Observers and Performers: On “Life and People” at BAMcinematek

Written by Conor O’Brien

The films discussed were shown at “Shorts Program: Life and People,” during BAMcinématek‘s 2014 Migrating Forms series. 

Jon Rafman, "Mainsqueeze" (still), 2014

Jon Rafman, “Mainsqueeze” (still), 2014

Jon Rafman’s film “Mainsqueeze” opens with a washing machine in a backyard. The machine starts to cycle. The familiar rattling din as its innerchamber spins, a common enough sound now, this comforting chorus of appliances, dishwashers, ovens, boilers, toilets, the white noise that (no, not at all secondary or incidental to their “intended” functions) keep sedated blank silence, cooed into coiled submission under the mothering hum. Soon the sound grows from the familiar to the discomforting, blooms from an innocuous, mechanical buzz into an hominoid, earthen growl. The machine is pushing its rotation to increasingly violent extremes. The frame becomes unhinged and loosely wobbles about the innerchamber’s fierce convulsions. As parts of the outerstructure are cast off, it is only this, the innerchamber, that still belongs to the “washing machine,” the idea of it, the limp frame having lost all identity and coherence in the mad self-destruction. Soon, even the gaping core of the appliance loses this center of control in a final burst of intensity. It collapses, and lies still in the silent backyard.

The full video, which is returned to repeatedly during Rafman’s film, could be at home in (and was most likely taken from) the Internet’s video landscape, populated in large part by such documentations of home experiments. Does the sadistic destruction of household appliances speak to a pent-up frustration with the ease and sterility of the modern experience? Is it a lashing out at the mask of convenience that, with one finger to its lips, shh’s our primal anxieties into an uneasy quiet? Is it the basis of all spectacle and theater, tragedy and comedy, the perverse thrill of seeing the shimmering and godlike erode into profane parody? To locate on these seemingly-enclosed and stone-perfect systems an obscene, belching hole? Rafman’s film continues: iphone snapshots of teens unconscious at parties with horrifically Sharpie-marred faces, images of devils and demons from the various Infernos of classical painting, a woman lovingly caressing a large prawn-like creature before setting it under her foot to crush it in callous close-up, a person in a frog costume bound to a table writhing, the unsettling musings of an inhuman voice-over. In this barrage of grotesque sadism, the film could come off as invariably bleak: an indifferent, robotic distillation of human behavior rummaged from the Internet’s shadowier nooks. Yet, there is something behind that, perhaps compassion, but maybe just pity, for the hopelessly abusive and self-destructive creatures it depicts.

Barry Doupé, "Life and People" (still), 2014

Barry Doupé, “Life and People” (still), 2014

 

The camera is the disembodied eye, functioning with the unblinking, clinical lucidity reserved for ghosts and machines. The camera itself disappears in the film illusion, never to be caught by its own gaze: even that image, the one that passed there on that polished, silver ovoid, that looked strikingly like a camera, though distorted by the convex surface, is not the Camera. This anti-Narcissus, completely unmoved by its reflection, does not identify itself as part of the scene it observes. It is not fooled by make-up, costumes, sets, performance; it will not be drowned in the illusion. Film is a product of an argument between subjective human performers, in their manic, self-mutilating frenzy, and this uncaring, alien Eye.

In Barry Doupé’s “Life and People,” the performers, paradoxically, seem to take on the perspective of the Camera in that, though they performing in the scene, none seem to have an emotional/psychological/economic stake in it. They are vessels for the delivery of dialogue that, because of misplaced facial expression and lack of eye contact between players, is always disconnected from the speaker and unperceived by the spoken-to, existing in a neutral auditory realm that is only intercepted by the Camera and the audience. All of the action takes place in a unidentified location, seemingly a warehouse that is partially obscured by several white walls. The film consists of a series of discontinuous scenes, ranging from the utterly mundane (parent-teacher conferences, open houses, gossip, various consumer situations) to the tragic (sexual abuse, suicide), all delivered in the same robotic disinterest, a vague approximation of human interaction. The situations are made more alien by the choreography: players stand in random relations to each other: sometimes too close or far away, facing in different directions, some characters climb a ladder in order to deliver their lines without relevant reason. The film concludes with a woman lying on her side in the center of the shot. She remains motionless while arguing with another woman outside the frame, and over the course of the argument, the camera, disinterested, revolves around the woman, closes in on the back of her head, and then returns to its original position. This final scene brings together all the techniques of disconnection used throughout the film. There is disconnection on every level: setting, choreography, cinematography, delivery, facial expression, no element interacts with or relates to any other element. This is the perspective of the removed Eye, the Camera, which without emotional investment, perceives the scene as a collection of disparate contrivances that never resolve into a coherent illusion.

