Friday, July 28, 2006

Studs Terkel

Wednesday, July 26, 2006

Terry Gilliam


For the past decade, my favorite film of Gilliam's has been this one. "Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas" undoubtable owes no small debt to its author either. But, to have brought Thompson's novel to life is no small feat. Whether you credit Gilliam or his D.O.P. the way the camera moves in this scene, it actually made me feel like I was tripping when I saw it in the movie theater. This film has the ability to both make want to never drop acid, but at the same time I'm capitivated to the narrative, covetious, envious of these two articluate orangutans. The way they hurl themselves head first towards adventure towards danger even against their own better judgement. Yes, its self destructive, but at the same time it is so capitvating, liberating.


Dsytopian visions are becoming pretty hum drum. Especially all the stuff that comes out of the hollywood system as of late. Here we have the requiste elements of the dystopian vision but recombined and approached in such a novel method that this film quite literally can not be duplicated. Comparisons to Brave New World or 1984 fail to convay the value and scope of this story. No one else in any artistic form could make this sort of dystopian tale. Despite the desolation and dread in this world the characters live in there is a hope and a whimsy that survives in full sincerity through most of the picture. The razor's edge of satire and characature are walked with such confidence and quality.

I first saw this film on UHF tv (remember UHF?). It was the "Hollywood" ending. I was a pre-teen and was of course mesmerized by the story telling and in my own way so satisfied, so fulfilled by the Hollywood ending. To have seen Sam triumphant in the endgave me such a lift. Of course living on the edge of the Florida everglades in the eighties on dirt roads, I had no idea about Gilliam's struggles with Hollywood and that I had not seen the actual film as it was intented. Years later while in either my last year of middle school or my first year of high school, isaw brazil again (probably on VHS) I knew that there were 2 different cuts of the picture, but I had no idea how different. I was devastated when I saw Gilliam's intented ending. Strangely enough, I wouldn't trade my approach to this film for any other way of seeing it. The only thing more powerful than Gilliam's vision was being able to compare it to the candy coated Hollywood ending I intitally expected. Sitting here at the computer, remembering this now, I'm starting to comprehend how much power these episodes with this picture my have had on the direction of my artistic expression and my conception of obstacles I have faced. My attraction to darker subject matter, toward tragedy...All of these had to have been shaped in some significant way by Gilliam and by my precieved metamorphosis of Brazil. I wonder how many others have seen the film this same way at that same time in their lives.

Richard Foreman


Tuesday, July 25, 2006

Julie Taymor

Saturday, July 22, 2006

Kiss Me Deadly - Robert Aldrich

Thursday, July 13, 2006

Salvador Dali


Here be the twentith century's greatest trickster. The sheer exuberence of creation. He was the first surrealist I ever knew of. Fearless, he knew (maybe too well) the extreme confidence that it takes to set the world on its ear. It was inevitable that he would ultimately become more important than the paintings. But, I think that is because he became his own ultimate work of art.

Dali has both positive and negative lessons to teach us. His fearlessness towards the art, a pro. The unbridled fearlessness towards his ego...maybe not so much. Still every time I see this trickster, he never fails to elicit a grin. Dali shows us how to be truly free as artists. And that freedom is exhilarating.

Johnny Cash


Out of a desire towards all things modern or avant-garde, I spent most of my twenties rejecting simplicity. I thought that only type of culture worth anyone's time had to be complicated, elaborate, intricate,labyrinthine. The only sort of language that interested me were for lack of a better term "Joycean". The more involved one had to get to comprehend the communication, the more sophisticated the expression, the higher its qualitative value.

Johnny Cash freed me to appreciate the profundity of simple, direct expression. The virtosity of saying exactly want you mean in a manner that still elevates its subject matter. With this I came closer to appreciating the beauty of the common man. The value of the salt of the earth. The mysteries that can only be approached through the mud, and the blood, and the beer.

Johnny Cash allowed me to be an American Artist. He opened up my mind to the heritage of the American Artist. It was thourgh him that I understood Carl Sandburg, Robert Frost, Walt Whitman, The Blues, The Ballad.

Sam Fuller


Samuel Fuller was the epitome of audacity, chutzpah, impudence, intelligence, and absurdly sentimental (though you might not be able to tell from the clip above). His protagonists were men and women who were able to embody all that was coined deviant during the mid-twentieth century. He fulfilled my noir expectations providing the audience with hookers, con men, pickpockets, communists, drug dealers, nymphomanics. Yet despite their questionable moral foundations, his characters are given (or make)opportunities to display virtue. By the end of picture they are redeemed.
His camera, his editing, his story progression, his actors...through many of the pictures seem raw. Sometimes the continuity is compromised by lighting, or the characters almost inexplicable break out into song. Despite this there is something, compelling to me about them. I love them for their flaws. Sam Fuller is prove positive that great storytelling and sincerity are more valuable than seamless cinematography and hollywood budgets. As a storyteller, Sam Fuller takes the risk whenever possible and never asks for forgiveness. He owns every frame with an petulance and rebellion that is truly appealing, truly "American". The phrase "Judge not lest you be judged" comes to my mind. His characters don't always know the difference between right and wrong. But, they know Evil when they encounter it. His stories are about people who belong to the lowest common denominator, damaged goods yet are still touched faintly by dignity, hope, and redemption.

Wednesday, July 12, 2006

Max Ernst


When youthful folly filled me with a self defensive cynicism and fear that the world was going to be made boring by the formulaic, Max Ernst's collages gave me rapture. At the time, I did not believe in novelty. My mantra was that imagination wasn't a womb but rather a sift. Taking that approach toward creativity, Ernst seemed to me a virtuoso. His collages always surprised me. Their often seemless quality as if these remixs were the original ink drawings, struck me. The often haunting compositions deep with spiritual of metaphysical content. They were nothing short of magical to me. I excitedly started cutting up my very old Funk and Wagnalls encyclopedias. The limitless combinations offered me by those 26 volumes gave me a sense of transcendence. If I could take these raw materials, many seeming simple, boring, academic, and make something fantastical, something of immense spectacle even though it is merely a 2 dimensional cut and paste stuck to a piece of 8 1/2 x 11 white paper...If I could do that, think what other sorts of beautiful things could be made from the materials at hand, if we only had the courage to cut away at that which is established and see the myriad possibilities when it is deconstructed and then reconstructed. For months, I had scissors in one hand and a glue stick in the other. I framed my collages. I gave them to pretty girls in order to win their attentions. And these collages were just a single facet of this incredible artist, this incredible man.

Dorothea Tanning