Posts Tagged ‘Jess Franco’

Here Come The Kung Fu Clones by Carl Jones (Woowums Books)

Saturday, March 3rd, 2012

“Here Come The Kung Fu Clones” is a book about the superabundance of Bruce Lee imitators who attempted to fill the void created by the Little Dragon’s death in 1973 with movies such as “Bruce Lee Against Supermen”, “Bruce Lee His Last Days, His Last Nights”, “Bruce Lee Fights Back From The Grave” and “Bruce Lee In New Guinea”. While a lot of work has obviously gone into this book, the writing is fan level and could have been much better organised. As you’d expect the focus is on summarising plot rather than critical analysis.

Bruce Li is well covered – the other Bruce Lee clones are not well served. The book really needed much more about Bruce Le and Dragon Lee who are major figures in the Brucesploitation genre.  Never forget that Dragon Lee appeared in a slew of features directed by the notorious Godfrey Ho – the Jess Franco of martial arts flicks.

I’d hoped for a more rigorous list of Brucesploitation movies than the book provides. For example, when Jones writes about “Treasure Of Bruce Lee” with Bruce Le, he is clearly describing a film I’ve seen as “King Boxer II” (the name under which it is easiest to find in the UK – where “Here Come The Kung Fu Clones” was published – thanks to a 23rd Century DVD that found its way to many a Poundland and street market stall at £1 and under a pop). Likewise, while there is a full page illustration of a video cover for what I assume is the same film under the title “Bruce and the Shaolin Bronzemen”, nowhere in the book is there any information about a movie with this name.

There are no bronzemen in the film I’ve seen titled “Treasure of Bruce Le” (although Jones claims there are bronzemen in this movie), and the current IMDB entry for “Treasure of Bruce Le” (not Lee with two e’s although that is how Jones has it and I’ve also seen it listed under that title) is illustrated with a video cover for a version of the flick under yet another alternative name: “Enter The Game Of Shaolin Bronzemen”.

There are those who state unequivocally that “Treasure of Bruce Le(e)” and “King Boxer II” are not the same movie. I know that the films I’ve seen with these titles aren’t the same flick. I have the US Kung Fu Theater release of “Treasure of Bruce Le” and it is a really cheap cross between Five Deadly Venoms and 36th  Chamber of Shaolin. The Japanese want a secret kung fu manual and a samurai  masquerades as a loyal Chinese marital arts student to steal it. Bruce Le has to master the various ancient animal fighting skills to avenge his master (who is murdered early on in the movie) and recover the book after it is stolen from him. The most notable thing about the Kung Fu Theater release of “Treasure of Bruce Le” is that aside from being panned and scanned, many of the scenes are out of focus (it isn’t clear to me if this is a problem with the video ‘mastering’ or the original footage) – and as a result it comes across like a piece of avant-garde lettriste cinema of the early 1950s.

To reiterate, the bronzemen and fighting midgets Karl Jones describes as being in this movie, I’ve only seen in my 23rd Century copy of “King Boxer II”. While it seems possible both these films have been released as “Treasure of Bruce Le(e)”, the illustrations accompanying the review of the movie with this title in the Jones book are not from the film he describes – but the one I have under the name he uses (unless he has scene some hybrid version cut together from both). I’d have hoped that “Here Come The Kung Fu Clones” would have clarified my knowledge of the Brucesploitation genre, rather than further confusing it.

That said, it’s good to have the list of Brucesploitation flicks that end the text section of this book but what Jones provides needs further work. To start with the glaringly obvious, since the “A Fistful of Yen” parody section from “Kentucky Fried Movie” is included, I couldn’t understand why Sammo Hung’s “Enter The Fat Dragon” wasn’t….

And just in case you’re interested “King Boxer II” is the greatest Brucesploitation movie of all time, standing head and shoulders above the likes of “Clones Of Bruce Lee” and even “Bruce Lee His Last Days, His Last Nights” AKA “Bruce Lee and I” – thanks in large part to the fighting midgets who battle Bruce Le! I doubt Jones would agree with me, although he seems to like “The Treasure Of Bruce Lee” (or should that be “King Boxer II”?), he’s definitely batting for Bruce Li! But don’t forget, “Challenge of the Tiger” with Bruce Le and Richard Harrison might have hit the top spot if the complete insanity of the scenes set in Spain had been maintained as the action moves east….

And while you’re at it don’t forget to check – www.stewarthomesociety.org – you know it makes (no) sense!

