night of the hunter

Shades of black. which is technically impossible. but they were black, not grey. against the soft spotlighting. suede benches and flickering projections, along with the faint murmuring of overlapping soundscapes. voices, noises. i wander along the path, not sure where i was headed. there's a dead end, with a sign that was too far and too dark to read. a little lost, i was about to walk closer to the sign when a voice came from a dark corner. "along that passage way to your right".

"...I'm sorry?"

"the last exhibit? along that passageway there". and with that i could make out the shape of an arm pointing towards a hidden passage.

I was at ACMI this afternoon. every once in a while i like to go there on my own to see the exhibits. not because i actually care about the exhibits, but just to experience the darkness. the isolation. there's always a dreamlike quality about that place. it doesn't matter what show is on, it conjures the exact same feelings, always. you wander from piece to piece, not particularly engaged in anything. every so often an image or an idea comes up that catches in your throat uncomfortably, and all you see of the other people there experiencing with you are the blank faces reflected in the cold flickering light, and the dream turns into a nightmare. but not the ones you wake up screaming from, it's more like an accepted discomfort which you carry through the rest of your journey. you don't run away from it, but rather you let all the mixed emotions flow over you. and through it all you're intensely aware, conscious of your own distachment. because there is no way of experiencing the exhibit without fully realising the fact that YOU are the one experiencing it all. why else do they spotlight the seats?

i followed the distached arm through to the last exhibit. sitting under the spotlight, i watched the three screen projection. An elderly black man was reenacting the story of good and evil, love and hate. you know the one, stolen from spike lee's 'do the right thing', which was stolen from the 'night of the hunter'. except it was in french. and i laughed. hysterically. alone. in that dark room at the end of the passage way.

_____________________

Let me tell you the story of "Right Hand, Left Hand." It's a tale of good and evil. Hate: It was with this hand that Cane iced his brother. Love: These five fingers, they go straight to the soul of man. The right hand; the hand of love. The story of life is this: Static. One hand is always fighting the other hand; and the left hand is kicking much ass. I mean, it looks like the right hand, love, is finished. But hold on, stop the presses, the right hand is coming back. Yeah, he got the left hand on the ropes now, that's right! Ooh, it's the devastating right and hate is hurt, he's down! Left hand hate K.O.ed by love. --Radio Raheem "Do The Right Thing" (1989, Spike Lee)



5 things that made me smile today:

- having someone new make me coffee and realising that it was really good
- throwing a whole bunch of change into the photocopy machine and coming up in perfect number of pages
- christian (or xian as he calls himself) wrongly named the screen shot in the lecture today as The Man when it was Touch of Evil, and realising that i'd recognised it correctly. the fact that i haven't seen either films was just a bounus.
- $7.50 movies all week. ALL WEEK!!
- pictures of marlon brando. that's it.

i have a hair appointment tomorrow. one that i can't afford and probably don't need. but because we've rearranged it already i can't cancel. yes yes i'm a pushover.

hmmm...since i've been writing things down as i come up with them, i can't be bothered going over the same points in this blog...but if i go back to blogging regularly i keep forgetting things that i think of throughout the day. conundrum.

so, dear reader (who suck in audience participation), you're just going to have to make do.

(images, intertextuality AND self reflexivity? it's postmodernism 101! wOOt i rock!)