For Your Awareness: The Singing Cowboy (1936)

Considering that the entirety of my family on both parents' sides grew up in Nebraska the name of Gene Autry is rather prolific, whether it be one grandfather who adores him along with every other thing offered for television in the western genre, or a cousin who is, amongst other things, a part time bull rider, with a penchant for the more lavish of western garb.  I am well aware that my knowledge of Gene Autry extends beyond simply being aware of him as the guy who made famous Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer.  However, I was also foolish enough to assume that he purely existed as a radio and television personality, never really engaging to any degree with film.  When I was compiling my list of western films for this month, I decided to go all the way into the back catalogue of what Netflix had to offer within the genre, and found a set of films starring Gene Autry, The Singing Cowboy included and I knew, although it was relatively short, running just under an hour, it was a necessary addition, partly due to my desire for an expansive consideration of the genre, as well as a bit of nostalgia.  I was, however, dreading the viewing, because the ever dubious Netflix rating system assured me that I would not enjoy the film, nor did any of the middle-of-the-road ratings on other sites.  Yet, upon popping in this small gem of a film, I quickly became enamored with its charm and somewhere between the sheer musicality of Autry and the commitment to slapstick and vaudevillian humor, I found The Singing Cowboy to be thoroughly watchable and quite excellent.  Sure the film has some moments of racial performance that are less than stellar, but Autry seems to be a figure with an eye on desegregation and inclusiveness...even proving to have an ear for jazz, despite being an out and out country music star.  When one is able to step over the technological issues of the time, primarily dubbing, and the clear attempt to recreate a Shirley Temple like character, it proves to be incredibly engaging and some pretty solid filmmaking, especially considering the likely small budget and technological limitations.  Also there is something comedically brilliant about Autry, on multiple occasions, busting into a room while inexplicably still on his horse.

I hesitated to give this a full review and decided to go with "For Your Awareness" status to the post, primarily because it is a rather short film, but also because it is not a film in the most traditional sense.  The Singing Cowboy seems to exist somewhere between the radio show of Autry's early career and what would become his television serial a few years later, in fact, it really plays out like an extended episode of what one would assume to be a western show, complete with kidnapping, a villian whose presence seems well established before the film begins and a healthy dose of product placement throughout.  Where it is far less like a television western is in its continual bursting into song throughout, sometimes suiting the narrative structure, while at other times fitting more into a stage piece.  While viewers are shown Autry riding a horse in and out of pretty much every location he is rarely shown doing other "cowboy" activities, even abandoning a gun altogether, although he does possess bullets on his belt.  The cowboy image in this context is both incredibly traditionalist, in that Autry is clearly pulling from the "up by your bootstraps lone gunman" mentality for his look and ethical framework, however, given that he is a performer and a showman, he navigates the world with the desires and concerns of others in mind as well.  He understands, at least in the constructs of this film, the nature of struggle and desires to help all those in need of a hand, whether they be up and coming jazz cowboys, or a girl with a traumatic brain injury in need of surgery.  Furthermore, unlike his cowboy predecessors, he has a particularly welcoming reaction to modernity, embracing the magic of radio and what appears to be early television to get his message across, as well as the role the advanced technology can play in saving lives and, subsequently, making living easier.  Of course, this embrace could lead one to assume that Autry is somehow lessened by this reliance on the non-natural, but as his wild chase shows in the last few moments of the film, he is capable of both lounging in the comforts of a recording studio and bitting down to out run a fleeing stagecoach.  As a character, within the western framework, Autry is somewhat of an anomaly, because he is neither a gritty Wayne or a bedazzled Conway Twitty.  He is both star and simpleton a combination that likely helped him to gain such a cult following in a struggling midwest of the era.

The DVD is a must own, however, it is quite expensive and hard to come by, although it is available on Netflix and I suggest checking it out soon, especially since its length affords a viewing at pretty much any occasion.  Also Gene Autry was kind of a bad ass, even if a bit flamboyant, he managed to make being a cowboy look a quite cool.  Furthermore, he has an impressive five different stars on the Hollywood Walk of Fame, a feat only he has completed.

