Weekend links 798

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Atlantis (1971) by Bartolomeu Cid dos Santos.

• “Given the workaday settings of many of his movies (a hotel, a summer camp, a science fair), their mortal stakes may come as a surprise, or at least as a paradox—yet paradox is at the heart of his entire body of work.” Richard Brody explores the New Yorker roots of Wes Anderson’s The French Dispatch.

• “The power of the Kelmscott Chaucer is in how all the elements harmonise to create something visually spectacular.” Michael John Goodman on William Morris and his reinvention of book design.

• At Smithsonian Mag: “What actually sparks Will-o’-the-Wisps? A new study traces the science behind the mysterious, wandering lights“.

• At Dennis Cooper’s: A chronology of 26 things with Clive Barker’s name on them and what he thinks about that.

• At Wormwoodiana: The novels of Derek Raymond and the type of crime fiction he called “The Black Novel”.

• At Colossal: Untamed flora subsumes abandoned greenhouses in Romain Veillon’s Secret Gardens.

• At The Wire: Read an extract from James Tenney: Writings and Interviews on Experimental Music.

• The Strange World of…Mulatu Astatke.

• RIP Patricia Routledge.

The Garden (1981) by John Foxx | The Secret Garden: Main Title (1993) by Zbigniew Preisner | Secret Garden (2011) by Sussan Deyhim

Kenneth Anger: Film als magisches Ritual

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Writing about Steven Arnold last week I was wondering whether Arnold and Kenneth Anger had ever crossed paths. Anger moved to San Francisco in 1966 in order to channel the counter-cultural ferment into the film that would eventually become Lucifer Rising. I’m sure he must have been aware of Arnold’s midnight movie shows but if so there’s no mention of Arnold in the Bill Landis Anger biography.

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When Anger died two years ago I posted links to some of the better online material related to the film-maker and his works. One of these was a German TV profile, Kenneth Anger–Magier des Untergrundfilms, a 53-minute documentary made in 1970 by Reinold E. Thiel for German TV channel WDR. The post included my complaint about the only copy of the film being blighted by an obtrusive graphic fixed to the footage by the person who uploaded it to YouTube a decade ago. The copy was further spoiled by burned-in subtitles but I felt sure that a better version would turn up eventually, and here we are with Kenneth Anger: Film als magisches Ritual, the same film under a different title, and free of obtrusive graphics. (There’s still that “WDR” in the corner but they paid for the damned thing so their proprietorial logo is at least justified.)

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As a guide to Anger’s cinema, Thiel’s film only skates over the surface, with Anger being interviewed in piecemeal fashion, and explaining his work and magical philosophy to the camera. He doesn’t seem very happy in any of these sequences but WDR had paid to help with his own film so he was obliged to co-operate. We’re fortunate that they did. Thiel’s film is most valuable for having been made when Anger was shooting new scenes for Lucifer Rising in London. As far as I’m aware, this is the only documentary that shows Anger at work on any of the Magick Lantern films. The discussion of his career includes a mention of Rabbit’s Moon, the lost footage of which had been discovered in Paris but not yet pieced together into its finished form. The shots we see here are more rarities, being raw footage, untinted and unedited. The same goes for some of the shots from Lucifer Rising which include brief moments that didn’t make it to the final cut.

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Anger had moved to London following his aborted attempts to make Lucifer Rising in San Francisco, a period which saw his first choice for the role of Lucifer remove himself from the production by means of suicide. His second choice, Bobby Beausoleil, fell out with Anger and stole most of the existing footage before being imprisoned for life as a result of his involvement with the Manson murders. The London phase of the film’s production was much more fruitful. In addition to the WDR funds and assistance from the Rolling Stones’ photographer, Michael Cooper, Anger was given a small grant by the BFI which helped pay for the sequences filmed in Germany and Egypt. Thiel’s footage shows Anger and assistants filming shots of the basement ritual with Aleister Crowley’s magic circle painted on the floor. Anger’s third Lucifer, Leslie Huggins, left the film before it was finished but we get to see him in several sequences, including shots of him wearing his “Lucifer” jacket. Thiel inadvertently clears up one minor mystery by revealing that the white-haired, ermine-robed Francis Cyril Rose is saying “Haven’t I seen you somewhere before?” to Huggins’ Lucifer during the ritual. In the finished Lucifer Rising we see Rose’s lips moving but the only words you ever hear in Anger’s films are the lyrics in the songs he uses.

