Juarez

 

Orange mécanique

  Il serait tentant de dire qu'Orange mécanique appartient au fantastique tout simplement parce que c'est un film important et moderne. Pour éclairer la terminologie qui sera utilisée ici, mais sans aborder les essentiels problèmes que le choix d'une terminologie implique, surtout dans un domaine aussi mal exploré que le fantastique et la SF, précisons seulement que nous considérons la SF comme une des multiples branches, une sous-catégorie du fantastique, le fantastique restant la notion générale et unitaire qui englobe toutes les autres (insolite, merveilleux, etc.). Ainsi, dire d'un film qu'il appartient au fantstique moderne (à une conception moderne du fantastique) ou dire qu'il appartient à la SF moderne sont deux assertions radicalement différentes, qui ne se placent pas sur le même plan. Quand nous avons affaire à la SF moderne — est-ce la pleine de préciser que nous nous en tenons ici au strict domaine cinématographique ? — nous la voyons tendre à se libérer, à se purifier de tout élément et connotation étrangers à son propos, lequel prend l'aspect d'une méditation, rigoureuse ou fantaisiste, sur la sciene (cf. Le mystère Andromède). Au contraire le fantastique moderne tend à rassembler en lui et dans une même œuvre le plus grand nombre possible de ses branches et sous-catégories, à empiéter sur le plus grand nombre de genres de domaines qu'il arrivera à contaminer.

 Sur le plan formel, une volonté de polyvalence, c'est-à-dire d'émiettement des formes et des genres, puis de synthèse, se manifeste dans les intentions des bonnes et des mauvaises œuvres de fantastique moderne. Cette volonté apparaît très clairement dès qu'on veut préciser (en une appellation courte) le genre de ces œuvres. Qu'est-ce par exemple qu'Orange mécanique ? Un récit de science-fiction, un pamphlet social, une parabole politque (de politique-fiction alors ?), une satire philosophique, etc. ? Tous ces éléments entrent en jeu et leur articulation dans le film touche de très près à l'essence du fantastique. Pour ma part, je m'arrêterais volontiers aux appelations, qui me paraissent particulièrement éclairantes, de conte moral et de conte philosophique. Un autre film des années récentes au quel cette étiquette pouvait convenir, et l'un des rares à pouvoir rivaliser avec le film de Kubrick pour ce qui est du bouillonnement formel, était Bedazzled (Fantasmes) de Stanley Donen, modèle du film fantastique moderne, qui comportait par ailleurs une ouverture sur la métaphysique que n'a pas (ou qu'a à un moindre degré) le film de Kubrick.

 La temporalité d'Orange mécanique peut servir d'introduction à son originalité. Comme dans Le mystère Andromède, mais pour des raisons différentes, la part d'anticipation a tendence à s'y limiter au minimum. Le monde que décrit Kubrick ressemble par bien des éléments au nôtre dont il est chronologiquement proche. Mais plus que cette proximité, qui est certaine, ce qui intéresse Kubrick, c'est de faire que ce monde se situe sur une ligne chronologique, dans une temporalité à côté de la nôtre, comme est à côté de la nôtre la langue qu'emploient certains des personnages — langue de clan mais langue aussi que prouve l'altérité du monde où ils évoluent. Snas aller jusqu'à parler d'uchronie, ce qui serait impropre ici, on peut dire que les événements d'Orange mécanique existent en dehors du temps réel, dans un temps et dans un monde qui progressent non loin du nôtre et dont ils fournissent, vue comme en un miroir, une image savammment déformée et monstrueuse. Ce monde bis, cette temporalité bis, constituent une sorte de champ libre que s'offre le cinéaste pour rêverm refléchir et mettre en forme le produit de ses méditations. Rejeter les événements du scénario dans un futur proche mais indéterminé, qui est aussi un autre présent, un présent cauchemardesque, cela revient pour le cinéaste à se libérer purement et simplement du temps réel — celui du méridien de Greenwich —, à le mettre entre parenthèses afin d'insister sur la seule durée interne du récit. Le temps d'Orange mécanique peut être comparé au temps abstrait d'un conte de Voltaire oú chaque épisode a pour but, non de créer des personnages, mais de faire progresser la logique du message. A l'opposé de la coulée romanesque d'une chronique oú les personnages vivent, vieillissent et meurent, on a affaire à une suite de moments-clés, de temps forts aisément mémorisables — ce qui est une caractéristique de la fable — et reliés entre eux par la volonté démonstrative, quase didactique, de l'auteur. L'une des caractéristiques du style de Kubrick, c'est d'évoluir grâce à une série ininterrompue de temps forts dans un paroxysme presque continuel, et cela lui vaudra toujours l'aversion (partiellement justifiée) d'une fraction du public qui n'aime pas qu'on viole de façon trop constante et trop évidente sa liberté de spectateur.

 Le récit se divise de lui-même en deux parties séparées par un pont : le séjour en prison. Le trajet du film pourrait être comparé au dessin du métal d'une épingle à cheveux : la première partie (l'aller) correspondrait à l'une des branches de l'épingles, la partie de transition à la courbe du métal (virage en épingle à cheveux) et la deuxième partie (le retour) à l'autre branche de l'épingle.

 La première partie se caractérise par une certaine liberté de conduite de la part du protagoniste principal, le « je » du récit. On sait que le film, raconté à la première personne par une sorte de blouson noir du futur, décrit les forfaits commis par ce narrateur et un groupe de complices sur lesquels il a de l'ascendant et qu'il entraîne avec lui dans diverses équipées sexuelles et criminelles. Le film étant dans sa totalité, et d'une manière si évident qu'elle n'a pu échapper à personne, un conte moral sur le libre arbitre, la première partie pourrait avoir pour tire Alex en liberté. Elle montre un « je » en possession au moins apparente de son libre arbitre. Alex y libère son énergie, son agressivité dans des lieux au caractère théâtral très accusé, destinés à fournir un cadre à son action, qui est aussi une représentation, car agir dans le film est la plupart du temps asimilé à jouer, à représenter une action. Les « actes » des membres de la band sont affectés d'un coefficient ludique qui vient renforcer paradoxalement leur atrocité en y ajoutant un elément de gratuité.

