Mary Kate Curry: Aesthetics in Various Clips

Clip #1) Bunny
A moth rams its body into lampshades, clinks around naked lightbulbs, in order to get closer to the light. A frustrated bunny tries to rid itself of the troublesome insect by throwing it outside; locking the windows against it. Finally, the bunny beats the moth furiously into batter, violently slamming the pan into the oven and locking it tightly, (or so the bunny baker thinks) into oblivion. The bunny awakens to light emanating from the oven, and repeats the same actions of the moth it deemed so troublesome earlier. The bunny follows the light, allowing the oven to shut her in, joining the ranks of other ‘moths’ chasing the light. To me, the moth represents the idea of death on wings--the Angel of Death--the escort sent to bring one to their death. It is first treated with annoyance and thought to have been defeated by violence. But death has no defeat; and the bunny’s victory has not been complete. The bunny follows the moth towards the light, and allows death to claim what is death’s. Death is mundane, a part of the everyday, like a moth. We may not recognize until there is no other choice, when we are forced to confront it.

Clip #2) Northforks
The first clip begins with an image of a well-worn crossroads—a desolate landscape cut into a cross by the machines of men. The next image is the visual contradiction of a suited boy running across an uninhabited plain; with this image then further contradicted, juxtaposed across bison penned (freedom versus imprisonment). A car, coffin tied to its roof, is driving into the unknown. The decision from the crossroads—where to go?—appears resolved, as the car and its drivers pick their path, and perhaps join the boy in his running. The mountains remain in both, unmoved and untouched, by the boy and the men. Nature stands eternal against man’s restless nature.

Clip #3) Paris, Texas
Despite the harsh and unforgiving desert landscape, seemingly devoid of path, Travis is not wandering; it appears that he is following some sort of invisible trail. He is not a man defeated by his surroundings, but remains almost ignorant of them. He is intent upon his purpose (unknown though it remains to the viewer). As the film progresses, he follows the lines of the power poles, while crossing (CROSS ROAD) roads. Communication technologies are being followed, crossed, observed, and absorbed. The mountain behind Walt is normal, and appears as a mountain should, while the mountain behind Travis is uneven, uncertain, mysterious, craggy—much like his weatherbeaten face contains mystery and uncertainty, while remaining resolute. Later, Travis walks out of the artificial lights that illuminate the night into the light of the sun during the day. He crosses a bridge over the freeway; an image is given of one connection crossing another connection. The tension builds as an indeterminate shouting becomes more distinct; tension builds, where are the connections? The plainclothed preacher shouts of alienation and nothingness to the cars driving away from the city—a sense of dislocated communication again pervades. Travis and his son are beginning to connect, in the back of a car, underneath a freeway full of people moving in all different directions. He and his son are moving towards the same place—they are gaining a shared sense of understanding, as well as moving towards a shared physical location. Travis finds his wife working in a brothel, in which the customer views a completed room, while the woman looks at her reflection in a glass mounted in an unfinished wall (which can be understood as a literal metaphor). The breakdown of their relationship is made physically clear in the reunion—a glass partition obscures the vision of one of the partners. Even once the partition is removed, Travis’s wife reveals that it was easier to speak to the imaginary version of him that she created in her solitude than it was to speak to his physical self. His wife’s job, in her words, is “to listen,” but is she listening only because she is being paid? Even when both are made visible, one partner turns away from the other. Communication has been lost, and Travis’s journey is now seen as his attempt to reconnect and learn how to meaningfully speak again.

Clip #4) The Wall
Women are seen as serpents and snakes, men as assholes and perversions—Pink is being judged by both genders, by all of mankind. The school system continues the sense of conformity; children are rolled along on assembly lines, recreated as faceless and bloated beings, that are fed into a meat-grinder. The children finally rebel, throwing their shackles (desk, books, teachers) into fires, but instead of allowing freedom, this is only perpetuating a sense of chaos and further dislocation. Where do the children go now, whom do they trust or listen too? The Wall (with its bricks of buildings, industrialization, luxury cars) cuts through nature and religion (smashing a Church). Is there anyone to trust? Or are we all perversions, with our destinies no longer determined by ourselves? We are mindlessly repeating the mistakes of the past, and churning out malformed creatures with skewed values and maimed ethics.

Clip #5) Cabeza de Vaca
The first image of this film that stood out was the stark white cross, held in front of a Spanish priest who disappears into a murky light during an ambush of the Spanish survivors. Alvar is caught and sold to a shaman and his physically deformed servant. Alvar attempts to escape, but is trapped in the native’s world, as his escape turns into but a circular route that returns him to the shaman’s hut. The camera shifts from a wide angle that shows Alvar in his crazed state as he attempts to orient himself, to the zooming in on Alvar. He has been removed from his world, and must now reestablish his place. He goes from naming and ordering his world to reciting a poem about the conquest of the Iberian peninsula by the Moors. The Christians and the Moors were able to live together, marry, and exist. The poem exits his mouth from his heart; and the camera zooming in emphasizes this; from the exterior to the interior. He is birthed again, weeping in the fetal position. His poem has silenced the mocking of shaman and servant, and they recognize something deeper that connects them to their captive. Alvar will further connect with his environment during his first experience as a healer—he takes a mind-altering substance, and in the hut of an injured native, assumes the role of healer, shocking the shaman into submission as he realizes his slave contains a power much greater than what he could have imagined. Alvar is set free, and combines shamanistic ritual and Christianity as he continues healing as he travels back to his Spanish people. Is this transference of power (from the shaman to the Spanish slave) an example nature dominating nurture?