Ernie Gehr’s CARNIVAL OF SHADOWS at MoMA is a reconciliation between the old and the new, and a celebration of the formal magic of the moving image.

The main piece in the exhibit is a five-channel video projected onto a large wall. Each channel takes for its source an early 20th century shadowgraph. The shadowgraphs were essentially long strips of paper run through vertical black bars. This interlacing effect would produce the illusion of movement of the figures drawn on the strips. Each shadowgraph in CARNIVAL contains its own narrative sequence; like Gulliver’s Travels, often the comedy or fantasy narratives that were common in early, simplistic animation.

Gehr takes six of these shadowgraphs and projects them next to one another, such that the illusion of horizontal movement continues from one screen to the other, from one black bar to the other. This, along with the many other ways Gehr digitally manipulates and abstracts the shadowgraphs (jumping between vertical lines, decoupling the top half of a figure from the bottom, etc…) leads to the total loss of any narrative cohesion. Instead, we get an endless parade of shadows marching forever rightward (or for the 20 minute runtime of the piece). CARNIVAL OF SHADOWS isn’t a celebration of cinema’s power to tell a narrative; its rejoice is in something much simpler; that inanimate images can be brought to life at all.`   

The piece becomes a celebration of the moving image itself. In its abstractions, and in its size (too large to take in at once), Gehr asks you to participate in the carnival, rather than simply admire it from a distance. I don’t expect that anyone stays for the full 20 minutes. In fact, in the time that I was there, most people stayed for less than one minute. But that struck me much like an actual carnival, where people are so overwhelmed by all the sensual pleasures that surround them, that their attention can only be held for a moment. CARNIVAL OF SHADOWS doesn’t seem to mind. I think it wants to be brief so it can remain delightful. In that dark room, against the wall lit only by the digital projectors, you can walk by and become one of the shadows brought to life by the magic of cinema, marching in their parade.

For my second outside screening, I went to The Museum of Modern Art to see the 1971 Yugoslavian film Plastic Jesus by Lazar Stojanovic. Going into the film, I had a few expectations just from doing a little bit of reading about it online. I was expecting to see a collage of political dissent, explicit sexuality, and religious critiques. Although these themes definitely define the film, I struggled to get a hold on what exactly Stojanovic was trying to say, and perhaps that was the point. The threadbare storyline serves as a backdrop for Stojanovic’s bricolage of leftist ideology and social revolution.
One of the main functions of Plastic Jesus is to shock. Stojanovic was put in jail for his film, for anti-state activities and propaganda. Obviously the political message was a direct confrontation with Yugoslavia’s authoritarian communist regime, but more shocking to me (even in 2016) was the aggressiveness of the film, both in it’s style and in it’s treatment of sexuality. I’m far from a prude, but I was very put off by the films use of sex and representation of gender. It seems as though Stojanovic was trying to show a anarchistic view of sex and gender, but rather than being rooted in liberation and freedom, it was misogynistic and reckless. In 1971, I’m sure Stojanovic could have been seen as progressive and perhaps even feminist in his open and frank presentation of sexuality, but to me, Stojanovic’s liberal view of sexuality is very much patriarchal and comes solely from a male perspective. The women in Plastic Jesus are independent and sexually free, but they exist in the film as objects and indulgences for the main character. Although there was a story, it was so disjointed and thin that it is unclear what relationships the main character, a filmmaker named Tom, has with the women in his life. What is clear however, is that women do not have any intellectual or ideological agency, and act as transients, popping in and of the film only to shock the audience with their frank sexuality.
Admittedly, the specific political motivations of Plastic Jesus were lost on me. I know very little about Yugoslavia, but political resistance and dissent came through very clearly in the film. The ideology behind this resistance seems very jumbled and inarticulate. In the film, Tom is many times identified as an anarchist, an ideology that is reflected in the film’s style, but ultimately I find myself confused as to how his anarchy functions in the context of the greater socio-political landscape. Stojanovic interrupts his story with appropriated Nazi footage and some pretty spectacular found material from the very early days of cinema (including footage of a couple having sex in a forest, that seems to be from the 1920’s). The Nazi images of course oriented me into a political framework, a clear objection to fascist authoritarianism and violence. But again, I felt like I was missing something. Plastic Jesus finds its climax in a spectacular sequence in which the main character, Tom, stands on a balcony with a shotgun, aiming and firing below. His gunshots are cut between graphic images of corpses stacked on top of each other, in various states of decay. The shots of the corpses signal that the violence was that of genocide, war, and torture, although again, the exact context is lost on me. I was very impressed with this sequence. It was incredibly powerful, and it’s solemnity was felt wholly and introspectively as a consequence of the politics the film was opposing.
Although I can’t say that I enjoyed Plastic Jesus, or even that I understand it, overall I feel glad to have seen it. At the very least, Stojanovic implores his audience to react. The disruptive nature of the film provokes thought and challenges assumptions. I definitely felt challenged watching the film, and I feel that ultimately it was a constructive experience for me.