Curiosity Often Leads To Trouble: Alice In Wonderland (1951)

It was an interesting task to consider which Disney vehicle I would incorporate into my women in film month, particularly considering the fact that female characters do occupy a considerable amount of the space within the companies near century of animated cinema.  My first instinct was to go with Mary Poppins, unfortunately, I was not able to obtain a copy in time and, instead, decided to choose Alice In Wonderland, a film that had long been sitting on my shelf begging to be revisited.  I remember moments of the film from my childhood, whether it be the croquet card scene, or the singing garden scene, however, there were many sections that I had seemingly forgotten all about, whether it be the oyster story, or the smoking caterpillar.  Suffice to say, Alice In Wonderland is an exceptionally trippy film, although this should be of little surprise considering that its narrative text does draw heavily from Lewis Carroll's book of the same name and history has shown it to be a piece of literature fueled heavily by some sever addictions to opium.  Yet simply having source material, by no means, explains the visual intensity of Alice In Wonderland, a world so magical that to call it expressionistic would suggest that it is simply some version of reality blown to extreme proportions.  The space of Alice In Wonderland certainly moves to grandiose terms, yet they are done so within a decidedly magical and notably subconscious state of mind.  Having watched Frankenweenie recently and been blown away by its stylistic choices, seeing Alice in Wonderland reminds me that even Tim Burton had to draw influence from previous examples and this highly visual film certainly had to have been such a point of reference.  If it were not to be notable for some rather intriguing considerations on the notion of a feminist awakening, Alice in Wonderland could certainly stand its own in comparison to some of my other favorite psychedelically based animated films, Paprika and Yellow Submarine.

Alice in Wonderland, with the exception of one additional character follows quite closely to Carroll's original text, and, as such, focuses on Alice, a young girl whose disdain for pursuing the learned things with gender attachments leads her to daydream about escaping to another world.  During one expose into dreams of another world, Alice witnesses a white rabbit with a watch run by her, feverishly concerned with making haste as to assure not being late for some meeting.  The curiosity of an anthropomorphic animal draws Alice into following him into his rabbit hole, an endeavor that quickly spirals into an inexplicable magical world of episodic encounters with baffling characters, whether they be a pair of gibberish spouting twins who tell her a story of decadence centered around a walrus and carpenter longing to eat some oysters, or a visit with a hookah smoking caterpillar who answers all questions with either repetition or even more perplexing questions.  All the while Alice finds herself attempting to learn the rules and intricacies of the world she has discovered, such as the trick of consuming food that either causes her to grow or shrink in considerable size as a result.  While most characters seem only passively concerned with her presence, the encounter with the cheshire cat, perhaps the narratives most famous character, aside from Alice of course, proves interesting in that beneath his clear veneer of playfulness he seems absolutely concerned with assuring Alice safely navigates the absurd world she has entered, one in which societal norms are disregarded by mad hatters and unconventional tea parties, as well as a place where authority figures are tyrannical, using their position to threaten as opposed to aid.  Ultimately, Alice finds herself needing to flee from the land when her life is threatened and when she reaches the exit of the rabbit hole she realizes that she has only been navigating a dreamscape, or so it seems, as she finds herself recalling the very real physicality  of her experiences, when talking to her tutor after awaking.

I mention this film being a text about an awakening of sorts, particularly in the feminist context.  It is no irony that the original book emerged from opium visions, something individuals initially engage in with the hopes of expanding their frame of reference or world vision.  Of course, as most drug narratives go the heavier a person becomes invested in said drugs, the more they will seek out an expansion, often becoming addicted or getting involved in more dangerous methods of achieving their new world vision.  Alice in Wonderland certainly considers these issues, however, I think it, ultimately, moves past this narrative and chooses to use the mind expansion rhetoric to help lead Alice from a state of internalized gender oppression to a larger realization of herself being the other into possessing her own space and identity, at times simply affirming that she is human when flowers berate her for not being like them, or in other moments actually growing to the point of bursting through trees, perhaps a pre-aware suggestion of bursting through a glass ceiling.  It would be one narrative is Alice simply travelled through the Wonderland with strict awe for all moments she witnesses, however, even in the moments of absurdism she seems keenly aware of oppression or illogical actions occurring.  She, in fact, is one of the few people who seems aware of the unchallenged power possessed by The Queen of Hearts, rolling her eyes at her tirades and enraged yelling.  The Queen shows Alice a problematic reference to ill-obtained power, that makes her reflect on everything she has experience up until this point and realize that her new discoveries of self-identity and the possibility of empowerment mean nothing if she uses these realizations as a means to appropriate power in her own terms and completely ignore a push towards egalitarian identities and societies in the process.  The closing scenes seem to suggest this understanding on the part of a young Alice and, undoubtedly, add a layer of feminist awareness to a super trippy film, a rather unusual feat on the part of the decidedly problematic Disney tradition.

