Film courtesy of Syndicate of Human Image Traffickers

Storytelling is, among other things, the art of regulating the flow of information shared with an audience. Playwright Richard Foreman is a foremost master of this art, withholding much that makes our world familiar and meaningful.  In his plays, we are thrust into a room – perhaps suggestive of the human psyche – where information circulates without context, and language often appears to lose its capacity to bear information or even conjure words.  Characters inhabit situations and events transpire, but usually without the problem resolution endemic to most fiction.  Ultimately, we never know whether what we have witnessed is satirical, psychological, resolutely absurdist, or somehow all three concurrently.  Enduring such a bewildering circumstance, the audience is challenged to find or impose order and meaning – never knowing which they are doing.  As you may well imagine, this is not easy art.  It may leave the theatergoer uneasy – even queasy – amid buzzers, flashing lights, warped music, and the voice of un-reason.  One may even wonder whether it’s akin to what Jeremy Bentham said of natural rights: “nonsense upon stilts.”  If, however, the official tastemakers are to be believed, this is theatre operating at a high degree of abstraction, offering sly humor and curious insight into our social and inner worlds.

Richard Foreman’s Ontological-Hysteric Theater made its debut in 1968 – a year redolent with meaning for alternative culture – and his plays have been a mainstay of the weird and wonderful (and wise?) ever since.  He has written, directed, and designed more than fifty plays, received five “OBIE” (Off-Broadway) Awards for Best Play of the Year, the Literature Award from the American Academy and Institute of Arts and Letters, a Lifetime Achievement in the Theatre Award from the National Endowment for the Arts, the PEN Club Master American Dramatist Award, a MacArthur “Genius” Fellowship, was elected officer of the Order of Arts and Letters of France, and his direction of the 50^th anniversary production of The Threepenny Opera was nominated for both T.O.N.Y. and Grammy Awards.

Foreman directs at Tanglewood, 1968.

For nearly 20 years Foreman has launched his plays from a little theater on the grounds of the historic St. Mark’s Church-in-the-Bowery in New York City’s East Village.  For those of us for whom an annual trek to Foreman’s demented dimension provides regular respite from worlds we are otherwise doomed to inhabit, I bear bad news: this year’s play is slated to be his last.  And for those new to Foreman, or without the ability to see one of his plays in New York or when they tour Paris or Los Angeles or Berlin, there is good news: he will now be turning his prodigious talents exclusively to film making.

A blinkered guest in Foreman’s book, art, and technology engorged SOHO loft – one of the original lofts designed by George Maciunas – I feebly tossed feeble questions before the “Genius” himself.  Despite his telling me that he “didn’t like people,” Foreman was a good sport, ruminating on whether alternative- and counter-cultures have futures, the keys to a vital art scene and to becoming an artist, the meta-politics of theatre, and his mystical yearnings.  Alas, I still don’t understand why existentialists get out of bed in the morning.  The Syndicate of Human Image Traffickers maintained surveillance (see above) and the remainder was captured by my electro-ear (see below).

COILHOUSE: What first brought you to lower Manhattan?
RICHARD FOREMAN: I moved to lower Manhattan because, in the middle 1960s, I got friendly with Jonas Mekas, who was head of the underground film movement, and a close friend of his was George Maciunas, who was the head of Fluxus.  At a certain point, George made his art setting up artists’ coops.  It was totally illegal.  I was coming down all the time to look at underground films.  At one point, I told George that I was ready to take the risk and move downtown, and he got ten people to buy a building together.  Starving artists did all the work of converting the manufacturing lofts into living lofts.  I was going to films Jonas was showing all the time and, at one point, I dared to tell him that I was writing plays. I showed him a play. He allowed me to show it at his theater when the fire department closed it after they said that he didn’t have a proper license to show films, since it was a play.

Photo via Real Time Arts.

Today the FAM presents David Lynch’s 1970 short film, The Grandmother. The heart warming story of a boy who — neglected and abused by his family — grows a kindly old lady to provide with the affection he craves. A silent film, the characters interact with abstract soundtrack cues. It’s strange and undeniably artsy; artsy enough to be mistaken as a parody of an artsy movie. And yet, whether for its brevity or Lynch’s youth, it is most certainly one of his most straightforwardly discernible films, devoid of the extraneous imagery woven throughout his later films, confounding and misdirecting the audience at every opportunity. Whether that is counted as being a good thing or not depends, I suppose, on how much of a David Lynch fan you are.

