Mothlight (1963) - #184

Here is a film I made out of a deep grief...

I've watched Mothlight more than any other film that Stan Brakhage ever made, by far. That's not to say that I consider it his best, or greatest achievement, or anything like that. Not even close. I know he created other important works that communicate more viscerally with the viewer, had greater influence on subsequent filmmakers, and stretch the potential of cinema in more mind-bending directions than this three-and-a-half minute experiment that mostly consists of gluing insect parts and plant debris on to strips of clear tape that was later transferred to 16mm film. I just like Mothlight because it's such a great "what the... hell?!?!" example of an oddball film to show friends and loved ones when they're curious to know about my obsession with the Criterion Collection. Short, punchy, absurd and unforgettable: until you've seen Mothlight, found in by Brakhage: an anthology, Volume One, you've truly never seen anything quite like it before, unless its a mere imitation of the conceptual and artistic breakthrough that Stan Brakhage came up with in the depths of his despair sometime in 1963.

As Brakhage explains in the remarks on this (and other films in the set) that he recorded in 2002, mere months before he passed away from cancer the following year, Mothlight was a product of intense angst that he was feeling at the time, as his consuming passion for making films that were utterly non-commercial, obscure and perplexing to most viewers was costing him dearly in his personal life. One night as he was watching moths and other insects swoop to their doom into an irresistible flame, he drew the mental connection between their self-destructive but uncontrollable instincts and his own drive to express himself in ways that didn't help provide for his family's needs and often invited scorn or rejection from people too quick to dismiss the courageous, beautiful short films that he was creating out of a pure love for the medium. Though he had internalized that negative feedback to the point of considering himself a failure and contemplating suicide, Brakhage somehow persevered in his craft. Gathering up the remnants - wings, antennae, legs, and other components - of dead moths along with grasses, leaves, stems, petals and various flaky bits no longer easily identifiable, Brakhage found an artistic way to redeem their annihilation, giving these anonymous ephemeral life forms a form of cultural immortality. In the process, he created a visual phenomenon that challenges viewers to regard the natural world from a different perspective as the shapes, textures and colors explode across the screen, dazzling our eye and exposing us to new patterns of organization that would never have occurred to us if these elements had not been embedded on film in such a unique arrangement.

Even as a hobby, making movies is an expensive pastime, and given what very little I know about Brakhage the man (mainly, just what I see in the various interviews he gave in the supplements for this collection), he didn't seem too adept at generating an income, especially back then before he had established his reputation as a leading figure of the avant garde American cinema scene. Though he was getting some recognition at this time, his big breakthrough wouldn't come until the completion of Dog Star Man, which I'll cover here when I get to the end of the Criterion films of 1964. But for now, this post wraps up my coverage of Criterion '63. With those first four years (1960-63) serving as a sort of preamble to "The Sixties," we are about to get into an era of incredible cultural upheaval and provocation as the Old Hollywood vanishes forever, with taboos falling to pieces and boundaries being pushed at practically every turn. Mothlight is a perfectly succinct herald of the new and unpredictable shocks to the system that were on the way.

Next: Seduced and Abandoned