 Bien séparés entre eux comme les séquences qui s'y déroulent, les différents lieux traversés par Alex et sa bande ne constituent pas un espace continu, vivant mais une série de lieux clos faits pour contenir le déchaiînement des instincts des personnages, et ces lieux restent comme morts, abandonnés et inutiles, dès que le céchaûi a cessé. On retrouve ainsi dans l'espace ce morcellement hyperexpressif déjà relevé dans la temporalité. A noter que le seul grand extérieur du film — la route, sur laquelle les complices de la bande conduisent comme des fous de manière à provoquer des accidents — est réduit par Kubrick, grâce à une transparence dont le caractère artificiel a été violemment accentué, à un espace limité et fermé, pareil aux autres lieux de l'intrigue. Le déroulement du récit fait que ces lieux clos s'ouvrent pourtant d'une manière fatale les uns sur les autres, à la façon d'une série de chambres (ou d'antichambres) situées en enfilade dans l'aile d'un gigantesque château. Chacune sert d'introduction à la suivante comme les excitants qu'absorbent Alex et sa bande : la drogue prise dans le milk-bar au début du film par Alex et ses complices les pousse à se lancer dans leurs virées « ultra-violentes » qui commencent en bagarre sauvage, se continuent par le viol et s'achèvent par le meurtre. Quant à la musique de Beethoven, elle est la drogue suprême (dont seu le plus violent du groupe, le chef Alex, ressent les effets) qui représenterait une transcendance s'il y avait quelque chose, dans le monde mécanique et desséche d'Alex qui pût être transcendé. Elle représente plutôt, dans l'inconscient d'Alex, la nostalgie d'une transcendance impossible ou perdue. Sur un plan plus concret, la jouissance qu'il retire de cette musique renforce son individualisme dépravé, son orgueil eta sa solitude.

 La première partie du film est celle qui a le plus frappé le public, par ce qu'on pourrait appeler le baroquisme théâtral de Kubrick. Le théâtre assurément convient et satisfait à l'imagination de Kubrick. De bien des façons différents. L'aspect théâtral du film implique d'abord que tout ce qui est montré l'est, disions-nous, par le moyen du jeu, de la représentation qui, en de-réalisant la personnalité et l'action des personnages, insiste sur la signification de ces personnages. Ils ne sont plus des êtres de chair et de sang nuancés et complexes mais des machines de violence qui singent l'homme et son individualisme, exacerbé jusqu'à n'avoir plus rien d'humain. Kubrick, pour en prendre plus loin la défense, fait ici une critique de l'individualisme vu sous la forme caricaturale que prend celui d'Alex. C'est un individualisme réduit à son noyau d'agressivité, démesurément et monstrueusement grossi. Cet individualisme se borne à la recherche égocentrique du plaisir, pris au détriment d'autrui, par la drogue, la violence, le sexe et le crime. On peut voir son origine dans le fait qu'Alex ne se recconaît aucune commune mesure, aucun attachement avec son entourage dans lequel on ne lui a rien appris à voir d'autre qu'une collection de proies misérables. Il s'opposera successivement à des victimes plus faibles que lui (vieillard et femmes), à ses égaux par les mœurs et par la force (la bande rivale) et enfin à ses propres complices. La première partie du film a pour but de donner à voir la cavalcade des agressions comises par Alex, lesquelles constituent son emploi du temps nocturne et la façon dont il fait usage de sa liberté. La nuit constitue en effet dans le film le milieu propice à l'auto-libération eu au défoulement antisocial. Les étapes de cette cavalcade sont bien marquées par le morcellement, déjà évoqué, de l'espace et du temps, qui puise sa force dans un découpage théâtral de la réalité.

 Proche également du théâtre est la société, soi-disant juste et organisée, qui veut les éliminer. Tout au long de ce second volet, Alex demande à être assimilé aux monstres du fantastique quand les villageois s'arment de flambeaux et de fusils pour les pourchasser.

 Il s'opère alors un report de la monstruosité d'Alex sur les différents personnages autrefois agressés par lui et qui deviennent maintenant ses boureaux. La logique implacable du récit de Kubrick rend ce transfert à la fois évident et insupportable. C'est sous un jour particulièrement abominable qu'apparaîttront le clochard qui appelle à sa rescousse d'autres vieillards pour tabasser Alex, puis les trois ex-complices de celui-ci, encore plus monstrueux dans leur tenue de policiers qu'ils ne l'étaient autrefois dans leur déguisement de blousons noirs, et enfin l'écrivain dont Alex et sa band avaient violé la femme. Sa vengeance à lui et son comportement seront particulièrement fignolés par Kubrick. Et sans doute est-ce le personnage, physiquement et moralement, le plus fou du film: fou de rage, de désespoir et de haine rentrée. Kubrick entend montrer que sa vengeance est spécialement basse et odieuse, car l'écrivain la répercute au plan politique : il appelle ses amis de l'opposition, déconditionne Alex par l'audition forcée de musique de Beethoven afin de le rendre fou et de prouver par là aux électeurs la nullité et l'inhuminaté de la cure prônée par les hommes du gouvernement. Mais, avant d'être devenu fou, Alex a sauté par la fenêtre (A remarquer que l'idée du suicide court au long de cette partie et dénote chez Alex un germe non détruit de violence, mais dirigée seulement vers lui-mêmeme ; autre notation annonçant l'échec inévitable du traitement.)

 Dans l'épilogue, Alex, qui a raté son suicide, est montré comme le jouet du politique, mais un jouet rusé, plein d'arrière-pensées, et qui sait calcular où est son intérêt. Le ministre en place s'arrange pour devenir l'ami d'Alex et promet de s'occuper de lui ; il sauve ainsi sa mise et les apparences. Quant à Alex, déconditionné, il semble redevenu l'être de violence qu'il était au début du film. On a dit qu'ainsi il retournait à son point de départ. Je crois que c'est inexact : Alex est vraisemblablement, à la fin du film, plus mauvais, pluis pourri qu'au commencement. A sa violence dépravée mais instinctive s'ajoute maintenant une hypocrisie, un esprit de basse ruse qui est l'apport spécifique du traitement prescrit par la société, ses savants et ses politiciens. A l'avenitr, Alex sera sans doute plus difficile à prendre. On aurait tort de dire que son traitement a été sans effet sur lui : il l'a rendu pire.

