Stay Puft
12-04-2007, 06:38 AM
All That Jazz (1979, dir. Bob Fosse)
rec. dreamdead
This review is not really finished. I need more time.
http://i4.tinypic.com/6u4mo7m.jpg
One more time from the top - six beats - Gideon coughs six times, puts drops in his eyes, takes his pills, smokes in the shower. This is his life. This is his music. This is his movie. Goodbye, Joe Gideon, goodbye.
In the editing room, death is in. Anger, denial, bargaining, depression, acceptance. Intercut Angelique, waiting for Gideon to die. Internal dialogue and reflection of events past ramble concurrent with the editing of Gideon's film - is Fosse's film - rambling in its assembly, incomplete and autocritique. More music, more pills, more coughing, more showering - it's show time, folks. How many times do we have to look at this? Until Gideon gets it the way he wants it. Until Fosse gets it the way he wants it.
What does this amount to? A musical. Airotica. The assemblage of Gideon, expressed through music, through dance, through the body and work of others - Gideon's best work! (Is sex all he thinks about?) To be the director of a collaborative art, to be its author - to function the same, to die the same, but to die properly as one lives, fragmented and elusive. Musical numbers on the operating table, on his death bed; Gideon directing Gideon. Here are the pieces, the sights and sounds of All That Jazz. The assemblage of a cultural artifact, self-reflexive - the art reflects itself? Yes, the expression of the form of expression. The death of its author.
Acceptance. Two million two over the original budget (I'm dying). It's time to stop, it's time to let it go. (At those prices who can afford to live?) All That Jazz illuminates an ecstatic truth. The search for truth, for meaning, for a dream, the ideal - frustrated, unsatisfying, always incomplete (I accept). The art is never finished. Over budget, over schedule. It's better, but never finished. And who are we its authors? (Wait, a real dead body.) Scrambling for truth - sum total of our relationships, our metaphors. We are not who we make ourselves. Frustrated, unsatisfied, always incomplete. This is our life, our music, our movie. Goodbye, Bob Fosse, goodbye.
http://i3.tinypic.com/6oynzvl.jpghttp://i3.tinypic.com/6oynzvl.jpghttp://i3.tinypic.com/6oynzvl.jpghttp://i3.tinypic.com/6oynzvl.jpg
rec. dreamdead
This review is not really finished. I need more time.
http://i4.tinypic.com/6u4mo7m.jpg
One more time from the top - six beats - Gideon coughs six times, puts drops in his eyes, takes his pills, smokes in the shower. This is his life. This is his music. This is his movie. Goodbye, Joe Gideon, goodbye.
In the editing room, death is in. Anger, denial, bargaining, depression, acceptance. Intercut Angelique, waiting for Gideon to die. Internal dialogue and reflection of events past ramble concurrent with the editing of Gideon's film - is Fosse's film - rambling in its assembly, incomplete and autocritique. More music, more pills, more coughing, more showering - it's show time, folks. How many times do we have to look at this? Until Gideon gets it the way he wants it. Until Fosse gets it the way he wants it.
What does this amount to? A musical. Airotica. The assemblage of Gideon, expressed through music, through dance, through the body and work of others - Gideon's best work! (Is sex all he thinks about?) To be the director of a collaborative art, to be its author - to function the same, to die the same, but to die properly as one lives, fragmented and elusive. Musical numbers on the operating table, on his death bed; Gideon directing Gideon. Here are the pieces, the sights and sounds of All That Jazz. The assemblage of a cultural artifact, self-reflexive - the art reflects itself? Yes, the expression of the form of expression. The death of its author.
Acceptance. Two million two over the original budget (I'm dying). It's time to stop, it's time to let it go. (At those prices who can afford to live?) All That Jazz illuminates an ecstatic truth. The search for truth, for meaning, for a dream, the ideal - frustrated, unsatisfying, always incomplete (I accept). The art is never finished. Over budget, over schedule. It's better, but never finished. And who are we its authors? (Wait, a real dead body.) Scrambling for truth - sum total of our relationships, our metaphors. We are not who we make ourselves. Frustrated, unsatisfied, always incomplete. This is our life, our music, our movie. Goodbye, Bob Fosse, goodbye.
http://i3.tinypic.com/6oynzvl.jpghttp://i3.tinypic.com/6oynzvl.jpghttp://i3.tinypic.com/6oynzvl.jpghttp://i3.tinypic.com/6oynzvl.jpg