Instructions for a Light & Sound Machine

Not rated yet!
Director
Peter Tscherkassky
Runtime
0 h 16 min
Release Date
1 January 2006
Genres
Western
Overview
An attempt to transform a Roman Western into a Greek tragedy.
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VJ Morton2
Right Wing Film Geek



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  • Toronto 2005
    (”Instructions for a Light & Sound Machine” is briefly mentioned in this.)

    Toronto 2005

    These were my grades and a sentence or two on the films I saw at Toronto:

    8 Sept
    50 Ways of Saying Fabulous (Stewart Main, New Zealand, 2) — And this movie was not one of them — bad kid acting, absurd plotting (the one adult on the scenes flees a shooting), aggravatingly syrupy score. Just awful in every way, but thankfully will only kill two hours of your life if you hang around the local Gay, Lesbian, Bisexual and Transgendered Film Festival, where they indiscriminately eat up anything in the “young boy discovers he’s gay” genre.

    Kiss Kiss Bang Bang (Shane Black, USA, 8) — Postmodernism didn’t kill comedy after all. You actually can parody something that was already intended as tongue-in-cheek to begin with, as this film proves beyond any doubt. Imagine a break-through-the-4th-wall version of LAST BOY SCOUT. I’ll have to see it again (durn it) because the audience was laughing so hard that they actually drowned out some of the jokes. Robert Downey Jr and Val Kilmer are both having enormous fun, and it just spills off the screen.

    9 Sept
    Takeshis’ (“Beat” Takeshi Kitano, Japan, 6) — One for the fanboys. Reaction seems to correlate perfectly (at least among those I’ve talked to) with the pre-existing level of Takeshi fanboyism — the more the person liked/was familiar with his other films, the more he liked it, the less, less. Hence my slightly positive grade. Funniest when it takes a SERIAL MOM turn and the nerdy “regular” Takeshi starts killing people who’ve committed minor ordinary-life offenses against him. But please Takeshi … leave out the dance numbers. It sucked in ZATOICHI too.

    Three Times (Hou Hsiao-hsien, Taiwan, 2) — Lots of interesting ideas, particularly about the changing status of women over the time covered by the three stories starring the same two actors. But they just lie flat on the screen in another languid vaporous snoozfest from Hou. A post-film conversation I had with Jeremy Heilman about the film was far more invigorating and well-thought out than the film itself, and that’s just not how it should be (I think even Jeremy, who I respect, would agree with that)

    The Devil & Daniel Johnston (Jeff Feuerzeig, USA, 8) — aka The Devil and Daniel R. Crumb. It didn’t hurt that I found Johnston’s music entirely without merit or even the simplest craft — the lyrics are painfully oversincere in that bad confessional poetry sense and any resemblance between the poetic meter of the words and the music’s melody or pace is entirely coincidental. But the film shows how necessary it was for Johnston to have an audience for his own mental health, and for this particular audience to have him (think Renee Zellweger’s song “Roxie Hart” from CHICAGO about the star and the audience). The Romantic Genius template also gets a working over and from some unlikely sources. Like David Treadwell, Johnston went FAR beyond “a little eccentric” — he was just plain nuts. And believe it or not, such people are not easy to live with.

    Tideland (Terry Gilliam, Britain, 3) — My sensibility simply doesn’t match Gilliam’s and this film was a singularly unpleasant experience — like watching colon surgery, with Gilliam helpfully providing fish-eye lenses, canted angles and acting turned up to 11 to make seem it even louder than it needs to be. Just … ick.

    Wavelengths avant-garde program 1 (various) — The best film here, and one of the best in the fest, was Peter Tscherkassky’s percussive “Instructions for a Light and Sound Machine” which turns images from a Sergio Leone western into an abstract horror film. I also liked the two “city symphony” films, “Douro, Faina Fluvial” a late-period silent by Manoel de Oliveira (who’s still working) of Oporto, and site specific ROMA 04, which used focus changes to produce a hyper-real quality to helicopter footage of Rome. The other stuff wasn’t for me.

    10 Sept
    Mrs. Henderson Presents (Stephen Frears, Britain, 6) — I’d like to think there’s more to it than hearing Judi Dench say “fiddler’s fuck” (and the very next line suggests there is), and it doesn’t work when it tries to get serious, but this is one of those brilliantly acted pieces of naughty British fluff that I’m a sucker for. Dench’s closing speech in favor of statuesque nudity in the midst of a British music-hall revue is pure hokum and drivel, but she makes it work, both because of what she does and who she is. Those for whom Bob Hoskins full-frontal nudity is your idea of Nirvana (and you know who you are) should camp out right now for this once-in-lifetime (gawd, do I ever hope) opportunity.