 Dans ce second volet, la « flamboyance » du premier volet, la boufonnerie satirique de la partie de transition (qui réapparaît un peu dans l'épilogue) ont totalement disparu. Ceux qui limitent le talent de Kubrick à l'un ou l'autre de ces deux éléments — surtout au premier — se sont déclarés déçus par la fin du film, et il était normal qu'il en fût ainsi. Pour ceux qui au contraire veulent suivre l'articulation et les développements du propos de Kubrick dans sa totalité, cette partie — évidemment très nécessaire — est celle où, grâce à un parcours théâtral inversé des lieux visités dans la première partie, a triomphé le souci de logique de Kubrick, indispensable pour aboutir à une vision globale de la société qui, ayant perverti l'individualisme d'Alex, s'efforce ensuite de le détruire. Si dans le premier volet, l'élimination du harsard (et, partant, du réalisme) se faisait sentir surtout au plan des masques, des signes, regorgeant de sens, et dans tout l'aspect décartif et plastique du film, elle se constate essentiellement, dans le second volet, au sein de la dramaturgie du récit.

 Pour ceux enfin que ces distinctions intéressent, on notera dans le second volet une déperdition des éléments traditionnels de SF (évanouissement définitif de la notion de futur, échec réaliste du traitement) au profit du fantastique proprement dit, pris dans son acception la plus stricte et la plus ilmitée : compassion ambiguë ressentie monstrueux de l'histoire, caractère horrifique très accusé de la série d'épisodes cauchemardesques où, tel un cobaye, ce monstre se trouve plongé par l'auteur.

 Au plan du film entier, Kubrick apparaît come un semi-baroque. On lui voit les convictions d'un homme de bon sens libéral, à la fois réaliste et idéaliste, et pour qui la notion d'individualisme garde encore un sens. Il montre cet individualisme comme une force bénéfique ou maléfique mais puissante et même irrédutible, sur laquelle, quand il est formé, c'est-à-dire après l'adolescence (les quatre héros ont dépassé ce stade), la société a finalement peu de prise. Si l'individu est pourri la société par définition l'est aussi, et tout ce qu'elle pourra tenter pour réformer l'individu sans se réformer elle-même ainsi que les conditions générales de vie qu'elle offre à cet individu, ne fera qu'augmenter la pourriture ambiante. L'action de la société, telle qu'on l'observe dans le film, a des effets nuisibles ou abusrdes quand ils ne sont pas purement et simplement inutiles ; d'où cet aspect de dérision, de comédie bouffone si présent dans de nombreux épisodes du scénario. Je ne crois pas que ce soit faire offense à Kubrick ou à son talent que de dire que son propos, recoupant pour l'essentiel une vision humaniste des choses, est au fond banal. Aujoutons que, sur les causes profendes du mal, Kubrick reste évasif, et c'est là l'une des limites de son propos.

 Stylistiquement, Kubrick utilise le baroque, le fantastique et la SF comme des adjuvants expressifs de son propos, qui reste rationaliste. Il y a du Voltaire en lui — Voltaire auteur, ne l'oublions pas, de contes fantastiques. Il serait presque adéquat de dire que Kubrick fait un usage rationaliste du baroque et du fantastique. Jamais (sauf à la fin de 2001) il ne se laisse entraîner par ses rêveries ou ses personnages. Il les guide au contraire avec fermeté et serrée, les pièces d'un jeu d'échecs  — activité dont il se plaît à répéter qu'elle est une de ses distractions favorites. Il a aussi un souci d'efficacité et de lisibilité ultra-classiques. Ses films s'adressent à tous, y compris à ce « spectateur du dernier rang du Gaumont-Palace » qui appartient déjà au passé. (A son souci d'efficacité peut être également rattaché le flair de Kubrick pour dénicher des matériaux remarquables et qui lui conviennet remarqueblement, comme ce roman d'Anthony Burgess qu'il a ici adapté.) Souvent dans son œuvre l'adjonction d'éléments théâtraux servira à satisfaire, même si ce n'est pas là sa fonction essentielle, un désir de clarté qui est chez lui au premier rang de ses préoccupations. Parfois aussi il arrivera que cette théâtralité soit totalement dénuée d'éléments baroques et fantastiques (cf. Les sentiers de la gloire) et se mette alors au service de la seule lisibilité du propos.

 Dans le cinéma contemporain, le talent et le rôle de Kubrick sont ceux d'un explorateur de formes, d'un excitateur. Il ne pense jamais que son propos puisse se suffire à lui-même, et c'est cela qui le fait sortir du classicisme. Pour lui donner sa puissance maximum, il invente un peu comme un chimiste des mélanges de formes qui sont parfois détonants, mais seulement quand il le veut bien. Ainsi Orange mécanique fait cohabiter l'extrême violence et la bouffonnerie, la fascination et la dérision, le baroquisme échevlé de l'image avec une impitoyable logique de l'exposé dramatique. Dans un futur qui n'est que trop présent, l'auteur fait vivre des pantins qui sont censés nous aiguiller sur l'homme, sur les carences de l'homme. Tout cela compose un beau désordre et peut-être, un pour certains, un mystère. Mais un mystère dont Kubrick n'aura jamais à feindre d'être l'organisateur. Il le domine trop bien. Il est le contraire d'un apprenti sorcier.

Jacques Lourcelles 

Fiction n°226, octobre 1972

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Cahiers du cinéma n° 293, octobre 1978

Alberta, let your hair hang low

Alberta, let your hair hang low

I saw her first on an April morn'

As she walked through the mist in a field of hay

Her hair lit the world with its golden glow

And the smile on her face burned my heart away

Alberta, let your hair hang low

Alberta, let your hair hang low

I'll give you more gold than your apron can hold

If you'll only let your hair hang low

I thought my golden time would last

But the field of hay was soon cut down

In a short few weeks it all was past

And my golden girl just a painful song

Alberta, what's on your mind

Alberta, what's on your mind

My heart is so sad 'cause you treat me so bad

Alberta, what's on your mind

Alberta, let your hair hang low

2-wheeled symphony

Well tell me more, tell me more, tell me more

I mean was he a heavy doper or was he just a loser?

He was a friend of yours

What do you mean, he had bullet holes in his mirrors?

He tried to do his best but he could not

"Nadie es profeta en su tierra", por Miguel Marías

  Nuestro cine n° 77-78, noviembre-deciembre 1968.

"Testimonio del cine independiente español" Paulino Viota

 

Nuestro cine n° 77-78, noviembre-deciembre 1968.

Entrevista con Mario Monicelli

 

Dirigido por... n° 64, 1 de junio de 1979.

Paulino Viota y el desafio de "Con uñas y dientes"

 

Dirigido por... n° 64, 1 de junio de 1979.

Jean Grémillon, por Miguel Marías

 

Dirigido por... n° 64, 1 de junio de 1979.

The Fragility Cycles (III)

 

Fonetica francesa

Moonstone

 

Peter dreams and David sighs

"…like listening to a piano player tickling a few last chords on the ivories in the wee hours of the morning" (V)

 

Honky Tonks and Slow Sad Music (III)

 

Angel voices.

