In the general sense, I like my films to have some semblance of plot. For narrative films, I prefer a well-crafted, unique story that makes me think, develops its characters, and/or just happens to be a lot of fun. For documentary films, I enjoy a focused, logical presentation of information. On the whole, experimental cinema is not my cup of tea. Avant-garde film, even from the likes of the masters–Stan Brakhage, Peter Kubelka, Kenneth Anger, etc.–does very little for me; that doesn’t make me right, but it’s just how I feel. One of the few exceptions to this general rule is Michael Snow’s Wavelength (1967), which is an absolutely stunning work of art. That said, I’m not sure that I can ever really explain or justify why I like the film so much, and that’s part of the reason for this particular close-up: I’m problem-solving.
Wavelength is a 45-minute experimental film that spends its duration carefully and systematically zooming in on a windowed wall of a nondescript room. In a broad sense, that’s really all there is to it… the camera slowly zooms in on the wall of a room for three-quarters of an hour. That’s it… but there’s so much more. All that could be considered “plot” occurs in four small segments where “characters” (really just unknown, unidentified humans) enter the room for brief periods of time. First, a woman (who appears to be the owner of the apartment) enters with two movers carrying a piece of furniture. Later, the woman returns with a female friend, and the couple listen to “Strawberry Fields Forever” before departing. Next, after a sound of breaking glass, a man (Hollis Frampton) enters the room, collapses, and dies. The woman returns, placing a phone call to report the body of a dead man in her apartment. Just when you think the plot is going to pick up in intensity with this mysterious unknown corpse… it doesn’t. The camera just keeps zooming, until the body and nearly everything else in the room are gone. The true mystery, really, is what about this film about nothing still has me glued to the screen, waiting for more.
Over the course of the film’s 45-minute run, we begin to uncover some of Michael Snow’s playful structuring. The film’s title truly says more about the movie itself than any first-time viewer is likely to realize going in, and part of the joy of the film is making connections to the concept of “wavelengths” along the way: the shifts across the color spectrum of the filter over the course of the film, the increasing frequency of the background noise (a borderline annoying hum at points), the ever-so-slightly changing speed of the zoom, and the final revelatory moment where the true focus of the camera’s slow zoom is uncovered. Wavelength is, simply (and contradictorily) put, one of the simplest and most complex films I have ever seen, and I love it for that.
Bru's Reviews 