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Back in 2000, I made a 17-minute film called Residue as part of my MA in visual anthropology. It was awarded distinction, I moved back home to the Southern US and then to NYC and then back to the UK, and I never got round to doing anything with it.
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There are slowed-down drive-by shots of suburban houses and churches, scenes of Sunday services, and a soundtrack of creepy songs about the devil, courtesy of Daniel Johnston.
Last night I finally watched the BBC-commissioned film, Searching for the Wrong-Eyed Jesus. Which was basically about the strange world of the Deep South and fundamentalist Christianity there. There are interviews with local characters and friends of Jim White, the narrator, who tell stories about bizarre accidents and their connection with religion.
There are slowed-down drive-by shots of trailer homes and churches, scenes of Sunday services, and a massive soundtrack (via live performances) of creepy songs about religion courtesy of the Handsome Family, Johnny Dowd, 16 Horsepower, and others. Oh, and Harry Crews drops in to tell stories from time to time.
Plagiarism on a bigger budget, obviously!
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There’s a scene where White (and presumably the invisible film crew) are driving around some trailer park, and he says to the camera, “You could go into any of these trailers and hear the saddest or the funniest story you ever did hear. Hmm. There is a part of me that, as an insider,” really believes that. I know my friends and relatives in the South well.
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Maybe so. And you know me. I'm all for magic and festishism, even in anthropology and tourism. But it makes me wonder what side of the fence I'm on with my own upcoming film plans. Who am I making stuff for, given my insider/outsider status, and the fact that it took living in the UK for years to draw my interest back there?
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[All images from Residue by yours truly, 2000]
2 comments:
I like your film better!
Yeah, since we're in Magnolia now Lindsay and I have been wanting to watch it, but mom and dad said we have to wait on you to get home.
Actually, related, there've been a lot of murders and fucked happenings around these parts. Over in McNeil, the nation's oldest mayor (80) was murdered by his granddaughter. Well, actually, she hired some guy to stab him to death in his home. The strange thing is that she had just gotten out of jail for murder before the incident. Of course this story sounds better in a southern drawl coming from one of the locals. I'll let you hear it when you get home. You'll appreciate it more.
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