    L’Enfer (Danis Tanovic, France, 4) — Way too elliptical, fragmented and coy for something that turns out to be so pat and neat — basically CAPTURING LES FRIEDMANS, only told in the form of two of my least-favorite narrative structures — the Gradually Expanding Flashback and the Everybody Has A Tic That Needs Explaining. The last scene, the first to have all four principal actresses onscreen, is brilliantly done, but I then began wanting to film to actually start now.

    Capote (Bennett Miller, USA, 4) — Phillip Seymour Hoffman is in Cate-Blanchett-as-Hepburn Full Oscar-Beg mode, and the film has practically nothing else to offer. Only Catherine Keener as Harper Lee (another Reality Principle role for Miss Keener) makes an impression, and there’s even less suspense here than in most biopics/historical true crime stories. But Hoffman’s performance as one of the most easily parodied post-McLuhan public figures is so brilliant because it never descends into parody — he actually makes Capote a believable person. Watch for PSH in March.

    Brokeback Mountain (Ang Lee, USA, 9) — Word of mouth was already high, and then producer James Schamus introduced the film and offered his apologies that Ang Lee was not there, but he had to be in Venice “to pick up the Golden Lion” for best film at probably the world’s second-most-prestigious juried festival. When the lights went down, my expectations were higher than a Grateful Dead audience. Wow, man. Was this film ever so awesome, man. More TK. And plenty of Oscar nods too, I’d suspect.

    Corpse Bride (Tim Burton, USA, 7) — Basically it’s about necrophilia, but hey … so’s VERTIGO. Burton makes this collection of sick jokes mostly involving death and decay so light and breezy (helped along by a couple of strong musical numbers), and ultimately romantic and noble, that you almost forget what it is you’re watching

    11 Sept
    A History of Violence (David Cronenberg, Canada, 8) — Contender for Best of the Fest before William Hurt showed up and threw this delicate, precisely-observed balancing act into a minstrel show. It’s a kind of modern-day film noir, about secrets from out of the past and whether they’re really real and who Viggo Mortensen may or may not be. If you walk out of the film just as Viggo Mortensen … trying to be vague … finishes an all-night drive and walks into a bar … if you do that, you’ll think you walked out of one of the year’s best films. Only you’d also miss the spine-tingling coda scene, where there’s a universe of dread in a meat loaf.

    Elizabethtown (Cameron Crowe, USA, 1) — Although I genuinely and truly disliked this film, it might only have been slammed with maybe a 3 on the level of objective badness. But ELIZABETHTOWN pushes some of my most-tender buttons with its self-indulgence, its rambling structure, its piling on of endings, its extensive use of pop standards to propel (or actually provide) the emotion of a scene. Plus any movie that has Susan Sarandon do a stand-up routine in tap shoes at a wake (and bring down the house!!!) deserves as much scorn as I can pour on it.

    Manderlay (Lars Von Trier, Denmark, 9) — I can see not liking this, the latest stylized allegory by this generation’s greatest director. But I can’t see splitting the ticket with DOGVILLE though (in either direction) — they’re the same movie in every stylistic way, and the targets are equally well (or badly) dissected. The targets are more than American racism and slavery per se — there’s a much more profound critique of the (philosophical) liberal conception of freedom going on here. I hereby promise to rip a new one on the first liberal critic who claims this film is some profound critique of the Iraq Occupation (it can easily be seen that way, but it’s an utterly illiberal critique). Bryce Dallas Howard was initially a bit “off”to me — as Grace, she’s more intelligent, forthright and less submissive than the Grace of DOGVILLE (or the typical Von Trier heroine), but after 20 minutes, I got into the different character — it’s Grace as The Social Gospel rather than Grace as The Suffering Servant

    Mary (Abel Ferrara, USA, 4) — What a mess. There’s a great film in amongst these ideas, this footage, these characters and maybe even this plot (about the effects a little-seen-within-MARY Jesus film has on its actors, director). But Abel Ferrara has not made it, shamelessly padding out the 80 minutes — by including lots of expository shots of people travelling in cars and by turning over the film to religious scholars for several minutes at a time to give their monologues.

    12 Sept
    Revolver (Guy Ritchie, Britain, 3) — FIGHT CLUB meets LAST YEAR AT MARIENBAD with an operatic High Mass score and lots of I CHING-like maxims, both in the title cards and in the dialogue. It’s incomprehensible and jumbled as all hell. If that sounds like your idea of a good movie, have at it.