Eric Roberts & Richard Harrison Battle It Out For The Title Of Greatest Movie Career Slide Of All Time!

Friday, January 13th, 2012

In terms of having the greatest film career slide of all time you’d have thought Eric Roberts had everything going for him. For starters his sister is Hollywood A-lister Julia Roberts, and he got Golden Globe nominations for his early starring roles in King of the Gypsies (1978 – best actor debut) and Star 80 (1983 – best actor). But by the time Roberts took the lead role in the martial arts flick Best of the Best (1989) you can see it has all gone wrong. Why Roberts was cast as a member of a fictional US karate team when he couldn’t fight his way out of a paper bag is a mystery in itself. Best of the Best has a tediously moralistic plot that is so predictable you could set your watch by it, and Roberts also displays his not so unique ability to over act (particularly in the hospital scene with his injured five year-old son). And Julia’s big brother also boasts a haircut that is even worse than his inability to fake the fight and exercise routines depicted throughout the flick…

Let’s skip Best of the Best 2 and a whole slew of other junk and move onto Ninja Creed AKA Royal Kill (2009). Despite the fact that Roberts refrains from any martial arts antics in this utter train wreck of a movie, he somehow manages to make his barnet look even worse than in Best of the Best. Having sat through the movie on DVD I can concur with the Washington Post’s verdict: “deliriously bad film-making… Royal Kill needs to be seen to be believed, but don’t see it, under any circumstances”. And Roberts followed this up with among other things Shartopus (2010), in which he appears to be drunk rather than acting….

All that said, Eric Roberts looks like a rank outsider in the movie career slide stakes when compared to muscleman Richard Harrison. After a bit part in South Pacific (1958), Harrison discovered the best way to get his career going was to marry the daughter of B-movie boss James H. Nicholson (of American International Pictures). For much of the sixties, Harrison found himself in Italy making an assortment of spaghetti westerns, spy flicks and sword and sandal movies. In the seventies and eighties Harrison went from being a B-movie star to having his name used to sell grade-Z flicks. He worked with virtual everyone who was considered to be no one in the film industry – ranging from the notorious Jess Franco and sleazy Joe D’Amato, to the utterly fabulous Godfrey Ho.

Godfrey Ho was the William Burroughs of martial arts films. As deftly as Billy Burroughs applied the cut-up technique to text, Ho utilised it to splice together unrelated celluloid elements. Working with producer Joseph Lai, Ho took footage from other films and more or less randomly intercut this material with his recurring motif of ninja fight scenes (usually featuring Richard Harrison) to create new movies. This is the situationist method of detournement deployed on an industrial scale, and it leaves more carefully wrought exercises in subversion – such as René Viénet’s Can Dialectics Break Bricks? (1973) – looking like tedious Hollywood bollocks by way of comparison.

Ho and Harrison’s masterpiece is Scorpion Thunderbolt (1988), which is basically two films mashed down into one. The earlier material comes from Name (1985), an unreleased Hong Kong horror flick about a woman who is half-human and half-reptile – she commits gory murders under the influence of a snake charmer and a witch (who has groovy erotic dance moves and really long finger nail extensions). Meanwhile a gang controlled by the same enchantress is attempting to assassinate Richard Harrison because he’s unknowingly in possession of a ring that poses a threat to the semi-nude sorceress’s occult omnipotence.

The early scenes set the tone for the whole of Scorpion Thunderbolt. In one of these sequences, Harrison drives past a hitchhiker. He changes his mind about not wanting to give the nubile young woman a lift after getting a flash of her tits. Once inside Harrison’s car, the horny wanton tells our man she’s an actress. After a bit of banter this dangerous seductress takes our hero to a sex cinema, where he dogs her as film of the ‘actress’ in a porn vehicle is projected behind them. However, what makes this episode particularly insane is that Jean Michel Jarre’s Oxygene is used on the soundtrack (presumably without anybody actually bothering to pay for the rights). The ‘actress’ attempts to kill Harrison during sex but bites a suicide pill when he foils her attack.

The plot of Scorpion Thunderbolt doesn’t matter much. It is enough to say it veers from the comic capers of badly dubbed cops investigating the snake murders to brutality and bloodshed, and back again. It is these startling shifts in tone and imagery that make Scorpion Thunderbolt a post-modern schlock classic. Unfortunately Hollywood and its fans failed to recognise that Ho’s pictures left Jeff Koons looking like a rank amateur when it came to transforming eighties post-modern tropes into high art: and as a consequence once these flicks were released in the USA on video, they did so much damage to Harrison’s reputation as an actor that by the mid-nineties he’d retired from making movies. So there you have it – a no contest – Harrison easily beats Eric Roberts to claim the title of greatest movie career slide of all time!