1933 - 2003

 

From Marilyn

On Stan (V)

⁠Mary Beth Reed Interview

by Kaoru Katayama

—You mentioned that most of the works were done under Stan Brakhage's instruction. What exactly did he instruct you to do?

For the first few films that we did together, he would bring his paint that he had and we would go to the optical printer room. I would just set up the printer and then I would sit behind the lens looking through with the remote control, which determines how many frames are to be copied at one time. He would say, "I like this section to be double-printed," so I would do that many frames. And then he would say, "let's do this just one to one," so one copy for each frame, I would do that. So he was sitting there the whole time telling me exactly how he wanted it to be printed, thinking of the rhythms in his head.

⁠—Could you explain about each film? Or were they pretty much the same?

With Dark Tower, he just wanted to have this ominous tower represented somehow, and we kept cutting out different shapes of tower, seeing which one works the best, then putting it on the camera filter to have that with paint behind it. We just cut them out of pyeces of black paper. He didn't want it to be symmetrical, wo we just picked one he liked the best, and we used that. And with Cloud Chamber, that was actually Persian films that was just overexposed, really blown out. So it was one of the Persians, just printed differently.

⁠—Do you know exactly which one of the Persians was it?

It's one of the earlier ones, probably 6 or 7, or maybe 8. That's one of the first ones we printed. It was just overexposed. My timing was off, so... And with Water for Maya, that was a piece of painting that Stan was doing while he was being interviewed for the Maya Deren documentary. They interviewed him while he was painting, and just decided that he made it for Maya. And he called it Water for Maya. While we were printing it, he said that Maya Deren had a way of letting people know if she had approved or not, and we would find out while were printing if it was OK with her. I guess she liked it. Nothing bad happened. Somewhere in the middle of the Persians that we were first printing, Stan would bring his paint and I would print it for him while he was sitting there telling me like a composer how he wanted it to go. And then after he was done, I would put on my own pieces that I had done. When I did it, I used the remote that's connected to the optical printer where I can just use my fingers and decide on each frame how many times I want to copy it or not. He got used to seeing that so then, he would also, while I was printing his films, he would look through the camera and see how the frame looked with the light behind it. Gradually he just started printing himself. So, somewhere in the middle of Persians, he actually started printing, and I would just sort of set them up, and load the camera and get the light right. Then I would just help him with my any dissolves or fades that he was doing. I would do the shutter while he was doing the remote for the printing. There are a couple, like Rounds which he gave me specific instructions. He did all the paintings and then he told me to print them two to one. So I just double-printed everything. That was the whole form of it. So he wasn't actually there, but gave me specific instruction. With Panels for the Walls of Heaven, there were three main rolls that he had printed. So there were A, B, and C rolls and he just printed them repeatedly in different combinations and, I think, pripnted by themselves as well. He was working heavily in that film. He was doing dissolves between the frames. I guess that was the main difference between this film and other films. Some of the other films had two strips of film at once in loops, but Panels was the first one we did together, where we had lots of rolls and specific ideas of how he was going to bind them together.

⁠—Could you explain about Garden Path, the collaboration film?

That was actually... Stan gave me a bunch of separate loops from just a few we had at the time. Probably loops that he had from the last few years of hand-paintings. He probably gave me about maybe 10 loops and they were of different lenghts. Some were probably at least 4 or 5 feet and others were maybe just a foot. He gave them to me to print any combinations that show. I printed those and also filmed him while he was printing. It was his birthday (2001) and I filmed him painting and then filmed him later in that day when we were printing at the optical printer. So, that includes... his paint and his working methods. His paint has a little bit of my rhythms but I was still trying to print the way he kind of printed his film.

⁠—So, what do you think is the difference between the films he made with you and the films he made with Phil Solomon or Sam Bush?

Well, I think, the biggest difference is, particularly with Sam Bush's, the rhythm that Stan repeated. Because when he worked with Sam Bush, he pretty much gave him a score and that was more like when I was first printing for him where he would say "this should be double-printed," or "now, the section should be triple-printed." So, Sam Bush would follow that score and that's how we worked first. Ben then once Stan became more comfortable, he created his own rhythm with the remote. So, he just varied the rhythm throughout the film, where one frame might be just one copy, and then the next frame might be three copies of the same frame. He just varied it and he seemed to be delighted in having the ability to control the rhythms more minutely than he had before. As far as Phil's and Stan's collaborations go, I think those are much more collaborations where both of them were really giving everything of their filmmaking in these combined works. With Elementary Phrases... they edited together, but then Stan did the final cut. So it was left with Stan's stamp on. But I think I feel in those films of theirs are much more stronger works of both Phil and Stan. Sam Bush and I were pretty much taking Stan's instructions and giving Stan the vision that he had on the film. But with Phil and Stan, that was much more a combined effort.

⁠—Tell us about Stan's Window.

That's his lat film that he was working on. THat's all photographed images, and he hadn't really got the chance to se all the rolls that he had shot. He saw four of them and gave me the instructions of how he wanted to cut and he hadn't seen the fifth roll yet. Having talked to Marilyn and Phil Solomin, I have pretty much decided that it should be cut according to Stan's instructions. We would try to do something else with other rolls but not in Stan's Window. Because he had a very clear idea how he had wanted it done. So, although I'm doing the physical cut, it's not my editing at all. It's definitely how Stan wanted it to be and it's a very beautiful protrait of his life in Victoria.

⁠—Could you tell us a little bit a bout the Chinese Series that you are working on?

He actually started scratching on 35mm in Victoria. I never saw him working on it, but other people who visited did see. I guess he was using his finger nails to scratch. When I saw him on the last visit, he said that it was finished and that I should take it and print it. He had very specific instructions again on the can of the film on how to print it. He just wants everything double-printed and then everything single-printed, so just two copies of it, right after the other. It's hopefully on 35mm and possibly on 16mm as well. But he felt that he had finished it, so my part in it is just to try to get the printing done. So we can see it.

⁠—How do you think it's going to turn out?

Oh, I think it's going to be beautiful. It's at least about 40 feet long for 16mm. He started scratching on films after he got cancer the first time. This has a different quality. He has been waiting for several years to do the Chinese Series and just studying Chinese painting and calligraphy. Somehow, he really felt that was part of him and you can tell that in his scratches that are very expressive and definitely unique, when you get to see it all printed and together.

⁠—What's your favorite Stan's work?

