Marina Abromovic: The Artist Is Present

Marina Abromovic: The Artist Is Present
D: Matthew Akers
Playing at the IFS in Muenzinger Auditorium
THIS Sunday, November 4th at 4 p.m. and 7 p.m.

Marina Abromovic must be among the most famous and successful living artists that most people have never heard of. How big is she? In 2010 she was given a retrospective surveying her 40 years of artistry, at MOMA--the ultimate validation for an artist. This was the first museum retrospective anywhere of performance art, Abromovic's metier. i was lucky enough to get to experience this amazing show, though i didn't stand in the line to sit in front of the artist herself. i don't have that kind of patience.
  Performance art arose in the 1960s, when other media began to challenged painting as the main mode of legitimate expression.
  This documentary explores the herstory of Abromovic's performing life: she began in the 1970s in Yugoslavia, had a significant partnership with an artist named Ulay from 1976 to 1988 when  they created "The Relationship Works", then she continued on solo, becoming the first performance artist to be represented by a gallery (Sean Kelly in NYC) where she has performed, to great acclaim, most of her pieces since the 90s. Clearly, she is a fearless, and deeply original artist. Even if you've never been exposed to, interested in, or felt you could relate to performance
art, her dedication and tremendous stamina will amaze you. She asserts that the artist must be a warrior; she must conquer herself, and conquer her weaknesses. Over and over she epitomizes these goals.
  When Abromovic first appears in the film, she muses that in the 10 years culminating in the MOMA show, she realized "there is only one question i haven't heard: why is this art??" The film interrogates this question deeply, and without judgement.
  Everything here leads up to the MOMA show for which she creates a radical new piece: The Artist is Present--and is she ever. For this creation, she challenges herself, and promises the curators, that she will be present in the great 2nd-floor rotunda, 7-1/2 hours a day, 6 days a week for 3 months. She will sit in stillness across from whomever of the museum patrons wishes to sit facing her, for however long that person wants to stay, and give them her undivided gaze, and receive theirs. This may sound strange and a bit too minimal (or boring) to be considered art, but as she explicates it: "performance becomes life itself--something that's near to nothing--with nothing to hide behind--no story--only the body." Day after day this concerted action completely alters the atmospheric charge of an incredibly busy museum and slows many people dramatically, both those participating and those observing. "Once you go through the door of pain, you enter into another space entirely. It is this altered state of mind that the public senses." If you don't at first think this would be painful, try sitting still on a solid wood chair for just an hour, and focusing on the same point in front of you. Then imagine what it would be like to do that for more than 400 hours, day in and day out, all the while being observed at close range by individual strangers and a surrounding crowd of onlookers. It was and is amazing to behold.
  Along with this performance, we also get a look into the 5 other floors of the museum, which were given over to video and photo documentation of her works. She trained 30 young artists to recreate 5 historical pieces from her career as well. All of them were nude, as she was when she originated the works. They were as fearless as their mentor, and it was unforgettable, i can attest. As she told them, "you must create your own present charismatic space." They did, but she represents the zenith of performance art, then and now.
  Abromovic has worked all her career to have performance art seen as real art. For me, she completely accomplished this in the show itself, and again in this film document. Do yourself a favor and take this opportunity to experience a radically different kind of art by a totally committed artist.

Last week i wrote about the latest film by the French director, Bruno Dumont, "Outside Satan." A friend sent me a link to an interview done with him by Karin Badt, which appeared on The Huffington Post. As i read through it, i was immediately taken by how much the philosophy of Dumont and Marina Abromovic converge. The director says he is searching for modern images that have sacred power; "...yes, my films are mystical, to make people feel the mystery, to inspire them to experience for themselves the miracle of existence. Hollywood films are alienating to the spectator because they use too much dialogue, too much explication and leave no space for the viewer." I am sure Marina Abromovic, who has created her art through the flow of energy through her body and mind, fearless silence and the power to attract and hold the attention of the audience, would agree with every word.


--Linda Stonerock

Scary Movies my Parents Shouldn’t Have Let Me Watch (but Secretly I’m Glad they Did)

As Halloween creeps ever closer, I’m reminded of the movies I saw as a kid that seared their terror upon my happy, naïve, trusting little brain. Some gave me nightmares; some leaped to mind, unbidden, when the lights were turned off. They are the best that 70s/early 80s TV could provide (early 70s—broadcast only; late 70s, cable TV).

Listed in no particular order (although perhaps the ones that scarred me most crowd to the front):

The Exorcist

This movie gave me many, many sleepless nights. It was a staple of early-to-mid-70s TV movie nights (CBS, as I recall). My parents probably didn’t knowingly let me watch this, but I remember watching it at my parents’ friends’ house, while they were playing cards. Even cut for TV, it makes children crap their pants.

