The Unholy Saviors of Doom Metal

"Lucifer!  We are here."

It's hard to know what to make of "Ghost," the slippery genre-blending doom metal band from Sweden.  Can metal have such catchy tunes, such clean singing, such a pop production sensibility?  Is it possible that a band with a lead singer that wears skull makeup coupled with a Catholic cardinal's robes (and who goes by the moniker "Papa Emeritus") fronting five "nameless ghouls" dressed all in black and sporting identity-obscuring black masks can be sincere? 

"Ghost" plays things close to the chest.  The makeup and hidden identities reminds one of KISS in their 1970's heyday.  Like that band at that time, "Ghost" nurtures their anonymity, refusing press interaction out of character.  Someone knows who these guys are, but why spoil the fun?

There's also a little prog-rock in "Ghost," a little "Buffy the Vampire Slayer," some "Scooby Doo," a little Weird Al (the lead singer's voice bears a positively Satanic resemblance from time to time - could it possibly be?), a little circus sideshow, and a lot of Black Sabbath.  Lyrical gems such as, "Lucifer!  We are here.  For your grace...evil one," (from "Con Clavi Con Dio," off the "Opus Eponymous" album), or "Our father who art in Hell...unhallowed be thy name...cursed be the sons and daughters of thy nemesis...thy kingdom come...NEVER! (from "Ritual," also from "Opus Eponymous"), delivered like a gothier Duran Duran, border on the hokey.  Toss in lots of "blasphemous" touches such as church organs and sinister choirs chiming in from time to time, and the illusion is complete.

So are "Ghost" mere marketing geniuses, a giant in-joke, or a legitimate musical force?  Part of the appeal of the band is that it's impossible to know for sure.  My guess is a little of all of the above.  What can't be denied is the catchiness of the music.  "Opus Eponymous," the band's first LP, sets up the scene with a minimum of fuss.  A brief organ intro plants our brains soundly in the infernal pews of an unholy metal sanctuary.  "Con Clavi Con Dio" abruptly ratchets the album into high gear and establishes a template - crunchy metal, doomy Satanic fan-boy lyrics, some faux religious chanting.  The album maintains in this vein, retaining an impressive cohesiveness of tone throughout, until a wilting cover of the Beatles "Here Comes the Sun" closes the album with a wink. 

The recently released sophomore follow-up, "Infestissumam," changes little of the basic structure, while managing to expand the band's overall sound.  The songs are longer, the arrangements more complex.  The mini-suite "Ghuleh / Zombie Queen" is a highlight, starting off as a synthy piano sunrise after a hard night of partying at an abandoned seaside amusement park (with hints of Bowie and Coldplay tossed in) before an abrupt about-face turns the song into a sort of goth Gogol Bordello before finally erupting into a priceless, and insanely catchy chorus of "Zombie Queeeeen...Zombie QUEEEEEEN!!!!" 

Few things on "Infestissumam" are as immediately catchy as the contents of "Opus Eponymous," but it rewards closer inspection, and complements the first album perfectly, creating what could easily be considered two parts of the same album.  Songs such as "The Depth of Satan's Eyes," and album-closer "Monstrance Clock" show "Ghost" solidifying their hold on an utterly unique niche in modern music. 

Hummable, spooky, campy, corny, possibly ironic but potentially sincere - "Ghost" doesn't allow for easy categorization.  When most music seems to fit snugly within predetermined slots, this can be frustrating, but is ultimately refreshing.  I can't remember the last time a band's very existence made me think this much.  I keep coming back to the music to look for clues, but few are forthcoming.  In the end, the music speaks for itself.  There's a lot going on in there, with nods to all sorts of music of the last forty or so years, but with a modern gloss that is all its own.

The Controversy of Faith

Representations of Christ or the Christ story in popular culture are interesting as much for what is portrayed (and how it is portrayed) as the reactions of the public to said portrayals.

Maybe the times have changed - some would say decayed - to the point where unorthodox representation of Christ don't draw the controversy they once did.  Television shows like "Family Guy" regularly and openly mock Christ and it doesn't make the evening news.  The show's popularity continues unabated.  But in the 1980's, two major motion pictures created worldwide controversy for daring to revisit the classic story with modern eyes and a new set of questions.

Jean-Luc Godard's Hail Mary

Godard burst onto the world cinema scene as the rogue provocateur of the French New Wave in 1960 with Breathless  The next seven years were literally that, with Godard completing a string of fifteen classic films that fundamentally and permanently underscore his reputation even today.  The famous, furious ending of his apocalyptic 1967 masterpiece Week-End declares "End of Film.  End of Cinema."  