And while you’re at it don’t forget to check – www.stewarthomesociety.org – you know it makes (no) sense!

The real Christopher Lee – tall, dark and an airhead!

Tuesday, December 29th, 2009

Having recently read Phil Baker’s The Devil Is A Gentleman: The Life and Times of Dennis Wheatley, I was moved to revisit the Hammer film adaptations of Wheatley’s novels – The Devil Rides Out (Terence Fisher, 1968) and To The Devil A Daughter (Peter Sykes, 1976), both of which ‘starred’ pseudo-aristocratic plonker Christopher Lee. The first flick is an ultra-conservative thriller with some occult trimmings that looks absolutely pathetic when compared to what was happening in horror cinema at the time. It is of the same vintage as early post-modern classics like Succubus (Jess Franco, 1967), Rape of the Vampire (Jean Rollin, 1968) and Night of the Living Dead (George A Romero, 1968), but looks positively antediluvian in comparison.

With To The Devil A Daughter, Hammer finally caught up with what had been happening cinematically in the late-sixties; they may have been a decade behind the times but the result was still a groove sensation! Just before giving up the ghost, Hammer had finally made a film that rather than being plot driven was based around atmospherics and didn’t rely on a stupid climactic end scene to ‘please’ its audience. There was even some full frontal nudity, albeit very brief . Being arch-reactionaries (and literal Tory party supporters from over-privileged backgrounds) with absolutely no sense of taste or style, Lee and his chum Wheatley loved The Devil Rides Out and disliked the infinitely superior To The Devil A Daughter (which took enormous and much needed liberties with the half-baked novel on which it was based).

Lee’s contributions to the featurette accompanying To The Devil A Daughter in The Hammer Collection DVD box set, reveal him to be an unbelievably vain and pretentious twit. He has a movie career simply because he is tall and can look menacing (he is chiefly famous for his ‘non-human’ roles as Frankenstein’s monster and the ‘undead’ Dracula), few people beyond Lee himself could possibly suffer from the delusion that he can act. Despite this, he witters on about how his Wheatley movies fulfilled the serious function of warning the public of the dangers of the occult. Lee himself is enough of a half-wit to take ‘black magic’ and related hucksterism seriously. It should go without saying that the main danger ‘black magicians’ pose to the wider public is that their attempts to part fools from their money tend to be so ham-fisted that they sometimes make people complacent about the ability of more sophisticated con artists to pull a fast one.

Having had the misfortune to see Lee’s brainless performance on the featurette accompanying one of his best films (although it isn’t quite up there with Beat Girl,  directed by Edmond T. Gréville in 1959), I found myself thinking that if this B-movie blockhead really wishes to distance himself from the villains he’s portrayed onscreen, then he really ought to stop behaving like one of the ‘undead’. I therefore leave him and you with the following question to ponder: Christopher Lee, why aren’t you dead? Isn’t it about time he did himself the huge favour of popping his clogs?

And while you’re at it don’t forget to check – www.stewarthomesociety.org – you know it makes (no) sense!

Martin – or where it all went wrong for George A. Romero

Wednesday, December 23rd, 2009

Martin (1977) was the film that revealed director George A. Romero’s desire to emulate the middle-brow success of ‘horror’ author Stephen King. It is the tale of a teenage boy who believes he’s a vampire. Obviously, and as Romero confirms in a making of documentary you’ll find on the Arrow’s ’2 Disc Special Edition’, he isn’t; in ‘reality’ he’s just an alienated psycho. The central character comes from a dysfunctional family who believe they suffer from a vampire curse. Despite this, Martin can eat garlic, attend church and walk about in sunlight. His main problem is he is confused and the only way he can get laid is by drugging women; he also murders his rape victims by slashing their wrists with a razor, and then drinks their blood. Eventually he meets a bored housewife who is just gagging for it and whose double entendres are laid on with a trowel.  They get it on and Martin’s urge to rape and kill lessens, and when he does murder he switches to male victims.

