October 23
Bloggy Aside [which is meant to imply self-indulgent rambling and ranting (as habitually and/or stereotypically practised by blogger types) as opposed to good meaty film analysis, I only mention this because my terminology seems to be confusing some people, it's all borrowed from Sicinski anyway]: Should I go see Animal Collective on Tuesday? Dandy Warhols? The Coral? (OK, so they're fey.) K T Tunstall, of perfect-pop gem "Suddenly I See" fame? Still haven't caught that Bob Hoskins play, either.
It's hard to stay on-topic when a Festival isn't the only game in town - or even the biggest - but a big shout-out to "Lee Walker" for recommending that Jeff Wall photography exhibition at the Tate. I went this morning, and I'm glad I did. For the uninitiated, Wall's photos are mounted in light-boxes and usually large-scale - almost life-size in many cases. When you look at the people in wide-shot compositions from across the gallery space, they look like they could be standing on one side of a street, with you on the other. The light-box also makes them glow, as objects do in actual light, giving an illusion of 3-D hyper-reality; you feel you could literally step into the photo. Yet the photos are invariably staged, often with studio production values - makeup, etc - and are sometimes "digital montages", dozens of photos seamlessly blended by computer to create the illusion of a real moment.
Actually, I don't think Wall himself is drawn to the same things in his work that fascinated me. The more elaborate pieces, e.g. a panorama of dead soldiers, are so clearly manufactured (albeit realistic) they lose their edge. The best are works like the b&w "Passerby", a fleeting shot of a man turning to look at another man he's just passed on the street; we just see the backs of their heads, and the sense of voyeurism is inescapable - you feel the man is about to turn back, see you staring and scowl as he walks on (the fact that it's b&w adds to the impression of parallel universe). Other photos contain inchoate stories, like "Tran Duc Van" in which a Vietnamese man leans against a tree (the tree itself, and its shadow, take up most of the photo), not with his body but resting his hands awkwardly against it; his expression could be pain or exhaustion; a blond, shabby-looking woman stands at the edge of the photo, looking away from us. It's impossible to say if they know each other, if the man is actually in pain, etc, but the hyper-reality gives it Moment Out of Time status. In the most evocative photo, "A Ventriloquist at a Birthday Party in October 1947" - which might be an actual 1947 photo, for all I know - the sense of Time-travel is inescapable; it made me want to stand close and imagine myself in 1947, with plastic figurines on the table, a half-full glass of orange juice, a box labelled "60 Game Marbles"...
Speaking of Time-travel, I also walked through the Rachel Whiteread exhibit at the Tate; don't know its title, but it's literally mounds of white plastic boxes, hundreds or maybe even thousands, stacked in a vast warehouse space. The boxes form a couple of towers and assorted mini-structures - but the main point is that they're piled all around you, at least as tall as an adult human being and frequently taller (the towers are about the height of a two-storey building). "It's like when you make something at school," a father was explaining to his young daughter, and I noticed various kids grinning in delight as they walked around; this is no surprise, because the main effect of the exhibit (whatever Whiteread's stated purpose) is to make you feel like a child. It's like stumbling on one of those comic-book Lost Cities, scaled to some unknown race of super-beings; one walks around dazed - and also feels a strange stirring of freedom, as if in a new world. Mostly, however, it's soothing (I had a similar response to the giant spider that guarded the entrance of the Tate last year, seeming to shield spectators beneath its roof of metal legs; I'm sure "Lee Walker" knows what I'm talking about); this is Art as comfort-food, allowing the sophisticated viewer to let go of his/her sophistication and feel small again - hence fresh, wide-eyed, no longer jaded. Though maybe I should find out what Whiteread herself has said about this exhibit before crying Infantilisation...
MANDERLAY (dir., Lars von Trier) (49)
Why is Grace suddenly talking (and acting) like a schoolmarm? When does V.O. topple from pleasingly literate into annoyingly wordy (probably somewhere between "overweening daddy" and "a trifle over-spirited")? Did they really think sleazy Willem Dafoe could step in for James Caan, or Bryce (who alternately reminded me of Julia Roberts and Juliette Lewis) for Nicole Kidman? Above all, how could Lars put such a dent in my Theory of DOGVILLE, viz. that the empty soundstage conceit wasn't just a gimmick but an integral part of the story, acting as a visual representation of the Open Society? (He does the same here, and this time it is just a gimmick.) Unlike DOGVILLE it doesn't work dramatically - only politically, and even there LvT's bold authoritarian ideas seem a bit lacking in ambiguity this time round; the final twist is that democracy isn't for everyone - shades of Bush in Iraq - and indeed the oppressed themselves may prefer to remain oppressed, but Grace is made to seem naive from the start (her denial of her sexual fantasies marking her out as a hypocrite) weakening the other side of the argument, that the elite must take responsibility for the passivity of the underclass, i.e. that "You made us" (Lars also loves the fact that democracy, once granted, can lead to embarrassing decisions for the well-meaning folks who grant it, e.g. support for the death penalty). If Grace isn't allowed any good faith it puts her in an impossible position - for how, after all, can America make reparation for past wrongs except by trying to help? It's just bashing, albeit provocative enough to be enjoyable, if it worked as drama; God's-eye shots suggest you have to see the Bigger Picture, but is Von Trier really so impartial? I mean come on.
