Posts Tagged ‘Loompanics Unlimited’

“Female Prisoner #701: Scorpion” and the trope of ‘revenge’

Sunday, June 14th, 2009

While most women-in-prison flicks bore me, Female Prisoner #701: Scorpion (1973) directed by Shunya Ito is a groove sensation. The plot is simple, Nami Matsushima AKA Matsu the Scorpion (Meiko Kaji) is betrayed by her bent cop boyfriend Sugimi (Isao Natsuyagi), who sets her up to be raped by his gangster cohorts. After  Matsu is jailed for attempting to murder Sugimi, her only aim in life  is to escape in order to fully avenge herself. The story is told largely through visuals and partially in flashback, with lashings of torture, nudity, beatings and lesbianism.  A shower room cat-fight and other staples of this genre spin off into surreal flights of fancy, and much of the action is colour-coded – red for hatred, green for revenge. This makes Female Prisoner reminiscent of Italian shockers of the 1970s; and despite the colour-coding, which immediately brings to mind Dario Argento, it is much closer to the work of Lucio Fulci, with his dissolution of  linear time and taste for gory eye-gouging sequences.

Female Prisoner # 701: Scorpion boasts the production values of a Japanese studio film, but like the work of Seijun Suzuki (Tokyo Drifter, Branded To Kill etc.) it manages to transcend the formulaic limitations of production-line cinema. Nonetheless, the essential characteristics of Matsu the Scorpion will be familiar to anyone who has seen more than one ‘revenge’ film. There is no need for Matsu to exist as a fully formed ‘character’ because her motivation and superhuman strength are a product of her burning  desire for revenge. She can endure any physical pain because she is consumed by a hatred that enables her to triumph over all adversities and adversaries.

Two notable Japanese films that took up the troupe of ‘revenge’ as it was recast in Female Prisoner #701: Scorpion and developed it outside the women-in-prison genre are The Streetfighter (1974) starring Sonny Chiba, and Sex & Fury (1973) with Reiko Ike. Missing the revenge element, but sharing the psychedelic feel of Female Prisoner is Hanzo The Razor: Sword of Justice (1972) directed by Kenji Misumi. In Hanzo, lead actor Shintarô Katsu repeatedly whacks his prick with a big stick in order to toughen it, then masochistically pounds his throbbing member into a bag of rice. He does this to maintain his sexual prowess, which he deploys when interrogating female crime suspects, all of whom fall under the spell of his manly charms once he’s raped them. Straight down-the-line misogyny is only one of the factors that reveals Hanzo to be a far weaker film than Female Prisoner. While it is possible to ‘read’ all these movies as sexist, the way Meiko Kaji stares back at her ‘cinema’ audience in Female Prisoner problematises any pre-existing  ideas we might have about voyeurism, and brings to my mind the work of  Stephen Dwoskins. Dwoskins realises his ritualistic disemboweling of what is now falsely configured as ‘male gaze’ to best effect in Dyn Amo (1972). And like Ito’s work, Dwoskins’ films are very trippy.

Returning to the theme of revenge, it is hardly surprising it should provide such fertile material for film-makers, since many people in our (post)-modern world feel belittled and their resentment has also spawned a plethora of websites and publications devoted to this subject. Given that ‘revenge tactics’ such as ordering multiple pizza deliveries to a chosen victim are now so well-known they are unlikely to work (if they ever did), over the past few decades there has been an explosion of  how-to-do tips on this ‘subject’. I’d guess that most of those who read this largely redundant literature do so to make themselves feel less powerless, and that they are unlikely to utilise the ‘advice’ they’ve sought out. The following is a typical revenge scheme from 21st Century Revenge by Victor Santoro (Loompanics Unlimited, Port Townsend 1999):

“If you know your target intends to fly by commercial carrier, and you have access to his carry-on luggage for a minute, you have another possibility. Even a briefcase will be enough for your purposes. If one of your preparations has been to pick up a handgun that cannot be traced to you, say bought at a garage sale, slip the gun into his carry-on bag when you have a moment alone with it. You might have to make your own luck here by being a nice guy and offering to help him carry his bags down to the car or taxi.”

