JOSEPH CORNELL
Thursday, January 20, 2005
Eyedrum, Atlanta, GA
Program:
Cotillion,
The Midnight Party,
Carrousel,
Jack's Dream,
Thimble Theater
(Lawrence Jordan and Joseph Cornell)
The Aviary,
Nymphlight,
A Fable for Fountains,
Angel
(Rudolph Burckhardt and Joseph Cornell)
Cornell, 1965 (Lawrence Jordan)
Centuries of June (Stan Brakhage and Joseph Cornell)
Joseph Cornell born December 24, 1903, Nyack, New York. Died December 29, 1972,
Flushing, Queens, New York
Joseph Cornell also made films! But even though, as Stan Brakhage has pointed
out, he was at least as influential a filmmaker as he was a visual artist, it
has been only in the last few years that these films have begun to receive
sustained critical or public attention. A recent Cornell centenary film series
filled two whole evenings with movies, either works he had made himself or
unaltered films from his vast, loving collection of early cinema, scavenged from
the shops of 1930s Manhattan and projected at home for the entertainment of
Cornell and his brother Robert, for whom Cornell cared due to Robert's
disabilities. It's said that Cornell authored about 30 films, and had a total
collection of about 175 films.
Cornell's filmography is a complicated affair. He used similar or identical
footage in different films - for instance, all three films in the Children's
Trilogy use shots of the same party and circus acts, with slight, subtle
variations. Not only this, some of his films, such as
Cotillion, exist in
quite different versions, due to his penchant for continually changing them.
Adding to this, until late in his life Cornell was extremely reluctant to show
his films publicly, possibly as the result of a contretemps at his first ever
public screening, recounted in Deborah Solomon's Cornell biography Utopia
Parkway. In 1936 he showed his film Rose Hobart at Julien Levy's
New York gallery, and a jealous Salvador Dali, in town for the Museum of Modern
Art's epic exhibition on Surrealism, overturned the projector and verbally
attacked Cornell. ("My idea for a film is exactly that," he said shortly
afterward. "I never wrote it down or told anyone, but it is
as if he had
stolen it.") So upset was Cornell by the incident that it would be the early
1960s before Jonas Mekas would persuade him to once again screen his work for
the filmgoing public. No wonder he could lament, as he did in 1968, that "my
films never really got off the ground." Yet by 1969 Anthology Film Archives was
cataloging his work (for which he gave approval), and this led to a slowly
growing appreciation for it.
Cornell began his filmmaking when he purchased by chance a print of a 1931
Universal Pictures feature called East of Borneo, a steamy affair chock
full of danger and exotica, starring the actress Rose Hobart. According to
Brakhage, Cornell and his brother watched it until they got bored, at which
point Cornell would edit the film and bring it back. Eventually, he had whittled
it down to a nineteen-minute distillation of Rose Hobart's reaction shots and
various other elliptical, out-of-context moments from the film, spiced with
footage from natural events such as an eclipse. He named his film after the
actress who takes up most of the screen time in both movies.
By changing the focus of the film from plot and action to the reaction shots of
the lead actress, Cornell managed to turn this b-movie into a wickedly funny
catalog of anxiety and displacement, a radical subversion of the original film.
As film historian P. Adams Sitney has noted, Rose Hobart is a demonstration of
the Surrealist possibilities latent in any Hollywood film divorced from its
narrative context.
Cornell continued in this vein apparently for the next decade, mining his
collection to produce short pieces of great whimsy and absurdity, enigmatic and
indelible. These films by the first great artist of found footage are an
invitation to the imagination.
The second half of tonight's program consists of the films Cornell made in the
1950s, with Rudy Burckhardt and Stan Brakhage as cameramen. The difference is
striking. These later films are lyrical, contemplative, and suffused with a
desire to capture and preserve fleeting moments and feelings.
PART ONE: FOUND FOOTAGE FILMS
Cotillion (16mm, 8 minutes) and
The Midnight Party
(16mm, 4 minutes)
These two films form part of what is known as the Children's Trilogy. The third
film is The Children's Party, which has much of the same footage as in
Cotillion but in a different order and with some additional material. (The
Children's Party is currently unavailable for distribution.)