Of course, cinema didn't really end with Godard's declaration.  But in a very palpable way, Week-End represented the end of the cinema of Godard, at least insomuch as it had existed up to that time.  He remained busy as ever, but his films devolved into busy political screeds, often inscrutably dense and highly personal.  

Hail Mary comes from a period of approximately eight years that yielded seven feature films and represented a relative return to commercial film making for Godard during the 1980's.  The film transposes the familiar biblical story of Mary to modern day France.  

Much of the controversy surrounding the film came from Godard's reputation up to that time.  People assumed it would have to be a certain thing simply because of who created it.  The film also garnered controversy due to the heroine's frequent full nudity.  However, Godard, rather than turning an exploitative, lascivious eye towards the naked flesh of his Mary, seems almost to marvel at the magic and mystery that, to a certain extent, is woman.  In a film about the mysterious works of a mysterious God, perhaps there is no greater mystery than the marvel that is the human body.

When Godard screened the film at Cannes, an angry movie-goer threw a shaving cream pie in the director's face.  This became international news.  The film was also condemned by the Pope, who said it "deeply wounds the religious sentiments of believers."  One wonders if he actually saw the film, or was merely reacting to hearsay.    

Perhaps the most startling thing about Hail Mary is how conventional it really is - how reverential Godard is to the source material.  I'm not as sensitive to the topic as some, but I couldn't imagine the film "deeply wounding" anyone's sentiments.  If your sentiments are not stronger than flickering images on a screen, perhaps you need to reevaluate your convictions!

Martin Scorsese's The Last Temptation of Christ

From an unconventional depiction of the gestation and birth of Jesus, to an unconventional depiction of his life, death, and resurrection, we move ahead three years to 1988's massively controversial The Last Temptation of Christ.

Rather than transposing a familiar story to a different time, the film is set in biblical times and is a fictitious adaptation of 1953's novel (also massively controversial) of the same name.  In fact, as if to attempt (however impotently) to quell the all but guaranteed hordes of protesters, the film includes a disclaimer stating that it departs from the common depictions of Christ's life, and is not based on the Gospels.

The disclaimer didn't work, as scandalized Christians protested the film by bombing a theater in Paris with Molotov cocktails, severely injuring many film-goers and causing extensive damage to the theater itself.  Other incidents included tear-gas canisters and stink bombs being set off, as well as physical assault committed against audience members.  The net effect of these acts was successful - it gutted the film at the box office, and it remains controversial to this day.  Again, one wonders if those most vehemently opposed to the film have actually seen it.

Regardless, (and perhaps realizing that scandal was a foregone conclusion) The Last Temptation boldly earns much of its scandal in ways that Hail Mary never does.  The basic concept is that Jesus was a man, not divinely immune to the desires and temptations of life, but as susceptible to them as any other man.  Thus, the purity of his life and his colossal faith in accepting an unfathomable fate are rendered all the more powerful.  This jibes with my Sunday school understanding of the life of Jesus, but the film renders this Jesus perhaps too flesh-and-blood for its own good.  Not as a work of art, but as a commercial enterprise.

Scorsese's Jesus (as portrayed by Willem Dafoe) constantly doubts and questions himself and his role.  He is bleak and depressed.  He doesn't want to die for the sins of man.  It's not fair!  Surely, there must be another way.  Certainly the film's most controversial segment involves Jesus being rescued from the cross by an "angel" and being allowed to live out the remainder of his natural life.  He settles down with Mary Magdalene and starts a family in the typical way (the sex scenes were/are particularly inflammatory) and on his death bed begins to understand the folly of his decision, only to realize it was, literally, the "last temptation," which he rejects and suddenly finds himself back on the cross, fulfilling his destiny. 

I have discussed the film with the devout and with nonbelievers.  The pious react to the film's ideas and questions with a shrug and a "but that's not how it was."  Rather than be inflamed or insulted by unorthodox concepts, they merely discount the film outright for its departures from scripture.  After all, it is just a movie, and faith is deeper than the moving image, right?  

For nonbelievers, the film serves to strip away the (to paraphrase Roger Ebert) layers of garish emasculation that turn Jesus into an image from a religious postcard, and to very viscerally lay bare the idea that a man - not a god, but a MAN - endured and bore this colossal weight without collapsing under it.  It serves as an introduction point - who was this Jesus?  Did he really do all that it is said he did?