Key Scene:  The oyster story is amazing and clearly serves as a point of reference for so many things produced by both Disney and later Pixar, not to mention it serving as a masterful story on the woes of decadence.

The DVD is already expensive, not to mention the bluray, but it is very much worth owning.  Yet should you find the money daunting, it is currently available on Netflix.

Simplicity Can Only Be Achieved By Great Agony Of Body And Spirit: The Red Shoes (1948)

A viewing of The Red Shoes has been a long time in the making, it was probably the biggest gap in my film viewing catalogue and was always a point of shame when I would have to admit to having never seen it when talking with fellow cinephile.  Finally, on Friday I had yet another individual with excellent taste in film mention it to me and I decided then and there that I would go home and watch it without hesitation.  Going into it I expected nothing short of perfection and I can say with every degree of certainty that the film still overwhelmed me with its magic, its madness and its sheer cinematic mastery.  The Red Shoes, has made a very welcomed come back thanks to the diligent work of some film preservationists at UCLA, the tireless efforts of the gang over at Criterion and a surprise advocation for the film coming from Martin Scorsese whose filmmaking oeuvre certainly does not reflect this ballet heavy, musical influenced film from the masters of Technicolor Michael Powell and Emeric Pressburger.  There is not a moment within The Red Shoes that is not entirely entrenched within the cinematic spectacle, much like Singin' In The Rain the film exists as a work of grandiosity so artistic that to profess to disliking it would essentially be admitting that you hate living.  As pretentious as that may sound, The Red Shoes seriously is an impeccable film and aside from a few moments of wry British humor there is nothing about this film not to completely love, in fact, it manages to the cross the seemingly divergent lines of classicist filmmaking styles and highly expressionistic experimental filmmaking with such fervor that it has the feeling of being a colorful rendition of an early Busby Berkeley dance number.  Furthermore, like the aforementioned Singin' In The Rain you can easily go into this film assuming you know the plot to the film, yet it will very much unfold in front of you with such expertise and layers that when the close finally does come in its climactic intensity you will realize that you may well have stopped breathing for a few minutes.  It is still baffling that this highly realized film is essentially just an adaptation of a children's fairy tale, all be it a dark one.

The Red Shoes begins with a crew of students rushing an auditorium to witness the performance of an acclaimed ballet piece from Boris Lermontov (Anton Walbrook) whose prestige has led to all group regardless of class to view his work, including Julian Craster (Marius Goring) an aspiring conductor who is immediately baffled to realize that his own pieces are being lifted for the performance.  Also in attendance is Victoria Page (Moira Shearer) an aspiring dancer whose ties to high places afford her an opportunity to meet the elusive Lermontov post performance, using her charm to assure a chance to audition.  Craster via letter confronts Lermontov about his theft, only to regret his decision, in the process meeting Lermontov who hires him on the spot.  Both Craster and Page become witness to the insanity and deception latent within the world of ballet performance, and begin to fathom how much power Lermontov truly wields.  Each, nonetheless, takes their turn in making an identity for themselves, Page by dancing wildly at a minor performance for the company, where as Craster jumps at the opportunity to rewrite a ballet adaptation of The Red Shoes, which he does brilliantly leading to Lermontov choosing it as the company's next pieces.  It is within this performance of The Red Shoes that harmony comes together beautifully as Craster and Page unleash a chemistry undeniable in a ballet performance that literally transcends the space and time of the theater.  The show of course receives rave reviews and the names of Page and Craster become well known, yet they fall for one another, much to the disapproval of Lermontov who sees it as a risk to his newly found cash cow.  He demands that they split leading to a deep depression in the two and the subsequent falling apart of the company.  Lermontov, nonetheless, manages to convince Page to return to the performance, which leads to a falling out between her and Craster who leaves dejected.  Realizing her mistake Page attempts to return to Craster, only to encounter her demise in what is easily one of cinema's most harrowing moments.  Of course, The Red Shoes is danced on, although the lack of Page is a very real thing when the troupe decides to perform without the presence of their leading lady, or any person in her place.