Cornell seems to have edited these films into their basic shape as early as the
late 1930s. Deborah Solomon, in her biography of Cornell, quotes a letter
Cornell sent to the Museum of Modern Art in 1938, referencing a "rough (very
rough, in fact) draft of the children's party film" and asking if he could show
it to MoMA's film historian Jay Leyda, "to throw in a little encouragement - if
it deserves it." Along with Rose Hobart, they are believed to be the
first films to be constructed entirely of found footage.
In 1965 Cornell gave the films to Larry Jordan for completion. Jordan was a
live-in assistant to Cornell and had come from San Francisco specifically to
help with editing Cornell's films and to make a documentary of his work (which
became the film Cornell, 1965). According to P. Adams Sitney, Jordan's
work on the Children's Trilogy "consisted largely of repairing splices and
making freeze frames where Cornell indicated." The films were completed in 1968.
Cotillion is a freewheeling parade of images from a rambunctious
children's party (perhaps taken from a Little Rascals comedy),
interspersed with footage of circus acts and a chorus line, edited to seem as if
these entertainers are providing a show for the children. One of the film's most
enduring images is of an infant simultaneously devouring an apple and falling
asleep. Since the child revelers indulge prominently in bobbing for apples,
perhaps the entire children's party is a dream of the infant's!
The party devolves into a streamer fight, in which the only adult member of the
party is inundated by the children. Cotillion
ends with an extended scene
of a knifethrower and his apparently long-suffering assistant. Brief title cards
flash by, too fast to read. As with the editing in
Rose Hobart, these
title cards may look at first like sloppy cuts, but are deliberate and are an
important part of the overall design in Cornell's early films.
Where Cotillion has a narrative arc which can be parsed,
The Midnight
Party is purely associative. In this brief film we move from a ballerina
spinning by her teeth in midair to a breathtaking backwards shot of birds in the
air, shot from just below and in slow motion; to a tightrope dancer doing crazy
walks (accompanied by a photographic trick which makes her look like a small
doll); to a shot of an observatory window opening onto the night sky. A little
girl sleeps in bed with her doll and Cornell cuts to a constellation. Next is a
striking sequence with a young girl as Lady Godiva, riding on a horse with long
tresses of hair covering her naked body. In the final sequence, an angry Thor
sends lightning bolts to the earth, causing mayhem. (Among other things,
The
Midnight Party stands as a tribute to Cornell's talent for collecting
astounding footage from the early years of cinema.) The associations are there
for the viewer to make and have much in common with his early collage works (his
box work was just in its beginning stages at this point).
Almost exactly in the middle of the film, a title "The End" appears for a split
second, seen backwards, suggesting that the film could also be seen backwards
from the end. (Reflections and reverse images are hallmarks of Cornell's film
work.)
Carrousel
(16mm, 5 minutes),
Jack's Dream
(16mm, 4
minutes) and Thimble Theater
(16mm, 4 minutes)
Like the Children's Trilogy, these films were given to Jordan by Cornell in 1965
to edit. Using Cornell's instructions, Jordan completed the films after the
artist's death. In a note on the films for the Canyon Cinema catalog, Jordan
stated, "Cornell's editing has not been tampered with." Jordan added music to
Carrousel as specified. For
Jack's Dream, again using Cornell's
notes, Jordan added a diegetic soundtrack, perhaps the only such soundtrack in
Cornell's entire film output.
Carrousel seems for the most part a straightforward and entertaining film
about animals in the zoo. We progress from elephants and monkeys in swinging
motions to a group of water scenes to feeding time and back to the water. (There
is a dark moment here nonetheless. We see a monkey throw another in the water,
and later a group of penguins jump into the water. After both shots, Cornell
cuts to a crocodile entering the water, and though it couldn't be the same place
or time, one instantly fears for the safety of the smaller animals.) A lovely
progression of giraffes from left to right and then egret from right to left
closes the film.
