Jonas Mekas: THE SHORT FILMS

Note: in case you visited this page from another link, this is a continuation of an article on a weekend-long retrospective of Jonas Mekas’ films. Here is the link to start at Page 1

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Of all the works observed in this momentous weekend, Notes on the Circus (1966) may be the most perfect film he has made. This wonderful short is a diaristic work of time spent at the big top (“a three-ring circus shot from three different angles”, Mekas later quipped). Shot mainly in reds and blues, the agitated rhythm of the film perfectly enhanced one’s childlike excitement of going to see the circus. With Mekas’ use of blurs and overlapping images, he almost treats these visuals like Brakhage’s brush-strokes. (This is also aided by the merry music soundtrack by Jim Kweskin’s Jugband.)

The film is separated into four numbered segments- with only slight variations of subject matter in each. (For instance, “2” emphasizes the tigers, “4” predominates with a marching band; however they will turn up in other parts) This is as puzzling as his ordering of sequences in Reminisces of a Journey to Lithuania, in that the numbering of “chapters” call attention to the fact that they are really not distinguished from one another. In other words, these diary films feel as though they were subconsciously put together. Mekas explains that he never plans anything– all of his ideas are spontaneous. Although his films are manipulative in the sense of how he orders them up later, most of his work tells itself based on how it is recorded on the moment. For instance, the overlapping images were done in camera by exposing the film twice, without attention paid to what the end result would be. Blindly double-exposing footage or the enigmatic chapter numbers has an improvisatory nature– “Let’s see what we get in this segment”.

Jonas Mekas later joked that Stan Brakhage loved Notes on the Circus so much that he had a print which he showed to his children many times. Typically, Brakhage however wished that the film had no soundtrack (most of his own films are silent). He and another filmmaker got into such a heated argument about this that the latter stormed out of Stan’s Colorado mountain home and cooled off in the forest for a while.

Cassis (1966) is a superb time-lapse short of a French harbour, made from one singular vantage point (extreme long-shot), filmed in one day. A piece like this is easy to love, as is time-lapse photography (the camera even pans during this process). However, this hypnotic piece is interesting in how primitive and deceptively simple it is. The soundtrack features the representative sounds of waves splashing (even though the camera is so far away it would not have registered this sound anyway), and as we watch boats coming and going, Mekas cuts to the same canvas later in the day, thus preventing us from ever seeing them reach their final destination. I am reminded of a moment when Lumière was filming a street scene, then had to fix his jammed camera and began reshooting. Later, he watched back the footage, and a car magically turned into a hearse! Perhaps Mekas’ approach to this piece is not as coincidentally Lumière-esque as one supposes– he later confessed to being influenced by Lumière for a factory scene in He Stands in the Desert. Therefore, within this entirely subjective film, Mekas is being objective– we are witness to countless little voyages we never see ending or beginning. And because this short condenses one day into a few moments, this makes sense– we are reminded that cinema can exist without time.

Street Songs (August 4, 1966) is a valuable record of Julian Beck & Judith Malina’s Living Theatre. It is also Mekas at his most economical. Because we are seeing this stage performance in one continuous take, Mekas only shows us everything we need to see, and nothing we do not need. First we see a medium long-shot of Beck, cross-legged on the stage, chanting “Freedom Now”. (He is joined in the mantra by offscreen voices emanating from the stage.) The camera momentarily zooms out to give the viewer the context of the performance– only Beck is illuminated, the rest of the stage and the auditorium is in darkness. Then the camera zooms back in as Beck continues his chant. Then the camera zooms out once again, as people begin to fill the brightening stage, walking as though they are pedestrians of a city sidewalk, then everyone embraces in a large circle and they all chant one long note (not dissimilar sounding to the monolith’s in 2001). The end. Wow. What an amazing experience. (Beside me, a young lady was sleeping. You can’t please everyone.)

In Mekas’ own memories of making The Brig (he filmed The Living Theatre’s own interpretation of the Kenneth Brown play), he wrote that Beck was very unhappy with Mekas’ documentary-style approach to the work– his attempt to capture whatever he could as the drama played around him, would inevitably miss other important parts. It is interesting that he allowed Mekas another chance to film a Living Theatre production. This may explain why Street Songs is also filmed from such a long shot– in order to capture all of the stage performance… at Beck’s insistence?

Scenes from the Life of Andy Warhol (1990) is an excellent, candid collection of footage which Mekas had shot of his late friend, from 1967 to 1982. The Warhol Factory’s house band, The Velvet Underground, appears in a priceless archival sequence performing “I’ll Be Your Mirror”, and continue to be heard throughout in an awesome extended jam track, as other visual memories of Warhol continue. (Postscript: is this the same music used in Warhol’s The Velvet Underground and Nico? I’ll have to re-watch both films to be sure.)

“Stephen Shore’s Party” (1966) in time lapse. “Village Gate” (1966) with a community of different artists (not like today) being together; “It was Barbara (Rubin) who got us all together”; “It’s all memories now.” The jam persists. “Warhol at Whitney” (1971). An expansion of the sequence in He Stands In The Desert, with the agitated film style. “George M’s Dumpling Party” (1971), again, different footage from He Stands in the Desert– a more elaborate establishing shot. “Warhol Revisited” (1971)- footage of Warhol in profile. Warhol takes pictures. The jam persists. (Mekas maintains that he keeps everything he shoots, he might use pieces of the same scene in different films, however they are indeed different pieces.)