Jeremy Shaw, "Quickeners" (still), 2014

Jeremy Shaw, “Quickeners” (still), 2014

 

The interplay of disinterested observer and delusional performer is further dramatized in the final film of this shorts series, “Quickeners” directed by Jeremy Shaw. The piece takes the form of a faux-documentary film reel from a future after the extinction of homo sapiens and the emergence of our evolutionary successors, “quantum humans.” The film is from the perspective of these quantum humans, who are an immortal, hive-mind species, and the subject of the film is the disease “Human Ativism Syndrome.” HAS is described as causing in victims a reversion to the obsolete behaviors of their human ancestors. The documentary focuses on a certain group of HAS victims who have embraced their disease, and try to tap into the ritualistic delusions it induces in order to experience something called a “Quickening,” which is a kind of orgasmic trance caused by a feeling of disconnection from the Hive. The deathless quantum humans have transcended the need for ritual, performance, music, dance, etc, all of which reemerge in the Quickeners’ meetings and are contextualized by a monotone narrator for the quantum audience who may not understand the absurd customs. Part of the ritual involves the handling of a poisonous snake, which creates a “simulacrum threat of death,” recalling the mortality of the ancestors they intend to imitate. The narrator emphasizes the importance of the serpent, expounding on its ubiquity in global culture and its varied symbolic meaning. The serpent becomes a unifier, bringing into the same symbol opposing associations: at one side it is corruption, sickness, sin, evil and on the other medicine, health, intelligence, ingenuity. Maybe most significantly the serpent is the ouroboros, symbol of life-death-rebirth infinitely looping, the self-consuming, self-regenerating system.

This is the image of life and death in intimate concert, the supreme opposite resolution. The “simulacrum of death” in ritual is of vital significance: if ritual is a performance of life, than death too, with its unblinking glass eye, must be reflected somewhere on the mirror. More than this, ritual is a movement beyond death, which is no more graspable to us than to any hypothetical immortal being. Only the threat of death, a withdrawing shadow, is available to us: past this we make assumptions, create symbols, take faith-leaps. But there is always that threat, reflection flickering time to time in the corner of our vision, and when we turn to face it, gone, save a lingering absence. It is this tormenting ghost that induces our sadomasochistic obsessions. It is before this featureless, stone gaze we perform the scrimmage of our annihilation. It is to this icey lab-table we strap ourselves, awaiting the scalpel’s descent. This is the true Camera, of which every other camera is a distorted reflection. Film, a death-ritual, teaches us that the act of living is necessarily self-destructive, just as self-destruction is necessarily regenerative, and every film is indicative of the infinite performance before the true Camera: but onto what blank screen, and into what theater, reeking of artificial butter, white noise of wrapper-cracks and mechanical humming, is this Film projected? By what silent audience watched?

REVIEW: Camera in the Mirror: Response to Migrating Forms Programs 3 and 4

Camera in the Mirror: Response to Migrating Forms Programs 3 and 4
written by Conor O’Brien, The Living Gallery

Screenshot from Ian Cheng’s “bbrraattss.” Taken from his Vimeo channel.

Screenshot from Ian Cheng’s “bbrraattss.” Taken from his Vimeo channel.

The mirror is a threat to the film illusion. In the presence of a mirror, the camera is in danger of being revealed; it is timid: approaching the mirror cautiously, and angling itself in such a way that it remains hidden. A familiar and relatively harmless object in daily life, the mirror is an absolutely subversive, destructive force in the world of film; painstakingly avoided for those films that aim to keep film illusion undisturbed. The familiar technique of horror films is to use a mirror to reveal the monster. A character is in the bathroom with the mirror angled toward his/her face. The mirror is then turned suddenly and the monster is revealed to have been standing there, behind the character the whole time. This technique is meant to heighten the shock of the reveal, but because it remains within the fantasy of the film, this revelation of the monster ultimately comes as a relief. It is a displacement of the true threat: the mirror suddenly angled in the other direction, revealing that a camera has been standing behind the character the whole time. The shock of this revelation stems from realizing that your experience is being manipulated, forced through a lens over which you have no control. It is the shock of looking into a mirror and seeing, in place of your own reflection, a different reflection, the eye of a camera.