Carrie

My parents did let me watch this one—oh, how foolish! The end scene where Amy Irving’s character delivers flowers to the burned-to-coals vacant lot where Carrie’s house once stood, and she leans over the “For Sale” sign (shaped like a cross--which someone defaced with “Carrie White burns in Hell!”), and…

Gah! Well done, Mr. De Palma!

Hey, William Katt was in that! I didn’t remember that. I did remember John Travolta, though, the cad.

Let’s Scare Jessica to Death

I’m going to be straight with you—I don’t remember much about this one. There were some scenes on a lake—there may or may not have been a rowboat involved—that seemed pretty scary at the time.

My best guess is that this was shown on Denver’s channel 2 (an independent station) sometime in the early 70s, and I was happily channel-surfing one fine Saturday or Sunday, and I stumbled upon it. And then I was scarred for life. Thanks for being around to watch over me, Mom and Dad!

Arnold

I fully admit that I’ve never seen this movie—but I did see the trailer on TV, and it made a deep, lasting impression. The trailer link above is not the trailer I saw—the one I remember was played straight, and had a scene of a man, fully-clothed, in a shower (as I recall) as snakes poured out of the shower head and he writhed in agony.

At least, that’s what I remember.

In fact, I remembered that scene all the way into adulthood, when finally some incredibly cool dude invented the Internet Movie Database, and I could finally find out more about this (obviously) low-budget movie.

Arnold came out in ’73. Do I actually remember a trailer I saw when I was four years old? Perhaps a few years later?

It had Roddy McDowall AND Jamie Farr in it. That’s kind of wacky.

Dracula Has Risen from the Grave

Okay, this movie didn’t really scare me. It was the early 80s, and puberty was just around the corner. I saw this movie on (Superstation!) WTBS in the early 80s, when they would show horror and sci-fi movies all night Friday and Saturday nights. This was the kind of thing you’d see if you’d stay up until 4am.

And if you were of a certain age and gender, you’d be rewarded! Very, very pretty women. Giving their all to Dracula. The cleavage factor was high.

Willard

I’m sure I saw this movie several times in the early-/mid-70s on Denver’s channel 7 (independent/quasi-CBS). It was just the kind of low-budget, obscure fare independent channel 7 would show. If you’re not part of a network, you’ve got to scrape up something to show. And it would often be something like this.

And I’m thankful for these independent stations. Without them, I’d have missed out on these overlooked gems. (As well as great series like The Prisoner, Space: 1999, The Wild Wild West, and The Avengers.)

Though I’ve not seen it in decades, I believe Willard would be creepy even today. With Sondra Locke and Ernest Borgnine, how could it not be?

Five Million Years to Earth (AKA Quatermass and the Pit)

This is not horror—it’s sci-fi. And again I admit, it did not scare me. But! There is one very creepy scene that left its greasy, indelible thumbprint on my memory:

Apparently, some humans were abducted millions of years ago by Martians and given mental abilities such as telepathy and telekinesis. Then the Martians took these genetically-altered humans back to earth, whose ancestors still retain the memories of what their ancestors saw. One of these memories (captured by a scientist’s “optic-encephalogram” device) shows the insectoid Martians purging their hive of unwanted mutants.

This is another Superstation WTBS wonder from the early 80s. I seem to recall watching the sun come up when this movie ended.

Ah, the horrible, frightening, yet oddly comforting memories! What movies made you keep the light on when you were a kid?

This is Cinerama!

  Long before Imax, there was Cinerama! A 146 degree curved screen featuring seven speaker surround sound with some screens reaching 100 feet wide and 30 feet high way back in 1952? Believe it.    

  Those of us old enough to remember pre-1994 Denver may recall the Cooper on Colorado Boulevard, one of the original three Cinerama theaters built from the ground up in the US in 1961.


    Cinerama was the brainchild of Fred Waller, an inventor and visionary who sought to create an irreproducable cinematic experience to rival the growing influence of television. Three 35mm projectors running simultaneously projected a full 146 degree arc on a curved screen in a close approximation of the human range of vision, including peripheral vision. Seven speakers, five behind the screen, two on the sides and back, delivered immersive sound to the audience (a sound engineer was required to monitor and adjust levels during the shows). 

When This is Cinerama premiered in New York in September 1954, audiences screamed in fear at the first person perspective roller coaster ride.

