David Holzman's Diary (1967)
"You're a voyeur, eh? What is that, something new?" Jim McBride's seminal treatise on cinematic obsession remains a vital and rich film nearly forty years after its debut. There's a lot of places to start in with this film, but I was particularly amused by the film's rejection of the concept of objective reality -- in the age of cinema verite, McBride laughs off the notion that any sort of reality can be captured by a camera. (One wonders what Frederick Wiseman thinks of this movie.) Holzman (played perfectly by L.M. Kit Carson) films and films, trying to get it all down, but at the end of his tale he's no closer to understanding anything or even closer to a sense of his own reality; ironically, the first image is that of Holzman bringing himself into focus. He starts with a goal, but his own biases and obsessions trip that up. Nowhere is this more evident than in the interview sequence in front of the mural. The words speak of spontaneity, but the monologue is clearly rehearsed, and Holzman directs the "performance" to the point where the interviewee calls him out on it. There's no truth in his narcissism, but neither is there much self-love -- the film's visual complexity is subtle but undeniable, and one of its best jokes is that Holzman is rarely in the center of the frame when he's on camera. He's not even the star of his own show; instead, the film-within-the-film itself becomes the star. This is a film about film in every sense of that phrase, and for film-drunk people like myself it's pretty thrilling. (Best scene: When our naturalistic drama is unexpectedly interrupted by an avant-garde film that's like a far smarter version of the opening to Skidoo.) Lest all this blather make it sound high-minded, I should also point out that its satiric evisceration of this self-involved young lad is often hysterical in a way that you don't have to be a film geek to get. (Holzman, struggling to say something complimentary about his girlfriend Penny on camera: "She's... vain... uh, that's not good...") It's a forward-thinking comic finger up the ass of voyeur culture, and it watches passively as the cinematic impulse eats itself whole. "Penny said... forget it."
Grade: A-
"You're a voyeur, eh? What is that, something new?" Jim McBride's seminal treatise on cinematic obsession remains a vital and rich film nearly forty years after its debut. There's a lot of places to start in with this film, but I was particularly amused by the film's rejection of the concept of objective reality -- in the age of cinema verite, McBride laughs off the notion that any sort of reality can be captured by a camera. (One wonders what Frederick Wiseman thinks of this movie.) Holzman (played perfectly by L.M. Kit Carson) films and films, trying to get it all down, but at the end of his tale he's no closer to understanding anything or even closer to a sense of his own reality; ironically, the first image is that of Holzman bringing himself into focus. He starts with a goal, but his own biases and obsessions trip that up. Nowhere is this more evident than in the interview sequence in front of the mural. The words speak of spontaneity, but the monologue is clearly rehearsed, and Holzman directs the "performance" to the point where the interviewee calls him out on it. There's no truth in his narcissism, but neither is there much self-love -- the film's visual complexity is subtle but undeniable, and one of its best jokes is that Holzman is rarely in the center of the frame when he's on camera. He's not even the star of his own show; instead, the film-within-the-film itself becomes the star. This is a film about film in every sense of that phrase, and for film-drunk people like myself it's pretty thrilling. (Best scene: When our naturalistic drama is unexpectedly interrupted by an avant-garde film that's like a far smarter version of the opening to Skidoo.) Lest all this blather make it sound high-minded, I should also point out that its satiric evisceration of this self-involved young lad is often hysterical in a way that you don't have to be a film geek to get. (Holzman, struggling to say something complimentary about his girlfriend Penny on camera: "She's... vain... uh, that's not good...") It's a forward-thinking comic finger up the ass of voyeur culture, and it watches passively as the cinematic impulse eats itself whole. "Penny said... forget it."
Grade: A-
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