Although there are a few jokes and the odd stab at satire, essentially this is a straight and serious film with one-dimensional characters and a terrible soundtrack; and because it isn’t particularly trashy – like say Jess Franco’s Female Vampire – it quickly turns into a snore fest. I really hate movies like Martin, films that go out of their way to project themselves as being better than exploitation efforts but at the same time are so desperate for an audience that they steer well clear of genuine cinematic experimentation.

All the films Romero made before Martin are interesting, afterwards he made nothing of worth seeing apart from the curious but flawed Knightriders (1981). With Night Of The Living Dead (1968), Romero reinvented the zombie movie. He went on to wreck the genre with various re-cuts and remakes of his first film, not to mention the tedious follow-ups. Romero’s sophomore feature There’s Always Vanilla (1971) is a perfectly watchable second-rank attempt at an underground movie; it’s about guy who doesn’t really know what he wants to do but lands a top advertising job to keep his girlfriend happy. It isn’t as good as Hi, Mom! (1970, Brian de Palma) or David Holzman’s Diary (1967, Jim McBride), but it is a lot better than The Wedding Party (1969, Brian de Palma).

George Romero’s third flick Hungry Wives AKA Season of the Witch (1972) has at its centre a bored housewife who gets into witchcraft as a way of spicing up her life. In the middle of Hungry Wives there is a beautiful montage of the main character purchasing magical implements cut to Donovan’s song Season of the Witch. This is the best single sequence in any Romero film, and the movie is perhaps his finest too. With The Crazies (1973), Romero successfully returned to the horror genre. This time a virus that turns people into psychotic killers leaves those without the disease fighting for their lives against the swelling ranks of the infected who have it. And that’s that, after The Crazies Romero turned into a bore obsessed with appealing to middle-America. Post The Crazies, even his zombie films suck!

And while you’re at it don’t forget to check – www.stewarthomesociety.org – you know it makes (no) sense!

Stewart Home answers 38 questions from Catalonia

Sunday, July 26th, 2009

5 years ago Kiko Amat wrote a big feature on me for  La Vanguardia, Spain’s biggest selling paper.  A couple of days ago he emailed me 38 questions saying: “…we’ve started a new series of Q&A to people we like or we feel inspired by. It’s a very simple Q&A, very Guardian Weekend like, but we find it very telling. And amusing too.” Since my answers will be published in translation, I thought I’d share them with English speaking readers here.

Q. When were you happiest?
A. This morning.

Q. What is your greatest fear?
A. The US hardcore punk band Fear – I’m not a huge hardcore fan but I do like Fear’s I Don’t Care About You and I Love Living In The City. The only thing to fear is fear itself.

Q. What is your earliest memory?
A. Being on a ferry boat going to The Isle of Wight in 1964 when I was 2 years old. It was raining and there was a striped awning over the passenger deck. This may not be my earliest memory, I have a lot of memories of central London from the same period, but this stands out because I often went on the tube into central London as a small child, but going on a boat was more unusual.

Q. Which living person do you most admire and why?
A. Myself. Everyone should admire themselves most…

Q. What is the trait you most deplore in yourself?
A. My modesty.

Q. What is the trait you most deplore in others?
A. No sense of humour.

Q. Where would you like to live?
A. London in the 1960s.

Q. In what historical time would you have liked to have lived?
A. 1960s/70s London but as an adult so I could have seen bands like The Who and The Creation at small clubs in the mid-1960s.

Q. What would your superpower be?
A. Bullshitting but since I already got that one, maybe I could get to sing as good as Aretha Franklin too!

Q. What makes you depressed?
A. Ignorance and stupidity.

Q. Ever been in a fight?
A. Lots of them when I was teenage. But the best fighters don’t need to fight, as Bruce Lee demonstrates early on in Enter The Dragon; I’m a real fan of the art of fighting without fighting.

Q. Would you kill?
A. I’d prefer not to kill, but there are circumstance in which it could be unavoidable. I’m vegetarian but not a pacifist.

Q. Who would play you in the biopic of your life?
A. Pamela Anderson.

Q. Make a list of 4 or 5 favorite books.
A. Tainted Love, 69 Things To Do With A Dead Princess, Slow Death and Blood Rites of the Bourgeoisie (published next year); all by me, of course!

Q. Make a list of 4 or 5 favorite records.
A. The Electrifying Eddie Harris; Link Wray, Walking With Link; Lee Perry, Scratch The Upsetters Again; Willie Mitchell, Ooh Baby, You Turn Me On; The Real Kids, The Real Kids. All albums.