    Rome, Open City (Roberto Rossellini, Italy, 1945, presented by Isabella Rossellini, 10) — This canonized neorealist masterpiece needs no words from me by this point. But what surprised me on this repeat viewing was how much comedy and pure soapy melodrama this film has. Don Pietro, the partisan priest, is a figure of fun for much of the film’s length, and the Gestapo Lesbian Mata Hari is a hoot as well. But the film’s famous death scene sent chills all through my body, as it probably always will. And didn’t Rossellini get the memo that the Church backed the Nazis because the anti-Semite Pius XII was Hitler’s pope (well … what does he know that Daniel Jonah Goldhagen and John Cromwell don’t.)

    My Dad is 100 Years Old (Guy Maddin/Isabella Rossellini, Canada, 9) — Isabella as Selznick, Fellini, Hitchcock, Chaplin, her mother Ingrid Bergman. This short is at one and the same time both intensely personal on writer Rossellini’s part (she asks her mother The Ultimate Questions about her father — did he destroy your career; why did you divorce) and on director Maddin’s part (it’s in his familiar retro black-and-white-with-pyrotechnics style), and the two come together in the personification of Roberto Rossellini, who would be 100 next year, as an enormous round belly. The woman sitting behind me told her companions she thought that disrespectful, and I chuckled some more.

    Vers Le Sud (Laurent Cantet, France, 5) — I wanted to like this film more than I did since Cantet made my favorite film of recent years in TIME OUT, but this one was just unfocused and dormant. The subject matter (three women on holiday in Haiti looking for sex from the local men) is interesting, and Charlotte Rampling doesn’t know how not to be luminous onscreen. But between three women, back stories on all three, attempts at characterizing the Haitian locals — it might have just been a better idea to focus on just one of the women, as Cantet’s last two films both focused on a single protagonist.

    Into Great Silence (Philip Groening, Germany, 5) — I wanted to like this film more than I did since if anyone would like a 3-hour documentary about Carthusian monks, with no voiceover, no backstories, very little interview footage, and almost no words — you’d think it would be me. But this was unfocused and unstructured (the very opposite of a cloistered monastery). Not until about the last hour did I really get any sense of overall structure — why we were seeing what we were seeing in this order. The editing was pretty ragged all throughout — unexplained short shots, cuts coming too soon in the content curve. Might have been better to just follow one guy or maybe try to meticulously reconstruct a single day rather than just show this and that, with no sense of flow. I can rationalize all of it on thematic grounds, but finally not as tightly disciplined as it needed.

    13 Sept
    The Three Burials of Melquiades Estrada (Tommy Lee Jones, USA, 3) — Mexicans are the angelic salt of the earth. The Border Patrol is fascist jackboots. Rinse and repeat every five minutes for two excruciating hours.

    Stoned (Stephen Woolley, Britain, 5) — Perfectly serviceable Brian Jones biopic, focusing mostly on his last days, with some flashbacks (showing by example that Gus Van Sant made the right choice). But enormous hole created by lack of Rolling Stones material (owing to legal copyright issues), essential to any sense of why this man should matter more than any other fucked-up 60s junkie.

    Tristram Shandy: A Cock and Bull Story (Michael Winterbottom, Britain, 8) — I like this more than most other TIFFers because it didn’t bother me that it never really got back to being actually about the novel (sorta like how Sterne’s narrator never got around to actually telling his life story)

    Gabrielle (Patrice Chereau, France, 3) — Too talky about soulcraft that’s never dramatized, with a ridiculously LOUD score and other dubious directorial choices, and felt more like a Strindberg play than a Conrad story. (But at least the footman and Miss Julie actually do something.) I disengaged very quickly and this kind of psychological case study is not the sort of movie that can win you back in midstream (a post-film discussion with Josh Rothkopf blunted some of my hatred, frankly). Chereau is now on an 0-2 count with me.

    The District (Aron Gauder, Hungary, 6) — You have to at least once in your life see a movie with Hungarian gangsta hip-hop, Fauvist-style cutout animation and a nuke-wielding Osama bin Laden in a Budapest Falafel restaurant’s basement. Now I can die happy.

    14 Sept
    Walk the Line (James Mangold, USA, 7) — Reese is luminously quick-witted (get your [long overdue] Oscar dress ready, girl), Joaquin is as good as he can be. Mangold is a hack, but this is too good a story to ruin.

    The Willow Tree (Majid Majidi, Iran, 4) — Had trouble staying awake frankly, but it wasn’t tough to mentally fill in what I was missing. And the ham-fisted score made sure I couldn’t miss every Deeply Truthful Emotional Epiphany.

