Bill Morrison's most mainstream -- yes! -- endeavor yet, DAWSON CITY: FROZEN TIME

TrustMovies has loved (to some degree) every Bill Morrison movie he's seen so far, from Decasia and The Miners' Hymn to The Great Flood and Beyond Zero: 1914-1918. But in recommending any of them, as I have always done, I've also had to place a caveat along with that recommendation that the movies require some effort on the part of the viewer. They are not your standard sit-back-and-watch-that-superhero-in-action sort of thing. Now comes DAWSON CITY: FROZEN TIME, in which Morrison's love of everything from movies to decaying film, history, oddball facts, social justice and more all come to the fore and provide -- thanks to the crackerjack tale he has to tell -- that almost anybody with minor intelligence and love of movies and history can enjoy. Yes, this film is utterly accessible.

The story here -- which details the how, when, where and why of the discovery of what may very well be the largest single load of silent movies, long thought to have been destroyed, that has even been recovered -- is so terrific and well-told that it is hard to imagine Mr. Morrison (the filmmaker is shown at left) ever being able to top this film in terms of again finding a tale so filled with all the things he cares for most and is most adept at filming. His movie held me in thrall from its first frame throughout its complete two-hour running time.

Dawson City tackles everything from the Klondike Gold Rush to some great old silent movies and features everyone from Charlie Chaplin to an honest-to-god avalanche that looks more real and shocking than anything our special effects wizards have put together in recent times. We even get a sneak peek at how the Trump family's (yes, sleazy Donald's) fortune actually began -- with the combo hotel, restaurant and whorehouse shown below.

Once gold was discovered, we see how the newly minted mining town of Dawson City rose from what was formerly a perfectly lovely village of an indigenous Canadian Indian tribe that had occupied the area for ages.

Morrison dots his movie with lots of fascinating history and anecdote, along with the inter-cutting of those silent movies (as above and below) right into his film in order to demonstrate salients points along the way. This is an inspired, charming, often funny and always on-target means of reminding us of the importance of both history and film and how well they can and should complement each other.

Needless to say, almost all of these are not silent movie scenes that we've viewed previously anywhere else because, so far as any of us knew, all this had been missing or destroyed. Along the way see view footage of everything from Palestine (in 1907!) to the infamous Black Sox Baseball Scandal, as well as wonderfully detailed history of the odd up-and-down fortunes of Dawson City itself.

With the exception of the film's first few minutes, and then at around the hour-and-three-quarters point, we get something unusual from a Morrison movie: verbal narration. The remainder is, as usual, told us via visuals, music (by Alex Somers and often exceptionally beautiful) and an excellent written narration, all of which somehow seems exactly the right way to unfold this remarkable story.

Toward its end the movie even turns into to a bit of a "love story," and the finale features a montage of a host of water-damaged, decaying film that Morrison so loves and when used in this way produces its own very special "special effects." Over time, I think I am beginning to love and appreciate the strange beauty of this decay, almost as much as does Morrsion. Maybe you will, too.

Meanwhile, the movie will make you most grateful that this treasure trove of film was buried in the cold, preserving climate of the Yukon. The reason, as we learn, was that Dawson City was the last stop on the circuit of towns that played these films, and the movie companies did not want to pay the freight charges to ship their films back. Thank god that last stop was not somewhere down here in hot-weather Florida.

From Kino Lorber, Dawson City: Frozen Time opens this coming Friday, June 9, in New York City (at the IFC Center) and on June 16 in Chicago (at the Gene Siskel Film Center,) Los Angeles (at the Landmark NuArt) and San Diego (at the Digital Gym). To view all currently scheduled playdates, cities and theaters, click here and then scroll down.

Bill Morrison's short art work, BEYOND ZERO: 1914-1918, arrives on DVD from Icarus Films

I suspect that the strange and highly unusual work of artist Bill Morrison -- his films resemble nobody else's that I've ever seen -- is an acquired taste. The first film of his I recall viewing (Decasia, when it first hit video some years back) seemed so strange that I could only now and then connect to it. It was too much for me. Still, it stayed with me over time and in ways I didn't expect. It was his 2010 short film The Miners' Hymns that finally got me hooked. By the time his The Great Flood opened at NYC's IFC Center last year, I'd become a fan -- despite the hugely hypnotic quality embedded in his work that can sometimes have me drifting off to sleep.

Morrison, pictured at right, combines old decaying film stock with fairly ancient documentary footage, and then wraps around this both art and color, putting it all at last to splendid musical scores that move us most powerfully. His newest work to become available on video, BEYOND ZERO: 1914-1918, takes as its subject The 'Great' War, WWI, but as ever, Morrison's real subject goes far beyond this -- to time and decay and the human condition and, hell, a whole lot more. And he gives it to us in a style that is all his own: alternately moving, chilling, hypnotic and while sometimes confusing, always fascinating to view.

The images are seldom straight-forward. Here, using World War I footage, he overlays this with other images that force us to think -- maybe feel, too -- out of the box.