In Stephen Broomer’s “Pepper’s Ghost,” shown at BAMcinematek’s Migrating Forms Program 3, the camera remains in the center of the shot through the film’s entirety. According to the trailer posted on Broomer’s Vimeo channel, the film is shot in two rooms separated by a two-way mirror used for “psychological observation studies.” Throughout the film’s 20 minutes, Broomer and assistants create optical illusions using the two-way mirror, colored gel paper, and other objects in the rooms, lights, curtains, as a kind of meditative, guttural chanting plays over these shots. In one shot, Broomer seems to stand behind the camera next to a window. As he pulls down the window’s curtain, his image gradually fades away, and what seemed to be him standing in one room was revealed to actually be his reflection on the mirror from the other room. Broomer claims in the trailer that the mirror is transformed into a “mysterious tunnel.” The film seems to be about the kind of funhouse effects that are achieved when, instead of being timidly avoided, the mirror is surrendered to; when both mirror and camera are allowed to respond to each other.

Gina Telaroli created her piece “Amuse-gueule #1: Digital Destinies,” by playing a copy of the 2009 movie “Public Enemies” starring Johnny Depp on an old television and using a Blackberry (with, she claims, poor zooming capabilities), recorded the same 12 minutes of the movie four times, at four different levels of zoom, and these recordings are played simultaneously. The television frame is in the center of the shot, but because four different versions of the film are playing at the same time, the images seem to float out of and around the frame. By using “poor” recording technology, the Blackberry recordings draw attention to the materiality of digital film: images of the appropriated film become fuzzy, blown out, distorted, non-referential abstractions; the images are rendered material, reduced to their material qualities: light, transparency, color, form, movement.

Telaroli and Broomer’s films are similar in this way: they are explorations of the elements of filmmaking most films attempt to subdue. These are the mechanical elements, the materials and techniques of film that make up the film illusion. Rather than trying to work around the “inferior” recording technology of her phone, Telaroli emphasizes it, and as a result the images in her film burst with overexposed light, unsubdued and unconstrained.

Many of the other filmmakers in the program are also interested into playing around film’s material production. Andrew Lampert presented a restoration of the original print of Roger Altman’s film “The Long Goodbye,” which Lampert claimed to have purchased for $20 from a magazine. The piece highlights the process of colorizing black and white footage, the idea behind which is that color film is better because it is closer to reality and colorization aims to enhance the illusion of reality on film. As the piece progresses, the fact that the film was artificially colored becomes increasingly obvious: colors become less natural and float free of any reference point.

Shambhavi Kaul’s film “Mount Song” shows shots of several artificially constructed sets of forests and temples. Devoid of human form, the artificial scenery becomes alien and disorienting. The two films by Ed Atkins, “Warm, Warm, Warm Spring Mouths” and “Even Pricks,” also the artificial construction of film, focusing specifically on the digital creation of images used so frequently in bigger budget film. The film’s title “Even Pricks” repeatedly flies at the viewer in different forms reminiscent of the title sequences of action movies. Computer constructed human and animal forms appear in undefined spaces to speak in often interrupted bits of dialogue. As in Kaul’s film, this emphasizing of artificiality becomes strange and disorienting: the images remain vaguely familiar, uncanny because we are used to seeing (often unconsciously) these techniques used in film, but we are not used to the heightening of their artificiality. Ian Cheng’s film “bbrraattss” is a short 3-minute clip of two computer generated figures, a humanoid rabbit and hunter, moving around and bumping into each other in a white space, their bodies twitching, bending, twisting in unnatural ways. The animation resembles a glitch in a computer game, a limitation of computer generation that is meant to be hidden or subdued. But, as with the other filmmakers, it is the “glitch” that interests Cheng, and the resulting film is both nightmarish and slapstick, unsettling and absurd.

