Thursday, July 26, 2012

The Clock


Christian Marclay's 24-hour film/video/whatsit The Clock, now playing for 2 weeks at the Lincoln Center Atrium, is one of the most compulsively watchable films in recent memory. It can also be quite exhausting after a while, since there is little discernible narrative development other than the passage of time to keep one engaged over the long haul. But those clips are so skillfully edited, and there is such a wealth and variety of films and TV shows utilized, that a cinephile can get a constant adrenalin rush of recognition. The concept of showing a clock or watch with the exact time at least once every minute, matching the real time in which the shot is being screened, is a fascinating one. And the editing rhythm, which varies from fairly long clips to a rush of short shots, makes one continually aware of how time passes in "real" life and how important it is as a narrative element in so many films. After all, a film takes place over a certain length of time, so why not make a film that's about nothing but time?

The Clock uses straightforward editing of the visual elements of the clips, with no added dissolves or fadeouts, but it employs sound bridges and overlaps between different clips to suggest subtle or not-so-subtle connections. My favorite use of this device began with the familiar music from Kubrick's Eyes Wide Shut which played for about 5 seconds before the clip actually started, and continued briefly after the clip until a character in the next clip lifted a phonograph needle from a record. The selections and juxtapositions are often quite funny. Marclay made the decision to show all the clips in the same aspect ratio, stretching Academy ratio films and squeezing Scope images. While some cinephiles might object to this distortion, it has the effect of presenting a more homogenous visual field even as it jumps between silent and sound films or black-and-white and color. While most of the clips are in English, there are a sizable number of foreign-language films, none of which contain subtitles.

In my first shift watching The Clock, from 12:23-2:45 pm last Saturday, I was pleased to see several Asian films in the mix, including Tokyo Story, What Time Is It There? and In the Mood for Love. During my second shift, last night from 7:19-8:43 pm, there was a particularly rich auteur period from about 8:30-8:40 that included clips from Resnais's Muriel, Kieslowski's A Short Film About Love and Lang's The Thousand Eyes of Doctor Mabuse. I hope to see more this weekend.

Tuesday, July 3, 2012

A Burning Hot Summer Weekend

Beware of a Holy Whore (Rainer Werner Fassbinder)

 A Burning Hot Summer (Philippe Garrel)

Moana (Robert Flaherty)

This past weekend began with a rare screening of R.W. Fassbinder's Beware of a Holy Whore. Besides its many behavioral and formal beauties, sardonic humor and painfully honest autobiographical representation of a tortured location shoot, it afforded me one last chance to see Werner Schroeter and his muse Magdalena Montezuma onscreen again following the great month-long Schroeter retrospective at MoMA. Fassbinder gives Montezuma a gorgeous last shot in a boat retreating from the film's turmoil after she's been thrown off the set by the tyrannical director, scored to an aria Schroeter himself might have chosen.

I don't have much to say about Philippe Garrel's A Burning Hot Summer except that it deals with love, death, politics and cinema in intriguing if not completely satisfying ways.

The great revelation of the weekend was Robert Flaherty's remarkable 1926 docudrama Moana, receiving a rare screening at Anthology with the new soundtrack created for it in 1981 by Flaherty's daughter Monica. This new soundtrack attempts to recreate authentic music, sound effects and dialogue to accompany the film's original silent images and succeeds remarkably well. Flaherty manages to place his camera to capture every detail of the island's natural beauty, the light playing on the trees and water, the work rituals and coming-of-age ceremonies, and the casual eroticism of this harmonious Samoan community. The film in many ways anticipates Murnau and Flaherty's 1931 masterpiece Tabu but is far less well known.

Bonus image:
Magdalena Montezuma (right) in Werner Schroeter's The Death of Maria Malibran