Viewing Log #74: Eyebrows up [2/14/11 - 2/21/11]

by Ryland Walker Knight

• PRINCE AT THE ORACLE I lost my voice, I danced myself some kind of clean, I felt three kinds of emotions for three different people beside me, I felt other emotions for people not beside me, I laughed, I was happy to be alive. A unique night indeed.
  
• The Leopard [Luchino Visconti, 1963] So, as some may know, I left at intermission. I'd fallen asleep about eight different times and all I knew when the house lights came up was that Burt liked to fuck and Alain lost an eyeball. Figured I was missing something. So I left. I stepped outside and that bright San Francisco sun, the kind you only see when it's 48 degrees outside, met me like a meal and I walked over to a bar with a good window full of that light and I read more Pnin and I laughed out loud and I drank a beer and I felt happy with my choices.
  
  
• Unstoppable [Tony Scott, 2010] # Still as pure as the day I saw it, only this time I was more attuned to certain sociological lenses brought to bear by some of my friends (or just one friend in particular), which I don't exactly vibe with since I think it's a victory that it's about the working class. Sad that's a victory, and weird that an abusive husband (he didn't hit her but he was sure wrong) is our main point of identification, but, still: this movie looks and moves and feels better to watch than just about any action movie of late.
  
• Slings and Arrows First Season, episodes 1-3 [Peter Wellington, 2003] Written and acted better than it's shot/edited, but such is the pratfall of a lot of TV; point is that it's conceptually rather perfect, sometimes poignant and I want to see the backstory unfold. It's on Instant.
  
  
• Pneuma [Nathaniel Dorsky, 1983, 29 mins @ 18fps] Kinda like a drone album without the sound! Certainly, it was gorgeous. But I'm not so certain it needed its length. There was something biological about the energy within the frame in this one, with all those motes dancing and colliding and after-image-ing on my retinae, which is maybe what Dorsky meant when he said he was trying to be as humane to and with the film as possible. (Without humans, without figures.)
  
• Metal Cravings [Elise Hurwitz, 1990–1997, 5 mins] Brian made an interesting point: though this paint-with-emulsion chemistry game was obviously the product of elements brewed, it felt biological.
  
• Light Shaft [Vincent Grenier, 1975, 8 mins] Something of an obvious parallel to how cinema works in a theatre but I do love windows (they're eyes!) and I love the shifts of light caught here from rather simple tools and execution. As with all the films of the evening, this one lives by its breath, its rhythms; that is, when it allows you a breath. Which is an odd thing to say about something so fixed on an image of vision. Which makes me think blinks are the eyes breathing.
  
• Soundtrack [Barry Spinello, 1969, 10 mins] Really funny. Inventive use of paint to make images into sound in a material way. (That's the whole point, btw, since Spinello painted the same images within the frame as on the soundtrack to do some hilarious synesthesiac rhythms.)
  
• XFilm [John Schofill, 1968, 14 mins] Dug the dreamlike associative patterns and the doubling/tripling/quadrupling of some images, but the logic wasn't exactly dreamlike nor was it structured all that tight. In fact, the factory of dreams idea was a little on-the-nose. That said, I also liked how somber the film felt. For such a figurative film, it's surprising the affect was the organizing force, not the repetition of certain forms.
  
• Stroboscopic Images [Dion Vigné, 1964, 6 mins] Again, nice to see some old versions of things that are now somewhat commonplace but the music, I thought, dated it a bit too easily. Or maybe that was the Belson.
  
• Allures [Jordan Belson, 1961, 9 mins] Kitschy, almost, at this late date. But still great fun to look at if only because my fatigue and inability to breath all that well made me feel like I was on painkillers.
  
• Obmaru [Patricia Marx, 1953, 4 mins] Honestly? Can't tell you what this one was like.
  
  
• Blue Valentine [Derek Cianfrance, 2010] Michelle Williams' Cindy is as woefully underwritten as Ryan Gosling is attractive and she winds up a walled-off villain given this imbalance. Seems unfair. Especially with that sideways inclusion of her total sexual partners tally, which is nothing if not unnecessary as it's just another knock against her and her judgment skills since, given the setting this is relayed within, it is way too easily a magic marker writing the word "slut" on the screen. Instead of "woman" or, you know, "human." Still worth seeing, though, if only for Gosling's absurd charm and some of the rather beautiful images.

Viewing Log #35: Baby birch bleat bang [2/22/10 - 2/28/10]

by Ryland Walker Knight

—Culture clash

• The Holy Girl [Lucrecia Martel, 2004] Just as soon as I wrap up another Word Doc, I'm gonna give this a go, finally, for words to be read elsewhere and later. A real "thinker," as they say.
  
• Shutter Island [Martin Scorsese, 2010] # Yeah, I went again. More shortly. But, quickly, I'll say that the music is the best part and that I was surprised at, again, how everything feels.
  
  
• Landscape Suicide [James Benning, 1986] Okay, I get it now, Matt. Great, just great. Was more partial to the first part set in Orinda, but not only because I used to live there and manage that movie theatre; also because her interview, with all its stammering and indecision, not to mention her note of confession and all its pain, made sense and made her isolation in herself feel real. Put otherwise, it turns the formal into a pathetic appeal. Gein, on the other hand, became more othered, less human. I'd love to see it again, or read a smart text about it, to address my curiosity with its gender divide. At first blush, my neophyte eyes say it's maybe the film of the 1980s. Maybe not my favorite, but easily one of The Great Things.
  