I like Coupling. That's my favorite hand-painted film. So many ... actually, hard to choose. Short Films is beautiful, and Dark Night of the Soul and...

⁠—Can I ask you why?

I guess the colors that he gets. In Coupling, he used orange negative and it's just really beautiful. It has a different feeling as far as the colors go from his other films. As far as his earlier films, I like Tortured Dust, and so many. That one in particular really stood out for me. I think Sincerity, Duplicity Series were the first films that I saw here at the University of Colorado. Also there are a lot ... I really like Desistfilm, one of his earliest films. It's the spirit that he captures. Can't narrow it down

⁠— Which of Stan's films influenced yours?

I guess, he's pretty much influenced all the films that I made. I'm influenced by him, by his works both earlier and later. But most definitely, the hand-painted works that I had done, like Moon Streams and Moose Mountain 2. I guess my way of taking what I learned from Stan and giving my own twist was to use traveling mats. In Moon Streams, paint is in shape of waterfalls. That was my experimentation with hand-painting

⁠—Do you use the step printer a lot for your own work?

Yeah, I do. I use this printer and also a contact printer, which just takes what you have already shot and makes a copy exactly. I just combine that in black and white and in color, different images together. With a step printer, the film that you are making a copy of and the raw stock are never touching, whereas with a contact printer, it always sandwiches them right together, so it just makes an exact copy of it. The step printer at the University of Colorado is school property. We started out film studies in the building right next to the Fine Arts building in a room much smaller than this. So we like a lot this space now. It looks pretty bad though.

⁠—Is there any class that uses a step printer?

Yes, the highest level, 16mm class, the class Phil usually teaches, he teaches this optical printing.

⁠—Are there students who make films with this?

Yes, it varies. This quarter, he has 19 students in the class, but the last quarter, he had, I think, eight. It really varies. The equipment is talked about all the time while we are here, but we can't properly use that until the last class, so a lot of people are really excited to use it. Not just for hand paint or things like that, but other special effect kind of things.

⁠—Are there students whose works are interesting?

Some. Maybe 1/3 or 1/4 of the films are really interesting.

⁠—If you see any students with potential like you or Phil, please let us know.

Oh sure. In one particular class, there are usually three really interesting films. They usually have about three classes that are of a final level, the advanced level.

⁠—In Japan, we also have good students' work at art schools. So, it would be nice if we can exchange their works.

                                                                                  (University of Colorado, March 2003)

On Stan (IV)

Phil Solomon Interview

by Akira Mizuoyoshi and Kaoru Katayama

⁠—How did you start to work with Stan?

I started to help from Trilogy. I was a student in New York, Binghamton. I studied with Ken Jacobs and he showed me Stan's works. I was very, very moved, very taken by those Stan's works. And I studied Stan's work in school. Then, Stan came to visit Binghamton and stayed for three or four days. Peter Kubelka was there and Tony Conrad, too. It was quite exciting. Stan lectured and I asked him a question and he yelled at me. Because he was being very defensive and he misunderstood my question. 

⁠—What was the question?

It's complicated. It has to do with the film Sincerity. He showed the film Sincerity and then he said "Don't pay attention the biography. Just watch the light." And I thought there was a lot of biography in Sincerity, so I just wanted to ask some questions. I have this on tape somewhere. It was 1973. He was a little drunk and he kind of yelled at me. I was very upset. I played this for him years later. But then, I made a movie called Rocket-Boy vs. Brakhage to get back at him. I don't distribute it but it's private. Then, I met him many times at his lectures in Boston and New York City over the years. I knew of a job at the University of Colorado when I was living in Boston. I applied for the job and I had lunch with Stan. Actually, the sutdent who dropped me off at Stan's house was Trey Parker, the creator of South Park. Anyway, the student dropped me off and when Stan greeted me, he had his arms like this. We had just an immediate love. I had applied for the job, but I didn't know if I had it. And I went home to Boston. We corresponded and we traded films. He gave me Star Garden for The Secret Garden, my film. Then, I got the job, so I came here, and we immediately became great friends. Then I started to help him.

⁠—Which year was it?

1993. And he came to my house. I just started to help him. We didn't think about collaboration. We didn't talk about it. And as we did it, it was like two musicians playing jazz. We started to improvise. And I would do the loops and he would do the clicking and then I would do the clicking... Sometimes, we took out the gate and held the film by hand for three hours. You can see that in Elementary Phrases when it goes very abstract. That's because there's no gate at those moments. So we worked on Trilogy and I would set up the machine and then we would go watch John Woo movies. We started to play like two musicians. We came up with thousands of feet of color films. We sat at this machine and edited by deciding what was articulate and what was not. Then, he actually went and edited all of the phrases of Elementary Phrases. So we picked out the phrases where it begins and where it ends mostly on terms of rhythm. So we compiled all of the phrases and he went back and edited by himself because it would have been impossible to edit together. He decided on the classical structure, which insert 20-40-60 frames of black. Every 5 phrases, 60 frames of black, like a poem. And then, he would choose between 20, 40 and 60, but it was very exact and it has a kind of classical structure to the black. The black is very important in Elementary Phrases. I find it interesting that it has this very abstract imagery but very classical structure, almost like Greek columns. The usage of black is very ordered. That's interesting to me. That's why, I think, the film works, because of black. It could be very frustrating. Many people found it frustrating because the beauty of images goes off suddenly. But I find that comprehensive. Because a series of long hand-painted works, which are very hard to remember, becomes overwhelming. And the concurrence of the work was kind of an off-shoot and additional. The end of Elementary Phrases goes into the beautiful prismatic look and I used a certain piece of glass. That's secret. So, the concurrence was that glass. Then in ...Seasons, Stan started to scratch after painting because he got cancer and he thought the dyes in magic maker and paint were the causes. So he stopped painting and then used scratching. And the...Reels. There are three or four parts. One of them has sound by James Tanny. Stan gave me the material to play with it and I did it by myself.

⁠—Did Stan instruct you on anything?

Nothing. He just let me play. So I shot by myself and then I showed it at the salon of the University of Colorado. I showed one roll. Someone said "it looks like fall," and that inspired me. So then, I kept working in trying to make winter, summer, spring and fall. One day, I said to Stan, "I need more summer." The next day, there was a loop in my mailbox and it said "Summer for Phil." That's classic Stan. I edited ...Seasons myself. I wanted to do it differently from Stan. So there are hundreds of cuts. Often, Stan doesn't edit painted films too closely. It's much looser than his photographed films. The editing is not as rigid. I wanted to edit this very, very close so that it would be very articulate. It was challenging because I don't work myself with complete abstract. That's why my name is first on credit for ...Seasons.