    You Bet Your Life (Antonin Svoboda, Austria, 7) — Intriguing idea that mostly pays off — making all life decisions based on dice rolls. Two lengthy casino set pieces are standout and a “should we break up or not” scene actually had me caring how it came out. Ending is ferpect once you figure out what’s going on.

    Cache (Michael Haneke, France, 9) — TK. All the hype wasn’t hype.

    Iron Island (Mohammad Rasoulof, Iran, 7) — A poor man’s MIRACLE IN MILAN — a comic fable about the dispossessed founding a utopia apart from the world (in this case aboard an old oil tanker). But that’s still pretty durn good — often sharp and funny with the best moment coming from the captain overhearing the teacher’s lessons.

    15 Sept (aka Best Festival Day ever … at least that’s what I was saying at 8pm)
    The Duelist (Lee Myung-se, South Korea, 8) — Oh. My. God. Was heading for 9 or 10 territory for its first hour, but then decided to get romantic and plotty.

    The Wild, Wild Rose (Wong Tin-lam, Hong Kong, 1960, 8) — Oh. My. God. Grace Cheng is The Diva from Hell. A little too long and heavily plotty, following Carmen pretty closely, in the third act for a musical. But Grace Cheng is The Diva from Heaven.

    The Squid and the Whale (Noah Baumbach, USA, 9) — Oh. My. God. From no expectations or much foreknowledge to the festival’s best so far. Where has this guy been?

    L’Enfant (Jean-Pierre and Luc Dardenne, Belgium, 9) — Oh. My. God. From the festival best’s so far to the festival’s best so far 2.0, enormous expectations and some foreknowledge notwithstanding. Where were these guys prior to LA PROMESSE.

    Dear Wendy (Thomas Vinterberg, Denmark, 2) — Oh. My. God. What a tedious piece of trying-to-be-smart-but-really-is-stupid crap. They needed to have paid a cinematographer too.

    The Great Yokai War (Takashi Miike, Japan, 3) — Oh. My. God. What a tedious piece of trying-to-be-outrageous-but-really-is-lame crap. They did pay the makeup man and art director quite well.

    16 Sept
    Everlasting Regret (Stanley Kwan, Hong Kong, 3)

    The Notorious Bettie Page (Mary Harron, USA, 6)

    The Wayward Cloud (Tsai Ming-liang, Taiwan, 7)

    17 Sept
    Wallace & Gromit: The Curse of the Were-Rabbit (Nick Park, Britain, 8)

    Sympathy for Lady Vengeance (Park Chan-wook, South Korea, 7)

    Thank You for Smoking (Jason Reitman, USA, 9)

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    September 18, 2005 - Posted by | Uncategorized

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  • By popular demand
    (”Instructions for a Light & Sound Machine” is briefly mentioned in this.)

    By popular demand

    Well, by demand of one, but one does not deny Cristobal Colon d’Estultes. He demanded to know:

    Why are u not reviewing the Wavelengths, man? Are they some sort of second class citizen to you, man? Unfair. Either way. Show some love. And mercy, dude.
    Give a rating. Show you care.

    Honestly, I have to confess I have not graded or written about the Wavelengths 6 program because I thought I had nothing to say. Whether one calls that a failure of nerve, or modesty of the befuddled will depend on how charitably one wants to construe my actions.

    I picked the Wavelengths 6 program because I had loved the previous Peter Tscherkassky I had seen and a new film from him was the centerpiece, along with some silent films. So I thought “potentially worth a gamble” and, appearances of my extremely confident online persona aside, my utter indifference to Stan Brakhage and more-or-less all subsequent avant-garde films is a minor internal embarrassment. Oh sure, one can only relate his honest reaction. I can argue that it’s mostly Emperor’s New Clothes navel-gazing, and I don’t disbelieve anything I’ve ever said. But it’s one of the cases where I’d like to be proven wrong (or more precisely, prove myself wrong). My discomfort with my reaction — “I can’t believe sane people find this crap watchable” — is not unrelated to the fact I have become good friends with several folks who find this crap more than watchable and are pretty demonstrably sane.

    To be hard on myself, I pussed out. The reason, I told myself, I didn’t issue any grades was that I saw very little in the program that interested me (a kinda true statement in itself) and so much of it was so clearly “not for me” (ditto) that assigning a grade seemed kinda pointless. But Krzysztof is correct — I have to at least register my honest reaction, even if it makes me look like a Philistine, even if only in my own eyes. Anything other than that would be patronizing.