“On Lexington Avenue” (1972), Andy the eternal night-lifer comes out of a bar. “At Lerner’s” (1972)- the enigmatic Andy sits in a living room in front of a fireplace. “Sunday Morning”- Andy reads the paper. “Later That Day”- Andy holds Oscars. Warhol at the dinner table. “Peter Beard’s footage”, with Jonas looking through the footage. “Lee Decides to Rent One of Andy’s houses”. “Outside we should hear the ocean”. The sulky Warhol actor Joe Dallesandro and a baby. Women walking on the rocky shore. “Andy At Work: Mantouk” (1972). The jam stops.

A song, whose lyrics, “It’s so hard / Living without you” permeate Andy at the beach. “This is a documentary film”. Andy opening presents. “Outside we should hear the ocean”. Jam music comes back on. “Andy signs Polaroid’s” in double-exposure. “Life was simple minded like Sally”. Model airplanes that don’t fly. “The boys were bad that evening- very bad.” Kids playing with a ball. “Homescenes- The House That Was One Big Madhouse.” Kids dance in front of a desk. “This is not a documentary film.” Jam ends.

The soundtrack is filled with boat noise, and wobbly voices. Images of water-skiing, white, flickering, over- exposed. “At Andy’s Art Studio”, through window to the street. “Andy At Work” (Dec. 15/76). A photo session also used in He Stands in the Desert. “Andy’s Studio” (1981) -more shots out the window; Andy eating. “Nothing but memories.” “At Farmer’s Market, Union Square” (1980). The jam music has since returned, only to end now. “It all comes back now”– walking into St. Patrick’s Cathedral. Organ music plays, Shots of waves, girls on shore. “It all comes back now in glimpses.” Mekas in close-up. Waves. Girls wave and walk to camera. Title: “Dedicated to Lee.”

The film becomes less a glimpse of Warhol personally and professionally. Mekas seems to have assembled this one unconsciously– this tribute to his friend instead turns into something else deeply personal. One senses that that seeing this footage reminded him of something else going on at the same time, and Warhol gradually disappears from the narrative. Mekas has taken a figure as universal as Warhol and then has reduced it to a cryptic love sonnet.

Wien and Mozart (1991) is a very short, very simple random collection of images (streetlights, storefronts, a girl, a woman in the fields) which may be a stream of conscious visual response to a piece of music. Each unconnected image is a note which becomes part of a harmonious composition once put in context with the rest of the other random visual notes. Perhaps this tiny film serves as a worthwhile introduction to the entire theories of how Mekas constructs his diary films, be they a few minutes or a few hours in length.

Elvis (1991) is an energetic piece of The King giving an entire Madison Square Gardens concert in the course of a few moments, thanks to time-lapse photography and double-exposed images. This perfectly captures the excitement of seeing Elvis live– the heightened sense of time calls attention to the energy and movement in his stage performance. Plus the music by Strauss in the soundtrack perfectly heightens his stage act to the messianic personality we now link with him, and which Elvis helped create. (Elvis used to open his show with Strauss’ “Also Sprach Zarathustra”, the 2001 theme.)

Quartet #1 (1991) shares Wien and Mozart‘s random association with four buoyant pieces, each numbered with the same plain black-on-beige title cards in Reminisces. “1”- a Sunday walk (5/26/73), with soft jazz music, images of feeding a baby, a voiceover talking of the summers of New York, two girls get ice cream, “Mr. Sandman” plays on the soundtrack (also used in He Stands in the Desert), “survivors of war” in the voiceover to counterpoint the images. “2”- a woman and a baby at a country roadside picnic, a little girl sings on the soundtrack, duck feet are seen in extreme close-up, Jonas Mekas films his shadow, extreme close-up of hair on head. “3”- a baby is in a bathtub, wind blows through the trees, kids with birds, hair is combed, a baby eats out-of- focus, a shot of Jonas, a merry-go-round (with muzak of John Sebastian’s “Welcome Back”), more “Mr. Sandman” music, a baby plays with a film projector. “4”- “day after day, following somebody up a path, more jazz music. A nice little film about the little moments.

Song of Avignon (1998) is “an important personal journey”. A stormy night. The interior setting is submerged in darkness. TV images are double-exposed. Pans. Clouds. Plants in a loft. “This is a political film”. Overexposed shot of Mekas. Women talking. A verse written on a title card. Stormy night. People on the bed. Another verse on a card. Grainy silhouetted dusk footage. Voiceover: “I am a somnambulist”. Mekas eating. A cat on the table. Mekas enters and sits– stares at the screen. Shots of the Archives. Fireplace. A snowball. Gulls. Buddha. Statue. Train. Mother and boy. Babe in arms. Gulls. Waves. Sand. Accordion. Once again Mekas shows us everything but tells us little. I don’t know what it all means, but it is an effective moodpiece.