Out 1: Spectre - 1972 - Film

Saturday, June 9, 2007

"I don't get it" is the tip of the iceberg, though I'm not beating myself up for it. Apparently, for the folks who had seen the full 750 minute version of Jacque Rivette's Out 1, the measly 4 1/4 hours of his 1972 Out 1: Spectre was "just blowing by." At least that's what I overheard at the Gene Siskel Film Center during the intermission. Not having seen the former version of the film (and indeed its own separate masterpiece, I am sure) I watched Spectre with bouts of awe, unavoidable weariness, and indulgence.

Mostly I am fascinated by a filmmaker who has the audacity to create a film that's originally 12-and-a-half hours in length, then, not yet giving it up, reforming it into a new piece of art—that is, the 4+ hours I witnessed a few weeks ago. Then, and with just as much pride, the movie nearly filled the theater, making me question what kind of person it takes to willingly subject oneself to hour after hour of images in the dark—passing up meals, sunshine, and necessary bathroom breaks—to watch this filmmaker's 12 or 4-hour creation?

Well, I am one of those spectators, though I don’t have an answer. To describe it best (like any film that, in my opinion, runs over 3 hours) Out 1: Spectre is an experience. It is all at once baffling, beautiful, philosophical, and yes, cathartic. The first couple hours of the film bounce among different sets of characters abruptly; the transitions are raw, making the various groups' connections indecipherable; it's a puzzle. Intermission comes and goes, and according to Rosenbaum a few minutes ahead of schedule, as per the original screening in Paris thirty-five years ago. Though, renewed with caffeine and a good stretch, the latter half of the movie read differently, more relaxed. The characters intermingle, some semblance of a narrative emerges, and you've otherwise become comfortable with the fact that you're not quite sure what's going on, so you just watch.

And therein lies the indulgence. In retrospect the movie is a colorful barrage of movement, acting, speaking; with no defined form it is life emerging from long and short intervals of time. I can't think of anything more delightful that escapes my understanding.