How do you film nothingness? How do you film emptiness? How do you film the unfilmable? Close your eyes and rub them hard with your fingers. Push your eyelids as hard as you can. Then, release. See those images? Those fluttering, static-y "images"? How do you film that? No matter what advances we've made in modern technology, there are simply some things that can't be filmed in any meaningful way. We can allude to them, make references to them, talk about them -- but there is no way to accurately present them, no camera built yet to make this happen. It's this frustration that often seems to motivate Adam Cooley's work as a filmmaker. He wants to film scenes -- and emotions, thoughts, ideas -- that can never really "exist" in a "filmed" way. He doesn't use sped-up footage and reverse footage like most directors, who use them in dream sequences or cutaway centerpieces; he uses them as just another tool in editing. He uses it just like he uses elliptical editing and jump cuts and every other style of editing we've taken for granted for 50 years. Indeed, he -- stylistically and aesthetically -- is just trying to present an awkward, cold, disillusioned reflection of his own personal demons, drama, and psyche. He gets as close as possible to filming the unfilmable, the real drama of his life and "career" as a musician and filmmaker: filming director's block.
This film is about making a film. Or, rather, NOT making a film. Adam Cooley starts with himself, a good 10 minutes where he stares directly into the camera, and tries every trick he can think of to present something "meaningful" and "important". He plays with color schemes as if to ask, "How SHOULD I create this; how SHOULD you see it?" Indeed, there are an infinite number of ways to present a scene -- the colors, the music, the structure of a scene; instead of presenting one way, Adam presents different interpretations of the same scene. He may repeat a scene -- or a scene very similar (there are constant reoccuring images of Adam holding toy guns for seemingly no "reason") -- to show that he CAN, but has no idea how to, show a scene in many different ways.
Editing ranges from sloppy, amateurish, and jarring to stylistically unique, individual, and daring. Minutes 11-20 focus on Adam and a girl and their love. Should the film, then, become a romance? What is this film trying to say? Soon, the film begins to dump animation, HUGE crowds of people, and more, into the framework, everything but the kitchen sink is eventually explored.
All of it adds up to nothing. The first 30 minutes or so is basically saying: "I make films because I don't know what else to do. Oh, I CAN do other things, but I love making films so much that even if I have nothing to say, I want to say SOMETHING. At the same time, I want to entertain -- I want people to watch. But how do I get them to watch? How many tricks can I use?" Adam does, indeed, use many tricks: musical numbers, LOTS of animation that is at least as good as anything you'd see on Adult Swim, and some pretty insane editing and sound (keep in mind this was all filmed on a $24 camera, with no budget whatsoever, primarily with only two actors, and all did with Windows 95 freeware programs). Eventually, though, things chang. The final "part" of the film becomes REAL. Whereas the first 80% of the film is a somewhat absurd recreation of apparently true events, the final part is a straight-up documentary: the first part of the film is shown to an audience, in a theatre, and Adam documents the failure of the film. His director's block led him to create something worthless. This film -- to quote the title of another of Adam's work -- has no reason to exist.
The actual meaning of this project will vary greatly depending on whoever watches it. But no one can deny that a LOT of work was put into this thing. There are many haunting moments of piano, lots of rather insane stop motion/time lapse animation; before your eyes, you will see landscapes covered in snow and then all the snow melting. You will see arms get infected with bloody wounds and then the wounds scabbing and healing. You will see buildings being created. You will see people disappearing from landscapes. Day turning to night turning to day turning to night. Hair growing. People getting older. People completely changing their dispositions. People become characters and then become real.
Maybe "fiction" and "reality" aren't too far off. Maybe the truth and lies are one in the same, in some strange way. Whatever CURRENTLY UNTITLED means to you -- and, really, the meaning is probably right there in the title -- it is certainly one of a kind in the world of experimental, underground filmmaking.
This film is about making a film. Or, rather, NOT making a film. Adam Cooley starts with himself, a good 10 minutes where he stares directly into the camera, and tries every trick he can think of to present something "meaningful" and "important". He plays with color schemes as if to ask, "How SHOULD I create this; how SHOULD you see it?" Indeed, there are an infinite number of ways to present a scene -- the colors, the music, the structure of a scene; instead of presenting one way, Adam presents different interpretations of the same scene. He may repeat a scene -- or a scene very similar (there are constant reoccuring images of Adam holding toy guns for seemingly no "reason") -- to show that he CAN, but has no idea how to, show a scene in many different ways.
Editing ranges from sloppy, amateurish, and jarring to stylistically unique, individual, and daring. Minutes 11-20 focus on Adam and a girl and their love. Should the film, then, become a romance? What is this film trying to say? Soon, the film begins to dump animation, HUGE crowds of people, and more, into the framework, everything but the kitchen sink is eventually explored.
All of it adds up to nothing. The first 30 minutes or so is basically saying: "I make films because I don't know what else to do. Oh, I CAN do other things, but I love making films so much that even if I have nothing to say, I want to say SOMETHING. At the same time, I want to entertain -- I want people to watch. But how do I get them to watch? How many tricks can I use?" Adam does, indeed, use many tricks: musical numbers, LOTS of animation that is at least as good as anything you'd see on Adult Swim, and some pretty insane editing and sound (keep in mind this was all filmed on a $24 camera, with no budget whatsoever, primarily with only two actors, and all did with Windows 95 freeware programs). Eventually, though, things chang. The final "part" of the film becomes REAL. Whereas the first 80% of the film is a somewhat absurd recreation of apparently true events, the final part is a straight-up documentary: the first part of the film is shown to an audience, in a theatre, and Adam documents the failure of the film. His director's block led him to create something worthless. This film -- to quote the title of another of Adam's work -- has no reason to exist.
The actual meaning of this project will vary greatly depending on whoever watches it. But no one can deny that a LOT of work was put into this thing. There are many haunting moments of piano, lots of rather insane stop motion/time lapse animation; before your eyes, you will see landscapes covered in snow and then all the snow melting. You will see arms get infected with bloody wounds and then the wounds scabbing and healing. You will see buildings being created. You will see people disappearing from landscapes. Day turning to night turning to day turning to night. Hair growing. People getting older. People completely changing their dispositions. People become characters and then become real.
Maybe "fiction" and "reality" aren't too far off. Maybe the truth and lies are one in the same, in some strange way. Whatever CURRENTLY UNTITLED means to you -- and, really, the meaning is probably right there in the title -- it is certainly one of a kind in the world of experimental, underground filmmaking.