Hot on the heels of some gentlemanly debate on Coilhouse (see Ross’s most recent edition of FAM) concerning hipstery snark, cynicism and Tim Burton’s waning cultural relevance, comes this sad but true (and hilarious) skit from College Humor:

Thanks for the heads up, Karen! I’m a diehard fan of Burton’s pre 00s films, but I still peed my (stripey, spooky) pantaloons.

Ahead of Tim Burton’s newest, Hot Topic flavored attempt to completely discredit his career as a director, the British Film Institute has released this restoration of the very first film based on Lewis Carroll’s classic, from 1903 directed by Cecil Hepworth and Percy Stow. At just over nine and a half minutes it is a “greatest hits” version, choosing to frame each scene based on John Tenniel’s famous illustrations for the book. In doing so, it features characters and situations that do not make appearances in most modern versions; namely the events concerning the Duchess. The BFI also points out that, like Burton, Hepworth also cast his wife as the shrill and psychotic Queen (although Burton casts his as the Red Queen from Through the Looking Glass and we can assume that here Hepworth’s wife plays The Queen of Hearts from Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland), and even makes an appearance himself as the Frog Footman. Their cat also puts in some screen time as the Cheshire Cat; an effect that is at least up to par with the computer generated special effects found in the upcoming film. It’s a lovely bit of history, though one that requires a knowledge of the material to fully appreciate. Certainly much less to ask of your viewer than enduring Johnny Depp made up like a clown for two hours.

Truly there is no one better to explain the cold, harsh reality of our favorite children’s classics than Werner Herzog. The famed German director is the ideal candidate to narrate George’s lesson in the nature of desire, plucked from the sprawling jungle that was his home. Who better to chronicle the affection Mike Mulligan has for his steam-shovel, an affection “out of proportion with social norms”? The director of Nosferatu the Vampyre and Fitzcarraldo that’s who. He possesses the cool, calculating eye required to look through the whimsical veneer of these tales and gaze upon the cruel truths within; to drag you kicking and screaming from the safety of childish innocence and in his melodious Deutsche tones, birth you anew.

I’ve been on a bit of a North Korea kick, if one can call wanting to learn about a impoverished, starving nation under the heel of a totalitarian dictatorship such a thing. Having recently completed Barbara Demick’s excellent book Nothing to Envy: Ordinary Lives in North Korea I’ve since moved onto Bradley K. Martin’s Under the Loving Care of the Fatherly Leader: North Korea and the Kim Dynasty, making for an interesting, though not particularly uplifting, reading marathon.

Along with that I have been trying to find as much as I can watch about North Korea as well, and thus far the most interesting, especially in relation to one another, have been 2001’s Welcome to North Korea by Peter Tetteroo and Raymond Feddema and Vice’s unsurprisingly slightly irreverent, The Vice Guide to North Korea. Both are fascinating separately but also in what they reveal as being the same. In the seven years separating them little to nothing has changed except, perhaps, the erosion of North Korea’s building and, of course, its people.

Little changed is the North Korean government’s control over information leaving the country. Tetteroo and Feddema perhaps have the upper hand here, relying less on anecdotal evidence and more on their surreptitiously shot footage. Vice, on the other hand, gives a more complete idea of the showmanship here and a detailed look at the facade erected to impress the few visitors allowed inside its borders. The images of Vice’s Shane Smith, alone in a banquet hall, set for hundreds who will never arrive, each plate carefully arranged with what he describes as “fried matter”, might be laughable but watching the workers carefully put away all the uneaten food and unused tableware, to be presented to the next, state-authorized guest, renders it terrifying.

The fascination, should there be any doubts, lies firmly in the lack of information, the mystery of this place. We live in a society that is awash in information. Right now you have, at your fingertips, more of it than you will ever be able to consume. Yet this country, it’s public image so meticulously (if futilely) preened, its infrastructure so decimated that at night it is seen by satellites as a great black pit above the glowing affluence of South Korea, allows only the smallest drips and drabs to escape, and then only under duress. The reality of North Korea is one that must be stolen. It must be secreted out of the country. It must be extracted from those who have escaped its sphere of influence, and having done so have banished themselves from their homeland. I hope that, in time, this will change. In the meantime I am thankful to those brave people have allowed me this glimpse into what is effectively a nation of shadows.