⁠—I think there are three terms used for your credit, "dedicated to," "transfer by" and "step-print by." What was the difference?

"Dedicated to" was because I helped him when Western Cine couldn't do that. But it was mostly the machine. Because he thanked me for helping him get it on to the machine. Because it's all paint so we had to photograph it.

—In Love Songs, there are differences in speed. Sometimes it is photographed several frames at a time, and other times it is photographed one at a time. Was it instructed by Stan or was it your idea?

I didn't work on Love Songs, that was Mary Beth. But I think it was his idea. You could slow it down here (pointing to the sequencer) or by hand (gesture clicking). So if you photograph two frames for every one frame here, that's half slower. Stan would often do, "1-2-3, 1-2-3" because he didn't like too much of the machine. That's why he didn't like digital. He liked to have it be organic like life.

—How about your work? Did Stan instruct you?

With Trilogy, as far as I remember, he told me to set this machine and we let it go.

—We can't figure out which ones are with you and which ones are with Mary Beth.

I worked just on Trilogy, and I think some Preludes, maybe from one to twenty four. But not collaborating, just helped. Since 1999, almost all were step-printed by Mary Beth. Love Songs, Dark Tower, Cloud Chamber, Jesus Trilogy and Coda. All that's Mary Beth. She is not credited as a collaborator, but Stan knows that she is really very, very helpful. From films like Mothlight, The Horseman, the Woman, and the Moth and The Dante Quartet, Stan started making painted films. And then about in the 80s, he worked with Sam Bush. Cannot Exist, Black Ice, all those films were Sam Bush. They had to fire Sam Bush because of money and since then I helped and then Mary Beth. She was my student. That was my suggestion because I didn't want to get too caught-up. I was busy at my own work. And Mary Beth is like an angel, very, very helpful. She also cared for Stan and the kids, they were very close. She's been very good to him. And also a very good filmmaker.

—Could you tell us about the step printer and how do you make painted films?

Stand did all of the paintings. We would put a film like this, having a twist in it, so it keep s reversing (puts the film into the machine). This motor goes on here so we can photograph and re-photograph the film frame by frame. And we could use the sequencer, which does it automatically, or by hand, and this is how Stan liked to do it. He didn't like the machine. We use that printer, which has two gates. We would put paint on the first gate, and sometimes I would put things like images of water in the second gate, and the water would illuminate the paint. So, it's like painted water. Then the paint would lighten up only where the water is lit, very natyral rhythm to the lighting. It comes to be very handy to have two gates. This is called "aerial image." This lens projects the image onto the paint. You could also use two pieces of film and put them together. We did that a lot. It's extra thick.

—That's up to two films, right?

Yes, three is too much. But I could pu two more on the other gate. Then it's so dark.

—When did you get that machine? I got this in 1991, when I came to Boulder. The people at the university asked me what I would like to work on as a professor. They gave me $20,000, then I bought a computer and this for my work. Boulder campus of the University of Colorado is one of a very few schools where we teach experimental films. The other schools in the US are Boston Massachusetts College of Art, Chicago Art Institute, San Francisco Art Institute, Milwaukee. Maybe 10 schhools. The rest of them study Hollywood and now digital. I started working on digital, but we'll see. It doesn't have the romance for me, but I'm learning it. My students know more than I do because they grew up with video games and computers. I use computers for sound. Very, very useful. And I got the other machine in 1983. I made ...Seasons, the work by me and Stan, with this one.

—Who made this machine?

This is made by a man named Jaco in San Francisco. He started making them in the 70s. Before that an optical printer was very expensive. You know, the machine used by George Lucas for special effects was $100,000. This one is about $5,000. So many filmmakers were able to buy this and that changed a lot of American experimental films.

—Is Jaco still there?

Yes, Jaco is still there. I think he makes surfboards and optical printers. He's from Portugal. A very nice man. And he makes just one at a time.

—How long does it take for him to make one?

Probably five weeks. He has parts.

—Still $5,000?

Maybe a little more but not much. The one the University of Colorado owns, is $10,000. But I'm a professor there, so I get to use that.

—In Japan, experimental filmmakers sometimes make those machines by themselves. Is Jaco a filmmaker too?

No, not a filmmaker. This is very crude compared to digital technology, but much more beautiful.

—Do you know what this is originally part of?

He makes it from nothing. But like a projector, the gates and lenses are ready-made. In Elementary Phrases, I moved through the thickness of Stan's paint. There are moments when it looks like it's squeezed. That's from moving the lenses. Very exciting, because it's actually thick. It has different layers and Stan also sprays it with a fixer. So you could see come of them are really thick.

—We saw changing of light, too.

The lighting? I have other ways of changing the light, which is secret. My students ask me all the time.

—Is this machine only for 16mm? 

No, also for super 8 and regular 8 and some are for 35mm. We now have a professional optical printer at the university donated by Hollywood. Huge, with 35mm, amazing with computer control. The machine is new so we haven't used it yet, though. The Dante Quartet was done at Western Cine in Denver and it was painted with I-MAX, 105mm. And they put it on a light box and filmed it by single frame over the light box. They made 35mm and 16mm.

—So it was done at Western Cine?

Yes, in Western Cine. And that's very important to understand that. Stan's relationship with W. Cine is very unique for an American filmmaker because they really appreciated who he was. He was very eccentric. They were interested in his works. I remember in 1983 he brought them moth wings pasted to twigs. And they laughed when they saw it. Over the years, his career is virtually concurred with W. Cine. W. Cine and Stan are inseparable. And also Sam Bush. He did optical print in W. Cine for The Dante Quartet and Earthen Aerie and many, many, many films. And I should tell you about a problem in prints. In W. Cine, they were processing positivie prints with negative chemicals for the last four or five years. So you may have noticed that the black was not very good. Some of the black looks very muddy, looks brown. I strongly disagree with Stan, but Stan liked it. Some of the prints, since W. Cine had to move five years ago, they had been using this wrong chemical. The black doesn't look as good. With Elementary Phrases, I sent it to an other lab, maybe Dallas or somewhere. It had to have good black. They knew and Stan knew the problem, but he liked it. He thought that the color looked subtle. I like contrast, he doesn't care as much for contrast. So, anyway, in the future, hopefully when they get new prints, it will go back to being a good black.

—Will Stan's films be screened at Boulder in the future?