Perhaps that's a great way to sum up the importance of both Hail Mary and The Last Temptation of Christ - evangelical introductory points for the nonbeliever.  Canonical stories have a way of becoming about a thousand degrees removed from the grind of daily life - a series of mechanical knee bends and automatic responses.  And good biblical movies have a way of reminding us of the momentousness of the events that set the entire wheel in motion.  Two billion people worldwide espouse to be Christian - a full third of the population of Earth.  That so many people base their entire belief systems on the life and death of one man is staggering.

True belief comes not from blind acceptance of a stated norm, but by a constant process of questioning and exploring, of tearing down and building anew.  Of looking for cracks in a foundation and trying to find ways of filling them.  That's what Hail Mary and The Last Temptation of Christ are all about.  They beg questions inside an audience - what if that were me?  Would I be able to do that?  The amount of resolve it would take to be willing to die for something you believe in - to simply be able to believe in something that passionately in the first place!  

Neither Godard nor Scorsese died because of following through on the projects they believed in and felt so personally about (although, at least in the case of Scorsese's film, audience members could have died as a result of violent protests).  Neither of their careers were even particularly harmed.  Godard eventually retreated back into (prolific) obscurity, and Scorsese continues to scale ever-loftier heights of cinematic greatness.  But they had to know that they were intentionally stirring up a nest of hornets by choosing the material they did.  They had to know, deep down, that they were risking career, risking health, even risking life to follow through their artistic visions.  To, in their own way, spread the story of Christ.  

Grand, inspirational gestures from two consummate artists and two master film-makers.

Amen.    

Warrior Diaries: Rembrandt (Inspired by the movie "The Warriors")

July 29, 1978

Dear Diary,

Well, I have some very big news!  I am officially soldiering with The Warriors!  Last week I was just a skinny little nothing from the projects, and today I am part of the toughest gang in Coney!

So, what happened was that I was sitting outside on my stoop with my art pad and pencils, minding my own business.  Out of the corner of my eye I saw these two cats walking up the sidewalk toward my building.  They looked like real tough characters, so I tried my best not to attract their attention.  

Of course, they saw me.  The taller of the two cats started in with the whole, "Look at the diaper baby with his pencil.  Are you an artist, diaper baby?" business that I've heard a million times before.  I kept trying to ignore it, but before I knew what was happening the tall cat had snatched my pad right out of my hands!  He was about to rip the page I had been working on clean out when he caught sight of what I had been drawing. 

It was an impressionistic rendering of a reclining male nude.  

The two cats stood there looking at my picture, and I wanted to disappear.  They looked up at me very slowly and the shorter cat said, "You faggot, diaper baby?"  I laughed and made up a story about drawing the picture for my mom's birthday, which I guess is kind of weird in and of itself, but the cats seemed satisfied.  The shorter of the two said, "You draw really good, diaper baby.  Ever thought about forming a gang alliance?  We could use a cat with mad tagging skills." 

I told the cats sure, I was interested.  They told me about their clique - the Warriors.  I had heard of them.  Who in Coney hasn't?  They got a real heavy rep.  Their social worker would be afraid of them, if they had one!  They explained about nicknames - everyone in the gang had one (theirs were Ajax and Snow), and since they found me they would get to choose mine.  I hoped it wouldn't be Diaper Baby, and was relieved when the taller one said, "Hey, how about Rembrandt?  You know, like the painter?"    

Rembrandt.  I can dig it!

Ajax and Snow brought me to "Warrior Central," which is a warehouse behind an Italian deli that was once owned by Vermin's (another member of the gang) grandfather Tinto.  They told the guys about my art skills and I was received warmly, although I was told I would have to be initiated first.  I had heard about gang initiations, and, Diary, I was terrified!

The War Chief, Cleon, explained to me that they had a bowl full of eye-balls taken as trophies from cats the gang has wasted over the last several months.  Ajax chimed in and said, "Yeah, and you gotta squish your hands through the eyes for five full minutes!  Not a second less!"  

Well, you know as well as anyone that I have a weak stomach, so I was pretty queasy.  But when opportunity knocks you have to open the door and let it in, so I knew I would do whatever I had to do.  They led me into a dimly-lit room off the back of headquarters with just a table in the middle and a covered bowl.  I knew right away that it was THE BOWL, and immediately I started sweating.  They had me stand in front of the bowl and Cleon blindfolded me.  After I was good and blindfolded, all the dudes joined in on the special initiation chant.  They said it was top secret, but so are you, Diary, so I guess it will be okay to write down what they said!