The narrator of Benjamin Tiven’s film “A Third Version of the Imaginary” calls film an “amnesiac medium.” The film documents the Kenya Broadcasting Company as a narrator speaking in Swahili, talks about film and language. He claims that the word “image” does not exist in the Swahili language, the closest word is ‘taswira,’ which is more accurately translated as ‘vision.’ “Image” is an imported concept. He explains that at the television broadcasting company, films deemed significant are stored and preserved and those that are not important are filmed over. The narrator thinks about whether the filmed-over images still exist somehow beneath the new images. He thinks of this as being a kind of “guilt” that haunts the footage, that the old images refuse to be completely suppressed. The film ends with an employee of the broadcasting company playing footage of 1973 Independence Parade, but due to some technical problem the footage is distorted and discolored. The narrator explains that they were originally not allowed to film the screening of this footage, but since the images that were being projected were distorted, they were given permission to film.

Tiven’s film comments on our complicated relationship with images. Photographic and cinematic images are not objective. A photograph of an object, no matter how little it is influenced by the hand of the photographer, cannot be looked at in the same way as an encounter with the same object in the world. Images always contain some ideology. But the images of the Independence Parade in the film loose their power as ideological instruments, become useless as such, because of the technical difficulties which make the viewer aware of their artificiality. Such is the move of many films shown at Migrating Forms: to make the viewer aware of the power of images as ideological objects, to show them the reflection of the camera within the image.

REVIEW: BAMcinématek’s Migrating Forms (12/17/13)

BAMcinématek, Migrating Forms, December 17, 2013
written by Kristen Bisson, Social Media Assistant, The Living Gallery

Last Tuesday was the last night of Migrating Forms. Closing off the evening were two films: “Lo que el fuego me trajo” (“What the Fire Brought Me”) by director Adrián Villar Rojas (43 minutes, 2013) and “Sequence 0” by directors João Maria Gusmão and Pedro Paiva (35 minutes, 2013). (For more information on the films themselves, click here.) Tonight, I went with my friend and colleague Brandi Martin.

The first film, “Lo que el fuego me trajo,” is a thing of beauty. The composition is extremely well done; the lighting and the colors are so incredibly vibrant and rich; the sounds were poetic, simple and mesmerizing. The depth of field was shallow. It was slowly paced and meditative. There was very little dialogue, and what little there was couldn’t be heard very clearly at all. In the film, men and women are found to be working extremely hard building and collecting various objects and structures, deep into night and next morning. The film was shot at the Casa de Vidro (1951, Lina Bo Bardi) in Morumbi, São Paulo.

Brandi and I talked a little bit about the themes this film was addressing: modernism and voyeurism. These themes can be found in: the glass house, where everybody can see you and you can see them; the actions the characters went through in their projects; the way it all was filmed in general; the ending, where a character looks you, the audience, directly in the eyes (which is no where else in the film); the credits themselves, which went on for so long that many in the audience could help but laugh, and I don’t think they left anyone out of their list; even the font chosen for the credits, and oh man… that kerning; and then, to top it all off, there was a segment, which felt like forever, where two black circles adjacent to each other would spin at center and leave their mark every few millimeters, so that eventually it became a larger, opaque, black dot. Yep. But seriously, such a great film. Definitely see it if you get the chance!

The description for the second film, “Sequence 0,” is as as follows (pulled from BAMcinématek’s website):

These 14 short films were created by the Portuguese filmmaking duo João Maria Gusmão and Pedro Paiva, whose poetic philosophical fiction explore and interpret the uncanny through acts of magnetism, transference, and material transformation.

Some of these shorts were poetic, sentimental, and others were absolutely hilarious. Many, if not all, were done with extreme slow motion, which brought about either a painful how-long-do-we-have-to-sit-through-this kind of experience or a fun and pleasurable experience. These shorts didn’t really have sound, and usually consisted of the overlapping of shots with different opacities. The various films included: a close up shot of someone getting the very top of their head shaved; the same landscape at different times of day so that three suns were overlapping and slowly shifting; three men at a campfire apparently having a hilarious conversation; three egg yolks moving around together, again overlapping; lots of eggs shorts, actually; a couple of emu-bird-things wandering around in front of a painted backdrop, blocking the camera, investigating the backdrop itself, and being funny overall; a number of other shorts; and my favorite short from the series that night was a close of up of the top of a table with an elephant’s trunk trying really what seems like desperately hard to grab a few peanuts.