I once attended a conference where I saw a presentation comparing The Red Shoes to the then recently released Black Swan.  A majority of the discussion grounded the comparison in a use of Jacques Lacan's mirror theory which at the time was something I was unfamiliar with making for a rather difficult to understand talk, although I certainly think, upon seeing The Red Shoes that something is to be said about the notion of identity, sanity and the affects of performance demands on the individual.  Both films feature female performers whose quest for perfection and acknowledgement lead them to spiral into a degree of madness, although in Aronofsky's film the madness is tied to sexual inexperience and clear mental distress.  In the case of The Red Shoes it is a desire for success and a clear passion for the art of ballet, which by all accounts is probably the most labor intensive art one could choose.  Furthermore, where as Black Swan is about a singular individual, The Red Shoes focuses on a group of peoples' experiences, viewers have just come to associate the film with Moria Shearer, because it is her image the dominates the most magical and cinematic portion of the film.  The Red Shoes is much more a film about navigating the world of art, which has inherent ties to prestige and bourgeois power moves.  We see this in Page's complete disconnect from the fact that she is able to attend and leave practice in a chauffeured car, where as her fellow dancers must walk everywhere.  In sharp contrast is Craster whose identity as a student means he has little wealth or power to navigate, making his being robbed of his musical identity the exact thing to push him into impassioned action, which has relative success, up until the films closing moments of course.  Where The Red Shoes and Black Swan seem to come back together is in the closing moments of both main female characters, each arguably perform their last leap of perfection with dire results, but both also raise the question as to where one can go but down after achieving perfection.

Key Scene:  This is a no brainer, the entire dance sequence in the middle of the film could play on repeat on televisions and I know I would watch it countless times.

The Criterion bluray really is something to be amazed by and well worth owning.

Let Joy Be Unconfined: A Night At The Opera (1935)

A Night at the Opera is by no means my first engagement with the beloved Marx Brothers, for whom all comedic film is to thank, and rightfully so considering that they were the veritable grandfathers of every comedic styling imaginable, aside only from toilet humor it appears, but even that manages to sneak in occasionally.  As part of my relatively recent discovery of the film podcast Filmspotting, I have come to appreciate not only their gloriously terrible "Massacre Theater," but their ever impressive film viewing marathons, and while I found myself incapable of following along with their blaxploitation marathon, I assured myself that I would at least engage within one film in their Marx Brothers marathon.  I was able to catch up with A Night at the Opera and despite the seeming dissatisfaction the duo appears to have had with the classics of comedy, I could not help but still adore this film, even with their criticism of the other works in the back of my head.  Sure some of the jokes fail to land in the films, but much of that is, undoubtedly, a result of contemporary viewer's considerable distance from the material, yet one must truly consider that nearly all of this film is engaged in humor, almost all of which is uproariously hilarious and well-delivered, even layering upon itself, to make, dare I say, meta-comedy.  One is also reminded, while watching this particular Marx Brothers film, that the group was necessarily tied to vaudeville performances, particularly the fact that often in their routines they did more than just crack jokes, but could actually deliver some rather stellar music performances and choreographed dance/acrobatic numbers.  Furthermore, while much of the film is focused primarily on the gags and insanity of the Marx Brothers' characters, it also does have a larger overarching story, which only passingly involves the comedic trio, and considering that it is a secondary element of the narrative it is, nonetheless, a decent offering.  Also, as appears to very much be the case for Marx Brothers works as a whole, A Night at the Opera is incredibly anarchistic and completely dismissive of any sort of social guidelines or rules, and it is perhaps in this clear consideration of all that is to be maddening that it is to be adored.

