A cinematic and conceptually inventive film that explores the haunting memories of Asia’s late 20th-century modernization through the large-scale export of wigs during the Cold War. Yet, in every wig resides a ghost from the imperial past.
A cinematic and conceptually inventive film that explores the haunting memories of Asia’s late 20th-century modernization through the large-scale export of wigs during the Cold War. Yet, in every wig resides a ghost from the imperial past.
2023-03-22
0
Two college students set out to capture a ghost on film to make millions instead of doing their finals.
This documentary explores and provides new insights into the life and writing of British author Robert Aickman (1914-1981), with special reference to his celebrated 'strange stories' - modern ghost stories - his two volumes of autobiography and his campaigning work for the restoration of the British canal system. The film includes rare footage, recordings and photographs of Aickman, interviews with his friends and with writers Jeremy Dyson and Reggie Oliver, and dramatized excerpts of his stories.
X-ray images were invented in 1895, the same year in which the Lumière brothers presented their respective invention in what today is considered to be the first cinema screening. Thus, both cinema and radiography fall within the scopic regime inaugurated by modernity. The use of X-rays on two sculptures from the Bilbao Fine Arts Museum generates images that reveal certain elements of them that would otherwise be invisible to our eyes. These images, despite being generally created for technical or scientific purposes, seem to produce a certain form of 'photogénie': they lend the radiographed objects a new appearance that lies somewhere between the material and the ethereal, endowing them with a vaporous and spectral quality. It is not by chance that physics and phantasmagoria share the term 'spectrum' in their vocabulary.
A feature length documentary shot in Iceland on mediums and the relationship between humans and invisible beings such as elves ghosts, angels, water monsters and extra-terrestrials. The film is a journey to the frontiers of life questioning the scope of our existence. Are we alone in the universe? If life exists in other dimensions, it's worth knowing more.
Based upon a habitual fidget of the filmmaker involving the tags in his clothing, Reilly Mitchell explores the feelings of his past by removing something that has always stayed so close to him and turning it into something new.
May our smiles not be forced for your enjoyment and may our pains no longer be hidden. May my mother Yemanja help me. A short film about the pain we carry alone and that we only confess to the sea, which is life, but for us, black people from the diaspora, it's also a memory of a past of sadness and death.
Sabattus is an old town and like any old town it has its history of inhabitants, tragedy, and conflict. There's a house in Sabattus, though, unlike any other. The owner reports that the property experiences strange sightings. Shadowy figures, strange balls of light, and the sounds of being followed are all common occurrences at this house. Join investigator Nate Brislin as he documents the strange goings-on at the Sabattus house. Hear the story from the eyewitnesses, and embark on an expedition that dares to ask: are there phantoms in America's Pine Tree State?
Across the installation's multiple channels, the camera circles a group of artists as they sit together in a field eating, licking, and squeezing ripe tomatoes. Throughout the ever-changing scene, kisses, whispers, and caresses are shared with a casual, gentle intimacy that reflects interconnectivity and abundance. These queer and desirous exchanges constitute a portrait of collectivity wherein individuals come together as distinct parts of a whole.
Set in Munich's petty-bourgeois Westend, film documents life at home with former Fassbinder actor, Warhol collaborator, and horror movie director Ulli Lommel. Rather than a straight documentary portrait of this bohemian household, the camera prefers to follow the narrative impulses of the family members. Lost in serious play, the kids improvise hypnotic death scenes while their mother claims to come from a planet where everything is "ethereal and incorporeal." As parent-child relations are unscripted and re-scripted on the fly, the dilated time of a collective daydream is punctuated by the ordinary sounds of an electric toothbrush, vacuum cleaner, and piano.
Roads fall into the sea and a travelogue breaks against the landscape.
Noise, static, channel change...
Time lapse of clouds and a mimosa tree to the silhouette at dusk.
Date palms imported and cultivated decades ago flourish in the Coachella Valley in Southern California. A cacophony of voices from across generations reflect on the shifting landscape of the region; some remember the first few acres that were planted, while others enjoy the luxuries of new golf courses. Feet in Water, Head on Fire is a sensorially vibrant 16mm experience that takes us on a journey of past, present, and future. Director Terra Long hand-processed the footage utilizing leftover dates and native plants intertwining the environment into the fabric of the film. Through complex and nuanced scenes, non-sync interviews blossom into a wonderfully gentle but memorable portrait of a community in flux.
Be. Belonging. Words on vintage flash cards shuffle past in a stream-of-consciousness that shows the mind working, assigning labels and names to things through love and language. In the space of a moment, perception embarks on an epic journey of tongues, through Cantonese and English sounds and Ektachrome memories that form the characters and identity of this American-born Asian filmmaker.
Travel films have an established format with their own conventions, history and baggage. It is a medium that has all too often sought to control, define and dictate perceptions of ”other” places. Comprised of footage shot while travelling on group excursions across Russia in 2019, An Uncountable Number of Threads is an attempt to draw out the ethical restrictions of a travelogue, while questioning how (and why) to make one. At times there is an awkward tourist-gaze, aware of its outsider position. But as a self-reflexive work that considers its own creation, it ultimately unravels, as the artist rationalises themselves out of a particular way of working, inviting the viewer into their uncertainty.
In Untitled (Pink Dot), Murata transforms footage from the Sylvester Stallone film First Blood (1982) into a morass of seething electronic abstraction. Subjected to Murata's meticulous digital reprocessing, the action scenes decompose and are subsumed into an almost palpable, cascading digital sludge, presided over by a hypnotically pulsating pink dot.