Steve McQueen’s video exhibit at the Whitney takes over the 5th floor, entirely, with floor to ceiling screens on either side of the floor. Immediately, I’m immersed in the work. Through video (scrolling declassified FBI documents) and spoken word (recitation of these documents by a man and a woman), McQueen presents us with the realities of McCarthy era politics. While watching the video, I was attempting to read and take in all the information coming at me, but I felt that it was McQueen’s intention to represent these FBI documents in a way that is harder to grasp, just as McCarthy Xenophobia and communist “takedown” is mind boggling both to understand that it’s a reality of American history, and that people actually believed in the paranoia created by McCarthy.

This is definitely a unique way to approach the Red Scare, by investigating (and presenting) the documents that the FBI collected on Paul Robeson, a person who was accused of being a communist in Hollywood. Upon further reading of the piece, I discovered that it is made for a museum setting, it’s not meant to be watched through to completion in a theater like setting. I think the way the floor was set up spoke to that, as the immediate immersion in an FBI “investigation” could be quite unsettling, however, you’re placed in that moment and setting, and you stay until you’ve pieced together what McQueen is trying to convey.

All together, I think that most people going in wouldn’t know much about what they’re about to see when they enter the space and I think that was the intention. First off, the voice overs didn’t seem to me like they were exact readings of what was scrolling on the screen, the info coming at you is juxtaposed with the emptiness of the space. I think it was meant to confuse, I mean I’m generally confused how the Red Scare went from being McCarthy’s made up paranoia, to a large scale career ending, fear instiling, federal investigation of many innocent people who, mostly couldn’t be convicted of actual crimes. All in all, I did enjoy the exhibit, I thought it was a very sensory experience and an interesting representation of a time in US history.

Steve McQueen’s End Credits is an artistic representation of Paul Robeson’s FBI file from the McCarthy era. The exhibit is on the fifth floor of the Whitney, a huge, nearly empty room, aptly called Open-Space. From the second you step into the room, you are immersed in the piece. On both ends of the room are screens that stretch from ceiling to floor. Both display Robeson’s annotated files scrolling up the screen like credits as the title suggests. Voices of both men and women are reading the information from the files but they do not correspond with either screen. The information interrupts itself with frequent redactions, which are always read in a voice different from the rest of the content. It is nearly impossible to absorb all the information that is being spoken and displayed in front of you (and behind you) but that, of course, is intentional. Unfortunately, I had no prior knowledge of the exhibit or it’s history. Slowly, I began to piece things together. I caught dates like 1946 and 1961 and words like HUAC, confidential informant, pro-communist, and Hollywood. I heard the phrase, “The best country today to test the principles of Marxism might be America,” several times. I still did not know the exact focus of the piece but the tonal element was clear nonetheless. I did some research following my viewing of the exhibit and learned that not only did the FBI have nothing of substance in Robeson’s files, but also this investigation essentially ended his career. I also found out that the material loops around the six-hour mark. Knowing this information makes the piece so much stronger. It is difficult to gather all of the material from the narrations and both screens because it is irrelevant. The files are so extensive but no significant wrongdoing could ever be proven. The effects that this investigation had on Robeson’s career indicate the significance of the title. With all the background information that I now have, I would definitely like to go back and view it again.