Q. Vinyl, CD or MP3?
A. Vinyl for dub reggae and heavy dance grooves that depend on the bass, CDs for pop & rock & Motown, MP3 for convenience (but non-proprietorial OGG format is better than MP3, if only everyone would use it).

Q. Make a list of 4 or 5 favorite films.
A. At Midnight I’ll Take Your Soul (Coffin Joe), Last Year At Marienbad (Alain Resnais), Female Prisoner 701 Scorpion: Beast Stable (Shunya Ito), Persona (Ingmar Bergman), Succubus (Jess Franco).

Q. What is your favorite smell?
A. Coffee.

Q. What is your favorite food?
A. Curry.

Q. What is your favorite drink?
A. Coffee, espresso naturally.

Q. Where do you stand politically?
A. Left.

Q. What do you most dislike about your appearance?
A. My nose (could be smaller – scaled to the same level as my ego would be great – but I guess it ain’t all bad, coz you know what they say about men with big noses and big feet….).

Q. What is your guiltiest pleasure?
A. Seeing my name in print.

Q. What do you owe your parents?
A. I got my good looks and sharp mind from my mother…

Q. Who would you invite to your dream party?
Pamela Anderson, Naomi Campbell, Carmen Electra, Angela Mao, Jennifer Lopez, Meiko Kaji… and Soledad Miranda if she could be brought back to life looking as beautiful as she did on 17 August 1970.

Q. Which words or phrases do you most overuse?
A. A groove sensation…

Q. If you could edit your past, what would you change?
A. A few bad decisions about which bands to go and see when I was still at school in 1976/1977 and didn’t have enough money to get in to all the gigs I wanted. Around May 1977 I should have gone to see The Ramones rather than The Stranglers…. But I saw both bands other times. Also I’d change getting turned away from gigs in 1976/1977 for being under 18 and would have seen the shows I missed, which  included one by The Stranglers in January 1977. Being pissed off over getting turned away from that Stranglers show was what made me decide to go and see them and not The Ramones in May 1977.

Q. When did you last cry, and why?
A. When I got these questions coz it made me so happy knowing I’d see my name in print again in Catalonia!

Q. How do you relax?
A. With coffee or a work out!

Q. What is the closest you’ve come to death?
A. I had a near death experience in the Bethnal Green Museum of Childhood in the winter of 1984. I went in there to rest from the cold coz I didn’t have a regular place to live and was staying with different friends. It felt like I was propelled out of my body on this silver chord into a lot of golden light. I thought I was dying and it was a very happy experience. But then a museum guard shook me and asked if I was alright. It took a while to ground myself after that.

Q. What do you consider your greatest achievement?
Leaving the Bethnal Green Musuem of Childhood alive, despite croaking seeming like such a great option when I had that near death experience there in 1984.

Q. What keeps you awake at night?
A. Coffee.

Q. What song or songs would you like played at your funeral?
A. Burn, Baby, Burn by Mel Williams and Disco Inferno by The Trammps.

Q. Where would you most like to be right now?
A. Riba-roja d’Ebre.

Q. What is your most treasured possession?
A. My mother’s fashion model portfolio photographs and press clippings.

Q. How would you describe yourself?
A. A groove sensation!

Q. How would you like to be remembered?
A. As the first man to commit adultery on Mars (but I’d have to get married to do that and marriage ain’t really my thing).

And while you’re at it don’t forget to check – www.stewarthomesociety.org - you know it makes (no) sense!

Performing Localities: Recent Guatemalan Performance Art On Video

Friday, May 8th, 2009

There were two evenings of screenings and talks about Guatemalan live art at Iniva in Shoredtich on 5 & 6 May (2009). On both nights six videos lasting around 40 minutes in total were followed by a talk that went on a little longer. The panel on the first night consisted of London-based curator Joanne Bernstein and her Guatemala City counterpart Rosina Cazali. Among other things, they outlined the political background to contemporary cultural production in Guatemala. This might partly be summarised by explaining that mid-twentieth century land reforms in Guatemala led to a CIA sponsored coup in 1954; then after a presidential assassination three years later and other internal troubles, there followed a civil war that only ended in 1996.

The neocolonialist exploitation of Latin America by the United Fruit Company, whose economic interests were being defended by the United States government when it intervened in Guatemala was not mentioned, presumably in the interests of keeping the session relatively short and simple. What was outlined was the policy of genocide towards the mainly rural native American population, the destruction of hundreds of Mayan villages, and the systematic murder by the US supported Guatemalan regime of thousands of civilians who became known as the disappeared.