Now the inter-negatives are all at MoMA. We, the participants of the salon held by Stan at the University of Colorado, got a big grant and we bought one print of everything. So we have the entire collection. In the future we hope to have a Brakhage Center at Boulder and then we hope to get enough money to make new inter-negatives so that we will be able to make negatives. Also, we are going to buy his papers. Including his letters, there are 80 boxes of papers.

(Denver, February 2003)

On Stan (III)

 E' curioso che ci chiedate di scrivere per il vostro catalogo in Giappone su Stan Brakhage. Il film 'trailer' che Brakhage dovera fare per il Torino-filmfestival, dopo la sua scomparsa, viene ora chiesto a noi. sarà una immagine in movimento, pittorica, chimica, un materiale filmico in decomposizione. che crea 'pattern' moduli astratti, di fiori, di funghi ammuffiti.

 Verso la metà degli anni '60, a casa di un amico, una sera, forse a Venezia, vediamo un film in 8mm, un 'song' di Stan Brakhage che lui si stampava da se ed inviava per posta a chi glielo chiedeva, per qualche dollaro. Ricordo la forte impressione provata nel vedere la piccola imaggine che contenava in sè l'essenza del suo lavoro futuro, balenare proiettata su di un muro per una durata di non più di 3 minuti.

 Il libro 'Metafore della Visione' uscito in Italia poco più tardi, è ancora nella nostra libreria, consunto, si è salvato nei vari traslochi. Letto come un romanzo ed un 'manuale tecnico', è forse il tramite, l'inizio del nostro fare film. Ci indicava una via diversa, alternativa, d'avanguardia' per un cinema che intendevamo allora fare. L'autore da solo, inizio dela grande diario di vita visto attraverso la propria camera.

 Ci domandiano ora, quanta gente confusa sia stata spinta da queste pagine, a prendere in mano una piccola cinepresa 8mm ed abbia continuato nel tempo. Libro che mostrava la via.

 Durante i nostri tour negli USA nei primmi anni '80, non abbiamo mai incontrato Stan Brakhage, ci siamo più volte sfiorati, a Minneapolis, New York, San Francisco, Los Angeles, El Paso, etc. dormendo nello stesso so schermo di una sala buia. Case, letti, schermi.

 Sentiamo ancora una vicinanza tra lui e noi, il continuare a vivere accanto alla 'materia filmica'.

P.S. a Sarajevo nel 1995, durante la guerra, abbiamo usato per l'ultima volta una piccola cinepresa 8mm, per fiassare indelebilmente le ferite dei corpi e della città. Forse un 'song'.

Yervant Gianikian & Angela Ricci Lucchi

On Stan (II)

 Brakhage's films organize themselves around contradictions. These contradictions include oppositions between: representation and abstraction; the multiple associations summoned up by images of objetcs and people and their presences as embodiments of pure light; hints of narrative and film as "visual music"; the illusion of movement and film as a succession of stills; organic flowing rhythms and unpredictable shifts in pace.

 Brakhage was contradictory in person as well. He could present a commanding, oracular, even imperious presence in public, while inwardly he was frequently beset by fears. He could cut off a conversation with a blunt pronouncement when he was sure of his rightness, yet be incredibly considerate of young artists whose work he wasn't in complete sympathy with. He spoke of his films a emanating first of all from himself, yet the range of other artists he was inspired by in film, poetry, painting, music and dance was incomparably vast.

 The making of Brakhage's "visionary" films proceeded from his own inner necessity. These are not films that brakhage thought it might be nice to create, or that he made because he knew he was a filmmaker and thought it was time to make a new film — they are films he made because he had to make them, in his early years in particular, filmmaking was a way of deciding whether, and in what terms, he could go on living — or dying, as the overpowering sense of failure that haunts his lyrical meditation on suicide, Anticipation of the Night, so movingly documents.

 Inner and outer necessities are also linked. If Brakhage made films because he had to, he also made films because he wanted to change the world. To be moved by a Brakhage film is to be denied the manipulated emotions of the commercial feature film, and denied the fetishistic attraction to static views and collectible objects that bourgeois society encourages. To be moved by a Brakhage film is to dance, alongside the filmmaker, with the tiniest particle of dust — or light. To be moved by a Brakhage film is to have oneself opened to more imaginative possibilities of looking at, and thinking about, everything in the universe.

Fred Camper

On Stan

Jane Wodening Interview

by Akira Mizuoyoshi and Kaoru Katayama

—When was the last time you talked to Stan?

It was last week (February 2003) that I talked to him.

—How was he?

He was sketching and coloring but I was not sure if he was painting on films. Maybe on paper or glass. I haven't got a cluse what he was painting on. He was saying that he would not do films any longer because he had done it enough. And he said, "I've been doing some self-hypnosis and drawing what I saw while hypnotized." He also started to see illusions and he was seeing something almost all the time. I don't know if I should tell you but I like this story. I've got a collection of stories of "Stan on Pain Killers." One day, Stan was talking to a filmmaker called Jim Augus on the phone. When Jim called Stan, he heard the noise "ding" and Stan said, "Oh, it's time to take my morphine" and then there was a rattle. When he came back to the phone, he started talking a little bit slower and said, "Oh, you are showing me your new film." He had probably seen a kind of illusion which Jim would make in his film.

—Wish we could see his inside eyes.

Yes, it is the inside eye. As far as I know, Jim hasn't got a new film.

—We have been to the cabin where you used to live. It's beautiful.

To that old house? We had extended that house. Somebody who stayed before us had also extended it. And someone else also extended it. So that house has been kept extending, which made the roof terrible. You can see the log at the downstairs of the old cabin, which we called 'chink,' I found that house. I liked the mountains and animals there. And then Stan said that we could buy it so that we all would be happy.

—How long you stayed there?

It was from 1964 the first day of July to 1987. We sold it in 1987. When we bought that house, there were only four rooms and much smaller. Having lived there for a few years, we decided to extend it because Stan was going crazy as the kids got grown up.

—There are still decorations you put on the ceiling of the bathroom in that house. There are also your table, fences and small houses for animals left there.

Oh, the children made those decorations with scraps from magazines or something. I had been making scrap books for my children and told them how to do that. And then they said, "We want to do that, can we put them up there? I made that table but our friend Charlie made that fence for us. I really want to visit there. There are plenty of memories there.

—You really liked that place.

Yes I did. The mountain over there. The mountain on south side of the house was my mountain. They wouldn't call it Jane's mountain, though. I wanted to call it so but it had already got an other name.

—Are you writing a book now?

