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Passage de Venus (1874)
The Birth of the Visual Venus
OR IS IT?
It is true that this is the very first sequential photographic series put to motion ever produced, there is an elephant in the room that needs to be addressed. The tragedy is that this is not actually the heavenly body of Venus passing before the great burning day ball in the sky. It is in fact, the world's first screen test, as these are only models, placeholders made to test the plates which would be used for the real deal. Regrettably, the actual footage of the Venusian transit may be lost forever. According to Wikipedia, "A 2005 study of the surviving material concluded that all the extant plates made with the photographic revolver are practice plates shot with a model and that none of the many plates successfully exposed during the eclipse seem to have survived."
Yet we must interpret it as it is: A film. Indeed, it is fitting that man's first foray into something so invariably groundbreaking in influence, cultural impact and importance to art as film is indeed, baby steps, waddling up towards the stars. Or at least, the pretend ones spinning above the nascent medium's crib in its nursery. If we play along with this vision, we cannot help but be in awe of man's great scope for this technology's use, to chart astrological and scientific phenomena, to revolutionize the preservation of once in a lifetime events, and indeed attain near-apotheosis in achieving the ability to preserve, simulate and replay life itself as long as the powers and mediums employed would hold. It is staggering in and of itself that this alone survived into the age where it could be immortalized nearly forever, to inspire every generation with proof that even in simulacra, man has always been driven to achievement by gazing upon the wonders within the stars.
Lollipop Dragon: The Magic Lollipop Adventure (1986)
The Elementary School Filmstrips You Knew and Loved Got A Movie! ...Somehow!
Growing up in rural West Salem, Wisconsin, attending classes at West Salem Elementary, it was clear the budget went to things like the new playground, different cafeteria options, better software in the LMC and, eventually, Smart Boards. Before the days of Smart Boards and teachers cowering to the thought of navigating a giant, un-callibrated touch screen, however, there was Lollipop Dragon.
"What in the name of God's green earth are you talking about," you must be wondering. I assure you, I'm lucid and sober. Lollipop Dragon was a character that appeared in several educational filmstrips (those things that showed illustrations synced up to a record or audio track that went "DING!" or "BEEP!" whenever it was time to show the next illustration) that explained concepts such as reading analog clocks, basic math or even vague, abstract concepts such as how to count change or the importance Mother's Day. The deep-voiced, sonorous Lollipop Dragon spouted wisdom at the adorable Prince Hubert and Princess Gwendolyn and made life peaceful and remarkably educated in the Kingdom of Tumtum (yes, that's its actual name, and no, I could not find any "Tumtum" brand Lollipops anywhere and you haven't the ability to conceive how immeasurably disappointed I am about that).
Nostalgic as these were, part of me only remembered the image of the weirdly cubist-styled dragon and the Pavlovian page-turning response to dings and beeps echoing like ancestral instincts in the back of my mind until I spotted a clip of this movie floating around online titled, "HOW TO TURN A BAD TRIP INTO A GOOD TIME!" on YouTube (thank you, Everything is Terrible, for curing my childhood amnesia). True to its name, this movie takes a premise that, on paper, sounds like the end result of giving a toddler LSD and chasing it down with Ecstasy. The Magic Lollipop Adventure plays out like if Candyland were a Dungeons and Dragons campaign: Baron Badblood (I'm to assume that's his real birth-given name and title) kidnaps Blue-Eyes (who is not the blue dragon, nor is she a White Dragon what like the ones owned by Seto Kaiba), Glider (the blue one) and Cosmo (the yellow one, they do a poor job explaining this in the movie), who were about to use the Magic Lollipop to purify the waters of a sacred well out of which is drawn the water used to make "the most delicious lollipops in the world", using the power of a Magic Mirror. Lollipop Dragon, Prince Hubert and Princess Gwendolyn (the only things other than the setting that are drawn straight from the original filmstrips and books) are naturally sent to rescue them and bring back the Magic Lollipop.