A Night at the Opera begins in an non-descript European country in which opera is highly praised, it was, of course, intended to be Italy, but due to its date of release censors demanded that references to the country be removed.  Regardless, in this country exists one Otis B. Driftwood (Groucho Marx) who has made a living by playing on the beliefs of one Mrs. Claypool (Margaret Dumont) that he has the power to make her a relevant figure in the high class society, however, Driftwood is merely a very well-spoken con man and manages to take her for money, while making her believe that she can achieve prevalence by becoming friends with the local opera managers.  All the while, Driftwood seeks another means to gain money and finds it through a burgeoning opera star named Riccardo (Alan Jones) who is managed by the wry and slightly abrasive Fiorello (Chico Marx).  Driftwood and Fiorello strike up a contract, or lack thereof, in which they obtain money for Riccardo's performances, although they both seem quite aware that to assure this success they must dethrone the opera company's shining star Rodolfo (Walter Woolf King), which also means Driftwood losing his ties to the higher end opera figures.  Also within the mix is the wardrobe/stage/sound manager and mute Tomasso (Harpo Marx) who seems more content with showing how he can ruin a job than actually complete it with any degree of proficiency.  The entire opera troupe ends up taking up a job performing in The United States leading to a portion of the narrative occurring on the ship, during which time, the sly ways of Driftwood, Fiorello and Tomasso are brought to attention, yet their ability to think on their feet allows them to evade arrest and eventually shack up in an decent apartment until the opera season begins, at which time they use the opportunity to create chaos within the theater allowing for Riccardo to gain prominence, while also destroying the image of Rodolfo.  In the closing moments, everyone seems to have won their desired possession, except of course Rodolfo, but the narrative clearly makes him the bad guy and a person deserved of criticism.

I mentioned the anarchistic elements of A Night at the Opera as something rather present in much of the  work of the Marx Brothers.  I mean to say this both as a narrative device and, in some regards a cinematic sense, while the stylistic elements are certainly not as intentionally undermining as something done by Godard or Tarkovsky, they certainly exist within A Night at the Opera, particularly the act of speeding up images, or cramming the space within as many bodies possible would reflect this, especially as we see within the scene staged within the lower deck of the ship.  Language, is, undoubtedly, a part of the anarchy of a Marx Brothers film, obviously rooted within Groucho whose sure fire and every ready wit have become a bit of an iconic thing within cinema and cultural history.  Yet he is not the only one reconsidering language, Chico's purposeful misunderstanding, or, more importantly, refusal to understand certain terms could be their own place of anarchy within the filmic narrative.  Then, of course, there is Harpo whose refusal to say even the simplest phrase makes his use of language absolutely, and, undeniably, anarchistic.  If these elements are not enough to sway a reader as to the anarchistic nature of the Marx Brothers and A Night at the Opera specifically, the complete dismissal of everything bourgeois and sophisticated certainly should. One can see this in a super specific situation when looking and Driftwood and Fiorello attempting to create a contract, only to completely destroy it in the process, however, this also absolutely and obviously occurs within the final opera sequence when ever sense of normalcy and class separation is deconstructed through acts of acrobatics, bringing a working class game of baseball into the space, or by completely throwing of the staging of the play by dropping different scenery onto the stage.  It should be acknowledge, however, that not even the Marx Brothers believe that everything is a justification for insanity and even they can find moments of serenity and poetic transcendence.

Key Scene:  This serenity actually becomes the films highest moment, when viewers are treated to a Truffaut-like scene of Harpo and Chico playing music for children on board the ship that is a thing of legitimate cinematic beauty.

This DVD is relatively easy to come by and with no apparent bluray release in the future it is well worth the investment.

