The Moviegoer: Drawn and quartered

The Moviegoer is the diary of a local film buff, collecting the best of what Chicago’s independent and underground film scene has to offer.

Unsurprisingly, experimental animation is my favorite kind. The potential is limitless—truly, anything is possible in this realm. Thus the highlight of my moviegoing week was the third program in the Picture Restart series at Chicago Filmmakers, aptly titled Animated Breakdowns. The aptness has to do with the “breakdown” part, as the six short animated films (all from the Picture Start collection) confront viewers with seemingly simple craftsmanship that nevertheless draws—hee-hee—attention to their construction and the myriad ways that meaning can be affected.

To some extent, I imagine the art of animation must be pretty isolating, the literal cel becoming a figurative one; ironically, limitations can yield that limitless innovation, and the confined space of a metaphorical canvas becomes a sacred space. Karen Kiser, onetime animator for Gumby and longtime Pixar animator, seemed to consider this in Solitaire’s Sanctuary (1987), wherein a line-drawn bird begins constructing a box, outside the boundaries of which exists the horror of others. It’s inside the box, alone, that the bird can become the fully realized figure it’s meant to be.

The other two films I liked inspired the whole program, as curator Ben Creech noted during his introduction. Carter Burwell’s Help, I’m Being Crushed to Death By a Black Rectangle (1978) is delightfully tongue-in-cheek. (Burwell’s name may be recognizable—he’s a film composer who’s worked with the Coen brothers, Todd Haynes, and many others.) My favorite bit is when the core gag of a woman on train tracks being crushed by a black box is transposed to a different time and place: last year, in Marienbad, a reference of course to Alain Resnais’s Last Year at Marienbad (1961). This is a more obvious metatextual reference, but really, most of the films are a reference unto themselves, giving a peek behind the curtain, so to speak. Osamu Tezuka’s Broken Down Film (1985) makes fun of its own perception, replicating projection errors and deterioration of its source material to confuse viewers. All of these were super fun to watch with an audience, who also appreciated the visual puns. The kids in the audience especially seemed to enjoy it. Their laughter provided a nice soundtrack.

Speaking of which, on Monday, I went to see Oscar Micheaux’s 1920 silent film The Symbol of the Unconquered—or at least what still exists of it—at the Music Box Theatre, presented by the Chicago Film Society and with live musical accompaniment by the Alvin Cobb Jr. Trio. It’s always gratifying to see a Micheaux film projected, but just as big a draw was the music; I’ve seen the band accompany silent films a few times now, and it’s always a cinematically and musically illuminating experience. 

Otherwise, I’ve been watching a lot of films for review, including Carson Lund’s Eephus and Steven Soderbergh’s Black Bag, both of which I reviewed for the paper this week (see p. 26). I’ve also previewed several films from the Chicago Palestine Film Festival (see p. 22); I’ve been affected and inspired by these films most of all, though in general I’m feeling a bit inert, not really excited about anything in particular. Very unanimated, if you will. It happens—the only way to get over it is to get through it and keep watching.

To that end, I’m still working to catch up on my resolution to see on average one film per day in theaters. More on that at the end of the month!

Until next time, moviegoers.