Warren Sonbert's Carriage Trade sets forth the same kind of feeling that Joris Ivens' A Tale of the Wind does, in part, and which a film like Baraka wishes it could do: to formulate a vision of global living wherein an artist and a viewer glimpses connections among contrasts, and vice versa, and wherein the view of the Earth and its component-inhabitants (sentient, mineral, and otherwise) makes for an achingly beautiful and overwhelming experience. Aesthetically Sonbert strikes me as a middle ground between Brakhage and Dorsky--on first viewing, at any rate. One older man at the screening was incredibly upset that his companion brought him to the film, though I can't exactly figure out what the problem was: either they had seen Carriage Trade once before, or he couldn't believe it had no sound, or he didn't like the fact that it was an avant-garde film. (The mutterings veered variously into any of these objections.) Anyway, the guy vocalized his distaste several times throughout the first 10-15 minutes, stayed quiet but for the occasional sigh, and then left for the final 15-20 minutes after announcing his intention to do so. Jeebus.
In other news: I am totally psyched to splurge one day soon on Japanese avant-psych-folk-experimental music. Now playing is Nagisa Ni Te's pretty Feel. It was part of a controlled spending spree which also scored me (among a few other things) Raúl Ruiz's Poetics of Cinema. Can't wait to finally read it ...
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