Overall, I found the films of the night to be interesting, funny, beautiful, and weird. I enjoyed the various films I got to see at Migrating Forms. You can read my two previous reviews on this blog from December 13 and December 15.

Let us know in the comments if you saw anything awesome at BAMcinématek and/or Migrating Forms!

REVIEW: BAMcinématek’s Migrating Forms (12/15/13)

BAMcinématek, Migrating Forms, December 15, 2013
written by Kristen Bisson, Social Media Assistant, The Living Gallery

Last night I went to see both Migrating Forms Program 3 (7:00pm) and Migrating Forms Program 4 (9:30pm). It was absolutely fantastic. Here’s a list of the films that were presented:

Migrating Forms Program 3 (Information Source)

  • “45 7 Broadway” (Directed by Tomonari Nishikawa) 2013, 5min
    An analog portrait of Times Square’s LED present.
  • “Mount Song” (Directed by Shambhavi Kaul) 2013, 9min
    Half-forgotten spaces are reconstituted into an eerily familiar cinematic new world.
  • “A Third Version of the Imaginary” (Directed by Benjamin Tiven) 2013, 12min
    An exploration of the material facts of video and film at the Kenya Broadcasting Corporation.
  • “Juan Gris Dream House & Popova-Lissitztky Office Complex” (Directed by Jon Rafman) 2013, 2min each
    New York premiere. Two entries from Rafman’s Brand New Paint Job project, which uses famous paintings to wallpaper 3D models of houses and offices.
  • “Amuse-gueule #1: Digital Destinies” (Directed by Gina Telaroli) 2012, 12min
    New York premiere. “An experiment in superimposition and cinematic mediums that ebbs and flows through a fractured layering of images” (MUBI).
  • “El Adios Largos” (Directed by Andrew Lampert) 2013, 11min
    Archivist and artist Lambert presents a speculative restoration of Robert Altman’s The Long Goodbye.
  • “Pepper’s Ghost” (Directed by Stephen Broomer) 2013, 19min
    New York premiere. Inspired in equal parts by Michael Snow and your local haunted house.

Migrating Forms Program 4 (Information Source)

  • “Warm, Warm, Warm Spring Mouths” (Directed by Ed Atkins) 2013, 13min
    “…Pictures the digitalization of existence from the inside, in all its cold alienating surrogacy” (Art Agenda).
  • “bbrraattss” (Directed by Ian Cheng) 2013, 3min
    Ian Cheng dissolves and re-choreographs a rabbit fight into an abstract motion study.
  • “Even Pricks” (Directed by Ed Atkins) 2013, 8min
    “… The culmination of a series connected with depression, in both the psychological and the physical sense of the word” (Lyon).
  • “Swallow” (Directed by Laure Prouvost) 2013, 12min
    Inspired by the artistic and sensuous traditions of Italy, Laure Prouvost presents a collage of a recent Mediterranean idyll, syncopated to the rhythm of her own breath.
  • “Critical Mass” (Directed by Kerry Tribe) 2012, 25min
    Continuing her career-long investigation into personal and historic memory, Kerry Tribe presents a restaging of Hollis Frampton’s groundbreaking experimental film Critical Mass. Tribe’s reinvention features a single virtuoso take of two actors delivering the lines originally edited by Frampton into a rhythmic, disjointed pattern.

A number of my favorites from the night included: “Mount Song” (Directed by Shambhavi Kaul), “A Third Version of the Imaginary” (Directed by Benjamin Tiven), “El Adios Largos” (Directed by Andrew Lampert), “Warm, Warm, Warm Spring Mouths” (Directed by Ed Atkins), and “Even Pricks” (Directed by Ed Atkins).

The set and fog in “Mount Song” reminded me a lot of The NeverEnding Story’s set and aesthetic, with a little Lord of the Rings thrown in there. I thought that was awesome. It had that dark, starry, fantasy, hidden-in-the-forest landscape and feel to it, and there was a little village, a full moon, and no humans in sight. No creatures really of any kind. Unless you count the fog as creatures. In “Mount Song,” the fog felt activated, as if they were the characters of this short story. They moved, we followed, they traveled, and there was even what looked like an epic dark/light fog battle at one point. There were other possible characters, which took the form of little shining lights traveling at fast speeds across the landscape. The explosions, quick cuts, and set, as I said, reminded me a lot of the fantasy movies of the mid-80s, like The NeverEnding Story. I could have sworn that at one point, in one particular scene from “Mount Song,” we might surely see Falkor dip over top the thick fog bank under the starry sky. Loved that this short film, “Mount Song,” was done in 2013 and accomplished that aesthetic extremely well.