On the Tuesday night three videos by Regina José Galindo, probably the best known contemporary Guatemalan artist, were screened. The first of these We Loose Nothing By Being Born (2000) was the best of them. In this Galindo lies naked in a clear plastic bag (with holes in it to allow her to breath) at a landfill site on the edge of Mexico City; the soundtrack is simply ambient city noise captured as the piece was filmed. As with many of Galindo’s works, a strong and deceptively simple image is created. On the one hand Galindo in the bag might be taken as a representation of a baby in its mother’s womb; on the other, she is simultaneously invoking the unidentifiable bodies of the disappeared that are found abandoned in many parts of Latin America and bagged up before being buried. Aside from the obvious birth/death dialectic at work here, the setting and surreality of the image also reminded me of those Jeff Keen movies (particularly White Dust, 1972) set in the Whitehawk landfill dump on the edge of Brighton in England.

Performing Localities was billed as consisting entirely of videos screened ‘for the first time in the UK’, which put the curators of this event at a major disadvantage as far as Galindo was concerned, since a mid-career retrospective of her work, The Body Of Others, was hosted by Modern Art Oxford from 31 January to 29 March this year. Thus the pick of her work had already been shown in the UK, and as a consequence two of the three Galindo pieces screened on the first night of Performing Localities could be viewed as second-rate. That said, what these screenings also brought home is that a bad Galindo piece is often better than the most outstanding work of her contemporaries on the Guatemala City live art scene.

Weight (2005) documents a four day performance in the Dominican Republic during which Galindo ate, slept and performed all her daily tasks shackled by heavy chains. Given Galindo’s encasement in slave manacles, the work is first and foremost concerned with colonial exploitation, although the programme notes suggested the piece is also more generally about: “the limitations placed on women… in Central America’. The video contains some nice images but is ultimately unsatisfactory. The majority of films showing Galindo’s actions are straightforward point and shoot exercises, and often they are very grungily framed. There may be time lapses but in part their effect depends upon the viewer believing that any editing has been minimal. I wasn’t surprised when during a talk she gave at Modern Art Oxford, Galindo insisted that it is her actions which are her art, while the videos and photographs of them are simply something she sells to sustain herself. This accounts for their rough documentary feel; on the whole – despite a very different content – they don’t look much different from thousands of home videos you can see posted on YouTube.

With Weight there is self-evident manipulation of the filmed material. For example, Galindo is shown singing, the video then cuts to her walking in her manacles while the singing on the soundtrack continues, and finally we see her singing again. Clearly these images have not been run in their original chronological sequence, and their clumsy manipulation completely undermines the deceptive sense of simplicity that gives her work so much of its power. The imagery within Weight made me think of Spanish exploitation director Jess Franco’s women-in-prison movies such as 99 Women (1969), Devil’s Island Lovers (1974), Barbed Wire Dolls (1975)  and Ilsa, the Wicked Warden (1977). I doubt that this is a connection Galindo was looking to make, but given Franco’s ongoing popularity it is inevitably one that is going to crop up in some viewers’ minds. Another possibly inappropriate association that occurred to me is the use of harnesses to tie members of the British performance art collective Ddart together during their durational works of the 1980s.

The third Galindo work screened on Tuesday night was Bitch (2005). In this, Galindo sits on a chair and carves the word ‘perra’ (bitch or whore) into the flesh of her left thigh with a knife. I understand the intention is to invoke the disfiguring of women that is part and parcel of male sexual violence in Guatemala. From the video it is evident that Galindo finds cutting herself painful, and while I’m left impressed by her determination to follow through on ideas she has for her actions, I end up thinking more about this than the general situation of women in Guatemla. Likewise, the performance is too obviously premeditated, whereas sexual violence more usually has the appearance of being spontaneous – even when it isn’t, and despite the fact it springs from a long-established patriarchal culture. This particular work also struck me as being little different in its ultimate effect to talentless rock idol Richey Edwards using a razor blade to carve the phrase “4 REAL” into his arm as a publicity stunt to promote his group the Manic Street Preachers. Fans of Marina Abramovic will probably love both that and this piece by Galindo, but since I think Abramovic and The Manics suck, I am unimpressed.

