A man (Edgar Barrier) discovers that his love is seeing another man (Joseph Cotton) and he (Barrier) turns into a villain and chases him (Cotton) all around the city. It goes on and on.
I couldn't watch the whole thing -- it's more than an hour long and there is virtually no story. It's an exercise in style and texture.
It's as if you'd handed a child a 16 mm. camera and told him that he should make what's called a "movie." Don't worry about the story too much. See, it's a kind of fairy tale.
These things here -- no, the big round ones -- they're what we call "lenses." They're fun. See, if we put a so-called "wide lens" in the camera, like this, and then we take what's called "close up" pictures of people's faces, they come out looking like porpoises or muppets. Isn't that funny? When you're finished shooting all the film, cut it up into pieces and "splice" them together. It's okay if some of the "clips" are the same.
You've seen Charlie Chaplin movies? Okay. Sometimes you can make Mr. Cotton run real fast like Charlie Chaplin and have him run into things like poles and fall down. And, yes, you can imitate Laurel and Hardy too if you want. Have somebody engaged in a duel of wits with a long ladder or a whole yard full of bushel baskets.
They said we could use a boat, so aim the camera at the boat too. Maybe have a lot of people waving at your camera as if they were just coming back from a trip, or going away, it doesn't matter. It's all up to you. And then think of a name for your movie.
I thought I'd go out of my gourd after half an hour. The pulsing repetitious musical score -- which makes Phillip Glass sound like Tchaikovsky in a particularly romantic mood -- made me feel high, but not a GOOD high. So be warned. If you insist on watching this wanton, wildly experimental film from beginning to end, it's a good idea to get behind a good dose of some phenothiazine to keep from going mad, or thinking you are.
I couldn't watch the whole thing -- it's more than an hour long and there is virtually no story. It's an exercise in style and texture.
It's as if you'd handed a child a 16 mm. camera and told him that he should make what's called a "movie." Don't worry about the story too much. See, it's a kind of fairy tale.
These things here -- no, the big round ones -- they're what we call "lenses." They're fun. See, if we put a so-called "wide lens" in the camera, like this, and then we take what's called "close up" pictures of people's faces, they come out looking like porpoises or muppets. Isn't that funny? When you're finished shooting all the film, cut it up into pieces and "splice" them together. It's okay if some of the "clips" are the same.
You've seen Charlie Chaplin movies? Okay. Sometimes you can make Mr. Cotton run real fast like Charlie Chaplin and have him run into things like poles and fall down. And, yes, you can imitate Laurel and Hardy too if you want. Have somebody engaged in a duel of wits with a long ladder or a whole yard full of bushel baskets.
They said we could use a boat, so aim the camera at the boat too. Maybe have a lot of people waving at your camera as if they were just coming back from a trip, or going away, it doesn't matter. It's all up to you. And then think of a name for your movie.
I thought I'd go out of my gourd after half an hour. The pulsing repetitious musical score -- which makes Phillip Glass sound like Tchaikovsky in a particularly romantic mood -- made me feel high, but not a GOOD high. So be warned. If you insist on watching this wanton, wildly experimental film from beginning to end, it's a good idea to get behind a good dose of some phenothiazine to keep from going mad, or thinking you are.