I Am A Golden God: Almost Famous (2000)

There is a consensus that Dazed and Confused is one of the best reflections of a historical moment ever put to film, which perhaps helps to explain its unquestioned place at the top of film hierarchy between its sweet soundtrack and great cast, and I am certainly somebody who dotes on the film whenever possible.  Yet viewing Almost Famous earlier today has really thrown a layer of perspective on the entire debate, as it is an equal and at times better film than Dazed and Confused while theoretically focusing on the same post-rock'n'roll disillusioned youth culture of the front half of the seventies.  I use the word theoretically because where Dazed and Confused chooses to focus on a seemingly mundane group of individuals dealing with grandiose and heightened issues, Almost Famous is precisely the opposite choosing to situate its narrative within the most lively portion of the era, while considering some of the most mundanely troubling aspects of human existence.  Cameron Crowe, perhaps most well-known for Jerry Maguire and one LL Cool J demanding financial compensation, yet what exists within Crowe's ode to an era is a love letter to some lost moment of childhood, or perhaps of an entire generation, one that is a sweetly sentimental as it is brutally detached from the situation.  It provides viewers with something that is both completely grounded in reality, as well as being somewhat stylized and expressionistic in its approach.  The America that is depicted through travel within Almost Famous is both rejecting the old social order, while also attempting to consider how to properly reinstate some sort of authoritative figurehead.  It seems as though Crowe's very personal film attempts to reach out and consider how much control individuals had during the time, while also suggesting that many involved were actively attempting to avoid responsibility, making the handful who genuinely sought to guide themselves with a legitimate moral compass equally confused and lacking direction without any degree of support.  Almost Famous is a manifest of sorts to an era long gone, a film whose millennial release date says much about the manner with which the characters move through their space disconnected, yet harping upon a less than grounded belief in a shared culture.  Short of calling Almost Famous a revelation, one could certainly deem it necessary viewing.

Almost Famous focuses on the wide-eyed William Miller (Patrick Fugit) an aspiring music critic who is constantly dealing with the loss of a father at a young age, and overbearing anti-anything produced by society mother named Elaine (Frances McDormand), as well as the loss of a close relationship with his sister Anita (Zooey Deschanel) who leaves the house to pursue a career as a stewardess.  When William is encouraged by a minimally successful local critic, named Lester Bangs (Phillip Seymour Hoffman), to write about an up and coming band named Stillwater, he moves away from the nest, much to the worrying and fretting of his mother.  Yet, the magnetism of Stillwater with their boisterous lead singer Jeff Bebe (Jason Lee) and their enigmatic guitarist Russell Hammond (Billy Crudup), proves to much for William to ignore and while passing as being considerably older than he is manages to land a gig as a roving reporter for The Rolling Stone who see Stillwater as the "next big thing."  William also meets Penny Lane (Kate Hudson) a self-proclaimed "band-aid" which she claims to be distinctly different from a groupie in that they actually inspire songs in the groups and purposefully avoid having sex with band members.  Needless to say, the trip across America proves to be a veritable wakeup call for the young William, who is witness to all kinds of decadence, debauchery and danger, all the while Elaine constantly assuring his safety to no avail.  It is also along this trip that William becomes enlightened to the woes related to being pushed through the ringer of celebrity life.  He witnesses Russell spiral through a multitude of identity issues, not to mention a problematic love triangle between Russell and Penny, with William being an onlooking third participant.  Of course, as was the case for so many bands before and after, Stillwater finds themselves doomed for failure based on their dysfunctional dichotomy and the general deception of the music industry.  William catalogs the entire unravelling of the band while also dealing with his own existential crisis, tied both to his inability to return home in times of desperation, as well as his inability to consummate anything of value with Penny.  As the tour winds down William is beleaguered and returns home to a welcoming Elaine and a world weary Anita.  Although the band denies the report he files to The Rolling Stone a final scene involving redemption between Russell and William proves all the reward the recent high school graduate could have desired.