Anyone who thinks scams like this are worth trying out is either a cop or is looking at the world through a pair of X-Ray Spex, and a book of harassment tactics is not going to provide them with the life they so desperately need. The sense of resentment capitalism generates cannot be combated on a personal level, it requires collective action. The Female Prisoner series might give us a sense of this – especially when seen as originally intended in a cinema setting – through a collective identification with Matsu the Scorpion. On the other hand, books and websites dedicated to the style of revenge scheme propounded by the likes of Victor Santoro, are a very literal waste of time.

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

Graciela Carnevale shafted by The Pump House Gallery in London

Wednesday, June 10th, 2009

Grupo de Artistas de Vanguardia were an ‘avant-garde’ group active in the Argentinian city of Rosario in the late 1960s. The ground floor of the show currently dedicated to them at the Pump House Gallery focuses on their Experimental Art Cycle, ten pieces executed over six months in 1968. Among other things, Eduardo Favario invited people to a gallery opening, then locked the space in order to create a large crowd waiting to get in. Given that the Argentinian military dictatorship had made street gatherings illegal, this was considerably more provocative than doing the same thing in Paris or New York at that time.

Meanwhile, Graciela Carnevale locked the audience who came to the opening night of her show inside the gallery (the exhibition consisted of this event); it was the initiative of a passer-by, who smashed a plate glass window, that allowed them to escape. The Pump House exhibition brings together photographs, manifestos, reports and documentation of such activities by a variety of artists, from Carnevale’s personal archives.

Among other actions covered on the ground floor of the Pump House are attacks on the Braque Prize and the disruption of a Romero Brest lecture about the avant-garde. During the latter action, the lecture theatre was deliberately plunged into darkness, and then a statement was declaimed that concluded with the following:

“We believe that art means active commitment to reality, active because it hopes to transform this class-based society into something better.

“So it should constantly perturb the structures of official culture.

“We therefore declare that the life of “Che” Guevara and the actions of the French students are greater works of art than most of the rubbish hanging in the thousands of museums throughout the world.

“We hope to transform each piece of reality into an artistic object that will penetrate the world’s consciousness, revealing the intimate contradictions of this society of classes

“Death to all institutions. Long live the art of revolution!”

“Although the invocation of Che Guevara rather sticks in my throat, Grupo de Artistas de Vanguardia were definitely moving in the right direction.

The Artistas de Vanguardia work in two upstairs galleries is from Tucumán Arde (Tucumán Is Burning, 1968), an exhibition documenting life in the Tucumán region of Argentina and the ways in which the government’s repressive economic programme was exacerbating endemic poverty. Tucumán Arde was an effective piece of counter-government propaganda and, after being displayed for two weeks in Rosario, it was shown in Buenos Aires, where the cops closed the exhibition four hours after it opened.

I’d hoped to congratulate The Pump House Gallery for finally bringing an Artistas de Vanguardia show to London. Unfortunately the exhibition is completely botched, so while still worth seeing, it  is none-the-less necessary to denounce the curator(s) for presiding over an unmitigated disaster. The work is very badly displayed, and while it is possible to read everything, it is neither easy nor pleasant. However, far worse is the interpretive and press verbiage.