Repeat viewings, I should think, are almost required in order to get anything like full understanding and appreciation. With most motion pictures I would consider this a drawback, as the payoff is too paltry. Not with Morrison. Between the wonderful music (this time it's from Aleksandra Vrebalov and played by Kronos Quartet, shown above, as one of the visuals roll by) and the vivid, haunting images, there's plenty to ponder and digest.

Among the many jewels are two particular scenes I'll remember for a long while. In one, military men atop a tall building ready a canon to fire -- but where? Into their own city? Or are they the city's conquerors? Does it matter, given the decimation about to occur?

In the final episode, we become aware of a tiny parachute in the sky, slowly descending... to what fate? The music, first pulsating, pounding and then often dirge-like, here lifts into a kind of beauty that brought to my mind Benjamin Britten's War Requiem -- not in style but in achievement. And the visuals simply amaze and then haunt.

And yes, there were moments during the film's 40-minute running time that my eyes glazed over. But I suspect that when I watch this one again, it will be those moments that maybe stand out. As I say, concerning the work of Mr. Morrison, repeated viewings are required.

Beyond Zero: 1914-1918, from Icarus Films is available now on DVD.

Bill Morrison and Bill Frisell's THE GREAT FLOOD gets U.S. premiere at IFC Center on Wednesday

Photography hounds -- particularly those who love the archival stuff -- along with history buffs and cinephiles of many stripes have a treat in store this week, as a most unusual movie opens here in New York City. THE GREAT FLOOD, a combination of archival footage found and arranged by Bill Morrison with music by Bill Frisell, takes us back to spring, 1927, when the Mississippi River rose over its banks in 145 places -- inundating 27,000 square miles (to a depth of up to 30 feet!). The flooding caused a mass exodus of displaced sharecroppers, thus adding to the migration of southern blacks to the northern United States, marking the coming of major changes in everything from population distribution and employment opportunities to culture and music.

Mr. Morrison, pictured at left, is the man responsible for the glowing, beautiful and moving documentary, The Miners' Hymns from 2010, and I would say that his love and under-standing of history, photography and justice is as equally strong in this new film. Again, there is no narration or dialog in The Great Flood. Instead, it's all visuals and accompanying music. But what visuals and music!

The latter is provided by guitarist/composer Bill Frisell, shown at right, who with other musicians and Morrison, tra-veled to the south during 2011 -- when the Mississippi again flooded to levels unseen since 1927 -- and were, one imag-ines, alternately freaked out & inspired by what they saw.

The visual footage Morrison has unearthed is remarkable in a couple of ways: that it still exists and he found it, for one thing; for another, that some of the film, having been shot on nitrate stock, has partially disintegrated. This deterioration does fit into the filmmaker's esthetic (Decasia) and, as used here, gives the finished film a kind of decaying/magisterial, glorified/sorrowful look.

In our current era of overdone special effects, this degraded film stock takes on its own odd, special-effect signature, bringing to the movie something that goes beyond even its usual (and often very special) "archival" appearance.

Musically, the movie is special, too, beginning with Frisell's use of the introduction to the great Jerome Kern song Ol' Man River, which we hear over and over, almost as a kind of vamping to help set us up for the powerful chorus. Never fear, that chorus eventually is heard in all its glory toward the film's finale. In between Frisell and his musicians (Ron Miles, trumpet; Tony Scherr, bass, guitar; and Kenny Wollesen, drums, vibes) give us all sorts of music, mostly jazz-inflected, that eventually combines to take us back to an event, in a time and place that seem both a century past and all too timely once again.

By timely I do not mean simply the new millennial flooding. It does not take much to imagine, as well, most of our country's citizens once again becoming sharecroppers of a sort, working for the wealthy and the corporations. Yet you can watch The Great Flood, I suppose, and not even dwell on any of that. Just lose yourself in the images, the music and the flow. But Morrison has divided his opus into sections, and one of these is titled, as I recall, "Politicians." Yup: There they are, and their behavior then is so like their behavior now that it is difficult not to draw conclusions.

Beginning with shots of maps of the area covered, the movie takes its time getting us to those old photos and film stock, but the wait becomes almost suspenseful, and once we see the images, both still and moving, we're hooked. By the time we get to the section in which the powers-that-be try to control the flood by blowing stuff up (below -- and uselessly, as it turns out), the incompetence and venality of certain of our governments becomes even clearer: This flood, along with the Katrina disaster, both took place under Republican administrations.

As much as I enjoyed -- reveled in -- the beauty of the film, I have to admit that the constant, uninterrupted flow of images and music did grow almost hypnotic from time to time, so a little pinch on the face or arm was necessary to snap my eyes to attention again. Otherwise, this film will be a must-see for many of us. You know who you are.

The Great Flood, from Icarus Films, in black-and-white and running just 80 minutes, opens this Wednesday, January 8, in New York City at the IFC Center, and on January 9 in Hudson, NY, at Time & Space Limited. Other engagements across the country? Hope so. And, yes: We've just learned that this film will be opening in Los Angeles this Friday, January 24, for a week-long run at the Downtown Independent. Meanwhile its NYC release at IFC Center has been extended. As is true, I believe, of most Icarus films, it will eventually be released on DVD, and maybe to digital and streaming -- though all of this can take a very long time, so see it at the theatrical venues, if possible. (How long? Well, one of the best docs of 2010, Icarus' Disco & Atomic War will be arriving on home video DVD and VOD on February 25 -- well over three years after its American theatrical debut.)