“A Third Version of the Imaginary” (Directed by Benjamin Tiven) was extremely interesting. It featured a library of VHS tapes, the covers all black with white labels, with a man looking through them, apparently trying to find something specific. From listening to the narration, you would learn about different concepts of video, image, memory, and meaning, including such ideas like “video is an amnesic medium.” The narrator spoke about how when film is recorded, how much time, production, money, etc, goes into it, and then it appears on an inexpensive and ephemeral piece of technology like a VHS, stored, and that even the original film is not saved because it is used to make the next film. The narrator explained that in Swahili, words like “video” are inherently attached to a medium, and understood this way, but that there is no “naturally occurring word” for “image” since that word is so detached from any specific medium. The film is an interesting introduction and investigation regarding how technology and language changes and informs each other, simultaneously changing ideas and concepts about the world around us, and ourselves.

I had never seen The Long Goodbye, so my experience with Andrew Lampert’s film “El Adios Largos” would probably be very different had I seen the original. The opening credits still showed the original people for The Long Goodbye, but then for certain credits, Lampert had added his own right next to the originals, so that there were two directors, instead of one, etc. (All part of the humor!) The part of the film Lampert used was the beginning scene, where the main character is feeding his cat, trying to give it human food, then going out at 3:00am to buy it cat food, then trying to fool it into thinking it’s eating its favorite brand, etc, but this cat knows better. The main character also interacts with his female neighbors, who are apparently baking brownies and cookies and whatever at 3:00am. (Why not.) This version of the film, which Lampert had found and used, had been dubbed in Spanish. So, he had it subtitled back into English. And, since the film had been in black and white, Lampert added color to it, often in blocks, shapes, with shifting and imprecise borders, moving, warping, etc. In his talk after the screening, he said had researched to figure out what colors kitchens, etc, were in the 70s, and worked with those color schemes in this piece. Overall, his film, and his talk, were both hilarious, interesting, and lots of fun.

For both of Ed Atkins’ pieces, I was intrigued and captivated by the poetry, the visuals, and the sounds. I was very interested in how he manipulated the 3D animated characters and objects, the repetition of themes with variations each time, the text (in various fonts, colors, styles, etc) and the poetry, the still images mixed in with animated elements and narration, etc. Sometimes, the text, the poetry, had the same font, style, and sound of an epic movie trailer, with all the emphasis and energy that comes with it. His films were amusing, thought-provoking, and inspiring. Definitely worthy of multiple viewings. Anybody interested in animation, either as a viewer and a maker or both, should see these films by Ed Atkins. Quite amazing!

Overall, a really great night with really great short films!

I will be going to the following film screening:

Conor O’Brien, also of The Living Gallery, will be going to this screening:

Please, go check out BAMcinématek’s film series, Migrating Forms!
Let us know in the comments about what you’ve seen or plan to see.

REVIEW: BAMcinématek’s Migrating Forms (12/13/13)

BAMcinématek, Migrating Forms, December 13, 2013
written by Kristen Bisson, Social Media Assistant, The Living Gallery

I returned from a night at BAMcinématek just moments ago. I had joined my friend Andrea Chen for screening of “The Unity of All Things” (2013). (She is one of the actresses in the film.) We enjoyed viewing the film and chatting about her experiences in the filming of it, and subsequently her viewing of it in its entirety. Sometimes, even for the actors, this is the first time they’ve seen the films they star in.

The film itself was surreal, dreamlike, bizarre, funny, sentimental, philosophical, and an interesting take on the idea of science fiction. The directors, Daniel Schmidt and Alexander Carver, spoke after the screening, and discussed how they went about the idea of science fiction as a genre in terms of this film. Rather than the construction of a whole new world or a whole new society in order to talk about certain issues, which can be typical of science fiction, they decided to take what was already existing as structures and shift it slightly, taking what we already know as reality and dipping it into the unusual.