Moving on, Your Tortillas My Love (2004) by Sandra Monterroso did nothing at all for me. It showed the artist making tortillas and looking almost as bored as I felt watching it. Something may have been lost in translation, because within it Monterroso speaks some Mayan, and this was accompanied by both Spanish and English subtitles, with the latter being at some points completely scrambled and very clearly not the work of a native speaker. According to notes circulated to accompany the screening, the ‘artist appears to be in an obsessive trance’. I’m not convinced by this and see the entire thing as a piece of fakery, despite the assertion by the curators that Monterroso’s work is a ‘magic incantation’ to evoke ‘the gap between Latin and Mayan cultures’. Her video was easily the worst thing screened over the two nights, and at 16 minutes it was also the longest!

Detachment (2007) by Maria Adela Diaz showed two women in matching red dresses that had been stitched together, and as they attempted to move in different directions, the stitching came apart. This created a colourful image but even if as the notes available on the night suggested, this was a daughter seeking independence from her mother, the women should have donned matching slips and bras to take it a little closer to formalist perfection. Personally I’d have preferred the work if the women had been more evenly matched in stature, rather than one being large and the other small. The last film of the first evening was Angel Poyon’s Litanies (2008), a recitation of names of disappeared persons interrupted by questions and a plea for one of them to return from the dead. For non-Spanish speakers such as myself, the work would have been more effective if the names of the missing had been subtitled alongside the other pieces of speech, then I could have been more certain I wasn’t missing anything during those portions of the video that weren’t subtitled.

Wednesday night kicked off with films from Anibal Lopez who was born in 1964, rather than the early to mid-1970s like the rest of those featured in Performing Localities. Lopez is a crucial connection between the younger artists and the preceding generation, and in their earlier days also between this younger generation and the wider international art scene. Lopez acted as a mentor to many of the younger artists and after Galindo, he is probably the best known among them. The first of his films, Roll of 120m x 4m Black Plastic Hanging From The Incienso Bridge (2003), showed a long ribbon of plastic being attached to a bridge and then floating in the air above a valley. It looked like Christo on crack to me, and that is praise indeed!

Another video by Lopez, One Ton Of Books Dumped On Reform Avenue, was the single best piece screened during Performing Localities. It showed a dumper truck halting in the middle of a busy street, discarding its load of used books and moving off; local traffic is disrupted and has to manoeuvre around this pile of rubbish, and before long pedestrians are in the middle of the road, picking through the abandoned publications and taking anything that interests them. This work reminded me of the largely unrealised plans George Maciunas laid out for disrupting high cultural activities and harassing middle class commuters in his Fluxus New-Policy Letter No.6 (dated 6 April 1963).  In this, Maciunas famously advocated the disruption of the New York transportation system via pre-arranged break-downs at strategic points on the city road system during the rush hour.

One Ton Of Books also inclined me to the view that Lopez is probably an unreliable guide to his own work; books are extremely dense and heavy objects, and from my experiences of moving large quantities of them, I’d guess that the weight of books dumped on Reform Avenue was far more than the rhetorical ton used in the title of the piece. This, of course, also made me wonder whether the length of plastic used in the previous piece really was 120 metres, or if it was some other length. On reflection, I figured the length given looked about right for the plastic shown in the film.

The title of the final Lopez film screened on Wednesday night appears to have been inaccurate if its English translation is correct: Sculpture Composed of 500 Boxes of Contraband Transported from Paraguay to Brazil (2007). For this, Lopez paid smugglers to transport empty boxes into Brazil, there was no contraband inside them and it looked to me like there was a lot less than 500 of them. Unless this was a double bluff, and Lopez hid drugs in some of the boxes or used his art piece as a decoy to fool the cops while some real smuggling went down, the work is slight and silly. That said, it brought to mind the activities of British artist Francis Morland, who in the 1960s smuggled hash inside his fibre-glass sculptures (but he pursued this as a money-making criminal activity, rather than as art). No doubt the smugglers Lopez employed are more than happy to be paid to participate in no risk operations but that hardly makes for riveting viewing, and what I saw looked weak in comparison to the other Lopez videos screened during Performing Localities.