Film Forum offers a quartet of Bill Morrison movies: silent films that have plenty to say

Before viewing the four films under discussion here, TrustMovies had never heard of Chicago-born Bill Morrison (shown at right). Now that he's seen the work debuting this week at Film Forum here in New York City, he won't soon forget the filmmaker. Not a huge fan of experimental movies, TM nonethe-less found this program of four films (three short and one longer) surprisingly riveting, beautiful to view, and at times nearly hypnotic.

To dispense with one point upfront -- before this venue finds itself contending with the sort of the thing that has evidently plagued U.S. theaters showing The Artist -- Morrsion's work, at least in three of the movies shown in this program, is what you could call "silent film," in that it is comprised of only visuals (mostly black-and-white) and music. There's no narration or dialog of any kind.

The visuals, however, are so striking, and the music so alternately bouncy and/or beautiful that the combination proves more than enough to challenge and entertain. The first film on the program, OUTERBOROUGH (above, 8 minutes, 2005) has us traveling by streetcar across the Brooklyn Bridge circa 1899 -- except that Morrison has split the screen so that we're simultaneously coming and going and can see where we're headed, as well as where we've been. As the camera speeds up we go a little crazy, and then we have to contend with.... I'm not sure if these are flashbacks, a double exposure, or what. But it's fun and bracing, and the perky, rhythmic traveling music by Todd Reynolds is delightful, as well.

THE FILM OF HER (above, 12 minutes, 1996) is a tale -- whether documentary or fiction, I'm not sure -- about a fellow who grew up around cinema and now works in a film archive where he makes a shocking discovery or two. He finds the original of a movie that impressed him more than any other as a child (and which appears to me to be a bit of early pornography), featuring the "her" of the title looking like she's about to go at it with a him, whom we also see. This film, the only one of the four to have a recited narrative (a voice-over by Morrison and Guy DeLancey), is also about film preservation (Martin Scorsese would heartily approve!) and how film effects our lives. Though barely hinted at, this story still pulls you in and makes its mark.

In its off-kilter way the most hypnotic and bizarre film in the program, RELEASE (above, 13 minutes, 2010) shows us a crowd of people and cameras waiting in the vicinity of a prison. Morrison appears to have taken the original film and somehow "flopped" it, so that its mirror image is also on view. He then moves the camera so that one side of the image seems to be consuming the other, making it disappear into its mirror self. This gives us the sense of an almost formal yet near-magical sci-fi effect. And because the filmmaker tells his "story" with repetition after repetition, each one going a bit farther along, we begin to ferret out a story: these people are waiting for someone. Who? If you don't finally recognize him, you certainly will from the name in the end credits. The appropriate sound design and music is by Vijay Iyer.

The longest piece of the four, THE MINERS' HYMNS (above and below, 51 minutes, 2011), offers us Mr. Morrison working in color, at least during the opening and penultimate sections, in which the camera glides over the locations of former British coal mines that are today mostly green and verdant areas. This is accompanied by music of great feeling, composed by Jóhann Jóhannsson, whose score for this film is a keeper (that's the composer, below, right, with Morrison).

After this color footage, we cut to some vintage shots of crowds composed, I am thinking, of miners and their families, from the early 20th century and the Durham Miners' Association. Slowly the footage seems to make its way toward the mid-century mark (below), and the section ends with the shot of a child holding a gun -- a toy, of course. Well, probably. But the point is made.

When we get to the scenes of the working miners (below) and the back-breaking work of pushing one of those coal cars, the sense of enclosure, of danger, is frightening. We see the coal being mined, and the dust, and we're cognizant of the miners' lungs. We want to call out to these men, "For god's sake, wear masks!"

The film offers a seashore section (is that coal being skimmed from the sea?) showing children running up a slag heap. This may remind you in its way of Margot Benacerraf's Araya -- except instead of glistening, white sea salt, the product is pitch black coal. (Probably the whitest thing we see here is the laundry hung out to dry in the photo at bottom.)

Then comes the police and the barricades and preparing for a strike. At first we might think this "British reserve" is much preferable to what went on here in the USA (see John Sayles' Matewan or Travis Wilkerson's An Injury to One), but then all hell seems to break loose and we're not so sure.

The film ends with a parade and celebration of that Durham Miners' Association, ending up inside, of course, a church. Some may see beauty and divinity here; others of us, supreme hypocrisy. One thing we'll agree on: that superb Jóhannsson score, played to the hilt by a 21-piece orchestra.

Opening at New York City's Film Forum this Wednesday, February 8, for a one-week run, these four fine films (the entire program runs approximately 85 minutes), distributed by Icarus Films, will also play elsewhere around the country. Click here (then scroll up or down a bit) to see the venues scheduled so far.