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Leslie Huggins doesn’t say a word either, even when Anger is directing his actions during the later sequences shot among the standing stones of Avebury, the same stones that would summon Derek Jarman to their circle a year later. Avebury’s megaliths have cultivated a great deal of mystery and legend but their aura is dispersed a little when you can hear an endless procession of motor traffic going by in the background. Anger shoots the stones from a low angle to make them seem more impressive, and also keep a flock of curious sheep out of the frame. Another minor mystery in Lucifer Rising was the shot of Huggins standing by the stones while making conjuring gestures towards a very stormy sky. Was the dark sky a special effect like some of the other shots in the film? Thiel reveals it to be a genuine Wiltshire thunderstorm which Anger hurries to photograph. The inhabitants of Avebury village were no doubt used to the sight of film crews gathered around the stones—a few years later the village became the location for an entire TV series—but even they must have been surprised by the sight of two film crews arriving simultaneously, with one of them filming the other. Thiel ends on a self-reflexive note, with a shot from Anger’s camera showing the camera filming him.

Previously on { feuilleton }
Kenneth Anger, 1927–2023
Anger Magick Lantern Cycle, 1966
Don’t Smoke That Cigarette by Kenneth Anger
Kenneth Anger’s Maldoror
Donald Cammell and Kenneth Anger, 1972
My Surfing Lucifer by Kenneth Anger
Inauguration of the Pleasure Dome: The Eldorado Edition
Brush of Baphomet by Kenneth Anger
Anger Sees Red
Kenneth Anger’s Hollywood Babylon</a
Lucifer Rising posters
Missoni by Kenneth Anger
Anger in London
Arabesque for Kenneth Anger by Marie Menken
Edmund Teske
Kenneth Anger on DVD again
Mouse Heaven by Kenneth Anger
The Man We Want to Hang by Kenneth Anger
Relighting the Magick Lantern
Kenneth Anger on DVD…finally

Stanisław Lem, 1996

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The Polish writer has been in my thoughts for the past week, now that I’ve finally got round to reading Solaris while also having watched The Congress, Ari Folman’s adaptation of Lem’s The Futurological Congress. Reading Solaris was an interesting experience when the story is so familiar from the Tarkovsky adaptation, which I’ve watched numerous times, and the Soderbergh adaptation, which has risen in my estimation in recent years. The novel was fascinating for all the detail about the mysterious planet which the films omit, while also being somewhat old-fashioned considering it was published in 1961. Lem was apparently dismissive of Anglophone science fiction but by the 1950s the treatment of futuristic technology by British and American writers was increasingly sophisticated, even if the psychology and characterisation in their stories still lagged behind literature in general. Lem’s future timeline is like something out of the 1940s, where humanity can travel to distant star systems yet the spacecraft are the cigar-shaped rockets familiar from the covers of pulp magazines. In the station orbiting Solaris the trio of scientists have endless scientific discussions, the video screens are small and monochrome, and there’s even a mention of something being powered by valves.

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Solaris may be Lem’s most popular novel but it doesn’t warrant much discussion in this Polish TV documentary after Lem has mentioned his exasperated arguments with Andrei Tarkovsky when the film was being planned. Tomasz Kaminski’s profile runs through Lem’s life mostly via its subject’s reminiscences, although there is occasional comment from Lem’s friends and colleagues in the Polish literary world. The film doesn’t offer a great deal of context either but it does provide a portrait of a prickly character who I’ve never seen speaking at length before. I found it useful to rewatch the Quay Brothers’ biographical film after this one, a shorter piece which fills in a few gaps in Lem’s history while also showing the degree to which his early life was dictated by the upheavals of the Nazi occupation and the Communist era.

There are currently two versions of Kaminski’s film at YouTube, only one of which has English subtitles, and very crude ones at that. Better subtitles may be found at Opensubs but to use those you’ll have to download the video first. 4k Video Downloader Plus is my tool of choice.

Previously on { feuilleton }
11 Preliminary Orbits Around Planet Lem by the Brothers Quay
Maska: Stanisław Lem and the Brothers Quay
Ikarie XB 1
Golem, 2012

Weekend links 789

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Niemand (1990) by Micha Ullman.

The Diary of a Nobody (1964) by Ken Russell, John McGrath, Weedon Grossmith & George Grossmith. A recent posting at Play For Forever, an archive of hard-to-find/unreissued British TV drama.

• New music: Paul St. Hilaire With The Producers by Paul St. Hilaire; Atoms In The Void by Ivan the Tolerable & Hawksmoor; The Cosmic Tones Research Trio by The Cosmic Tones Research Trio.