HOWL'S MOVING CASTLE (dir., Hayao Miyazaki) (78)
Second viewing, dubbed version this time. Certainly not 'worse' - in fact, seeing it in English revealed a bunch of tiny, on-the-margins jokes that hadn't been caught by the subtitles - but Miyazaki seems to naturally belong in my 77-78 range (only MONONOKE scored lower). I'll try and figure out why when I eventually write about it.
It's hard to stay on-topic when a Festival isn't the only game in town - or even the biggest - but a big shout-out to "Lee Walker" for recommending that Jeff Wall photography exhibition at the Tate. I went this morning, and I'm glad I did. For the uninitiated, Wall's photos are mounted in light-boxes and usually large-scale - almost life-size in many cases. When you look at the people in wide-shot compositions from across the gallery space, they look like they could be standing on one side of a street, with you on the other. The light-box also makes them glow, as objects do in actual light, giving an illusion of 3-D hyper-reality; you feel you could literally step into the photo. Yet the photos are invariably staged, often with studio production values - makeup, etc - and are sometimes "digital montages", dozens of photos seamlessly blended by computer to create the illusion of a real moment.
Actually, I don't think Wall himself is drawn to the same things in his work that fascinated me. The more elaborate pieces, e.g. a panorama of dead soldiers, are so clearly manufactured (albeit realistic) they lose their edge. The best are works like the b&w "Passerby", a fleeting shot of a man turning to look at another man he's just passed on the street; we just see the backs of their heads, and the sense of voyeurism is inescapable - you feel the man is about to turn back, see you staring and scowl as he walks on (the fact that it's b&w adds to the impression of parallel universe). Other photos contain inchoate stories, like "Tran Duc Van" in which a Vietnamese man leans against a tree (the tree itself, and its shadow, take up most of the photo), not with his body but resting his hands awkwardly against it; his expression could be pain or exhaustion; a blond, shabby-looking woman stands at the edge of the photo, looking away from us. It's impossible to say if they know each other, if the man is actually in pain, etc, but the hyper-reality gives it Moment Out of Time status. In the most evocative photo, "A Ventriloquist at a Birthday Party in October 1947" - which might be an actual 1947 photo, for all I know - the sense of Time-travel is inescapable; it made me want to stand close and imagine myself in 1947, with plastic figurines on the table, a half-full glass of orange juice, a box labelled "60 Game Marbles"...
Speaking of Time-travel, I also walked through the Rachel Whiteread exhibit at the Tate; don't know its title, but it's literally mounds of white plastic boxes, hundreds or maybe even thousands, stacked in a vast warehouse space. The boxes form a couple of towers and assorted mini-structures - but the main point is that they're piled all around you, at least as tall as an adult human being and frequently taller (the towers are about the height of a two-storey building). "It's like when you make something at school," a father was explaining to his young daughter, and I noticed various kids grinning in delight as they walked around; this is no surprise, because the main effect of the exhibit (whatever Whiteread's stated purpose) is to make you feel like a child. It's like stumbling on one of those comic-book Lost Cities, scaled to some unknown race of super-beings; one walks around dazed - and also feels a strange stirring of freedom, as if in a new world. Mostly, however, it's soothing (I had a similar response to the giant spider that guarded the entrance of the Tate last year, seeming to shield spectators beneath its roof of metal legs; I'm sure "Lee Walker" knows what I'm talking about); this is Art as comfort-food, allowing the sophisticated viewer to let go of his/her sophistication and feel small again - hence fresh, wide-eyed, no longer jaded. Though maybe I should find out what Whiteread herself has said about this exhibit before crying Infantilisation...
MANDERLAY (dir., Lars von Trier) (49)
Why is Grace suddenly talking (and acting) like a schoolmarm? When does V.O. topple from pleasingly literate into annoyingly wordy (probably somewhere between "overweening daddy" and "a trifle over-spirited")? Did they really think sleazy Willem Dafoe could step in for James Caan, or Bryce (who alternately reminded me of Julia Roberts and Juliette Lewis) for Nicole Kidman? Above all, how could Lars put such a dent in my Theory of DOGVILLE, viz. that the empty soundstage conceit wasn't just a gimmick but an integral part of the story, acting as a visual representation of the Open Society? (He does the same here, and this time it is just a gimmick.) Unlike DOGVILLE it doesn't work dramatically - only politically, and even there LvT's bold authoritarian ideas seem a bit lacking in ambiguity this time round; the final twist is that democracy isn't for everyone - shades of Bush in Iraq - and indeed the oppressed themselves may prefer to remain oppressed, but Grace is made to seem naive from the start (her denial of her sexual fantasies marking her out as a hypocrite) weakening the other side of the argument, that the elite must take responsibility for the passivity of the underclass, i.e. that "You made us" (Lars also loves the fact that democracy, once granted, can lead to embarrassing decisions for the well-meaning folks who grant it, e.g. support for the death penalty). If Grace isn't allowed any good faith it puts her in an impossible position - for how, after all, can America make reparation for past wrongs except by trying to help? It's just bashing, albeit provocative enough to be enjoyable, if it worked as drama; God's-eye shots suggest you have to see the Bigger Picture, but is Von Trier really so impartial? I mean come on.