    My reaction to the Wavelength 6 program broke down very precisely — I disliked all the contemporary works and found at least watchable all the silent-era footage and actually kinda liked the two completed from-that-era works.

    For example, my problem with the two Ken Jacobs films — THE DAY WAS A SCORCHER and JONAS MEKAS IN KODACHROME DAYS — is that all I saw was a technical stunt. Both films are based on a few still photographs upon which Jacobs performs some photographic processes that simulate movement, change perspective or fragment the image. And my reaction was a massive Bravo Foxtrot Delta. Yes and Wang Chung and the Cars did the same or similar in the videos for “Leave It” and “Everybody Have Fun Tonight” and “You Might Think.” There were no doubt other parts of the 80s MTV rotation that didn’t come to mind that night. When those videos were made, some people in that audience probably weren’t born yet (and get off my lawn!!!). What is the interest here? Why is this stuff being put before me as a Work of Serious Art? All the Jacobs photo works did for me was lay bare some photographic tricks without drama, without context (sans the program notes, that is), and without music you could dance to. I found the Mekas film particularly aggravating because its edits tried to create the effect of a man in an umbrella dancing through a rain shower, which mostly just invited comparison with Gene Kelly’s titular number in SINGIN IN THE RAIN. And made me long for Kelly (or even an actual dancer), to actually be moving with grace and style and athleticism through the kind of real space that makes such a number difficult and this a real achievement and worthy of admiration. (The only time I’ve seen SINGIN IN THE RAIN in a theater, the audience burst into applause at the end of that number.) MEKAS’s only point, in other words, was its own aesthetic pointlessness. And by expecting us to be interested in an acontextual technical process, both films show the emptiness of the process.

    As for the Tscherkassky, what I valued about his INSTRUCTIONS FOR A LIGHT AND SOUND MACHINE was his tight sensual ferocity, his roller-coaster ride aesthetic of barreling through an old-movie’s footage, radically altered almost (almost!) to the point of unintelligibility. Here in COMING ATTRACTIONS, he makes an anthology film of disconnected and far more relaxedly paced short films (Waz even praised it on exactly those “looseness” grounds). I also had the same reaction as I did to the Jacobi — I’m seeing some technical tricks for their own sake, and the filmmaker is relying on my reaction to the technique, if to more apparent point, I will acknowledge (though that ain’t saying much). Still, if there was anything to ATTRACTIONS other than “advertising banal,” it escaped me.

    In fairness, I did like the two works in the program that were indisputably of the silent era, and very early therein — both prior to 1910. (I don’t think an honest reaction is possible to two reels of miscellaneous unknown footage fragments united only by the accident that someone in the Dutch film archive couldn’t bear to discard them. It’s not a work of art. Sorry.) One was CONCORSO DI BELLEZZA FRA BAMBINO DI TORINO, which consists of footage of Turin toddlers being filmed as, or as adjunct to or metaphorically in the film (can’t tell from film), an infant beauty contest. Both because it’s 1909 and because the kids look to be 2 years old or thereabouts, nobody really knows what they’re doing, how to react “properly” on film or while filming, so CONCORSO really is verite not “found footage.” The film, which is anonymous but exists in its intended form, is nothing more than a look at children’s behavior, unmediated (on both sides of the camera — why this film couldn’t be made except when it was). It’s a proto-Wiseman. The very thing that turned Waz off — that these children are probably all dead — was exactly why I thought this footage was so precious. Onscreen then (for one reason) and onscreen now (for another) were probably the only times in these lives these persons were equal. The other work I liked in the program was a 1905 film called LE ROI DE DOLLARS, which is not a Georges Melies film, but very much could be. It is nothing more than a disembodied hand before a black curtain doing some magic tricks with coins that build over the several minutes of the film. With occasional appearances by a mouth, dispensing coins like a machine, sometimes gold-tinted, 20 years before GREED. To some extent both century-old-plus films are just as one-dimensional as the other stuff on the same program. But what made them far more watchable to me than the current films in the same program and even enjoyable was an element that cannot be faked — innocence. And the joy and wonder of discovering a new medium. They both even represent the two polarities cinema already was developing — documentary representation and manipulative fantasy; or if you prefer, the Lumieres and Melies. They are “real.” In contrast, what excuse do Jonas Mekas and Ken Jacobs and Peter Tserchassky have for being satisfied with merely showing off a technique?

    Happy, Krzysztof?

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    2 Comments »

    1. That’s your idea of not having much to say?

      Comment by Brian | October 6, 2010 | Reply

    2. What, no comment yet on the Oscar nominations?

      Comment by Dale Price | January 26, 2011 | Reply


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