Can this motha keep up the pace?

Can he smash an Orphan in the face?

Does he soldier hard and true?

Does he love it black and blue?

Warriors, Warriors, Warriors!

I placed my hands in the bowl and nearly fainted.  It was so visceral, so disgusting!  But I kept at it for the full five minutes.  The guys cheered and took the blindfold off my face.  I looked down in the bowl and saw that I had been squishing my hands through peeled grapes!  Well, the look on my face made all the guys start to laugh.  They clapped me on the back, offered me a tall, cool, Budweiser, and, well, diary, this little man was so excited that I started dancing right there.

I had made it!

For the last several days I have been covering Coney with giant red W's, and practicing my figure studies in private when nobody else is around.  The guys seem pleased with me so far, even looking out for me like a big brother would.  I try not to stay away for too long.  I don't want them to worry about me!  

There's a lot of excitement in the ranks over a big get-together one of the gang bosses is throwing in the city next week.  Looks like I'm finally on my way, Diary!

For now, all my love,

Percival (aka "Rembrandt")

Church

"All of the squares go home!"

My favorite part of church was always the music.  And I didn't go to a tambourine-banging drum and bass soul church, either.  At my church, music was always a fairly solemn affair.  But it was the part I always looked forward to - the part that legitimately moved and inspired me.

That's the magic and the mystery of music.  A person can read the lyrics of a song out loud and they can seem trite and contrived, even silly.  But read them slowly, melodically, and it's called singing, and you can move people to tears.  It's a special and sacred thing.

It's the closest I've ever come to what my understanding of God is.

It's why I try to carry a song in my heart at all times.  Why I have been known to whistle, sing, and even dance at inopportune moments.  I don't have to dig deep - it's always bubbling just under the surface.  It's a good way to live life, or so I believe.

I've said before that I am more moved by dark music than light - for example, Lesley Gore's "You Don't Own Me" affects me far more deeply than "It's My Party."  And it's true.  I get a real thrill listening to artists exorcise their demons through song.  It seems more genuine, for some reason, than writing just another throwaway dance track.  It's hard to do "happy" with real gravity.

But when it's done well, it's truly transcendent.  Everyone has a list of their favorite empowerment anthems - from "I Will Survive" to Katy Perry's "Roar," these tracks manage to be both incredibly uplifting and deeply resonant.  My go-to empowerment music is Sly & The Family Stone.

For nearly three years in the late 60's, the message of the band was ceaselessly upbeat and optimistic.  From 1967's lead-off album "A Whole New Thing" through the "Thank You (Falletin Me Be Mice Elf Agin)" single in December of 1969, everything was "love yourself, love each other, and let's dance," reaching progressively more dizzying heights along the way.

The group's fortunes paralleled society in the late 60's, leading literally from San Francisco during the "Summer of Love," to a crowning performance at Woodstock in August, 1969, arguably the zenith of the "peace and love generation," which gave way to the winter of discontent heralded by the Rolling Stones' ill-advised free concert at Altamont, and then wore into the militant pessimism of the 70's.  Fame and bottomless wealth took their toll on the band, and Sly in particular, by 1970, leading to a long, bitter fading away that continues to this day.

But for a brief and glorious window of time, I believe Sly and the band were privileged to tap into something truly beautiful.  Consider the group - multi-racial, multi-gender, a true melting pot.  They weren't just preaching, they were living the message of acceptance they espoused in those turbulent times.

"Don't hate the black, don't hate the white - if you get bit, just hate the bite." from "Are You Ready"

At least once a week, I take a trip to the church of Sly, and worship at the alter of his sunny funk.  All are welcome (although Cynthia and Jerry got a message for the squares - they can stay home), which in itself is revolutionary.  The music dares you not to dance.  You may start out sitting quietly, overwhelmed by the freedom being offered, but by the second drum break in "Dance to the Music," you will no longer be able to resist.  By the end of the show, you will look around at the diverse crowd sharing the dance floor and realize something about them.  But more importantly, you will realize something about yourself.

They want to take you higher, and they do it.  They don't judge, nor do they ask anything from you but what you already have hidden deep within yourself - a primal reaction to the groove.