The description from the website states:

In their debut feature, Daniel Schmidt and Alexander Carver crafted this utopian science fiction allegory about the development of a massive particle collider intended to probe the origin of the universe. Taking the instability of everything from identity to gender to history to the image itself as a starting point, the film follows two teenage boys as they visit their mother, an expatriated Chinese physicist, in the US. As their journey spans from Jiuzhai Valley in China to the Sonoran desert, it reveals the alienation and otherness beneath the surface of all things.

I stayed for the second screening of the night, Migrating Forms Program 2. The films that were shown included: “Birds” (2012) 17 Minutes (Directed by Gabriel Abrantes), “Utskor: Either/Or” (2013) 8 Minutes (Directed by Laida Lertxundi), “Not Blacking Out, Just Turning the Lights Off” (2012) 16 Minutes (Directed by James Richards), and:

“A Breakdown and After the Mental Hospital” (1982) 26 Minutes
(Directed by Anne Charlotte Robertson)
In this harrowing self-portrait, Super-8 master Anne Charlotte Robertson lucidly narrates footage of the daily routines and rituals that governed her last breakdown.BAMcinématek

“Emily Died” (1994) 27 Minutes
(Directed by Anne Charlotte Robertson)
Possibly Anne Charlotte Robertson’s most devastating film, Emily Died chronicles the death of her young niece. Set in the spring, Robertson seeks solace in her garden as Emily’s death sends her spinning toward another breakdown.BAMcinématek

I scribbled some notes in the dark as I was viewing the above short films. Ultimately, of those five films, I think I was struck most by both of Anne Charlotte Robertson’s creations. My rambling reflection will be for the both of these films:

There were simultaneous dialogues happening in the films, and one could pick up pieces of both, but one was obviously louder and clearer than the other, and you had to struggle to get small sections of the second overlapping dialogue. The video shifted, often quickly, amongst different moments in time, going from self-reflection, to family portrait, to environmental observations, to philosophical and metaphorical inquiries, and the experience of a range of emotion from joy, to curiosity, to anger, to helplessness, to fear, to obsession, etc. The fragments of her life, the people in it, her environment, her situation, all of which pointed to and revealed something very raw and very real about the human experience and in particular her mental experience.

In Emily Died, she said things like, “All we have are pictures now,” and “I hope there is a heaven,” “I hope I believe in God, and I hope I believe in heaven.” She then talked about how she wished to help children, to care for them, to be pregnant, but that her age, medications, and mental states wouldn’t allow her to experience the things that she longed for. She was distraught over Emily’s death. She expressed guilt for thinking about other things, rather than thinking about Emily’s death. She would wonder why she thought she herself was allowed to think about food, or her weight, or her own problems, when something so tragic had happened to someone she cared about.

“Significance” was a frequently heard word. We’re invited to contemplate along with her as she thought out loud, narrating her mind and the events in her life. Her train of thought seemed fluid and unhindered. Moments in the films were funny, poetic, thought-provoking, sentimental, troubling, sweet, serious, philosophical, uncomfortable, etc.

The night’s films gave me a lot to chew on.

I will be going to the following film screenings:

Conor O’Brien, also of The Living Gallery, will be going to these screenings:

Please, go check out BAMcinématek’s film series, Migrating Forms!
Let us know in the comments about what you’ve seen or plan to see.

AROUND TOWN: Film Series “Migrating Forms”

Begins tomorrow!

Film Series

“Migrating Forms”

Migrating Forms

Venue: Peter Jay Sharp Building, BAM Rose Cinemas
Dates: December 11 through December 17, 2013
Times: Depends on the film! See here!
Cost: $9-15 (Click on one of the films for details.)

Click here to see the complete line-up of films and/or buy tickets!

From their website:

The highest revelation-per-event ratios of any festival in New York” —Film Comment

The reason you attend a festival like Migrating Forms
is to break preconceptions about what film is and can be.
” —Frieze

Bringing together moving image work from a wide range of venues—from film festivals and biennials to museums and microcinemas—Migrating Forms bridges the gap between the film and art worlds by presenting a diverse collection of programs in the common context of the cinema. Celebrating its fifth year at its new home at BAMcinématek, the festival includes new work and retrospective screenings by artists representing a broad spectrum of contemporary film and video practices.

Programmed by Nellie Killian of BAMcinématek and independent writer and curator Kevin McGarry.