And re-post this. Pass it on.
DMC celebrating 25 years? Crazy. Qbert performs this weekend at the finals.
I am not going to post anything relating to the current Jonze joint, if only to reduce the amount of time I am made to give it my attention. Even after I see it. And I already know that then I will have my work cut out for me, upholding this fussy and arbitrary rule. I am always up for a challenge, me.
The card on the wall says “2 channel video, miniature model, mirrors, glass, black light, ghost video, cut-out projection, audio, false walls”. Makes you instantly dig for the price of admission, doesn’t it? Hoffos has said in interviews that he feels artists should give themselves a second childhood. Entering a carnivalesque installation like Scenes From The House Dream feels like joining him there. Learning the grownup thinking behind this atmospheric trip (Jung, bla bla, house as self, bla bla) does not break the spell – it only adds the sensation of the top of the head raising like a drawbridge, giving your moat some air. The work is currently touring out of the National Gallery of Canada.
I am a longtime apologist for slow pacing in cinema. There is something about that spacious temporal environment that feels luxurious to me. In the hands of a talented filmmaker, obviously.
Abbas Kiarostami is a director whose evangelical fans include Martin Scorsese, Jean-Luc Godard, and Akira Kurosawa. His work is compared to that of Tarkovsky.
One of the most highly acclaimed Kiarostami films is 1997 Palme d’Or winner Taste of Cherry. I recently chose this for crossing-off from my discouragingly long list of cinematic masterpieces I’ve not yet seen. Here’s what I saw: a guy drives around and around on a dusty, barren hill, expressionless, occasionally engaging with strangers on the enigmatic job he offers. Well, the job becomes less enigmatic with each encounter. But the driving does not become less around and around, the hill does not become less dusty or barren, and the expressiveness of this character does not increase.
He plans to commit suicide, and for some reason he wants to be buried in this remote, anonymous hillside hole after the fact. He’s already dug the hole, he just needs someone to refill it once his corpse is at the bottom. His prospective hole-fillers offer no interesting explanations for their refusals. I would estimate that there are 85 or 90 minutes of this movie in which the frame is the hero’s expressionless, driving face, or clay-coloured dust clouds billowing around the hero’s vehicle as it progresses along the dirt road that winds around the dusty, barren hill. The movie’s first ending is the guy in the grave, still alive. The movie’s second ending is the revelation of the cinematic device, in other words, shots of the director and collaborators on location.
“How can an invitation to step onto a painting of a magic carpet, or throw a coin on to a painting of a wishing well create dialog about the social function of painting?”
This opens up a deep crevasse in my mind, separating my logical inclination to dismiss this idea as unrealistic, from my YAY FUN. I think this can be resolved by a simple (and familiar) self-admonishment: do not overthink, Sasu.
No, instead, just continue to gaze with pleasure upon her lovely works online, and hope for an opportunity to experience them sometime offline.
Nay, I still got excited looking at this. And I’d just recently read all about it in Vanity Fair without getting excited. Despite descriptions of a process that involved replacing Heath Ledger, who died during production, with multiple actors (Johnny Depp, Colin Farrell, Jude Law). Despite Terry Gilliam, say no more. For that matter, despite Christopher Plummer, also say no more. So, hats off to the trailermakin bizness once again.