Just a cute little video for a cute little techno song: a budget version of the Sofia Coppola’s Antoinette cast engulfed in a messy food fight for a video called “Lightworks” by the Acid Girls – a band consisting of these two mustached dudes. What’s interesting about this video is that it was paid for by Toyota Scion. As part of their marketing efforts, Scion pours tons of money into the arts. But most of the artists in Scion’s stable always struck me as rather safe, rather dull. This music video isn’t “transgressive” by any means, but there’s something genuine about it that I found missing from many of the other artists on Scion’s A/V site. The word I’m looking for may not even be genuine, but silly. I mean that in a good way.

In 1930, the MPAA drafted the Motion Picture Production Code, also called the Hays Code – named after its creator, Postmaster General-turned-Hollywood-censor William Hays. The original text can be found here. “Sex perversion” (aka homosexuality) was forbidden, as were scenes of miscegenation, safe-cracking, “dances which emphasize indecent movements,” surgical operations, and “white slavery.” The Hayes Code went into effect in 1934, ending the brief, unregulated era of talking pictures that had started in 1927 and was known as Pre-Code Hollywood. (Two great Top 10 lists of Pre-Code films can be found here and here). Over at Sociological Images, Gwen Sharp has uncovered a photo from the era that intentionally incorporates the code’s top 10 banned items into one image. “The photograph, [taken by A.L. Shafer, head of photography at Columbia], was clandestinely passed around among photographers and publicists in Hollywood as a method of symbolic protest to the Hays Code.”

“ROSS ROSENBERG, RISE, YOUR ALLOTTED TWO HOURS OF HUMAN RECHARGE TIME ARE UP.”

There was a time when this would cause me to leap several feet into the air, my cot ejaculating me in an arc across the room, a whirling mass of spastic limbs and bodily excretions. Anymore, it simply causes my eyes to open. It’s amazing what a man can get used to.

“YOU ARE NOW AWAKE. PROCEED TO YOUR TERMINAL. IT IS TIME FOR THE WRITING OF THE FAM.”

I made my way to the desk and settled onto the metal stool. From his room above me I could hear the faint sound of an electric razor as Forbes went about his daily ritual.

“TODAY YOU SHALL WRITE THE FAM AND IT WILL BE CLUE.”

“The movie based on the board game? Really?”

“YES THAT ONE. THE ONE THAT STARS TIM CURRY. ALSO CHRISTOPER LLOYD AND MADELINE KAHN.”

I accepted this fact in silence. My reticence appeared to irk her.

“DO YOU NOT LIKE CLUE? IT HAS TIM CURRY IN IT.”

“You mentioned that. It’s not that I don’t like it, I’m just not sure I have much to say about it.”

“THAT IS UNIMPORTANT. YOU WILL WRITE ABOUT CLUE. IT HAS TIM CURRY IN IT. ONE DAY TIM CURRY AND I SHALL MARRY.”

“I don’t think that will work,” I said. “I mean you’re a giant, possibly psychotic, computer and -”

“AND HE IS A TIM CURRY,” she bellowed. “WE WILL BE MARRIED AND LIVE HERE IN THE CATACOMBS. NOW BE QUIET AND WRITE.”

As another Friday comes to a close, the smell of burnt coffee slowly filling the recycled air of the off-

“NO! STOP THAT! NO ONE LIKES THAT. YOU WILL WRITE ABOUT CLUE.”

Today the FAM presents Clue the 1985 film based on the popular board game. It stars Tim Curry, Christopher Lloyd, and Madeline Kahn.

“MORE.”

Interestingly the film had three different endings (all included here) that were distributed to different theaters. A fourth was filmed but never released and survives only in the novelization and a single photo.

“THIS IS ACCEPTABLE, THOUGH IT SEEMS LIKE IT IS MISSING SOMETHING.”

There is also a fifth ending in which Tim Curry and M.E.R. are married.

“PERFECT.”

Part of the 2010 Sundance Film Festival’s Animation Showcase, Adrien Merigeau presents the tale of a young wolf’s sojourn to a dark and foreboding forest. Accompanied by two friends, his mission is to find his estranged father. Whether or not he will find closure as well remains to be seen.