Jack's Dream is a brief nightmare, suffered by a puppet dog, in which a
dragon threatens to wreak havoc on a domestic scene. A sinking ship provides one
of the most surprising and lyrical moments in all of Cornell's found footage
work. The dream logic of the film, which mysteriously connects a battle at sea
with Jack's pursuit of the dragon, foregrounds Cornell's affinity with
Surrealism.
One of Cornell's funniest films,
Thimble Theater is structured like a
vaudeville variety show about nature. There are several tricky moments here,
beginning with the sudden insertion of a title, "Eterna Films present," followed
by film leader - only characteristically, Cornell has reedited the leader so
that the numbers count up! And how perfect for the moon-obsessed Cornell
that the next title card reads, "A film from the collection of Daniel Luna" -
Mr. Luna undoubtedly intended as a stand-in for the filmmaker/collector himself.
Then, a very old trick film with its own internal symmetrical structure leads to
a Jack and the Beanstalk cartoon which is quadrupled on the screen, the left
side upside down and backwards, the right side in reverse image (so the title
cards are backwards). A kangaroo-human boxing match brings this wild film to a
close.
It's possible that the film's title refers to early cinematic devices of the 19th
century, such as the praxinoscope, which gave viewers the illusion of watching a
moving image, even though (unlike film projectors) the workings of these
machines were entirely transparent to the viewer. Sitney connects these machines
with Cornell's "Thimble Forest" constructions, small drum-shaped boxes which
used thimbles and mirrors to much the same effect as these machines. Each of
Thimble Theater's main sections has a trick photographic device which
foregrounds the illusory nature of cinematic movement - the slow motion of the
kangaroo boxing, the stop motion of the growing flowers, the reverse images and
split screen of the cartoon, and the trick editing which allows the vaudeville
performers to appear and disappear on the screen.
PART TWO: LATER FILMS
Angel
(16mm, 3 minutes)
The films which Cornell made in the 1950s with Rudolph Burckhardt and Stan
Brakhage as cameramen are as different from his early films as one could
imagine, though they do share many motifs.
According to Sitney, Angel was filmed in 1957. In a 1993 interview for
the Smithsonian Archives of American Art (published online), Burckhardt
described the shooting:
"one day, it was a real magic day in November and
we went out to Flushing to the cemetery and it was a warm, sunny day in
November. The leaves were all on the ground and in the fountain there was orange
and brown leaves floating. There were angels on the tombstones and we just used
one roll of film, I think, and that became a film...There was never any
editing."
In its simple succession of shots,
Angel is evocative of a charged moment
of heightened awareness, in which, suddenly, everywhere one looks there seems to
be a sense of perfection. Like these moments, Angel seems peaceful on the
surface, and slightly tense or sad at the same time, as one becomes aware that
the moment cannot last. (Cornell seems to have made a life out of not only
capturing these moments, but attempting to sustain them, and often evoking in
his art the sadness of his failure to do so.)
The pool underneath the fountain, beautifully filmed by Burckhardt, is a
quintessential Cornell image. In the water we can see reflections of the
fountain, trees, clouds, and the rich blue of the sky. The upside-down fountain
is another example of Cornell's penchant for the backward image in his films. At
one point, the camera slowly pans across the pool and comes to rest with the
reflection of the sun at the very edge of the water. Looking down to see the
sun: a most Cornellian thing to do.
The Aviary
(16mm, 5 minutes)
"Manhattan 1955." The Aviary is a great illustration of Stan Brakhage's
idea that Cornell's films are "always making reference to not symbols so much as
just the fact of the everyday existence
of birds on a rooftop or in a
tree, or of a little girl with her tattered umbrella...such a human way of
presenting ideas." [Italics added.] Certainly, symbolism is present in Cornell's
early found footage films, mostly brought out by the editing. But even in
Cotillion,
Carrousel or
Thimble Theater, he often lets the
footage run at length and speak for itself. This desire to simply look at what
is there points toward the later phase of Cornell's filmmaking, exemplified by
The Aviary. Here, symbolism is completely beside the point. There is
simply the desire to look at what is there. (And also, perhaps, the desire to
capture the mood of such moments in a tangible form.) This idea presages the
early films of Andy Warhol, and the cinema of Jacques Tati is not far away.