• American Dreams [James Benning, 1984] Kinda like a great video podcast (only so emulsified that's a silly comparison) with three different threads twined and abutting/overlapping. I spent most of my time reading the Bremer letters and listening to "the radio" while largely ignoring the particulars of the Hank Aaron cards and jigsaws. For that reason, it took me a while to realize that the numbers that kept fading up and down were his home run totals tallying up. Overall a pretty damned tight picture, one worth a look at least twice. And there is a curio corkscrewed into it: Benning himself. From Milwaukee, he must have been a fan of Aaron, and may have collected more than a few of those cards, if not all of them. And what does his inclusion in these dreams mean? I'm not one for investigating behind the screen all that much, but it seems impossible not to here, despite the abundance of material culled from general Americana. Because, if Benning's singing this song (these songs), what's his dream? Only to critique? Or just to witness? How's it not his diary, too?
  
  
• Shutter Island [Martin Scorsese, 2010] Plenty surprised by this one, but not by the so-called twist, and not because I "saw it coming" or whatever but because everything fits from the get-go. Plenty more to say, even after all the internet mess. Will try my hand at it for another outlet shortly. Mostly I dig stories about storytelling, and architecture, so this was a treat on that level. And it kicked me in some sore spots in unexpected ways.
  
  
• The Wire: "The Target" [S1E1, Clark Johnson, 2002] Somehow forgot all about this episode. Not a single scene seemed familiar. The pacing's all wonky, nobody's in a rhythm and it's only the dialog that's interesting. Or so it appeared to me. I was tired and full of risotto. Still, there are some good things, of course, and some jokes, but it's so damned self-serious it's kind of obnoxious. Maybe I'll go through Season One again while it's on demand. I do want to see the "Fuck" scene again in the context of its episode.
  
  
• Lost: "Lighthouse" [S6E5, Jack Bender, 2010] Kind of like a big 45 minutes of "duh" (but what do I know?).
  
• Winter [Nathaniel Dorsky, 2008] tweet: all in the rain beads on that hood / truly SF / floating quince blossoms in plastic, & so many circles / the wettest, most palpable
  
• Aubade [Nathaniel Dorsky, 2010] tweet: bright, static / color lines dont twirl / purple rises, stands, almost billows, sways / closes with a door closing
  
• Compline [Nathaniel Dorsky, 2009] tweet: aerial, more angular / more pools of light round clouds / a ribbon of blue carousels across a diagonal near forever / lift off
  
• Sarabande [Nathaniel Dorsky, 2008] tweet: a nest, thatched thick / to reorient gravities / to look *through* things at the world.
  
  
• The Same River Twice [Rob Moss, 2003] # The first half hour or so, for a little ditty I'll link to soon. For now: Karen Schmeer, you knew how to weave things. Now this film takes on even more sentimental value—and I never got to meet you! Also worth noting: can't wait to go rafting this summer.
  
• A Serious Man [Coens, 2009] # Yikes! More here, in simple and (I guess) serious terms. The revisit made me think of sound a lot, and tuning, but that didn't make it into the finalized edit. In fact, I think a lot more things. I could probably write two thousand words, not just six hundred, on this movie.

Represent Repertory #3: Tiers on tires, on tableaux

by Ryland Walker Knight

—Nothing?
Really, if you didn't read Brian's Tati preview, you should. He's got all the links you need and then some, including this one, which points to a translation by Bert Cardullo, complete with introductory table setting, of Bazin's review of M. Hulot's Holiday at Bright Lights. I missed the PFA screening on Thursday because of a certain poodle's stubborn ways and the resulting headache that installed but I am hoping to maybe trek up to the Rafael this week to catch it since that theatre is even better, and easily better than the YBCA screening room and the Red Vic (Jan 28 and Feb 3/4 respectively), not to mention the fact that, despite certain impulses (and my reputation?), I don't want to spend all day Saturday, January 30th, at the PFA.

I do, however, want to spend some time there on that day because, in addition to all the Tati going on around town these first two months of twenty-ten, the PFA will be hosting a Val Lewton series. Last summer I watched a bunch of the films via Netflix, but I've never seen them on a big screen so I'm pretty damned excited for that light and those shadows to meet my eyes all emulsified. What's more, the series is structured around double bills, which seems particularly apt given the B-movie status/history of Lewton's catalog. (Also, as many of you know, I'm a fan of that film-going format.) To a certain extent, I plan to mimic my Dreyer and Resnais format/s for this series, so expect some enthusiastic notes once the series starts next weekend, on the 22nd, with one of the best pairs imaginable: Cat People followed by The Seventh Victim. Not only are both films brisk (neither tops 75 minutes), they're plain bizarre—especially Robson's Victim, which I did not do justice to back at first blush. Flip-side: I'm particularly proud of this Cat People image essay. More to come for sure.

Though I may miss the James Benning night at YBCA on Friday, February 26th, I am marking the Nathaniel Dorsky evening earlier that week, on the 23rd at the PFA, as a must-attend. First billed as a trio, the night is now a full quartet of films. I've been very excited to see Sarabande and Winter since they debuted at TIFF 2008 and spawned a number of great articles, including a pair from The Notebook: Darren Hughes' interview with Dorsky and David Phelps' consideration of Sarabande (from its NYFF showing). If I play the game well enough, I might be able to interview Dorsky as well as have the chance to write about his newer works ahead of the pack as (I'm guessing, since he's bringing them with him) the second pair of films on the program that evening, titled Compline and Aubade, will be enjoying their Bay Area premieres. (I'll get back to you on all that, but, for now know that it's all very exciting. Especially since I've got my own brand-spankin-new copy of Devotional Cinema already broken in, already not-so-spankin-new.

Finally, to round things out, there will be a reprise of Hou Hsiao-hsien's City of Sadness on Saturday February 20th, which follows a putatively rare Ozu the night before, a silent gangster melodrama from 1930 called That Night's Wife. I hope to see both. But now, on this rather gorgeous day, I need to go for a run before I catch Jour de fête a little later on across the Bay.