DVD OF THE WEEK: Treasures IV

Treasures IV: American Avant-Garde Film, 1947-1986
27 Various Directors
2009, 312 minutes, U.S.A.
National Film Preservation Foundation / Image

What is it about that word "avant-garde" that scares away viewers into thinking "pretentious twaddle" or worse? In a world impressed with middle-of-the-road entertainments and flavors du jour, the fourth edition of the National Film Preservation Foundation's continuing celebration, historical document and survey of adventurous scientists of American cinema should be an event to sit up for. (Actually, fine, this is home video: sit back, fellow cinephiles). Collected over two discs, this smartly curated (if still incomplete) and handsomely transferred set features 26 films never-before-seen with such attention to quality, along with new music from John Zorn and a 70-page booklet, introduced by Martin Scorsese. As a New Yorker, I was especially drawn to the downtown Manhattan scenesters of yore (Shirley Clarke, Ken Jacobs, et al.), including these two gems:

Chumlum (Ron Rice, 1964) - Rice's work isn't as well known as that of his contemporaries, and this lovely psychedelic 23-minute daydream was my introduction to his work. Filmed in Rice's loft while friend Jack Smith and his Flaming Creatures brethren screened rushes, the film is basically an in-camera superimposed series of rhythmic flourishes, in a light pastel palette of flesh, flowers and flowing fabrics. A mustachioed, shirtless Smith, wearing a sand dollar around his neck and a peculiar headdress (pretty much everyone is dressed with an Arabian exoticism) plays ringleader to a politely orgiastic rolling-around of his collaborators. Scored to original Velvet Underground drummer Angus Maclise's jangly cimbalom (a concert hammer dulcimer favored by Hungarian gypsies), the resulting juxtaposition of sights, sounds and interpretative dancing is discordant in the moment, and yet hazily sweet and compelling. Just don't let Terry Richardson see this, or he'll get the wrong ideas for a project with his shallow hipster clan.

I, An Actress (George Kuchar, 1977) - One more reason for me to get excited about the upcoming SXSW doc It Came From Kuchar, this 9-minute, high-contrast B&W, faux-Hollywood screen test from brother George—as recorded with students in the last 10 minutes of a class he was teaching—plays with the line between sincerity and sincere camp. A young ingénue, standing in front of a blackboard on which is written "Keep funky," auditions for a director (Kuchar himself), who never seems able to convey what it is that he wants out of her performance. "When I cheat, it's not for sex," the actress tries to perform, but always seems on the verge of laughing, especially as Kuchar deadpans a feminine posture and voice in trying to tell her "exactly" what he wants. The comedy is in the momentum, as the dialogue never stops, even after each take, and by the time our aspiring star must play a dramatic scene to a cloth-draped post sporting a wig, the ridiculousness of learning acting as a skill comes easy.

Posted by ahillis at March 3, 2009 2:29 PM