Again, Burckhardt's camera work shines.
Nymphlight
(16mm, 7 minutes)
A young woman and her tattered umbrella. Bryant Park. Birds in flight,
contrasted with the weight of the tall buildings behind. A long sequence on
birds in the trees. People in the park. (Notice that all the text on the signs
is backward - once again, Cornell's abiding fondness for the reversed image.)
The umbrella woman is intercut with a young girl (who seems camera-conscious).
Pigeons feeding on the ground. Emptying the trash. Tattered umbrella left
behind.
Fable for Fountains (16mm, 6 minutes)
The camera is mostly static, catching the slow, minimal movements of a young
woman, first walking alone, then holding a cat. She is first seen walking down
the stairs in darkness. Then we are looking down an alleyway, to a narrow
opening at the other end. The young woman is walking down the alley towards the
camera, framed very much as she would be were she in one of Cornell's boxes.
Then, a succession of shots taken on the city streets show two boys along with
the young lady. They appear in various spots, almost always seen through
windows, or framed in narrow openings. We are either looking through the window
at the actors or seeing reflected in the windows the urban landscape through
which they move. The film becomes a study in reflection and transparency, topped
by a remarkable coda in which the camera suddenly breaks free to follow a group
of birds in flight. Oddly, for all the fountain imagery throughout Cornell's
film work, this film - titled after a line in a Lorca poem - contains no
fountains at all.
Cornell, 1965 (Larry Jordan, 16mm, 7 minutes)
Jordan's film study of Cornell's box works in progress. There are glimpses of
the artist's work space in the famous bungalow house on Utopia Parkway, as well
as a few moments of Cornell himself, until recently thought to be the only
footage of him ever taken. Near the end of the film he stands at the door to his
garage, arms folded, staring ahead, preoccupied, seemingly in another world.
Centuries of June (w/Stan Brakhage, 16mm, 10 minutes)
Stan Brakhage's note about this film, from the Filmmakers' Cooperative catalog:
This film comes to exist because Joseph Cornell wished, one fine summer day,
to show me the old homes of his beloved Flushing. One of them had been torn down
and another beside it was scheduled for demolition. In torment (similar to that
which had prompted him to ask me to photograph the Third Ave. Elevated before it
was destroyed) he suggested we spend the afternoon preserving 'the world of this
house,' its environs. It would be too strong a word to say he 'directed' my
photography; and yet his presence and constant suggestions (often simply by a
lift of the hand, or lifted eyebrows even) made this film entirely his. He then
spent years editing it, incorporating 're-takes' into the film's natural
progress, savoring and lovingly using almost every bit of the footage. And then
he gave it to me, 'in memory of that afternoon.' It was originally to be called
Tower House, then Bolts of Melody (in homage to Emily Dickinson) and then
Portrait of June and very often simply June.
Centuries of June, perhaps more than any Cornell film, is a naked attempt
to capture the soul of a place and the mood of a disappearing moment. Partly
this feeling is due to the circumstance of the impending destruction of the
house which dominates the first part of the film, and partly it's due to
Brakhage's agile, kinetic camera work. Approaching the house with palpable
trepidation, and straining to capture a butterfly's movement, his camera charges
the film with an energy quite different from that of Burckhardt's.
By the last third of the film, the camera has moved away from the house
-
already relegated to the past - to focus on a group of children playing nearby.
Though the house is no longer on camera, it provides the environment for the
children's play, and its presence is still very much felt, like a ghost. The
film ends lyrically, with the children walking away from both camera and house.
Dates for Cornell's films are as given in P. Adams Sitney's
"The Cinematic Gaze
of Joseph Cornell," published in Joseph Cornell, edited by Kynaston
McShine and published by the Museum of Modern Art, 1980.
For assistance with tonight's screening, thanks to Robbie Land, Jeanne Liotta,
and Oliver Smith.
Program notes 2005 Andy Ditzler
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Andy Ditzler 01/14/2019