Two narrators, one seen and one unseen, discuss possible connections between a series of paintings. The on-screen narrator walks through three-dimensional reproductions of each painting, ... See full summary »
Against a plain, unchanging blue screen, a densely interwoven soundtrack of voices, sound effects and music attempt to convey a portrait of Derek Jarman's experiences with AIDS, both ... See full summary »
Sexual intimacy. Three kinds of images race past, superimposed on each other sometimes: two bodies, a man and a woman's, close up, nude - patches of skin, wisps of hair, glimpses of a face ... See full summary »
Two interwoven stories. The first is a biography of anarchist Sakae Osugi which follows his relationship with three women in the 1920s. The second centers around two 1960s' students researching Osugi's theories.
In this second installment of the Whispering Corridors series, a young girl finds a strange diary, capable of arousing hallucinations, kept by two of her senior fellow-students who seem to have an unusually close bond.
"Punishment Park" is a pseudo-documentary purporting to be a film crews's news coverage of the team of soldiers escorting a group of hippies, draft dodgers, and anti-establishment types ... See full summary »
While training after hours in her high-school, the aspirant singer Park Young-Eon is mysteriously killed and her body vanishes. Her ghost is invisible and trapped in the school, but her ... See full summary »
A man, accompanied by a dog, struggles through snow on a mountain side. We see film stock blister; drawn square shapes appear. Then, we see an infant's face. The images of struggling ... See full summary »
I've got to say, the human brain certainly didn't evolve to survive an Ernie Gehr-style work-out. The image captured by a movie-camera does not approximate reality, but instead exists in a world completely detached from our own everyday experiences. Gehr once described film as "a variable intensity of light, an internal balance of time, a movement within a given space." In 'Serene Velocity (1970),' space is the most important variable. The director planted his camera in the deserted basement corridor of a building at Binghamton University, and continually tinkered with the focal length on the lens. Maddeningly and unrelentingly, the camera's perspective of the hallway rapidly switches back and forth, and then the human eye starts to play tricks on the mind.
I leaned forward towards the screen, and suddenly felt as though I was hurtling down the hallway, its previously angular walls now bending inwards, and its path twisting and turning like a wayward mine-cart railway (yes, I did have an 'Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom (1984)' flashback). This surreal sensation of movement occupied me until around the five-minute mark, and then I lost most of my interest. Though determined to keep my attention fixated on the screen, the illusion of movement had soon left me, and I instead felt as though I was simply standing in a lonely corridor, the lights flickering on and off in an epilepsy-inducing fashion (it's curious how my brain began to entirely block-out every second image). While not without interest to experimental aficionados, 'Serene Velocity' nevertheless made my eyes hurt, and now I'm going to bed.
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