Films: Fly: Words Remembered (2006)

Perhaps the subtitle should be: “Words Needed.”

FLY, a “limited-edition moving image magazine” (according to Netflix, although documentary might have been an easier, more user-friendly and appropriate term), combines music videos, interviews with established as well as up-and-coming artists, photography, and “fashion films” into one, big, 152-minute mess.

Perhaps I’m too, uhm, bourgeoisie to appreciate the novelty and cutting-edge flavor of this work. The DVD opens with a montage of clips from the fashion films and videos included in the disk, set to catchy, almost orchestral-like techno music. The films can be viewed individually in the track entitled “Editorials,” and while a handful does have some visual interest (particularly the one with the male model sporting a purple bullfighter’s uniform — very visually arresting against his pale, taut skin and thick sash of bright red cloth) or a shred of emotional connection (the sultry woman in the cab with the metallic dress and heavy makeup who transforms into a pretty, wide-eyed girl in a charming spring suit by morning), they remind me yet again of why models generally do not make good actors. Sure, they’re pretty to look at, and when they strike a pose on the runway or magazine page, their empty eyes and casual drape allows the viewer to focus on the clothes, the landscape, the generic facial features airbrushed to impossible perfection, without ever wondering about the humanity behind the vacuous expression.

Once they’re mobile and vocal on a moving image, though, more often than not, what ends up happening is that while the bodies and features spring to life and begin taking up more physical space, emotionally they remain as limited as they ever were on the page. Particularly in these films, where the perspective shifts from the clothes to the model herself (or himself, in rare instances), I find so little to draw me into what appears to be interior lives severely lacking in substance. Even with the most compelling, punchy, original music to carry along the narratives, the films have the veneer of a first-time filmmaker desperate to show off his avant-garde roots.

The interviews, on the other hand, can definitely stand alone. Indeed, it would have been much more enjoyable had the filmmakers chosen to focus most of their efforts exclusively on this segment of the DVD. Lengthy “features” with Liam Gillick, Karl Lagerfeld, John Malkovich, Michael Gallagher, and the “multi-ethnic Gypsy punk band” Gogol Bordello provide fascinating glimpses into the work of each artist (although Gallagher is more of an art collector, given his vocation as the purveyor of vintage fashion magazines through his Greenwich Village shop). Gillick muses on modernism vs. modernity, his education and friendships with various artists and how they all influenced his thinking and creativity. Malkovich narrates the story of a cab driver he and fellow actor Julian Sands met while filming The Killing Fields in Thailand, a somber story of murder and mystery visually depicted in a pink-and-white-hued animated short. (You have to see it to believe it. It’s really funny.)

An offscreen journalist interviews Chanel’s Lagerfeld at the New York opening of an exhibit of his gorgeous, Paris-inspired photography. The stunning black-and-white prints demonstrate a keen eye for shadow and light so critical for a great photographer. I love Lagerfeld’s insouciance and cunning, both displayed in wicked form here. Gallagher waxes at length of his passion for magazines and fashion photography, pulling illustrious names out of his factoid-packed head and providing visual punch to his soliloquy with dramatic waves of his thick, borough-bred arms. Gogol Bordello band members scream their stories over the too-loud backbeat of their own music, the cameraman intercutting the short doc with scenes from a live concert where — in the spirit of punk rockers everywhere — frontman Eugene Hutz throws a drum to the audience, then proceeds to climb up on top of it, supported only by the arms of a couple of dozen adoring fans.

Compared to that, the final feature seems quite dull in comparison, which is too bad because it has the makings of a very good full-length film. Photographer and director Malcolm Venville’s “Silent Film,” is a dialogue-free short film inspired by his parents, both of whom are profoundly deaf. The visuals are beautiful, the fifties-era clothing and interiors depicting a clean, orderly life belied by the couple’s marriage of quiet desperation. It’s not an especially brilliant film but is moving nonetheless, with a bit of romance, a bit of tension and a bit of comedy mixed into a silent, bubbling brew.

A selection of various music videos round out the DVD, with tracks from Finn, Plaid, Turzi, Sir Alice, and Manuel Bienvenu among those included. If you’re a fan of “alternative music,” you’ll undoubtedly find something new here. Bienvenu’s French spoken-word piece is especially sad and evocative. (Of course, given that I don’t speak French very well, for all I know the lyrics may just as easily be about a green, kinetic gummy bear.)

Would I watch this again? Er, no. I’m not sure I would have watched it the first time, save for the features. Perhaps I’m just not appreciative enough of post-postmodern art and music to really get this documentary. I read Vogue and Harper’s Bazaar not just for the clothing but for the well-written articles as well. (Seriously!) The fashion shoots intrigue and sometimes repel, but they’re not much more interesting than many of the ads to me. My sculptor friend J., a very introspective artist with a sharp mind and even sharper eye for subtlety of form and figure, could probably glean more insight from Fly than I. My medium of choice lies squarely on the page — printed or blank, it matters not so long as there’s space for the all-important words that make sense of the world. The moving image as captured by the artists who created Fly can indeed be an enthralling space on which to layer one’s unique visions, but in this case, I walk away with only the most superficial memories that will undoubtedly melt into the corners of my mind and eventually disappear.

No related posts.

Related posts brought to you by Yet Another Related Posts Plugin.