On the recent Friday the 13th, Jack Smith’s disembodied voice rattled through Anthology Film Archives.
Eric Mitchell once described his 1978 No Wave film Kidnapped as “a 1960s underground movie happening today.”
Prolific 20th-century polymath Harry Smith picked up every paper airplane he saw on the streets of Manhattan from 1961 to 1983.
Luther Price keeps you guessing.
Even for a jaded explorer in cinema’s nether regions, Northville Cemetery Massacre is a sleazy trip. “It’s a pretty nasty exploitation film,” Jon Dieringer, the programmer behind Anthology Film Archives’ current series, Industrial Terror, concedes, before detailing the specifics: rape, police brutality, and Detroit’s Scorpion Motorcycle Club.
A turn-of-the-century period piece, largely without a plot, that takes place almost entirely in a single room — and directed by a man who’s almost as old as the medium within which he works, cinema itself? Of course. Why not?
That protean, motley preoccupation sometimes called film theory has shown many faces over the years. But before today’s engagements with the medium’s correspondence with digital technologies and television, there was auteur theory.