"Look into the future.  Tell me what you see.  Brothers and sisters holding hands - you sitting next to me." from "Love City"

There is no sacrifice required to worship at the church of Sly.  There is no stairway to heaven available for purchase - blessings are offered freely and openly to all who seek them.

"Sock it unto others, as you would have them sock it to you." from "Fun"

They love you for who you are, not the one you feel you need to be.  They know you may feel overwhelmed by the pressures of the world, but they want you to know that you can make it if you try.

"My own beliefs are in my song.  Fear is the blue one who can't accept the green one for living with the fat one who's trying to be a skinny one.  Different strokes for different folks.  And so on and so on..." from "Everyday People"

The band's ultimate prayer, and one of my favorite songs, is the title track from 1969's album, "Stand."  The track perfectly encapsulates everything the band was about in the early part of its career:

Stand

In the end you'll still be you - one that's done all the things you set out to do.

Stand

There's a cross for you to bear - things to go through if you're going anywhere

Stand

For the things you know are right - it's the truth that the truth makes them so uptight

Stand

All the things you want are real - you have you to complete and there is no deal

Stand!

You've been sitting much too long - there's a permanent crease in your right and wrong

Stand

There's a midget standing tall - and a giant beside him about to fall

Stand!

They will try to make you crawl - and they know what you're saying makes sense and all

Stand

Don't you know that you are free?  Well, at least in your mind, if you want to be.

Everybody STAND!

In the best gospel tradition, the track slowly builds until suddenly breaking into a nasty funk groove that closes things out.  It would move me to tears if I wasn't so busy dancing.

Sly built his fortune and glory on the power of his positive message; however, I can't help but think that his motivations were deeper.  Forming a band with black people, white people, men, and women in 1967 was a ballsy move, for sure, with no guarantee it wouldn't kill the band's commercial potential.  But the music transcended all of these things, and seemed to make the diversity of the group an even more powerful statement than it already was.  That they quickly became one of the biggest attractions in the country is proof-positive that Sly knew exactly what people needed at that time.

It's sad to think of the last four decades of near-hits and tragic misses that have led Sly to where he is today.  But he had his moment, and in three years, across four albums, he created a legacy that continues to get booties shaking even today.

I find my clearest evidence of God not in churches, preaching doctrines of guilt, suppression and damnation, but in the great works and deeds of mankind.  Those works and deeds that speak to man's greatest, most noble instincts, and seem to be touched by an almost preternatural grace.  The silver lining to any tragedy is that it allows people the chance to rise beyond themselves and their petty concerns, if only for a little while.  And the power of great art is that it can do the same.

Rock and roll is a powerful beast.  It has the power to unite disparate elements of society into a cohesive whole working towards a common goal.  It's a tremendous responsibility for the artist who creates it.  Few have done it quite as deftly, or beautifully, as Sly Stone.  The amazing thing about his music is that I believe it truly does make me a better person.  I commune with it for however long and the positive energy I feel radiates out into every aspect of my life.  I try to keep it close to my heart at all times.

I believe the purpose of this amazing thing called life is to try to make the most of it.  Grow in our understanding of the world, and of humanity.  But above all, to enjoy it.  To not spend it in fear of the unknowable infinite or in judgment of those who look, think, and feel differently than we do, but to try and make as positive a difference as we can while we are here.  Sly knew that, and he tried to use his chosen medium to inspire greatness in others.  Judgment is bred through believing that you are right, and others are wrong.  And that rightness inherently makes you better.  But in the end we are all just everyday people.  There is no one course of belief that is greater, or more true than any other.  It's all relative to the positive works and impact you leave behind.

It's all relative to the groove.  And in Sly's hands, salvation truly is found on the dance floor.    

Life Beyond Words

One of the nice things about modern digital life is how easy it is to preserve everything that we do.  Blogs can exist online in perpetuity - billions of words written by millions of people over every topic imaginable.  I joined Facebook going on nine years ago and every single post, picture, and update lives on in that forum.  A nine-year record of my life.  

In the broader spectrum, movies keep getting made, music recorded, and books written.  They continue to get added to the pile of those things already in existence.  If a person is interested in "keeping up" with all of this, it can quickly become completely overwhelming.  There aren't enough hours in the day.  There aren't enough hours in a lifetime.

Not all of these things really deserve preservation.  And I suppose popular taste goes a long way towards dictating what remains in the public eye.  But the more competitive - the more saturated - home entertainment markets get, the deeper the catalog labels have to dig to find things to release.  Boutique DVD companies like Blue Underground, Severin, Cult Epics, and Panik House (amongst dozens more) have shed light onto some very obscure corners of entertainment history, for better or worse.  

