Archive for December 1st, 2012

The Bungled And The Botched

Another full-length treat. Terry Gilliam sees that, at root, no one, here, is that much more evolved, than any other. For, to even be here, all are of the bungled and the botched. The task, then, here, is to help one another. No matter if the task seems mad. Pursue it anyway. For in doing so, shall ye help, flow, all, into the great wide open. When Jack is only for Jack? He is for nothing. When Jack is for, against all that he is, for horses he is not sure he even hears? He is for All. Not least of which: Jack.


Whiskey River Take My Mind

Buffalo Bill's
        who used to
        ride a watersmooth-silver
and break onetwothreefourfive pigeonsjustlikethat
he was a handsome man
                      and what i want to know is
how do you like your blueeyed boy
Mister Death

                                                                     —ee cummings

More alcohol is consumed in this film than in any of his previous work, and one of the things the film embodies is that haze, that peculiar kind of edgelessness that alcohol induces and is in part consumed to induce. This is not to suggest that river flowPeckinpah drank deliberately to get this effect; more than likely the drinking itself produced it. It hardly matters, as Peckinpah tended to work closer to his instincts, intuitions, and feelings than almost any other director. The previous criticisms of pace and performance notwithstanding, the distended rhythms, the utter lethargy with which everyone moves, the slowness with which they speak, the swollen pauses, the faces that come wearily into focus before the replies, the overall sense of drifting, of languor, apathy, and melancholy—over the course of the film these gradually develop into a style and bring into focus a vision that is unique and almost nakedly expressive of Peckinpah’s condition and state of mind at this time in his life.

It is precisely this quality—that is, an embodiment in the very style of what it is like to be continuously drunk—that led Richard Burton, no stranger to the abuse of alcohol, to once tell Peckinpah that if he ever directed Under the Volcano, he, Burton, would play the part of the consul for nothing. Hearing this, a friend wrote Peckinpah: “It should be directed by someone who’s had that experience of having one aim for several weeks at a time—getting another drink, and who’s woke up one morning wondering why he’s still alive after a night in a cantina.”

—Paul Seydor, Peckinpah: The Western Films


When I Worked

December 2012
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