Photograph by Matt Carasella, Whitney.org

I attended the Omer Fast exhibition at the James Cohan gallery. The exhibition features three short films by artist, Omer Fast. These three films are entitled 5,000 Feet is the Best (2011), Continuity (2012), and Spring (2016). Each one is professionally produced with competent acting and great cinematography.  During the installation I found myself contemplating whether or not the films should be considered experimental or not.  Ultimately I came to the conclusion that indeed they can be considered experimental art. This is due to the fact that despite possessing a narrative structure, Fast is still conscious of the exhibition space and places an emphasis on evoking feeling as opposed to telling a story.

The first film, 5,000 Feet is the Best, deals with issues of drone surveillance and aims to bring drone warfare closer to home. The film is able to do this especially well by using aerial shots of suburban neighborhoods while overlaying these visuals with audio of drone pilots describing what it is like to observe targets from the sky. The key sequence of this film is an interview between a journalist and a drone pilot, which is used as a vehicle to tell a series of vignettes which are loosely connected to the rest of the film. This interview sequence is repeated throughout the film from differing camera angles, some of which expose the camera crew filming the interview.

The second film, Spring, is displayed across 5 separate screens arranged both vertically and horizontally in order to create one large screen. This arrangement compliments the disappearing images, overlapping scenes, sounds, and shots featured in the film. There is a theme of connected yet disjointed narrative throughout this exhibition and the physical arrangement of the displays compliments this theme.

The third film, Continuity, follows a soldier returning home to his parents. The soldier recounts stories of war for his parents. These stories materialize inside the suburban home through the use of overlapping visuals which appear almost ghostly. Again, Fast uses repetition of scenes, places and lack of a linear story to keep the audience guessing and evoke a feeling of being in an absurd world. The world that Fast creates is visually similar to our own but the circumstances and occurrences that take place in this world evoke a discomfort that makes us aware of the fact that the environments of the films are almost otherworldly.

All three films are played on a loop in separate exhibition spaces. This means that the viewer can start watching each film at any point and the story will still unfold properly with varying emotional impact. This is due to the fact that the same scenes are repeated throughout each film from varying camera angles and the major plot points in each film overlap with one another and are replayed periodically. By arranging these films in a gallery space on a loop, Fast is able to create a piece of slightly absurdist art. The viewer feels as if they are watching a spectacle rather than a narrative film.

Vietnam (25 minutes)

Screened at: Athens International Film & Video Festival in Athens, Ohio (4/7/16)

I spent 3 days watching films for at least six hours a day at the Athens International Film & Video festival this past April, and although the program that this film was a part of was the least attended that I witnessed (only five others in the audience!) this film was my favorite. Pham Ngoc Lan takes his time with shots, they allow time for the watcher to really feel what is happening in the scene, to take in details like wallpaper texture or the way suds slides down a glass window when cleaning and allow these details to sink in.

The film begins in a white-roomed gallery setting; a middle-aged woman takes a hair dryer from her purse and begins to blow her hair dry, but then takes off her hair — it’s a wig — and continues to blow it dry in her lap. She then takes fruit out of her purse — she is meticulous and intent and aware of the camera. The shot is long. We are then transported to a private karaoke room where several mid-20 year-old’s are strewn about the room, one singing, another lying on the floor crying, another looking bored — all amidst flashing lights of nightlife karaoke. The song is dramatic and sad; we learn, through tears, that the man crying has just been broken up with after a long relationship and engagement. What then proceeds is a sappy love song, while all in the room are long-faced and silent, absorbed in their own thoughts while a  disco ball lights up their faces.

We watch the middle aged woman look out the window as her high-level apartment windows are washed by two men wearing safety harnesses and sitting on swings. This scene is silent and meditatively long; we see the window washers frantically moving contrasted with her stillness as she watches. Many thoughts arise while she watches at “crotch-level” of the male workers. This scene cuts and then we see a series of long take of suds sliding down the window at various speeds and the reflection of the buildings and city in the glass and water.

As the film proceeds, there seem to be non-sequiturs scenes, building a mood with a slight plot weaved in — or rather, a familiarity builds as we watch characters play out and form relationships and do things on their own. It seems that the main plot is of a relationship ending and another one beginning due to pregnancy. The middle aged womans role is somewhat ambiguous, at some points seeming like a mother, at other points seeming like a lover.

Even though a fractured plot emerges, that is not what captured my attention the most. What struck me about this film was the mood that it created: longing, awkwardness, sadness — created by such specific scenes of characters alone and with others. The fragmented plot is not bothersome, it is a collage of situations, of relationships, of feelings. The scenes are elaborate and specific, but sometimes the specificity is unclear or ambiguous as they don’t pertain to a plot, but rather a mood.