If you are like me and have a particular interest in the sorts of trashy gems these companies specialize in, each new release fills you with anticipation.  But there is a law of diminishing returns that applies.  Not all releases are that great - some are pretty terrible.  Even "presented uncut, fully restored from original vault materials" isn't enough to make a truly terrible movie worth shelling out hard earned cash to purchase.  You get burned enough times, and you learn to ramp up your powers of discernment.  

That's what's nice about movies from the silent era.  I read that a staggering 75% of everything produced during the silent era has been lost forever to the ravages of time.  I can't even imagine the treasures that no longer exist.  But it stands to reason that a lot of what was produced then (like what is produced today) was not really worth holding onto anyway.  Which means that silent films that still do exist do so by virtue of their value - generation after generation preserved and maintained them for the future.  While forgettable melodramatic potboilers were left in the basement to moulder, someone had the presence of mind to pay closer attention to, say, the works of Charlie Chaplin.  It thins out the playing field, in a way, and lowers the intimidation level of really digging into the world of this cinematic forebear.       

Although I didn't plan it, 2013 ended up being my year of exploring silent cinema.  I watched probably a dozen, across multiple genres, and I ended up enjoying them all.  Granted, it wasn't that big of a stretch since I didn't watch one that wasn't considered a classic in some way.  "Battleship Potemkin," "Nosferatu," "Metropolis," "City Lights" - this is culling from the top of the heap, for sure.  Slowly but surely, each of these movies crumbled down my walls of prejudice against silent cinema in general - the "crusty old dinosaurs," and made me see them as vital, living, breathing works of art that can amaze viewers even today. 

I thought it would be a grand idea to end 2013 by knocking another title off my "cinematic bucket list."  I chose to end the year with Dziga Vertov's 1929 experimental non-narrative feature "Man With a Movie Camera."  The movie is often hailed as the eminent "effects movie" from the silent era.  Compared to the overblown, noisy, juvenile spectacles that pass as "effects movies" today (the works of Michael Bay spring immediately to mind), the idea of an 84 year old effects-driven motion picture piqued my curiosity.  

The idea is simple - a day in the life of, well, the world, as viewed through the lens of a "man with a movie camera."  The "man" is the only recurring character in the movie, and he is being filmed in the act of filming life as it occurs around him.  To get his shots, he does things like lay on train tracks and balance on the sides of moving cars.  Dangerous stuff, to be sure - no CGI in 1929!  The effects are generated through tricky photography and processing - mostly multiple exposures that superimpose images together, as well as (by far) the fastest editing I have ever seen in a silent movie.  It's no great shakes compared to what is the norm today, but by 1929 standards it is whiplash inducing.

There is no dialogue in the movie - a welcome choice considering it allows the movie to do away with clunky inter-titles all together.  This makes the viewing experience very fluid - more than in any other silent film I've seen.  There were surprises content-wise, from nude beach-goers slathering their bodies in mud, to a very unexpected (and explicit) shot of a baby being born.  All part of the circle of life, and perfectly logical within the framework of the movie, but still somewhat shocking, and further proof that silent movies are definitely warm-blooded creatures.

I could see the stamp of "Man With a Movie Camera" all over later experimental films like "Koyaanisqatsi," and "Baraka," other dialogue-free movies that marry images with sound to create a sort of universal commentary on modern life.  "Man" did it first - by about fifty years.  I can't imagine the impact it must have had on audiences of the day.  But the mere fact of its continued existence means that someone saw the value and took care to keep it out of the dank basement of history.  

Movies, even more than books, music, or still photographs, can give us a true glimpse of what life was like at a particular moment in time.  And movies like "Man With a Movie Camera" show us that, while fashions and modes of transportation may change, the basic concerns of daily human life remain pretty universal.  We are born - we live - we die.  Silent cinema is a portal to the past that also acts as a mirror to the present.  After all, 84 years is merely a blip on the vast spectrum of eternity.  We keep working and moving forward in the hopes of creating a better future.  Maybe audiences 84 years from now will look back on the movies of 2013 and marvel at how much we were able to accomplish with the "primitive technology" available to us today.  Maybe they will see a world of violence leavened by hope and the unyielding passion of the human spirit.  

Maybe they will see themselves, as I see myself in the faces of "Man With a Movie Camera."  As I see my life in the dreams held in those eyes.