This, then, finishes eleven years of editing drawing on 30-some years of photography. I will surely work autobiographically again, but the modes of SINCERITY and DUPLICITY seem completed with this film which on the one hand is as simple in its integrity-of-light as those follow-the-ball "sing-along" early silent movies and on the other as complicated as teen-age metamorphosis. Childhood dissolves in flame, struck from the hearth.
The second part: Brakhage’s layering of images spends less time with images of war, and begins filte...
The quasi-fictional story of transgender sex workers living in Rio de Janeiro's swampy red light dis...
A bohemian painter named Artist and a guitarist named James meet at a concert and have an instant co...
This highly stylized, critically acclaimed film from the 70's mixes silent film cards, a soundscape,...
A video reconstruction of the 1977 Wooster Group production Rumstick Road, an experimental theater p...
A man without his own half of the body is looking for the other half in the opposite sex. As for the...
Alban lives in a castle that he has just inherited in a small village in Charente-Maritime. Inside, ...
Return to 'burn' only to find out you're already in that urn.
(Some of us) Still run down the same [mental&emotional] streets we revered/reproached/replaced as ch...
A take it or leave it auteur-experimental fiction exercise: two women are monitoring their dreams, d...
In a village of Cuba devastated after trying to imitate the north american suburb model, a sound rec...
This is a time when we learn afresh that nothing lasts forever and that the variability is an integr...
This film describes a psychological state "kin to moonstruck, its images emblems (not quite symbols)...
"My last image of Jonas."—Ken Jacobs
A Japanese salaryman finds his body transforming into a weapon through sheer rage after his son is k...
A story of broken humanity following the invasion of a technologically superior alien species. Bleak...
It's time the times met each other over & over.
Don't ask me why, but I feel we're about to cry trying.
Say Om as you reach home only to realize you never really left/stopped saying Om.