• At Public Domain Review: Julie Park explores the history of the camera obscura.

• At The Wire: Read an extract from Philosophy of Jazz by Daniel Martin Feige.

• At Unquiet Things: Jana Heidersdorf’s fairy tale subversions.

• At Colossal: Five decades of land art by Andy Goldsworthy.

• The Strange World of…Marissa Nadler.

• RIP Robert Wilson.

Nobody (1968) by Larry Williams & Johnny Watson with Kaleidoscope | “There Is Nobody” (1976) by Brian Eno | Nobody (1978) by Ry Cooder

Tom Keating on Painters

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Tom Keating (1917–1984) was a fascinating character who you don’t really hear about today, despite his brief flush of notoriety in the late 1970s. A versatile artist, Keating worked for many years as a restorer of old pictures, cleaning huge history paintings while also helping art dealers turn damaged canvases into saleable works. The ease with which he could imitate other artists and their techniques prompted some of his employers to start requesting wholesale fakes, which he produced for a while until he discovered that his paintings were being sold for substantial sums while he was still being paid a labourer’s wage. His defence of his subsequent career as an art forger hinged on this experience; he claimed that the situation turned him against the entire art market, and prompted a resolve to undermine the galleries and auction houses by flooding them with as many fake paintings as possible. Keating’s illicit activities became headline news in the late 1970s when he and his partner were prosecuted for selling a number of fake Samuel Palmers.

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Episode 1: Turner.

Being a versatile artist myself I’ve always been intrigued by the forgery business. If you have any degree of skill in an artistic medium the thought soon arises that you could turn that skill to imitating the work of an artist who used similar techniques. In my case this has never gone further than doing one-off pastiches. Outright forgery raises the level of the game; it also raises the stakes since you open yourself to legal consequences if the forgery is exposed. Art forgery is an unusual combination of skill and cunning (the artists being forged must have plausible gaps in their oeuvre; provenance has to be invented), archaeology (the older the work being faked, the more important it is to use authentically aged or antique materials), and a peculiar bloody-mindedness to go to all this trouble while never being able to admit in public that you were the creator of the forgery.

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Episode 2: Titian.

Tom Keating on Painters was a short TV series broadcast by Channel 4 (UK) in 1982, in which Keating demonstrated his knowledge of historical painting techniques by imitating the work of several well-known artists. If he hadn’t presented a follow-up series about Impressionist artists two years later Tom Keating on Painters would be unique in being a rare TV series about painting which isn’t a guide intended to instruct the amateur artist. Keating’s sole concern in these short films is to show how five artists—Turner, Titian, Constable, Rembrandt and Degas—created their work. In each film he describes the stages of the painting process (pastel in the case of Degas) but this is never a course of instruction. In the sixth film he talks about art restoration, something he continued to work at once his forging exploits had been exposed. Art forgery is one subject he doesn’t mention at all.

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Episode 3: Constable.

The main thing I remembered about this series was that two of the demonstration paintings were reverse views of a pair of pictures that always top lists of the nation’s favourite works of art. Turner’s The Fighting Téméraire and Constable’s The Hay Wain are monuments rather than mere artworks, occupants of that rare class of painting that you see so often in reproduction it can be difficult to set aside their ubiquity and see them afresh. Keating achieves this to some degree by taking each painting back to the bare canvas then building it up again from a different point of view, showing us the stern of the old warship in Turner’s painting, and the arrival of the horse and cart at the river in the Constable. The demonstrations repeat work that Keating had already done when he painted finished versions of the reversed views for his own amusement. The films only show the early stages of the paintings but enough is demonstrated to indicate the opposed techniques of each artist. Turner and Constable were exact contemporaries but Turner’s later paintings seem to belong more to the 20th century than the 19th. So too with his technique which begins with a light canvas rather than working up light colours from a dark ground.

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Episode 4: Rembrandt.

The films about Titian and Rembrandt show more of the traditional approach, with Keating copying Titian’s Tarquin and Lucretia, and inventing a self-portrait of Rembrandt with his son. The latter is the least successful of the five imitations, Keating doesn’t seem to have been very good with portraits. Much better is his variation on The Ballet Class by Degas, an oil painting which he recreates using the pastels that Degas often favoured for his other work. This last picture is the only one that really looks finished but then pastel is a simpler medium. All of these films would have benefitted by being longer and going into more detail but such is the nature of television, the most compromised medium of all.

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Episode 5: Degas.

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Episode 6: Restoring Pictures.

Previously on { feuilleton }
More Aubrey fakery
Aubrey fakery