The Artistas de Vanguardia material is being exhibited alongside 140 books issued by the now defunct right-wing publisher Loompanics Unlimited. Lompanics was owned and run by Mike Hoy, who advocated an unregulated capitalist market in which people could freely trade in anything they wanted – ranging from drugs to nuclear weapons. Loompanics also sold how-to-do manuals on subjects such as interrogation, torture, murder and creating fake ID. They were primarily a mail order and latterly internet outlet using shock tactics to shift product. The following quote from a Loompanics online catalogue page dedicated to The Poor Man’s James Bond 2 edited by Kurt Saxon, gives an idea of the kind of material Loompanics pushed:

“Kurt Saxon strikes again! Five great works in one volume! This book includes the complete Poor Man’s Armorer, a unique work with a whole arsenal of improvised weaponry not in any other books. Homemade bazookas, silencers, booby traps, bolas, concealed weaponry, mines, full auto plans, caltrops, dart catapults, knife throwing, water pipe shotgun, smoke/gas grenades, zip guns, takedown rocket launchers, homemade missiles, and much more! The Poor Man’s Armorer is alone worth the price of Poor Man’s James Bond, Volume 2!

“Also included in this mammoth volume are American JuJitsu (1942), a comprehensive course that has every move illustrated and described; Improvised Munitions Handbook, TM31-210, written by the US Army for the Special Forces; Chemicals in War (1937), a comprehensive collection which includes formulas for every poison gas in use at the time; and The Chemistry of Powder and Explosives (1943), the bible of all those who want to assure themselves a supply of explosives.

“Kurt Saxon has done an excellent job of assembling hard-to-find information on mischief and mayhem – Sold for informational pur-poses only!”

The editor, Kurt Saxon, is a notorious white racist, survivalist, and former member of the American Nazi Party. In August 1970, he appeared before a Senate Investigations subcommittee holding hearings on bombings and terrorism. According to newspaper accounts, he suggested police and ‘concerned citizens’ use bombs to wipe out ‘leftists,’ and recommended that student demonstrators be machine-gunned in the streets. While I can comprehend why a misguided liberal might think it clever to juxtapose material from a mail order business sympathetic to the likes of Kurt Saxon, with an Artistas de Vanguardia show, the conceit is stupid. However, if the press and interpretive material issued by the Pump House Gallery is to be taken literally, then that is not what is going on here.

From the exhibition guide: “For both Grupo de Artistas de Vanguardia and Loompanics Unlimited context, audience, language and meaning were all intertwined. Methods of information gathering and public distribution were critical. The audience was as important as the artists and writers involved: both were in a social relationship with questions about morality of practice and responsibility at their core. The works were an exchange with their audience mainly through informal and self-responsible networks. Both considered how art might operate outside of the market place, attempting to take away the mythical power of the artist.”

Loompanics were concerned with propagating the market place and capitalist social relations, the idea they were in any way interested in ‘how art might operate outside of the market place’ is completely ludicrous. The confused nature of the interpretive material apparently reflects the political and other illiteracies of those involved in making the Loompanics Unlimited section of this show (the Dutch ‘art wankers’ Bik Van der Pol and the Pump House Gallery). My guess would be that they’ve seen Mike Hoy described as an anarchist, and from this made an illogical leap to the idea that Loompanics was somehow ‘left-wing’, based entirely on the fallacious assumption that all anarchists are left-wing. After all, Bik Van der Pol and company are artists and curators, so they may well not have bothered to  read the material they’re displaying. Anarchism, of course, simply means fetishised opposition to any and all states, and those who adopt the label often hold right-wing views – for an elaboration of this see my essay Anarchist Integralism.

When I enquired at The Pump House, I was told that the show was the work of a temporary curator called Hannah Liley. I’d never heard of Liley, and if she is responsible for the mess I saw, I hope I never hear of her again.  I could find no online or printed credits naming her as curator; perhaps she is so ashamed of herself she wants to remain anonymous. Allegedly the resident curator is called Sandra Ross, but I don’t know if she had a hand in the current Pump House show.

The Pump House Gallery is in Battersea Park, London SW11 4NJ, and this show is on until 19 July. If you can’t make it to south-west London (Paradise on Earth AKA where I was born) in time to see the exhibition, then much of the Grupo de Artistas de Vanguardia material it collects together is covered in Listen  Here Now! Argentine Art of the 1960s: Writings of the Avant-Garde edited by Ines Katzenstein (Museum of Modern Art, New York, 2004).

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