Far better was Dario Escobar’s 12 Minutes, 8 Seconds (2008), which consisted of a fixed shot of a lit cigarette placed on a public fountain and filmed until it had burnt down to the butt and the remains were blown away by the wind. Like We Loose Nothing By Being Born and  One Ton Of Books, this piece was a real groove sensation! You knew there would be a pay-off when the ash fell from the cigarette, and the way this was stretched out proved a real gas. And again, like One Ton Of Books, this piece made me think of Fluxus, and  in particular of its simple instructional performances that were theorised by Maciunas as the ‘monomorphic neo-haiku flux-event’ and which he counterposed to the self-indulgence of the ‘mixed media neo-baroque happening’. Needless to say, the soundtrack to 12 Minutes, 8 Seconds was simply ambient city noise captured as the film was made!

A further Galindo video, Survival Skills Course For Men & Woman Preparing To Travel Illegally To The United States (2007), was screened on Wednesday. The film was shot in Mexico and showed a survival instructor hired by Galindo teaching useful skills to a group of people planning to enter the USA illegally via its southern border. This piece had definitely been shown in the UK before since it was included in the recent Galindo retrospective at Modern Art Oxford. But that said, as far as I can tell it was the only video to have had a prior UK outing, although at least one of the other films shown has been available for viewing online.

The last video screened was a 5 minute extract from Jessica Lagunas’ 120 Minutes Of Silence. Unlike all the other artists included in these two nights of screenings, Lagunas was born in Nicaragua rather than Guatemala. She currently lives in New York but was included both because she makes work explicitly about Guatemala, and likewise when she lived in Guatemala City she worked at the same advertising agency as Galindo and Diaz (obviously this was before Galindo became a professional artist). Lagunas has described 120 Minutes Of Silence in the following way: “From one-yard of camouflage fabric, a person cuts along the solid shapes for two-hours, honoring the 40,000 disappeared victims during the 36-year civil war in that country”. The audience at Iniva was extremely restless during the projection of this brief extract; coughing, knocking over drinks and shuffling in seats, therefore at the time it was impossible to determine whether Lagunas (or the person performing the piece for her if it was not Lagunas) was attempting to make as little noise as possible while snipping at the fabric, or if the sound had simply been stripped off the video footage. To me the work would have been more powerful if the former had been the case, but online searches led me to conclude that the film is simply silent. From Lagunas’ description as quoted above, the similarity of these pieces to Fluxus works and scripts once again becomes evident, this is a simple live event that anyone – not just the artist who wrote it – could perform.

The panel talk after the Wednesday screenings was between Professor Oriana Baddeley from Camberwell School of Art in south London, Julian Stallabrass from the Courtauld Institute of Art in The Strand, and Rosina Cazali. Unfortunately the discussion was completely moribund because Baddeley began by challenging the curatorial premise of  a Guatemalan art upon which the screenings were based, suggesting that perhaps the pieces we’d seen had a more universal validity. While someone else might have turned this into an interesting argument, Baddeley was unable to do so and it appeared she knew virtually nothing about the work she was on stage to talk about. She made a couple of tenuous and completely generalised comparisons with currently fashionable artists – Cildo Meireles from Brazil who recently had a big retrospective at Tate Modern, and the pathetic Santiago Sierra (the subject of an April Fools Day hoax on this blog just over a month ago). Baddeley is apparently an ‘expert’ on Mexican art, particularly murals and painting, but evidently doesn’t understand that in order to deal with the general one must also address the specific; and in this instance that would mean referencing both the works that had been screened and knowing something of the history of live art – she said virtually nothing about either. Having pushed the discussion up a blind alley, Baddeley was absolutely determined to keep it there, and thus the Wednesday talk was very dull in comparison to the discussion the night before.

Overall Performing Localities was still an exciting event, highlighting work that would be ignored by the London art world if it was being produced in Europe but that can find an audience here – although it doesn’t have much of one Guatemala – because right now Latin American (and particularly Mexican and Brazilian) culture is fashionable. Successful European artists tend to make slicker but duller work than Galindo and Lopez, and most have had their mind shackled by a formal art training. None of the artists featured in Performing Localities attended art school, they are autodidacts who created a scene through mutual support. Possibly that is why academics like Baddeley are presently incapable of talking about this work, they are so trapped inside the bourgeois art box that they simply don’t understand anything that comes from outside it. Only once this work, its historical precedents and the scene around it, have been more fully mapped out, will the likes of Baddeley suddenly discover a way to understand it. In the meantime, Baddeley – who evidently didn’t even know that it wasn’t the Guatemalan label that held these artists together, but rather the fact that they’d created their own small scene in that territory – remains an impediment to more interesting cultural developments.

And while you’re at it don’t forget to check – www.stewarthomesociety.org – you know it makes (no) sense!