Last Wednesday, I was lucky enough to have attended a collaboratory screening event between the Filmmakers Cooperative and the Millennium Film Workshop. Both commendable organizations which aim to preserve films and (most importantly) get them seen, the evening centered around the work of experimental filmmaker, Storm de Hirsch, a woman whose films are rarely talked about when discussing the essentials of avant garde cinema. Presented in 16MM, the seven shorts screened provided viewers with a sample size of de Hirsch's oeuvre, and had many, I'm sure, hungry for more. MM Serra, a former professor of mine at The New School, provided a brief introduction to the event, which I have recorded and uploaded to the left of this paragraph.
It's probably best to go through them in the order in which they were presented. Third Eye Butterfly was screened using two projectors and often featured eight square panels of content, each proving the eye with something to process and connect. Super-impositions, shots of the ambient lights of a city, and fluorescent strobe lighting provide all the rage. Sing Lotus, my favorite of the evening, followed. A store window-set musical Toy Story with an appreciation for the ethnographic, Sing Lotus features miniature animatronics "coming to life" and providing the viewer with an entry point into Indian celebratory culture, dancing, singing, and swirling in harmony. The longer it went, the more oddly intimate it became.
Peyote Queen is the most well known of de Hirsch's work, as it's been digitized and is thus the most accessible (I watched it for a second time on Youtube). Kaleidoscopic imagery quite literally marching to the beat of its own drum, Peyote Queen focuses on scratched film, electrical lighting, and the multiple body parts which the electrical lighting covers. Hand-drawn animation of lips, breasts, and more provide an upbeat interlude stringing along an unexpected flow to the piece.
Trap Dance, usually described as an anti-war film, briefly features old black-and-white archival footage taken from way up in the sky, even more film cell scratches, and not much else. It runs ninety seconds. Divinations, also available on Youtube, is both monochromatic and a world void of color. By often exposing the film's negative, it's as much about the imagery as it is about the process of making it. It also features a recurring musical score (crucial to de Hirsch's work) that dances playfully in the head of the viewer.
The longest piece of the evening — and also the one closest to a narrative, or a parody of narrative — was The Tattooed Man, a departure of sorts featuring a cast of intense twentysomethings. If you enjoy close-ups of hands and body hair (be it chest, pubic, or facial), this one's for you. Interesting sci-fi-inspired sound effects, canted angles, and over-the-top maniacal performances appropriately compliment the head-scratching material. The last film screened, Journey Around A Zero, scored by the filmmaker herself, celebrated what appeared to be out of focus shots of electric street lamps, the luminescent glow giving the image a dream-like quality two steps away from blurriness.
All in all, de Hirsch's work intrigues and is sure to inspire. As active viewing participants, I think we try far too frequently to assimilate each image with meaning; our brains constantly seek out patterns to provide explanation. While I'm not saying we should necessarily resist this undying temptation, de Hirsch's films work all temporal lobes, using music, animation, bright colors, multiple viewpoints, multiple screens, alternate lenses, and an interest in the human body and the world's relation to it, to create a structurally-sound, sequenced whole.
Trap Dance, usually described as an anti-war film, briefly features old black-and-white archival footage taken from way up in the sky, even more film cell scratches, and not much else. It runs ninety seconds. Divinations, also available on Youtube, is both monochromatic and a world void of color. By often exposing the film's negative, it's as much about the imagery as it is about the process of making it. It also features a recurring musical score (crucial to de Hirsch's work) that dances playfully in the head of the viewer.
The longest piece of the evening — and also the one closest to a narrative, or a parody of narrative — was The Tattooed Man, a departure of sorts featuring a cast of intense twentysomethings. If you enjoy close-ups of hands and body hair (be it chest, pubic, or facial), this one's for you. Interesting sci-fi-inspired sound effects, canted angles, and over-the-top maniacal performances appropriately compliment the head-scratching material. The last film screened, Journey Around A Zero, scored by the filmmaker herself, celebrated what appeared to be out of focus shots of electric street lamps, the luminescent glow giving the image a dream-like quality two steps away from blurriness.
All in all, de Hirsch's work intrigues and is sure to inspire. As active viewing participants, I think we try far too frequently to assimilate each image with meaning; our brains constantly seek out patterns to provide explanation. While I'm not saying we should necessarily resist this undying temptation, de Hirsch's films work all temporal lobes, using music, animation, bright colors, multiple viewpoints, multiple screens, alternate lenses, and an interest in the human body and the world's relation to it, to create a structurally-sound, sequenced whole.
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