As a family struggles to survive in rural isolation during the Great Depression, their daughter's secret affair begins a journey into the unknown.
(Some of us) Still run down the same [mental&emotional] streets we revered/reproached/replaced as children.
A psychedelic montage of home movie footage gives way to a silent western story.
I really hope this is well-received. I really hope there's some sort of reprieve.
Two men. Friends? Enemies? Lovers? Brothers? One is nothing, success or failure depends on two.
Locked away but not away; somewhere nearby but unreachable, a periphery so notfaroff it's always in sight.
Hiding inside&out, writhing about, taken out&in.
1 minute experimental film.
Return to 'burn' only to find out you're already in that urn.
Radical recurrences & rancorous requests raze my daze.
Beyond all human restraint lies one's lugubrious layers of paint.
Rather pointless, rather stilted, fetid; not what we want us going after.
From a small cabin in the mountains of New York, Nina Breeder and Massimilian Breeder begin a journey across the United States. California is just the initial destination, but just as the edge of the surrounding landscape expands, so does their ultimate destination. A contemplation of nature and time along a raw journey in the American landscape.
Onward, upward, greener [redder] grasstures.
On the Clickity-clack Express it's clear I'm always under duress, unless I forget.
A 'reversal' of Jean-Léon Gérôme's 1872 painting Pollice Verso.
Calangros: Um faroeste sobre o terceiro mundo
Shot in the abandoned buildings of Gary, Indiana and the cornfields of Western Illinois, The Twenty-One Lives of Billy the Kid presents a fractured historical narrative without any real protagonist, one in which the titular character goes mostly unseen - Billy the Kid as the always-off-screen assailant, as a ghost’s laugh, as a shadow on the road.
A tribute to Mallarmé that not only asserts the continuing relevance of his work but also confronts its literary ambiguities with political and cinematic ambiguities of its own. In outline, the film could not be more straightforward: it offers a recitation of one of Mallarmé’s most celebrated and complex poems (it was his last published work in his own lifetime, appearing in 1897, a year before his death) and proposes a cinematic equivalent for the author’s original experiment with typography and layout by assigning the words to nine different speakers, separating each speaker from the other as she or he speaks, and using slight pauses to correspond with white spaces on the original page.
Moonlight reflected in water: the forms and lines are continually rearranged by the currents.