dirty

Dirty
d. Stephen Dwoskin, 1971

Stephen Dwoskin's Dirty is anything but. In fact, it's closer to the melancholy longing of Chris Marker's La jetee (1962) than the eroticism of Jean Genet's Un chant d'amour (1950), though both films have a certain influence over this one. Unlike Genet's film, which is a masterpiece of rhythmic compositions coupled with tribal drums, Dirty is rather silent and meditative, more formally controlled. Dwoskin is more interested in investing his time in the structural aims of his work. Truly a one of a kind film, Dirty manipulates film by stopping on certain frames, slowing down others, and letting some just be what they are. In addition, the flickering and gritty quality of the film is nothing short of astonishing. Essentially, this is Andy Warhol's Beauty #2 (1965) but without the icy arrogance; instead, Dwoskin uses his subjects--identified as Barbara and Ann during the title sequence consisting of crumpled paper--to explore the relationship between movement and time, space and film.

P.S. Will someone please get me some more of Dwoskin's work? Dyn Amo (1972), perhaps...

odin's shield maiden

Odin's Shield Maiden
d. Guy Maddin, 2007

Still haven't gotten around to watching any of Maddin's feature films, but his shorts continue to astound me. His latest, a 5-minute experiment titled Odin's Shield Maiden is quite beautiful if not all that thematically engaging. Essentially, it's a series of black-and-white shots of several women mourning the drowning of a guy named Mundi near the shore. The photography is, needless to say, stunning, and Maddin's lyrical rhythms are spot on. Still no Heart of the World (2001)--or even My Dad is 100 Years Old (2005)--but wonderful to watch, anyway.

grindhouse

Grindhouse
d. Robert Rodriguez and Quentin Tarantino, 2007

I guess the "two directors for the price of one" fest continues. Not really much to say about this one, except that I really doubt I'll have more fun in a theater this year (unless I actually get to watch Lynch's Inland Empire. Pretty please.)This nostalgic and heartfelt piece of pop cinema is as perfectly-executed as one would have hoped. However, as there are two films by two very different directors with varying styles and approaches, comparisons are inevitable. On every count, Tarantino's Death Proof is superior to Rodriguez's Planet of Terror. The latter works fine as a "grindhouse" zombie film, but never engages on the same formal or narrative level as the former. Those calling Death Proof Tarantino's best film to date are not far off. Go see it; the three hours just fly by. It won't be as much fun on DVD.

performance

Performance
d. Donald Cammell and Nicholas Roeg, 1970

Stunning and mystifying, Donald Cammell and Nicholas Roeg's 1970 work Performance is an all-too eerie film. It's such an unshakable experience not so much because of what the film itself presents, but for the very fact that, even after sitting through the entire movie, I still know very little about it. Characters are there on the screen, but they're never fully developed. Mick Jagger's rock star, for instance, is as valuable to Performance as a stained glass window with his portrait.

The story--what there is of it--concerns a British gangster getting too into his violent work, leading to the death of one of his colleagues. Scared, Chas runs away and ends up renting the basement of Jagger's building. Needless to say, the gangster does not fit in with the artist's hippie crew--the only reason Jagger lets him stay is because Chas tells him he is a different sort of artist, a juggler. From what we can derive of Chas, he's both anti-establishment, anti-individuality, and hates drugs, foreigners, and free love. However, Cammell, who wrote the film, and Roeg, who shot it, never really hit on any of these strands. Instead, they are allowed to weave in and out of the frame, never really becoming more than vague little notes.

In the end, Performance is undeniably fascinating, mostly due to Roeg's expert photography and the formal, exacting rigor every scene has. At its best, the film works as an avant-garde experience closer to Warhol and Garrel than whatever it was the filmmakers were going for. The scenes in Jagger's den are as hypnotic as they are terrifying.

I have no idea what the film, and its ending particular, means, but by the end of Performance--as in countless films from the 70s--it hardly matters. Jagger's crazed and lovely performance alone is reason to sit through this film. Who knows? It might even make sense after another viewing.