Whispering Pines 6,7,8 (2006)

There are few films I find to be a truly pure incarnation of my aesthetic. The 'Neon Boogers' category exists as a kind of sliding scale for the qualities I look for. Sometimes I'm a little more lenient in gauging whether or not a film is deemed a 'Neon Booger', but other times its so glaring it's like the filmmaker and I share the same brain.

Whispering Pines is a series of shorts created by and starring Shana Moulton as 'Cynthia', a woman who's on a personal journey of betterment through manufactured objects and self-exploration. There's an every-woman-ness about Cynthia. She reads the magazines, buys the products, lives her life in a constant limbo of health and beauty fads. There's a commentary at work here but before I get into that I need to discuss the cosmetic appeal of the world Shana Moulton has created for 'Cynthia'.

The character may have an emptiness inside of her, but like me, she's a tchotchke queen. The placement of objects in itself is an art. Muted pastels, house plants, marble side tables and trinkets from the Asian dollar store. The sets look like shoe-string Ettore Sottsass installation, with a dash of Leslie Hall. So while I'm fully aware that there's an anti-establishment  message, I too am seduced by Cynthia's synthetic reality.

There are five episodes before the three I'm covering here and I believe two after, but these three (and a random episode 3 on youtube) seem to be the only available ones on the net. As they came together attached in one swoop, I'm reviewing them as one film. Like a mini-anthology.


Episode 6:

While doing a puzzle of a waterfall, Cynthia realizes she's missing the final piece. Panicked, she searches the living with no avail. Feeling lost, she finds herself in a New Age store that sells waterfall statues. She buys yet another waterfall for her home in hopes that the sound of the rippling water will give her the clarity she needs to find the missing puzzle piece. Once home all of the water devices are turned on, including an electric waterfall picture. She plays a meditation tape and the sounds put her body in a state of emotional out-pour. Once enlightened she knows to look deep inside the waterfall picture for the missing puzzle piece. As she places the final piece in the center of the puzzle the camera zooms in to reveal Cynthia's own crying face in the water.

Episode 7:

While gazing upon herself in a vanity mirror, Cynthia notices some unsightly black heads. She reaches for her holographic box which contains several packets of pore strips. The camera zooms in on her black stippled nose as she performs her skin care ritual. As she patiently waits for the strip to dry she stares at her distorted image in the mirror. Suddenly a sphinx-like creature with her own face appears. It sings "Now That I'm a Woman" from the Last Unicorn. A song about the unicorn's sad transformation from a strange creature to an ordinary woman. Little pore strips fly around them like doves. The sphinx disappears and she slowly removes her pore strip to reveal an inspirational quote from 'Jonathan Livingston Seagull'.

Episode 8:

Best for last. Unsatisfied with the state of her plant arrangement, Cynthia embarks on a Crystal Light induced creative journey in sand art. She listens to Enya's 'Orinoco Flow' and re-imagines her once drab vase. She dumps colored craft store sand, pearls, plastic gems and fake flowers in a casserole of kitsch. She creates designs in sand directly on the table, embellishing them with crystals. Her whole house comes to life. Soon all of her plastic belongings are singing and dancing. One by one she adds them to the magical concoction of ornamental decor, creating a Chakra of artificial soil for her new flower arrangement. Once finished she places the vase by the couch and immediately begins to feel unfulfilled despite her new creation. After a few moments have passed, the vines from the arrangement grow into a magical ladder. She climbs it and enters a door that transports her to a lively rave set to an electronic remix of  'Orinoco Flow'. She joins the party until she realizes that she's just been poisoned by the Crystal Light and that it was all and hallucination. She vomits herself back to reality.

I have this thing for commercial meditation products. I collect new age cassettes and nature videos whenever I encounter them at thrift stores. The idea that this analog version of nature can bring you some kind of inner peace is fascinating. When I started collecting these types of things I was doing it in an ironic way. There was something "funny" about it. But I've discovered there is kind of a science to it. When I listen to or watch this stuff, I think it may actually work. Or at least I think it's working while I'm participating. Like some kind of neo-shamanic ritual of the digital age. Put on a tape and all of your problems will melt away. Cynthia is a prime target for this kind of advertising duplicity. When you look in a magazine and see lots of happy women, the idea is if you do as they do you also will be happy. It could be as little as one product that changes your whole life. Cynthia aspires to be the woman on the Biore box and to feel like she's in a Crystal Light commercial. That's the witchcraft of consumerism, the promise of the thing you desire leads to a momentary high and then an empty realization that not only does it not work but you're worse off than before. Shana Moulton has created a really likable character and Universe to satire these ideas.

As a multi-media artist, Moulton's work has been limited to mostly galleries. Still active today, you can see a few excerpts on her Vimeo. I'm not sure if a commercial release is her style, but if that were to ever happen I'd be first in line to own these brilliant pastel fever dreams.

Alice in Wonderland (1970)

Few stories have been told as many times with as many variations as Alice in Wonderland. Seeking out the film versions was more relevant to me in my post-adolescence. In the early part of my womanhood movies like Svankmajer's Alice and Valerie and Her Week of Wonders helped me find definition. Not only were they taste defining but in many ways character defining. I know I'm not the only person to take something away from any given translation of the tale.

It would seem that at some point in my movie-watching career I reached an unconscious decision not to actively seek out this once a desirable fairy tale. This may have had something to do with the Tim Burton film or it may have already been in the works, whatever the case may have been somewhere along the line without knowing I lost interest and felt another film version would likely not offer me anything new.  My attention went to new and interesting fairy tales from other parts of the world.