It is a tricky thing for a filmmaker to create an narrative so heavily invested in considering the human condition, let alone one within such a setting relative privilege.  Usually films of this grand introspection require at the very least a third world setting or some degree of impoverishment.  However, I would argue that Crowe's particular choice to set the film in the early seventies provides a degree of moral and social decrepitude equal to that, without forfeiting the hipness of "rock'n'roll" or music culture.  The characters, both main and extras, seem to simply wander through their spaces hoping for momentary collisions of understanding, some attaching themselves to a single band, as is the case with one overly committed Led Zeppelin fan, or to an idea, as occurs with Penny Lane who seems tied to the idea of Stillwater, both prove tragic because not only of their singularity, but also because of their assured promise of disappointment, considering that Stillwater does not stay together and, historically speaking, neither did Led Zeppelin.  The way the characters involuntarily engage with one another both embracing and denying its necessity was a theme that seems to have failed in a film like Crash, but works so perfectly within this work.  William's groundedness throughout the film is not a result of his stronger moral upbringing, although it clearly helps him keep his head straight in later portions of the trip, but instead his commitment to his own personal escapism through music, however, unlike the others who use it as a pseudo-drug, William sees it as a metaphor for live and forms a healthy relationship with each musical moment, often choosing not to join in on sing-alongs, opting instead to study each person rendering their voice to a song, this occurs most noticeably with a famous Elton John song.  Yet when groundedness literally becomes an impossibility for William, even he breaks down and is forced to reconsider his value placements, confronting the group for their treatment of Penny, not because he thinks it is particularly unjust to Penny, but because it is unfair to him and his desires for her.  The choice to situate the final scenes of the film at William's home are key, because even though he has travelled and seen an awful lot for his age, he is still quite young and deserves a chance to remain a child a bit longer.

Key Scene:  The opening credits are awesome, if not those, it is certainly the airplane scene.

Buy this movie, it is well worth the few bucks you will have to shuck out to enjoy its brilliance.  In fact, I suggest a joint viewing with Dazed and Confused, as they both use different avenues to make similar considerations about seventies America, in fact, just think about both films closing settings.

Experiments In Film: 14 Video Paintings (1981 and 1984)

For some time I had it set in my mind that nothing profoundly artistic could occur as a result of home video recording.  Simply put, the gritty, blurry and amatuerish quality of such a format was not intended to be used cinematically.  This was the opinion I felt until stumbling upon a set of experimental films created by ambient music pioneer Brian Eno.  His filmic studies titled Thursday Afternoon and Mistaken Memories of Mediaeval Manhattan are perhaps some of the most portrait-like pieces of cinema I have ever seen.  Created by slowing down recordings of his New York skyline and women engaging in everything from smoking to bathing, Eno's work is meant to be enjoyed by multiple senses in an almost unconscious manner.  The film image moves quite slowly and each little details pops and fades as though it were an impressionist painting.   It would be quite fair to call Eno's works ambient, because like his music they are meant to on the atmospheric elements of cinema, as opposed to the narrative or singular aspects of cinema.  It is meant to be something that can be enjoyed slowly and obsessively without distractions, as well as passively in the background of a party or other activities.  In essence, it is purely experiential cinema that is viewable in a variety of manners.

The mastery of Eno's experimental cinema is that it works as a literal piece of art.  Mistaken Memories incorporates notions of landscape painting, while Thursday Afternoon is clearly a rethinking of portraiture.  However, what separates Eno's work from a traditional painting is that it does in fact move, even if the movement is nearly undetectable.  Furthermore, the simple placement of ambient music to his pieces elevates the work to a new level of experimental art in that it is a hybrid of visual and aural experience that simply does not occur enough in the avant-garde community.  Finally, and perhaps most surprising is Eno's use of filters and camera effects in Thursday Afternoon to distort his images.  This technique was so overused with the onset of home video that I had become disdainful of anything involving its use, however, as should be little surprise Eno makes it seem poetic, provocative and fresh.  Simply put, Eno is, as with his music, very aware of each subtle detail in his films that it becomes a thing of both grand beauty and obsessive minutia that is fantastically mesmerizing.  I know that I am gloating on Eno's films to great length, but having already loved his music, 14 Video Paintings only makes me admire the man more and more.

For more information on Brian Eno or to watch an example of his work click either of the film stills below.  A warning that Thursday Afternoon technically contains nudity, although it is more in lines with a nude painting: