Contraband Cinema: What Makes a Political Film?
by Cullen Gallagher
Jun 30, 2010
Today through July 8th, BAMcinematek is hosting "Contraband Cinema,"
one of the most original and unique offerings of political cinema in
some time. The eclectic and controversial lineup eschews many of the
more obvious choices; instead, it brings together rare classics like
Jean Rouch's 1955 short Les Maitres Fous (The Mad Masters, one of the
earliest and most famous ethnographic films, a study of West African
Hauka that explores the dynamic between ritual and colonialism), Pier
Paolo Pasolini's Salò, or the 120 Days of Sodom (1975) (in which the
Marquis de Sade's legendary, controversial text is updated into a
sadomasochistic tale of Fascism during World War II), and Emile de
Antonio and Mary Lampson's Weather Underground doc Underground
(1976); unheard-of rarities like The Animals Film (1981), about man's
inhumanity towards animals; mind-boggling conversation starters like
Black Panthers (In Israel) Speak (2002); and even Sylvester
Stallone's late-Cold War snowy classic Rocky IV (1985).
The range, depth, and diversity of the programto say nothing of its
intelligence and excellencecan be attributed to its collectivist
mentality (itself a political statement on the art and bureaucracy of
curating). Bringing together several organizations and individuals,
the series is being presented by Red Channels and the Brecht Forum,
and was collectively curated by Jake Perlin, Matt Peterson, Kazembe
Balagun, Valeria Mogilevich, Rebecca Cleman, and James Spooner.
Together, they pose the question, "What makes a political film?" To
help answer this question, and to discuss the process of
collaborative curating as well as some of the gems from the program,
I recently sat down with two of the series' presenters: Matt Peterson
from Red Channels and Kazembe Balagun from The Brecht Forum.
The L Magazine: What was the impetus for this series?
Kazembe Balagun: A lot of us were already working together over the
years. For example, Red Channels did a series at The Brecht Forum
last summer called "The Visual Liberation Film Festival." One
interesting thing about cinema is the way it reforms matter. In terms
of "Contraband Cinema," we are not only looking at film history in
terms of what makes a political film, but also into the issue of how
do these films meld? How can Eldridge Cleaver be in conversation with
Pasolini? And how is Pasolini in conversation with Rocky IV? This is
more controversial, I think, than a traditional film festival where
we know the catalog alreadyNewsreel, Godard, '68whereas this series
looks at how we can create an international language of cinema.
Matt Peterson: Not just cinema, but also an international language of
opposition and subversion. One of the things behind this idea of
"Contraband" is a transhistorical idea of what has been "radical." A
more literal answer to your question is that Kazembe and Jake Perlin
have known each other for twenty years and went to summer camp
together. They had wanted to do something together, and Red Channels
tried to facilitate that. Kazembe, can you talk a little more about
the idea of "contraband" and how it relates to cinema?
KB: "Contraband" is a term that is often used in the prison system.
Things outside the law, or that are not allowed in. When we were
kicking around names for the series, "contraband" kept coming up
because the films are so explosive and so controversial. In a way, I
kind of feel like we're smuggling this film series into BAM.
The L: I was struck by the absence of certain "pop" political films
that have been prominent in theaters as of late. No Michael Moore, no
Inconvenient Truth… Not even more independent documentaries like Iraq
in Fragments.
KB: All those films you listed are fine films, very powerful and very
necessary. We are focusing on films that have not necessarily been
shown as much, but are powerful and need to be seen.
MP: As far as the historical leaning as opposed to a contemporary
focus, from a curatorial sense, and as political researchers and
historians of opposition, it is more exciting for us (and we hope the
audience) to deal with these films and videos that you can't see in a
multiplex, on a traditional festival circuit, on PBS, or even on DVD.
To show those films you mention would be redundant. As curators, it
is our job to dig a little deeper.
KB: We also live in an opportune time when the actual subjects of the
films are still living, which brings another level of dialogue to the
screenings. Kathleen Cleaver will be at the second showing of
Eldridge Cleaver (1970) (July 4, 6:50PM). We can engage these people
from the 1960s in a dialogue today.
MP: William Klein's Eldridge Cleaver film is one of the films we are
most excited to have landed. Red Channels and The Brecht Forum were
interested in it, but we didn't have the network or resources to book
it, whereas Jake and BAM did. Aside from that, the program I am most
excited about is our Newsreel program (July 7, 6:50PM), which focuses
on the early years of the women's movement. Many of the women who
were members of the Newsreel collective, and who made these films,
will be coming to the screening, which includes four films: Jeanette
Rankin Brigade (1968), Up Against the Wall Miss America (1968),
Janie's Janie (1971), and The Woman's Film (1971).
The L: One of the films that caught my eye was Chris Marker and Mario
Marret's A bientot, j'espere (1968) (July 6, 6:50PM and July 7,
4:30PM). It's about a workers' strike, but the workers didn't
actually like the film. How do you think the form of a political film
relates to its subject?
MP: It's the relationship between ourselves as intellectuals and
artists, and the workers, the people, and how do we bridge that gap.
I don't want to speak for Chris Marker, but it seems he was
interested in a particular moment of worker strikes in 1967 in France
that led, a year later, to May '68. Whether or not the workers like
the film, it is a historical document that is worth looking at and
consideringnot only in terms of labor history, but also as a way of
using cinema to interact with the workers. Even if it is a failure on
his part to successfully produce a work that the subjects like,
failures are interesting, toopotentially more interesting. In this
case, we are juxtaposing it with Harun Farocki's film Workers Leaving
the Factory (1995), which is a media analysis about this question of
how workers have been treated as subjects in cinema.
The L: The BAM calendar asks the question, "What makes a political
film?" How have your answers to this changed throughout the curatorial process?
MP: The instinctual response is to think in terms of form or genre. I
am thinking more about cinemain a broader sense, the moving
imageand how can we politicize the context and use of it. The space
of the theater, the space of the series, how do we make that political.
KB: Ultimately, it is a question of democracy. We're not living in a
time where the resources, in terms of the development of film, are
controlled by the people. For example, we have a situation where
Dreamgirls (2006) cost like, what, $150 million dollars? And that is
probably twice the GNP of Botswana. Just the amount of resources that
go into the making of a film is deeply political. Also in terms of
shaping and defining the values of a community. Those are questions
that we have to ask ourselves. When you're looking at films within
the series, you're seeing this question of, "We don't have a lot of
resources, we don't have a lot of money, but we have this political
vision of what we want to see the world become." How does that
political visionor the presentation of that political
visionmotivate, or inspire, folks to action? Part of the
responsibility of curators and filmmakers is asking, "How do we
release these films that acknowledge and record the level of people's
struggles, but also how do we create the space in which people feel
motivated to act and feel their own sense of agency?"
The L: Lastly, are there any particular screenings you want to draw
attention to?
MP: We challenged ourselves to produce some of what we call "wtf"
programs. Films that just turn people's heads a little bit. For us,
that is the Black Panthers in Israel program. It includes Jerusalem
Tapes: [Israeli] Black Panther on the Street (Videofreex/David Cort,
1973) and The Black Panthers (in Israel) Speak (Eli Hamo & Sami
Shalom Chetrit, 2002). This connection of what we think we know about
the Black Panthers and how that might be applicable in Israel in the
early 1970s is something that…I can't believe they booked this film
in the series, and they're showing it twice! (July 1, 4:30PM and July
2, 2:00PM). Connecting it to Israel/Palestine, the apartheid policies
of Israel, the issues around the Flotilla from a few weeks ago. How
can we bring that into the screening space? The films are already
controversial enough, but how can we push it to an even further level
of engagement, challenging ourselves, challenging BAM, and
challenging the audience to confront this?
As far as Pasolini's Salò, this series spans July 4, so we were stuck
with the question of what film do you show at 9:15PM during the
fireworks? What can we project during that time to compete with it?
Salò was the only response. One of the most controversial films of
all time was the only appropriate choice.
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Days of rage: "Contraband Cinema"
http://newyork.timeout.com/articles/film/86867/acontraband-cinemaa-at-bam-preview
BAM celebrates July 4th with a week-plus of primo political subversion.
By David Fear
Jul 17, 2010
For most of us, Independence Day is synonymous with potato-salad
binges and Prospect Park picnics, fireworks and flag-waving. What
we're celebrating is a historical regime change instigated by
guerilla militiasit's called the Revolutionary War for a reasonand
you can almost picture our forefathers raising their fists to the
redcoat pigs: "Up against ye olde wall, motherfuckers!"
Thus, in the actual spirit of our nation's most subversive holiday
(sorry, Arbor Day), BAMcinématek has put together "Contraband
Cinema," a nine-day series already in progress that gathers vintage
and contemporary activist vérité, politically explicit screeds and
several outsider-fiction features into one short-fused powder keg of
programming. Time to stick it to the Man.
AmeriKKKa's most wanted
Our country's second civil war had boiled over in 1968, with militant
movements butting up against Nixon's silent majority and the batons
of cops. Two docs deal with the aftermath of that year of living
dangerously: William Klein's Eldridge Cleaver, Black Panther (1970,
Sunday 4) follows the Black Power militant during his post-'68 exile
in Algeria, holding court with Pan-African leaders and preaching the
need to take up arms. It's a peerless portrait of a conflicted rebel
ping-ponging between righteous fury and inchoate rageaimed at the
government, the media, his fellow Panthers and even Klein himself.
Even better is Underground (1976; Saturday 3, Tuesday 6), Emilio de
Antonio's in-depth look at the history of the Weather Underground.
Interviews of group members on the lam (including former Obama cohort
and GOP scapegoat William Ayers) caused the Feds to issue subpoenas
for the footage; De Antonio held firm and freedom of speech
prevailed, albeit narrowly.
Liberty, sorority, equality
Armed with copies of Simone de Beauvoir's The Second Sex and anger
over their second-class citizenship, women started readdressing
traditional gender prejudices in the late '60s. Anyone curious about
second-wave feminism should check out The Woman's Film (1971,
Wednesday 7), a time-capsule testimony to hear-me-roar encounter
groups and estrogenic empowerment. Interviewees who run the gamut of
class, age and race exemplify the way the women's lib movement cut
across social barriers, though the fact that the 25-min featurette
"Janie's Janie" deals solely with a working-class woman who awakens
her inner Betty Friedan actually makes the short that much more
vital; this was a revolution applicable to real housewives and not
just collegiate intellectuals. Spike Lee's groundbreaking She's Gotta
Have It (1986, Monday 5) is a questionable addition to the seriesso
you reward a libidinous, independent woman with…rape?but as
cocurator Kazembe Balagun points out, "It was a rare representation
of female African-American sexuality on film, which was a radical act
in and of itself."
I'm with the banned
Censorship is the last refuge of the reactionary, with the
suppression of art a political act regardless of why something is
being suppressed. It's hard to pinpoint the precise reason that Pier
Paolo Pasolini's Salò, or the 120 Days of Sodom (1975, Sunday 4)
angered the powers that be: perhaps they were turned off by the way
the movie equates capitalism with fascism, or possibly they just
didn't dig the graphic rape, torture and copious coprophagy. (Our
money is on all of the above.) Though this once-banned film is now
easily accessiblethanks, Criterionits power to shock hasn't
diminished. There's no second-guessing, however, why the Brit
documentary The Animals Film (1981, Friday 2) caused controversy;
though it'd been released in theaters uncut, the BBC aired it shorn
of scenes featuring animal-liberation groups setting caged creatures
free, stating that the movie could "incite crime or lead to civil
disorder." It refused to show the original version for years, PETA be damned.
And then there's Rocky IV
If "Contraband Cinema" is left-leaning ideology served bloody rare,
then Rocky IV (1985, July 8) is the slice of cheese melted on top.
Sylvester Stallone's fourth entry in his sweet-science underdog saga
takes kitsch-jingoism to a whole new level, as Philly's finest takes
on the Evil Empire in the name of Reagan and country. (The opening
credits, in which a starred-and-striped glove hits a
hammer-and-sickled one, tells you everything you need to know.)
Prepare for knowing audience laughter en masse, but in between
eye-rolls, check out the introduction that Soviet juggernaut Ivan
Drago gets to our nation: a gaudy, glitter-fried Vegas spectacle,
complete with a co-opted James Brown singing about "Living in
America." Suddenly, the dazed, WTF look in the Russkie's eyes doesn't
seem so ridiculous. Welcome to the USA, Ivan.
"Contraband Cinema" screens at BAM Rose Cinema through July 8.
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'Contraband Cinema' Brings Political Films to BAM
http://www.villagevoice.com/2010-06-29/film/contraband-cinema-brings-political-films-to-bam/
Celebrate the Fourth of July with Eldridge Cleaver and the always
revolutionary Sly Stallone
By Nick Pinkerton
Jun 29 2010
BAM's 33-film program "Contraband Cinema" asks, per its manifesto,
"What makes a political film?" Harun Farocki's Workers Leaving the
Factory (1995) concludes that there's no other kind, reading worker
alienation from a series of movie scenes set outside of factories,
from the Lumière brothers to Pier Paolo Pasolini.
Salò, or the 120 Days of Sodom (1975), Pasolini's awesome, awful
finale, gets an ironic Independence Day screening. Transposing the
Marquis de Sade to Fascist Italy, Pasolini creates a Sadean
anti-utopia in a sealed Lake Garda villa, where old whores and
establishment authorities clinically subject kidnapped youths to
horrible abuse. The director's contradictions have never been more
volatile, as he indicts power structures, godless liberation ("We
Fascists are the true Anarchists," one exploiter states), audience
participation, and his own libertine libido. Had Pasolini not been
murdered a week before Salò's release, it's difficult to imagine how
he would've followed this self-immolating performance, which retains
the power to disturb in the era of the sham-seditious blockbuster.
(Rented by undercover cops shaking down a gay bookstore, it prompted
a 1994 obscenity casethrown outin my hometown of Cincinnati.)
Troubling images of another kind emerge from the great French
ethnographer Jean Rouch's study in colonial pathology, Les Maîtres
Fous (1954). Rouch narrates the annual ceremony of the Hauka sect,
whose adherents, everyday workers from Ghana's "Black Babylon," allow
themselves once a year to be possessed by demons, alter egos
representative of the Anglo ruling class, as they role-play a parody
of life among the elite while frothing at the mouth. 1970's Eldridge
Cleaver finds the Black Panthers' minister of information trying to
move the conversation forward from White Devils, visibly fatigued by
his Algerian exile following a shoot-out with the Oakland PD.
Director William Klein made some of the worst "radical" pabulum
imaginable, but in colluding with Cleaver, he gets a complex and
magnetic figure down on film.
The middle-class white runaways of Underground (1976) certainly
memorized Cleaver's rhetoric. Filmmakers Emilie de Antonio, Mary
Lampson, and Haskell Wexler powwow with four Weather Underground
fugitives in the middle of their decade on the run, prompted by the
accidental explosion of their 11th Street townhouse. (The FBI
unsuccessfully subpoenaed the three directors for their footage.)
Rewatching his younger self, William Ayers reported being embarrassed
by the group's "rigidity and the narcissism." Well . . .
The classic counterculture political film has its numbing
orthodoxies, like anything: Marxist-revolutionist dictums applied to
new oppressed classes while earnest tone-deaf folk music oppresses
the ears. 1989's Chameleon Street, by contrast, is the rare party of
one. The theme is faking it in America. Writer-director Wendell B.
Harris Jr. stars as whip-smart "I think therefore I sham" William
Street, a real-life black Detroit con artist who reinvented himself
more times than, say, Eldridge Cleaver, chasing the almighty dollar
by posing as a reporter, convict, doctor, and Frenchman ("Pépé le
Mofo"). Chameleon Street is a really funny success story,
well-matched to Nathanael West's A Cool Million (like West, Street
fakes his way into the Ivy League), with a tricksterish,
appropriative style. Harris tunes his baritone to imitate Orson
Welles and Barry White, but he says something that's entirely his own.
The "Contraband" of this series' title is, perhaps, a misnomer. You
will not be set on with rubber bullets and truncheons while leaving
BAM. In fact, God-bless-America in its crudest form gets the
closing-night last word, via Sly Stallone's Rocky IV (1985). The film
is comprised almost entirely of Burt Young interacting with a robot
butler, skull-rattling punch-outs, and flashback/workout music videos
scored to Survivor and John Cafferty, as HGH poster boy Stallone
villainizes Soviet champ Ivan Drago's steroid use. Rocky mumbles for
peace, Mikhail Gorbachev slow-claps, and, four years later, the
Berlin Wall crumbles. Who says art can't change the world?
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