A few years ago I came across Ubu Roi, a bizarre French made for TV version of Alfred Jarry's play. The sardonic political satire was oozing with style and became one of the most visually interesting films I saw that year. Click here for that review. While Jarry provided the source material, director Jean-Christophe Averty made it his own. His was a style that reminded me of all the things I love. Elements of films I've obsessed over since I started obsessing over films. Something I'm always hoping to find, but rarely do. I stumbled upon this version of Alice in Wonderland while researching experimental French films. I possibly wouldn't have stopped to consider it if I hadn't immediately noticed Averty's name attached. I immediately knew it was going to be something special.

There are no subtitles so it's good that I'm already quite familiar with the story. It doesn't appear to stray and in fact at 2 hours long, it seemed to devote itself pretty sincerely to the book. I was very pleased to see a similar paper cut-up style that was present in Ubu Roi, but starkly contrasted to the monochromatic black and white. Alice is pulsating with a psychedelic handmade looking technicolor. A mixture of live action, animation and puppetry, it's a rainbow colored pinwheel that's spinning out of control. The quality wasn't spectacular, a third or fourth generation vhs rendering of what was already a made for TV film. Strangely, this added an expressionistic effect that's perfectly fitting. With such a strange no-holds-barred color palette and the film being slightly out of focus it seemed even more like an abstract art project. You get a strong sense of how Nightmarish Wonderland is through Jean-Christophe Averty's kaleidoscopic lens. Made the same year he did 'Soft Self-Portrait of Salvador Dali', I sense that his inspiration was pure and with budding technology he didn't appear to be fine tuning his method but let go a bit and express himself liberally. There's a lack of restraint that's thoroughly exciting if you're an aesthetic junkie such as myself. And really, with a story we all know so well extreme creative liberties are necessary to make it less redundant.

It's so refreshing to see films that not only still excite and inspire me but are able to help me reconnect with girlhood and re-examine the films that brought me to the place I am today. Averty's Wonderland might not be the greatest version out there but it's not to be dismissed. Like a bizarre puppet show saturated in a motley prism, there's something not quite right about it, but the end result is something that feels textured and adventurous. There may have never been a more Atomic Caravan-looking film as this. You can bet this won't be the last you read about Jean-Christphe Averty on this blog.

Das Triadisches Ballett (1970)

I always felt that ballet was the art of pushing the human body to move naturally in unnatural ways. Das Triadisches does the opposite, these dancers are stiff and inorganic. They glide around like little wind-up toys. Putting you under hypnosis in a minimalist waltz. Developed by Bauhaus mastermind Oskar Schlemmer, who has painting, sculpting, choreography and all areas of design to his credit. He was hired as the Master of Form at the Bauhaus Theater Workshop in 1922. He choreographed many ballets in his duration, Das Triadisches being the most famous.

Translating to "the Triadic Ballet", it unfolds in three parts which can be distinguished by colors and high evocative costumes. Almost unreal geometric figures that's mobility feels rooted in some kind of dark magic. In 1970 is was made into a 29 minute color film directed by Marianne Hasting, Franz Schombs and Georg Verden with a contemporary score by Erich Ferstl.

Part one features a sunshine yellow background with robot-like figures and a faceless ballerina. Emoting a clinical and space-age vibe.

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Part two features a very bubblegum inspired pink background and more humanoids...

The male figure looks like a buff Ultraman.

She is too cool for words.

My favorite dance, still part of the second act...

She's like a confectionary work of folk art. Gumdrop skirt and headdress. The music in the sequence is absolutly perfect. I imagine little children in the Bavarian Forest would play with these toys on Christmas day, or something terribly charming like that.

Part three, all in black, possible the most dramatic, expressive and frightening of the three....

This amazing get-up reminds me of a snail, or something aquatic. Maybe she's Venus? There's something mysterious and goddess-like about her.

Then there's these terrifying warrior figures - or at least that's what they seem like to me. Somewhere in between a luchador, a Roman mercenary and a Japanese masked hero - these guys are 100 % no-bullshit. Don't mess with them.

Then we have possibly the most dangerous looking costume. I say this because no one will convince me that her tutu and head piece is not made out of razor wire. In my perception, this black cloaked world is like a very dangerous game of chess and she is the queen. She WILL fuck you up, like a wasp, she was programmed by aliens to destroy us all. God help us.

There is no escape, you are going to die.

The segment ends with this animated figure, which I haven't decided if he represents failure. The inevitable captivity of the player, or if he represents the player himself. You've failed so now you're apart of the world, stuck in a motionless statue.

Of course nothing I've said is true. It's just how watching this makes me feel, which I love. It's one of my favorite things I've seen all year. It experiments with time and movement. I'm convinced that I've fallen into this world of giant dancing toys, like some kind of Bauhausian Wonderland. Filled with both enchanting beings and ghastly villains.



Oskar Schlemmer seemed to have influenced a lot of things I love. Notably my favorite of David Bowie's 70's looks...

On the left, Schlemmer's costume from the early 20's, on the right Bowie wearing a strikingly similar costume by Kansai Yamamoto.

Bowie's Bauhaus inspired boxy tuxedo (Nomi on the right)

Klaus Nomi's iconic simplified German Expressionist version, which I prefer.



And there's something about the ballet that feels like a live action Piotr Kamler film, particularly my favorite of his shorts, One Ephemeral Mission.

And lastly I'm convinced that it influenced Barry Levinson's Toys, particularly Joan Cusack's character...

I promise to review this movie some day. I have plenty to say about it and I want to take no less than 200 screen grabs.

These all have flutters of beauty that are rooted in the Bauhaus movement and at the center is Oskar Schlemmer and his contributions. I couldn't recommend this short film more. So if you please, pour yourself a beverage and take a half hour break from your day to enjoy this quizzical objet d'art.