David Lynch Presents the History of Surrealist Film (1987)

What liv­ing direc­tor has drawn the descrip­tor “sur­re­al” more often than David Lynch? If you’ve seen, or rather expe­ri­enced, a few of his films — par­tic­u­lar­ly Eraser­head, Lost High­way, Mul­hol­land Dr., or Inland Empire, or even the first half of his tele­vi­sion series Twin Peaks — you know he’s earned it. Like any sur­re­al­ist worth his salt, Lynch cre­ates his own ver­sion of real­i­ty, with its own set of often unfath­omable and inex­plic­a­bly but emo­tion­al­ly and psy­cho­log­i­cal­ly res­o­nant qual­i­ties. In 1987, the year after his break­through Blue Vel­vet opened in the­aters, the BBC appar­ent­ly thought him enough of an author­i­ty on the mat­ter of cin­e­mat­ic sur­re­al­ism to enlist him to present an episode of Are­na on the sub­ject.

And so we’ve high­light­ed, just above in two parts, the fruit of their col­lab­o­ra­tion, with apolo­gies for the straight-from-the-VHS qual­i­ty of the video. (I just think of the slight mud­dled­ness as adding anoth­er wel­come lay­er of unre­al­i­ty to the pro­ceed­ings.)

Lynch’s duties on the broad­cast include pro­vid­ing facts about the films and film­mak­ers excerpt­ed through­out to tell the his­to­ry of sur­re­al­ist film. (He also pro­vides sev­er­al choice opin­ions, as when he calls Philadel­phia “one of the sick­est, most cor­rupt, deca­dent, fear-rid­den cities that exists.”) We see bits and pieces of pic­tures like Luis Buñuel and Sal­vador Dali’s 1929 Un Chien Andalou (above), Jean Cocteau’s 1932 Blood of a Poet, Fer­nand Léger’s 1947 The Girl with the Pre­fab­ri­cat­ed Heart, and Chris Marker’s 1962 La Jetée. Not only does Lynch con­tex­tu­al­ize them, he dis­cuss­es their influ­ence on his own work. Casu­al film­go­ers who’ve caught a Lynch movie or two and tak­en them as the imag­in­ings of an enter­tain­ing weirdo will, after watch­ing this episode, come to under­stand how long a tra­di­tion they fit into — and they’ll no doubt want to see not just more of Lynch’s work, but his sources of inspi­ra­tion as well. (They may, how­ev­er, after hear­ing all he has to say here, still regard him as a weirdo.)

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Relat­ed Con­tent:

Watch Dreams That Mon­ey Can Buy, a Sur­re­al­ist Film by Man Ray, Mar­cel Duchamp, Alexan­der Calder, Fer­nand Léger & Hans Richter

Un Chien Andalou: Revis­it­ing Buñuel and Dalí’s Sur­re­al­ist Film

The Hearts of Age: Orson Welles’ Sur­re­al­ist First Film (1934)

The Seashell and the Cler­gy­man: The World’s First Sur­re­al­ist Film

Man Ray and the Ciné­ma Pur: Four Sur­re­al­ist Films From the 1920s

David Lynch’s Sur­re­al Com­mer­cials

Col­in Mar­shall hosts and pro­duces Note­book on Cities and Cul­ture and writes essays on lit­er­a­ture, film, cities, Asia, and aes­thet­ics. He’s at work on a book about Los Ange­lesA Los Ange­les Primer. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall.

Rocky’s Famous Trip up the Art Museum Steps Spoofed by the Pranksters of Improv Everywhere

I believe some movies are so clas­sic, they should be con­sid­ered untouch­able, an opin­ion I wish more Broad­way pro­duc­ers shared.

Brace your­self. Rocky, Sylvester Stal­lone’s heart­warm­ing tale about a small-pota­toes box­er in 1970s Philadel­phia, has been turned into a musi­cal.

No! Why!? Adri­an!!!

It’s like­ly not as bad as I fear. Stal­lone him­self is co-pro­duc­ing, young direc­tor Alex Tim­bers is deserved­ly hot, and lyri­cist Lynn Ahrens is respon­si­ble, in large degree, for School­house Rock.