 The technical difficulties of the medium are clear. The three projectors displaying the film had to be run in sync, and any frames lost from a print had to be replaced by by black slugs, or the same frames had to be removed from the other two prints, so all three would remain in sync. Where the projectors overlapped, a small vertical band of distortion was visible. Scenes were often composed with a tree or other vertical object in these areas, and actors were carefully staged away from them.
  Filming in Cinerama was likewise challenging. Three cameras sharing a single shutter were used, arranged in the same overlapping arcs as the projection system. Closeups would show bends where the images joined, and actors talking in the same shot appeared to be looking past each other. The latter problem was solved by the actors facing a cue when delivering their lines, rather than the person they were supposed to be talking to.
 Despite the initial excitement about Cinerama, few films were made, and profits were minimal or non-existent. How the West was Won in 1963 was the last film produced in true Cinerama. Movies advertised as “Cinerama” were still made through the early 1970’s, but they were filmed and projected in some single camera/projector variation of 70mm.

  Almost no Cinerama theaters are standing today. Beloved icon of my childhood film viewing, Denver’s Cooper, was knocked down in 1994 to make way for a Barnes and Noble.  
 

  However, August 2012 saw the long-awaited Blu-Ray release of This is Cinerama, a travelogue style documentary and the first film shot and displayed in three camera/projector Cinerama, so modern audiences can still get at least a glimpse of this intriguing bit of film history.

OUTSIDE SATAN (aka: HORS SATAN)
A review by Linda Stonerock

The work of filmmaker Bruno Dumont is singular in my experience. His view of human beings has been referred to as Hobbesian (the philosophy that all human action is motivated by selfish concerns and fear, especially of death), and his depiction of nature, the macrocosm, is vast and all encompassing. Nature, and humans as part of it, is simply a fact. But nature with a capital N, goes on long after humans and their selfish acts disappear. All the films I've seen by Dumont embody this theme.

  His latest, "Outside Satan" will have its Colorado premiere this coming week at the IFS (Tuesday, 10/30, 7 p.m. and Wednesday, 10/31, 7 p.m.). I have only viewed a screener, and am looking forward to seeing the beautiful photography this film contains on the big screen. The depth of field is such that the eye is invited to wander through every long-held shot, and that exploration is rewarded over and over again. Nature abides in all it's bounty and apathy. The camera travels with the characters through many terrains, and a scene of pilgrimage to the sea shore is breathtaking in particular.

  As an indicator of how archetypal Dumont's view of human beings is, the two protagonists here are only referred to as "the guy" and "the girl." The action takes place in an unnamed hamlet somewhere in Northern coastal France. What's it about? The story begins with a murder. A very matter-of-fact murder. Was it justified? Some people think so. For others, it causes great pain. Later on there is a sort of miracle healing, more than one beating, flirtation, rough sex, attraction and repulsion, prayer, anger, fear, hiding and revelation.

  It's an exploration of good and evil. Do they exist in pure forms, are they two sides of the same coin, is evil ever a positive force, is good ever a negative force?? Decide for yourself. The film is certainly provocative and contemplative. There is no soundtrack except the ambient sounds of nature and short exchanges of dialogue. You've got to settle in to Dumont's rhythms and let him lead you through this quiet world.

   As in many other art films, the viewer is left with more questions than answers. For me that haunting quality is worthwhile, and characterizes some of my favorite films.

  I'll leave you with the quote from an interview with the director:

"You don't have to be civilized in the movies, only when you come out of the theater...to be civilized you have to experience barbarism."

Better here than out on the street...

The Portland Theater Scene

Although I was a citizen of Boulder (or at least the Boulder/Lafayette/Louisville triangle) and avid IFS fan since the late 90s, I recently moved to Portland, Oregon. One of the things that attracted me was the idea of living in a little neighborhood, with its own market, restaurant, bakery, coffee shop, bar, and so on. All your basic needs within leisurely walking distance.

Portland embraces this concept with a plethora of self-contained fiefdoms, all with their own character. I was surprised to find that many of these neighborhoods also have their own theaters. Some tend towards the arthouse, and some aim more for the mass market, but the neighborhoods support them with their dollars. They stand against the rising tide of megaplex domination and say “we like our little theater just fine, thank you.”

The King of the Hill (in my heart) is the stately Hollywood Theatre, located in the Northeast Hollywood district. Built in the silent era, it was modified to be the first Cinerama screen in the Pacific Northwest. Today it’s operated as a non-profit venture that rolls out a steady stream of—well, just about everything that’s good. Old, new, international, locally-made, the Hollywood shows ‘em all. In fact, they update their calendar so often in the short term that I can’t keep up—I’m always saying “When did they add this? But this conflicts with that other show I want to see!” It’s a nice problem to have.

Picture this if you will: you buy your ticket, and the concession stand offers the standard array of movie fare—at normal, non-cutthroat prices. You choose one of the locally-crafted beers on tap (also at a reasonable price), and saunter down to your full-size, ultra-plush seat (the product of a local fund drive).

Since moving to Portland, I have thrown more dollars at this theater than any other, and gladly. I love their bimonthly kung-fu/grindhouse/horror films in all their grainy, often subtitled-ness. There’s a light rail stop a few blocks away if it’s pouring and I wuss out from biking it.