I really don't want to spoil the rest, because a lot of the charms of this movie are best experienced on a first-watch. Unfortunately, I cannot in good consciousness recommend this movie for a second viewing alone; it's best to get a like-minded friend or some children in the family to watch this with you a second time, in order to enjoy it more. If you loved the Lollipop Dragon stuff as a kid, you'll have a good time watching this and reminiscing about those old filmstrips and books, though a word of warning: This movie, and it's sequel (against all odds, this movie got a sequel), do not really follow the original filmstrips or books much from what I remember and can gather. I'm truly sorry, but if you were wanting to watch this hoping it would teach you how to read analog clocks or why you should celebrate Mother's Day, you won't find much help here. Luckily, it's a great way to re-introduce yourself to the characters of the teaching aids you might just remember seeing in your classroom as a kid.
...ere erera baleibu izik subua aruaren... (1970)
If you didn't have epilepsy before...
...You will after watching this. Yet, I'm unsure if one can exactly "watch" this, let alone call this a "film". The reason for my rating reflects this: As a film, it's nonexistent. Effervescent nothingness. A prolonged seizure put to screen. None of the "paintings" last long enough to be appreciated individually, not that it matters as so many seem to bleed together as they hemorrhage onto the screen. That aside, if you can put up with the eerie lack of any noise or music at all, you can meditate on the barrage of blobs and splotches of colors racing before you, entering an odd trance, perhaps one of self-reflection or contemplation. This is borderline Stockholm Syndrome, to me. It's irrational to expect a non-film to entertain. However...
As an art piece, it's fascinating. I can easily see this playing endlessly on a loop in the background of a tucked-away area in the Milwaukee Art Museum or the Chicago art galleries. If this were an installation piece in a place like that, it would be mesmerizing, if only for a short time. I cannot imagine anyone sitting to watch the full thing without growing uncomfortably bored, especially during certain points like the black-and-white television-static like section between the 26 and 34th minute mark. What makes it even more intriguing is that the film begins with an odd prolonged series of shots of stretched and squished together words which, upon looking closer, are actually the words of the title of the movie. It goes two words at a time, until "izik subua", where suddenly the "film" begins. AN HOUR AND TEN MINUTES LATER, the stream of painterly patterns abruptly ends with the end card of "ARUAREN...", as if it were supposed to say "FIN". This is almost the only bit of "narrative" the film has, waiting in bated suspense to see the final word of the title, which in and of itself is nonsensical Basque. Odd, considering this is a Spanish film, that aired in France. However, it is worth noting that the Basque itself translates as follows: "... also burn as if we were under the age of ..." Certainly, the sights of amorphous technicolor blobs will be burned into your retinas by the end. Perhaps it speaks of the atomic age? ...Maybe I'm overthinking things as usual.
I knew the 70s were weird, but this only serves to cement its bizarre reputation further in my head. Something like this had potential, but the fact it's presented to us as a film and not something like the aforementioned art installation is baffling, as the director himself admits it should not be interpreted as one, but rather that it "invites participation". What I would love to see more is the literal filmstrip itself, stretched out and taped to a giant light board, while a copy of the movie plays on the other wall on a loop. This way, it would retain its relevance and significance as art while avoiding being touted as cinema. The entire "movie" is available on YouTube. I do recommend people watch this, at least a part of it, just to glimpse the truly indescribable nature of this "film", despite all I've said here. It is a piece of art, but it helps to know that going in. I know there are lots of movies such as this, ones that are not meant to be necessarily narrative or structured as an experience that relates information or tells a story. I'm not giving it the score for that reason alone. Really, I just wish it had some music to go with it. When you think about it, Fantasia isn't much different, being a series of animated vignettes set to classical music. If something similar was done here, like in the vein of Allegro non Troppo, there really would be something special here.
This is the kind of thing you discover tumbling down the endless rabbit hole that is the history of cinema. It floats past you as you scour databases such as this, as was the case with me. But rather than feeling like a biblical epiphany, it reads more like a schizophrenic daydream. My mind ends up filling in the gaps made by the silence, whispering strange and disquieting things, mostly along the lines of "Why am I still here?" or "What's taking so long?", and the like. It's more fascinating reading other's reactions to the movie, or even reading along with it. I'm hoping someone finds a Led Zeppelin album that syncs up with this movie the same way Dark Side of The Moon syncs to Wizard of Oz. It'd probably be from something like Boy George or Matmos. Maybe even Daft Punk or GWAR. ...This movie does strange things to my head.