HOWL'S MOVING CASTLE (dir., Hayao Miyazaki) (78)
Second viewing, dubbed version this time. Certainly not 'worse' - in fact, seeing it in English revealed a bunch of tiny, on-the-margins jokes that hadn't been caught by the subtitles - but Miyazaki seems to naturally belong in my 77-78 range (only MONONOKE scored lower). I'll try and figure out why when I eventually write about it.
posted by Theo at 12:20 AM
6 Comments:
Do not by any means go to see the Dandy Warhols live. Not only does their newest suck hardcore, but they will drone for 3 hours in a manner that would bore even the greatest BJM sychophant. I left after 20 minutes seeing them in festival context.
Please bud go to a big NME-approved show and then pick up a girl and video it and call it One Song and release it.
Animal Collective is very good. It's a trippy, tribal, psychedelic folk band, and their "Sung Tongs" is probably the weirdest album released in 2004 I can think of. Some of the songs are very energetic, like you're in some crazy indian ritual, some are slow ballads, etc, and they have a sense of humour, which is good. I'm not sure if it's your kind of thing, though.
I don't know about them live, but I imagine they must go completely apeshit. Memorable, at least.
It's so cute that only the teens are responding to this post.
Everything I've heard by Animal Collective has been awesome - that's why I mentioned them. I also noticed The Rasmus playing right next to this internet cafe, I'm pretty sure I liked their stuff at some point. Who am I kidding though, I won't be going to any shows. I barely have time to shop for dvds...
I'm so glad you made it to the Modern, "Theo". Wish I was there to visit it, too. Seeing Turbine Hall alone would be worth a trip. What I would have given to have seen Olafur Elisson's Turbine installation, which sounds like a post-modern variation on my hero James Turrell (http://www.tate.org.uk/modern/exhibitions/eliasson/).
I knew that you'd find something to grab onto in the Wall show... although looking through the Modern's website I now realize that show is not all that comprehensive. You're right that the dead soldiers photo is not one of his strongest but there are lots of very strong staged photos that weren't included in the show. (There's a variation of the soldiers photo staged with vampires picnicing at night that I like much better. It's one of the photos that made me believe Claire Denis when she said Wall's photos were one of her primary visual inspirations for TROUBLE EVERY DAY.)
Good job praising the "the past is a foreign country" ventriloquist photo. But bad job not mentioning the fawesome Ralph Ellison staging. I also like the indigenous Dejeuner sur l'herbe under the bridge although it is a bit didactic and lifeless.
But one of the best things I've seen by Wall (which, coincidently, was the first work I ever saw of his) was called "Eviction Struggle." It is a fabulous, staged long shot of the activity suggested by the title. On the opposite wall were video loops of close-ups of the photo's participants at the moment depicted in the still photo.
You're also quite right about the two street scenes. Any of Wall's photos that have only one or two people are generally great. When he puts more people in frame, the results fluxuate a little more (but still probably have more hits than misses). One odd thing is that as I look through the Wall catalogue I have, the photo of "Tran Duc Van" is different. The Vietnamese man is exactly the same but there are two passersby rather than the blonde woman in the version at the Tate. Interesting that he revises photos even years after the fact.
I imagine the Rachel Whiteread was a bit more than just white plastic boxes, though. I'm guessing it was multitudes of sculptural casts of the insides of boxes. That's more in keeping with her m.o. She does some brilliant work turning an object's interior into its exterior. (Most famously an entire London house.)
Oh, and what baaab said about Animal Collective in concert. (Although I'm far from a teen so my word is unreliable.) They're def. worth seeing, though. Their shows open a portal to someplace else... but there's probably plenty of other tantalizing options so it's all good, you lucky bastard.
You're probably right about the ultimate effect of the Rachel Whiteread exhibition. It likely has something to do with the space in Turbine Hall itself (the spider you reference was created by the legend-in-her-own-time Louise Bourgeois for Turbine Hall's inaugural installtion) - all of the "Unilever series" installations thus far have dealt with creating a sense of "child-like wonder," as you put it. (Except, of course, for the always-agressive Bruce Nauman whose only modifications to the hall were aural - he had pockets of sound (THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK) that a visitor would walk in and out of throughout the space.)
In the statement's I've read from Whiteread, one of her initial inspirations for EMBANKMENT was the final shot of RAIDERS OF THE LOST ARK, believe it or not.
PS- I am liking this new travelling, bloggy, digressive "Theo." Just write a little more about food and boxing and we might have found our next AJ Liebling. (I hear he would always get admonitions about scratching himself in public, too.)
Post a Comment
<< Home