert- muller) Casa Italiana; Piccolo Teatro; 3pm; $2 w/CUID, $3 others. Nov. 4 NOV.6 WEEK OF NOVEMBER 15—21 NOV. 15 HOW I WON THE WAR (1967, Richard Lester) Zooprax; Altschul Hall, Barnard; 7pm, 9pm, 11pm; $1 ‘admission. ‘GANDHI (1982, Richard Attenborough) Ferris Reel; Wollman Auditorium, Ferris Booth Hall; 6:30 pm, 1pm. WHITE — NIGHTS(957, __Luchino Cinematheque; 511 Dodge Hall; 8pm. DEAD OF NIGHT (1945, Alberto Cavalcanti & Rob Hamer) Ferris Reel; Schiff Room, Ferris Booth Hall; 3pm, ROCCO AND HIS BROTHERS (1960, Luchino Visconti) Casa Italiana; Piccolo Teatro; 7pm; $2 w/CUID, $3 others. ‘THE THREEPENNY OPERA (1931, G.W. Pabst) Zooprax; Altschul Hall, Barnard; 7pm, 9pm, 11pm; $1 admission NOV. 17 NOV. 18: Visconti) NOV. 20 HOMER. cheeks out advipmant frome tre ER Toons on aha tn the tong pete yoo ba eyo tevp oF ales ng biaeh man yoo Bch Ia Se meee of tam ‘And | wont thas nety TW hak Regn Tinea ae see cameras yiget tat th stoatia tie veers SS SA Ge nagge we bon of ins trae meng over the hood, Menem the pole Feu off and mene streugie trie Yeays inated] Dna she ciearh jet Lind af Counce fee Bouin he oe Joking, bot the bg protun ie = 1 forget So Ga a close-up of Clnirad nee for An, WEEK OF NOVEMBER 8-14 NOV.8 CARROT GOLD: Classic Warner Bros. Cartoons (Chuck Jones) Zooprax; Altschul Hall, Barnard; 7pm, ‘Spm, lpm; $1 admission LILI MARLEEN (1981, Rainer Werner Fassbinder) Ferris Reel; Wollman Auditorium, Ferris Booth Hall; 7pm, 9:15pm, 11:30pm, UNDERGROUND Reelpolitik; Ear! Hall; 8p NOV. 11 QUATRE NUITS D’UN REVEUR (1971, Robert Bresson) Cinematheque; 511 Dodge; 8pm. L’ATALANTE & ZERO DE CONDUITE (1934, Jean Vigo) Ferris Reel; Schiff Room, Ferris Booth Hall, 3pm. SEVEN BEAUTIES (1976, Lina Wertmuller) Casa Italiana; Piccolo Teatro; 7pm; $2 w/CUID, $3 others. CAT BALLOU (1965, Elliot Silverstein) Zooprax; Altschul Hall, Barnard; 7pm, 9m, lpm; $1 admission, LOVE AND ANARCHY (1975, Lina Wertmuller) Casa Italiana; Piccolo Teatro; 3pm; $2 w/CUID, $3 others. NOV. 10 ; $2. donation. CHILLY SCENES OF WINTER (1981, Joan Micklin’ Silver) Ferris Reel; Wollman Auditorium; Ferris Booth Hall; 7pm, 9pm, 11pm. ALL SCREWED UP (1976, Lina Wertmuller) Casa Italiana; Piccolo Teatro; 7pm; $2 w/CUID; $3 others. WEEK OF NOVEMBER 22—30 NOV. 22 EATING RAOUL (1981, Paul Bartel) Zooprax; Altschul Hall, Barnard; "7pm, 9pm, lpm{ Si admission. THE GRAPES OF WRATH (1940, John Ford) Zooprax; Altschul Hall, Barnard; 7pm, 9:15pm, 11:30pm; $1 admission. YANINA VANINI (1961, Roberto Rossellini) Casa Italiana; Piccolo Teatro; 7pm; $2 w/CUID, $3 others. KLUTE (1971, Alan J. Pakula) Zooprax; Altschul Hall, Barnard; 7pm, 9pm, 11pm; $1 admission. NOV. 27 NOV. 28 NOV. 29 SSF 12. covummia rium Review, NOVEMBER 193