Saturday, August 13, 2011

Subconscious Film - Cave of Forgotten Dreams (2010)

These essays are specifically for reading after ones personal viewing.


       Was not playing in 3D when I saw it.
         
        The camera dolphins through fields of unknown, and we sway through the waves; innovation through aviating esotericism, and we haven’t even seen the caves. The cave itself is an interesting source without the drawings; the daunting exterior bares a story unto its own. The interviews, shown in intervals create a personal sense of intimacy; feeding information while oddly adding an additional background for nonfictional character development (Herzog exceeds in this originality within documentaries). When the drawings are revealed, the earth is lost with arguments of evolution; depth and creativity within pre-primitive humanity. These are no mere stick figures; these drawings are carved within the curves of eroded rock to accentuate depth of field. Minds that could not bend metals, only, art into glittered stone. The length of the film bares no issue. It might drag on a bit with the repetitiveness of mammoth rhinoceros and elephants, but eyes are lost in the unbelief that surrounds 35,000 years. 
        
        The original score, by Ernst Reijseger, covers the cave with blankets of warm avant-garde stimulation. One of the best original scores I’ve heard since Jonny Greenwood’s, There Will Be Blood score. Though, they almost can’t be compared because of the lack of theme in Reijsegers’; so, maybe I should say, the most pleasing I’ve listened to, and will continue to listen to after I’ve bought it, and when I buy the documentary at its release (dragging on).
        
        The content created by albino crocodiles, forgoes any dreary eyed criticisms (which I personally was not apart of) that might’ve been yawned; serving as both the clinging climax, and ultimate fall of the film. The separation is so extreme, you find comfort and similarity within the cave, and, these forgotten creatures. The separation evolves into a warm attachment and is subconsciously helped through the progress of the story. You never feel uncomfortable with it's difference simply because there's not one.

        Herzog has directed, written and narrated another documentary, ending with the sagacious earnestness of opinion, and filling its story with such an artistic expression, that the film revolts back into itself. While controversy might rise from Herzog's fictional talent (another party I’m not attached to), there is no argument against the genius he protrudes within the nonfictional medium of film.

Always

--- The Spandex Bandit


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