All the same, prank col­lec­tive Improv Every­where’s take on one of Rock­y’s most icon­ic scenes falls more square­ly with­in my com­fort zone. The first install­ment in the group’s week­ly Movies in Real Life series, this Rocky fea­tures looka­like come­di­an Dan Black run­ning through the streets of Philly, a crowd of kids tail­ing him on the final leg. (“So, uh, you have par­ents?” he gasps, atop the art muse­um steps.)

As with the annu­al No-Pants Sub­way Ride and many oth­er Improv Every­where stunts, a great deal of fun comes from the reac­tions of unsus­pect­ing passers­by. Some of my favorites are view­able in the prank’s Mis­sion Report, a fol­low up with less need to stick to the script. Still in char­ac­ter, Black demands roy­al­ty checks from street ven­dors sell­ing Rocky t‑shirts and screws with tourists pos­ing in front of the famed Rocky stat­ue. Small won­der Improv Every­where’s mot­to is “we cause scenes.”

For those in need of refresh­ment, here is the orig­i­nal:

The most recent Movies in Real Life fea­tures a boul­der chas­ing Indi­ana Jones through Cen­tral Park to the Muse­um of Nat­ur­al His­to­ry. Tune in to the col­lec­tive’s Youtube chan­nel every Tues­day this fall for anoth­er fresh but faith­ful take on a famil­iar film.

Relat­ed Con­tent: 

What Hap­pens When Every­day Peo­ple Get a Chance to Con­duct a World-Class Orches­tra

The Do’s and Don’ts of Improv Com­e­dy with Liam Nee­son, Ricky Ger­vais, Tina Fey, and Del Close

Whose Line Is It Any­way? The Com­plete Improv Series Now Free Online

Ayun Hal­l­i­day’s most recent book is the graph­ic nov­el, Peanut . Fol­low her@AyunHalliday

Free Online: 10 of the Greatest Silent Films of All Time

Silent films had a respectable show­ing, as it were, on Sight & Sound mag­a­zine’s last big crit­ics poll. The votes, cast to deter­mine the great­est motion pic­tures of all time, placed three silents among the top ten over­all: F.W. Mur­nau’s Sun­rise, Dzi­ga Ver­tov’s Man with a Movie Cam­era, and Carl Theodor Drey­er’s The Pas­sion of Joan of Arc. These, of course, also rank at the top of Sight & Sound’s sep­a­rate list of the ten great­est silent films of all time, which came out as fol­lows:

  1. Sun­rise (F.W. Mur­nau, 1927)
  2. Man with a Movie Cam­era (Dzi­ga Ver­tov, 1929)
  3. The Pas­sion of Joan of Arc (Carl Theodor Drey­er, 1928)
  4. Bat­tle­ship Potemkin (Sergei Eisen­stein, 1925)
  5. The Gen­er­al (Buster Keaton, 1926)
  6. Metrop­o­lis (Fritz Lang, 1927)
  7. City Lights (Char­lie Chap­lin, 1931)
  8. Sher­lock Jr. (Buster Keaton, 1924)
  9. Greed (Erich von Stro­heim, 1923)
  10. Un chien andalou (Luis Buñuel, 1928) and Intol­er­ance (D.W. Grif­fith, 1916)

Though all of these pic­tures came out with­in the seem­ing­ly short 15-year span between 1916 and 1921, they rep­re­sent a wide cin­e­mat­ic diver­si­ty: in form, in theme, in genre, in place of ori­gin (of both the films and the film­mak­ers), in sen­si­bil­i­ty, in aes­thet­ics. You prob­a­bly rec­og­nize all of their names, espe­cial­ly if you’ve tak­en a film stud­ies course, and you may think of them all as famil­iar, but how many have you watched? Even we avowed cinephiles have a way of trick­ing our­selves into believ­ing we’ve seen all the most impor­tant movies in their entire­ty, when in real­i­ty we know only about, albeit some­times a lot about, their place in the his­to­ry of cin­e­ma and their cur­rents of influ­ence that flow into films made today.