Squeezed between a restaurant and a nail salon in the Northwest Alphabet District, Cinema 21 is a Ford Escort to the Hollywood’s Cadillac. But it’s my neighborhood theater, and I feel good knowing that I can walk five blocks to see a damned fine 35mm movie in an independently-owned venue. Although Cinema 21 usually sticks to the highbrow, this week it is showing the early 70s Australian grindhouse Wake in Fright—probably the very same print IFS will be showing later this semester.

Although I don’t consider it my “local” theater, the Mission Theater is another big-screen option for me within walking distance. It’s an outpost of the McMenamins empire, a chain of 65 brewpubs, restaurants, theaters, and hotels centered in Portland, but extending to other towns in Oregon and Washington. If you, as a Boulderite, walked into a McMenamins brewpub, it would feel instantly familiar.  In fact, you might guess that it’s another outpost of the Mountain/Southern Sun, and you would not be far wrong. I’ve heard that the Mountain Sun was started by an ex-employee of McMenamins, and you can see a family resemblance—the full-color chalkboard art, the vaguely 60s-meets-20s hippie/speakeasy vibe.

The Mission Theater, which started life as a Swedish Evangelical Mission and Longshoreman’s Union, is both a movie and live music venue. The only movie I’ve seen there was Casablanca, which was digitally projected in the wrong aspect ratio (in fact, it was this experience that made me realize that the digital revolution was purely a business decision, and that moviegoers may ultimately pay more for a degraded moviewatching experience).

While it might not be my first choice as a movie venue, it’s a tasteful, inviting space. Now that the Portland rains have returned, it’s comforting knowing that I can grab an umbrella and within ten minutes be sipping a locally-crafted beer in a warm, cozy theater.

On the other end of the digital projection spectrum is Living Room Theaters, which is also a chain outpost in the Pearl District (although the only other location is apparently Boca Raton). The individual theaters are small, but filled with comfortable, oversized chairs and couches. The business model is the ability to order and consume food and/or libations in the theater. The digital projection systems are sharp and this is a fine way to watch a movie that was shot digitally—the latest Toy Story, for example. A word to the wise: on Mondays and Tuesdays movies are $5 (a great deal for this town!).

Shockingly, Living Room Theaters does not cater to the lowest common denominator. Their selections are unashamedly arthouse, and many are extremely obscure foreign releases. I’ve seen films advertised here that I’ve not seen in any other American venue. Perhaps their all-digital model (read: lower cost to acquire films after the massively expensive digital projectors are paid for) allows them to take more risks than a strictly 35mm venue.

While their beer selection is not vast, it’s a solid range of local product. And after your film is done, you can saunter over one block to the world-famous Powell’s City of Books.

 

The 5^th Avenue Cinema is operated by Portland State University, and is perhaps Portland’s analog to the IFS. The theater is small (there are actually two theaters in the building, although I have only seen films in one of them), and the chairs are more academic than high-end megaplex, but the moviewatching experience is just fine. Three dollars get you a prime 35mm film and free popcorn, and is clearly the best 35mm movie deal in Portland. While they only show one film a week on Fridays, Saturdays, and Sundays, their selections are interesting and often vintage. I could probably just throw away the schedule, walk into the theater at 7pm every Friday, slap down my three dollars, and walk away happy.
 

Portlanders drive a hard bargain: they don’t want to pay a lot for their entertainment, but if you give them a high-quality product, they’ll become fanatic consumers and advocates. It’s not charity, just good business. Small Portland theaters tend to cater to the local desires—beer on tap, arthouse/grindhouse fare, kids’ movies for theaters in the more family-friendly neighborhoods. This seems to work here—why isn’t it working elsewhere in America?

Dr Strangelove to screen on Monday 10/22

"Dr Strangelove" will be playing on Monday night, October 22nd
at 7 p.m. @IFS/Muenzinger Auditorium

The Doctor came to the silver screen for the first time in 1964 when i was just 11. Living in a very small town with a mother who only let us go to Disney movies (and, okay, forced us to accompany her to Charleton Heston movies like "Ben Hur," "El Cid," and "The Ten Commandments"--so my repulsion for Mr. Big Guns began very early). Even if "Doctor Strangelove" did play The Barstow Theater, I certainly wouldn't have been in the audience...nor would i have gotten much of what was going on. I don't think many of the residents of any age would have--except, that is, the parts where Slim Pickens as the man with the biggest gun in the universe is on screen!

While we don't have Ninja's at the IFS, there is always one staff member in the audience to help protect you from rude customers.

http://www.cbc.ca/news/yourcommunity/2012/09/ninjas-keep-patrons-in-line-at-london-cinema.html