The ending is of a waterfall and all of the characters lying on a rock. It is a pan shot and we first see one character walking over rocks in a creek, and then the camera pans over in real time as he walks, to the big rock with all the characters revealed lying like beached whales. I felt that this walk through a rocky creek somehow represented their journey through life, which seemed painful and challenging, only to reach people who are living in their own worlds with difficulty connecting. I really loved this film. The colors, scenery, soundtrack and pacing were right on.

Project 102 is Neïl Beloufa’s first solo New York museum exhibition that is being displayed at the Museum of Modern Art until June 12, 2016. He is an emerging a French Algerian artist who received his Visual Arts National Diploma at École Nationale Supérieure des Beaux-Arts, Paris (2007), and studied at Cooper Union, New York, and CalArts, Valencia, California. It features an installation titled The Colonies (2016) which projects images on a moving exposed/ see through piece made from inexpensive construction materials and techniques. There are cameras installed on the piece and around the room that are capturing a live feed of the space. The live footage being captured is mashed up with the video People’s Passion, Lifestyle, Beautiful Wine, Gigantic Glass Towers, All Surrounded By Water (2011). The video includes a series of individuals talking about their experience within an unknown city with Spanish subtitles underneath. The people speaking are never seen; only the audio from their interview is featured. Instead, the current time is projected on the center of the monitor while a collage of live footage and images that correspond to their responses play. For instance, if one of the women speaking mention something she likes, an image of a thumbs up appears. If one of the men states something is unnatural, a thumbs down sign appears. Along with the audio from their interview, there is also music and natural sounds of birds chirping is playing.

Beloufa’s exhibition is a great example of experimental video and artwork. It has been said that “the aim of experimental filmmaking is usually to render the personal vision of an artist, or to promote interest in new technology rather than to entertain or to generate revenue, as is the case with commercial films” which is exactly what Beloufa does in his work. He makes material that may seem unappealing on their own intriguing with the help of video collage he created. He is truly able to grasp the attention and engage museum goers with his simple yet complex piece.

Last week I went to a showing of the Black Maria film festival at the Anthology Film Archives. It was my first time going to this theater, and it was a really fun experience. I took one of my friends with me that is not a film major, and I was a little worried he would not have a good time. He is not one to particularly enjoy experimental films, but I think I was able to change his mind after bringing him with me.

The tiny theater was completely filled, and many people there knew each other. The woman who was orchestrating and introducing the festival seemed to know almost everyone there by name. There were about 6 films in total, and all of the filmmakers were present in the theater, which I thought was really cool. The whole festival was about an hour and a half long, followed by a short Q & A.

I thought it was really interesting to see a variety of films in the festival. There was some animation, some documentary, some narrative. All of the pieces brought something different to the screen, and I found that really interesting. One of the animation pieces was about a young boy rescued form living with wolves, but soon realized he wasn’t made for the human world. It was very beautifully made and it was almost mesmerizing to watch. Another one of my favorites was almost a stop motion piece made out of paper and magazines, about a man suffering from PT SD after going off to the war. A lot of the other narrative pieces were so well done and fascinating, my friend and I were so glad to get the chance to experience all of them.

After the viewing was over, a couple of the filmmakers went to the front of the theater and took questions from the audience. Again. it was really interesting to see how close this group of people was, because even the filmmakers knew a lot of the audience members by name. A lot of people asked one of the directors about her piece that incorporated nature and the brain, and she went on to talk about how she makes films like these mostly because she wants to try and understand exactly how the brain works, and how she wants to make it understandable to other people too. It was really cool because there was someone in the audience from the medical field, and he said that he has never seen a film that can bridge the gap between scientists and artists, and that he would love to introduce his coworkers to her pieces.

It was a lot of fun to sit in on this pretty intimate conversation between really creative people. My friend and I thought we might be out of the loop because of the pieces or people some of them were talking about, but for the most part there wasn’t a lot of name dropping, and we were both really happy to be able to be a part of the conversation. My friend and I had a really fun time seeing all of these different pieces and get such an intimate viewing session with the filmmakers. We’re excited to make another trip soon.