Film
An old man shuffles along a broken brick wall, hurriedly, left to right. Although it is sunny he wears a heavy black overcoat and also a handkerchief, tucked in his hat and covering most of his neck and face. Later, he locks himself in a room and again paces left to right, around the room in waning circles, every wen in the wall absorbing his attention. He is particularly concerned to block mirrors and shut windows, a tattered black shade and gauzy curtains making a poor job of the latter. He chases out a cat, a dog, but not himself. It's Samuel Beckett's Film, what might be a staple of experimental film programs if only it were better known. Beckett's one original screenplay, Film was made by the playwright's regular U.S. stage director, Alan Schneider, in 1964, with Beckett himself on hand to supervise. The great cinematographer Boris Kaufman shot it. Despite the bad and obvious acting by the film's extras and a certain heaviness involved in its concept (it's all silent save for one sound; it illustrates a dictum by Bishop Berkeley), Film succeeds in generating tremendous and intense interest in its latter portion. As the haunted old man, Buster Keaton grants immense authority to the role, marked as his own with his trademark flat hat. Its rakish angle atop his head breaks up otherwise too-linear compositions even as the actor's obdurate presence animates what might have been a mere illustration of ideas. A very long buildup indeed leads to one of cinema's great close-ups in Film's final images.
-- Gregg Rickman
Film screens as part of "White Light/White Heat," a program of 35mm short films sponsored by the S.F. Cinematheque and playing Monday, March 31, at 7 and 9:30 p.m. at the Roxie, 16th Street & Valencia. Tickets are $6; call 863-1087. See Reps Etc. for details.