There are seven books. One of them will be reprinted in fall. It's called The Book of Legends and Stories. This is a book of stories about artists such as Willard Maas, Marie Menken, Maya Deren and Joseph Cornell. The first edition is dedicated to Stan because he told me most of the legends. And I translated these stories into a fairy tale language. I have been quilting as well. But I will put these two together. I will bring writing and quilting into one stage. For the latest work, there is one with a clown on it. I've given up being a clown for acouple of years but I had been a clown for 20 years. There is a story of a clown in that book and also a story about a bear, which came to our house.

—We have seen many films which you were involved in making and collaborated. Have you taken a film yourself?

I didn't make a film and sign my name on it but we worked together and then signed it "Brakhage." We made Dog Star Man and Songs together. Sometimes Stan gave me the instruction, other times I did some suggestions. We were working together as a team. He used to say like, "Stay there and I will do my thing, OK?" However, there were some occasions that I told him what I wanted to do. Although we produced them together, he was the filmmaker. Sometime, I said that I wanted to film. Other times Stan wanted me to photograph something and gave me a camera. However, I've never thought of making a film just myself. My interest has got into writing and I am also quilting now. Actually, I have some cloths with writing on it but I have not put them together yet.

—About Window Water Baby Moving, the film of you giving birth, we have hear that you filmed it yourself just after having given birth. That must have been tough as it was the first child.

I told him to give me the camera. That was how I filmed him. I just did it. I could do it. It was fun and very exciting. I had it in mind to take a picture of him. I wanted to get the image of that face, his expression.

—So, had you talked to him in advance?

No, no. I just told him to give me the camera. He said, "No." But when I told him to give me the camera again, he said, "OK." And then I filmed it. I didn't adjust anything with the camera but I just took pictures. It was difficult to find a picture of Stan when he was not making his face.

—It is very impressive to see the scene that shimmer of water in the bath is reflecting on your stomach. However, it is painful to see the blood quietly running when you are giving birth. And I felt pain while watching the film. I remember that you said that you wanted to give birth somewhere dark like an animal. According to the interview with P. Adams Sitney, you were very cooperative in filming from the beginning. How did you feel about being photographed while you were giving birth and eventually that was made into a work of art?

Well, you just reminded that P. Adams Sitney put my story about that childbirth into an anthology around 1960. If I had had to make the decision just myself, I would have preferred to go off into the woods partly because of my shyness. I have never really trusted doctors either. However, I had been working with Stan and happy about him having made the film. I enjoyed my birth without taking any drugs. When I got married to a filmmaker, I took it for granted to be involved in filmmaking and I had no complaints about being filmed. I felt that was what I did for a living. Some people would feel uncomfortable to see that film and say that I never worked and/or that I resented the work I did. However, they are wrong on both accounts.

—Do you mean that you have gotten criticism from feminists? Have you ever gotten any criticism that the film is sexist? I've never felt it was discriminatory and there is no such argument in Japan so far.

I don't know about feminists but there have been people (mostly men!) who found me pitiful that I worked so hard on being photographed in the nude. I told them that I felt it was my duty as a wife to work with my husband.

—About Scenes from Under Childhood, I felt the scene that you and your children are wandering into the wood as mystical. What is that spartkling thing like a diamond? There are also scenes of your children living naked like wild animals and also many scenes of you crying. How do you feel about this series?

I think that we bought a packet of something like diamond dust and tossed it into the air. He had a lot of interesting filters at that time as well. I wept because Stan made me feel miserable because he probably wanted to take a picture of me weeping. I worked very hard in this series. I had directed the children, made a background and moved animals as Stan wanted them to. Although I felt a bit bad about making the children work so hard, the film was beautiful. I kind of played a role of a director with the kids and scenery, animals and almost everything. I think I used a camera a few times as well.

—About Song series. According to Stan's comment, it was influenced by Ezra Pound. They are filmed on 8mm. Did you help with anything in the making of it?

Yes, we worked together on the Songs. The major reason we used 8mm was that it was cheap. I remember Stan saying, "We will show them the greatness possible with the home movie medium." Later he avoidaded video when it came in maybe because he was not getting a salary then, or maybe because he found it too smooth, something for younger generations. We had worked together on Song for a few years.

—There are various effects being applied in the scene where Stan appears in Dog Star Man. And it was you who photographed that scene, wasn't it? I think that you are a marvelous camera operator. Do you think this is the film that you played the biggest role in different processes such as filming, editing and collecting materials? There seem to be a number of japanese audiences who are impressed by the contrast between microcosmos (the scenes of internal organs, running blood and a depiction of family such as childbirth) and macrocosmos (the promoninence of the sun and inside the rugged mountains and woods). Could you tell us how you like this film?

Yes, I got involved in this film a lot, too. However, I am not such a marvelous camera operator! It looks so because he directed me what to do in photographic works and I followed him. What I like about Dog Star Man is that it seems like a legend or a fairy tale. Like every man struggling to achieve greatness, like any fairy tale hero setting out to slay the dragon or in this case chopping down the dead white tree, symbol of the dying civilization. I like it because it is mythic. I think it was 1959 or 1960 that we filmed Dog Star Man. When he was making a documentary for the State of Colorado, they let him use a camera, which we used for shooting Dog Star Man. I also climbed up a mountain to take a picture. We photographed it at the place behind Silver Spruce, West Boulder. Howeverm Boulder Canyon is perhaps a better way to say because there are lots of driving shots taken in Boulder Canyon. My first child was born during Window Water Baby Moving and the second baby was during this Dog Star Man.

—Which one is your favorite Stan's film?

That would be Dog Star Man. That's at the greatest peak, the center of the mountain and the core. Some bother me and hurt me but I like most of them.

—Could you give some message to the Japanese audience, who are going to see Stan's films?

Well, I will give you some statement about Stan. Thirty years of my life... That was thirty years of my life... Gosh, I don't know what to say... There was a man named John Koover who always said, "Stan, you are a full of surprise." He was always full of surprises but it was hard for him to surprise me. I think that was why he left me. I had been surprised as well. But it had become repetitive... However, the films seem always beautiful. I like the beauty. So I like his eyes. I was always proud and honored to be involved. Gosh, thirty years of my life, how can I put that into a sentence? We were serving the muse. We were both servants of the muse. He was called the muse of me. I was not sure about that, though. Enjoy the films, relax and let them wash over. The fast cutting sometimes might disturb some of you but just and then let them wash over. That would be a good start.

As to the film people who have been watching films a lot, greetings to you. I feel related to the whole. Film people are family to me.

(Denver, February 2003)