But thanks to the inter­net, we can catch up with ease. Giv­en the age of works from the silent era, most of them have passed into the pub­lic domain. You can there­fore watch almost all of the top ten great­est silent films of all time, as select­ed by the 2012 Sight & Sound crit­ics poll, for free, online, right now. Some you can even watch right here, with­out leav­ing Open Cul­ture: at the top of the post, you’ll find Sun­rise. Just above, we’ve fea­tured Man with a Movie Cam­eraBelow, The Pas­sion of Joan of Arc. To watch the oth­ers, sim­ply click their linked titles on the list. After you’ve enjoyed every­thing from Mur­nau’s Ger­man-Expres­sion­ist-by-way-of-Hol­ly­wood romance to Keaton’s epic com­e­dy to Buñuel’s sur­re­al­ist pro­ces­sion of still-trou­bling visions, you’ll not just know where many mod­ern cin­e­mat­ic tech­niques came from, you’ll feel how they’ve evolved over the decades. All of the films list­ed above appear on our list of Great Silent Films, part of our larg­er col­lec­tion, 4,000+ Free Movies Online: Great Clas­sics, Indies, Noir, West­erns, Doc­u­men­taries & More.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

The 10 Great­est Films of All Time Accord­ing to 846 Film Crit­ics

100 Free Silent Films: The Great Clas­sics 

The Pow­er of Silent Movies, with The Artist Direc­tor Michel Haz­anavi­cius

Hol­ly­wood, Epic Doc­u­men­tary Chron­i­cles the Ear­ly His­to­ry of Cin­e­ma

535 Free Movies Online: Great Clas­sics, Indies, Noir, West­erns, etc.

Col­in Mar­shall hosts and pro­duces Note­book on Cities and Cul­ture and writes essays on lit­er­a­ture, film, cities, Asia, and aes­thet­ics. He’s at work on a book about Los Ange­lesA Los Ange­les Primer. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall.

Quentin Tarantino’s 10 Favorite Films of 2013

Quentin_Tarantino_Django_3

The Quentin Taran­ti­no Archives, which bills itself, per­haps not hyper­bol­i­cal­ly, as the “web’s biggest and most pop­u­lar web­site about Quentin Taran­ti­no and his movies,” has post­ed an exclu­sive — a list of the film­mak­er’s favorite movies of 2013, through the month of Sep­tem­ber.

1. After­noon Delight (Jill Soloway)
2. Before Mid­night (Richard Lin­klater)
3. Blue Jas­mine (Woody Allen)
4. The Con­jur­ing (James Wan)
5. Drink­ing Bud­dies (Joe Swan­berg)
6. Frances Ha (Noah Baum­bach)
7. Grav­i­ty (Alfon­so Cuarón)
8. Kick Ass 2 (Jeff Wad­low)
9. The Lone Ranger (Gore Verbin­s­ki)
10. This Is The End (Seth Rogen, Evan Gold­berg)

There you have the films that touched Taran­ti­no over the past nine months. But are you won­der­ing about the longer term? The past 25 years? The entire his­to­ry of cin­e­ma? If so, see:

Quentin Taran­ti­no Lists His Favorite Films Since 1992

Quentin Taran­ti­no Lists the 12 Great­est Films of All Time: From Taxi Dri­ver to The Bad News Bears

via Fla­vor­wire

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Watch My Best Friend’s Birth­day, Quentin Tarantino’s 1987 Debut Film

Film­mak­ing Advice from Quentin Taran­ti­no and Sam Rai­mi (NSFW)

Quentin Tarantino’s 75 Minute Inter­view with Howard Stern

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Stanley Kubrick to Ingmar Bergman: “You Are the Greatest Filmmaker at Work Today” (1960)

If you saw our post on Stan­ley Kubrick­’s ten favorite films in 1963, you may remem­ber that Ing­mar Bergman ranked high on his list, specif­i­cal­ly with 1957’s Wild Straw­ber­ries. Three years ear­li­er, Kubrick had mailed the Swedish film­mak­er a fan let­ter prais­ing his “vision of life,” “cre­ation of mood and atmos­phere,” “avoid­ance of the obvi­ous,” and “truth­ful­ness and com­plete­ness of char­ac­ter­i­za­tion.” Could a screen­ing of Wild Straw­ber­ries, a film which stands as evi­dence of all those qual­i­ties, have moved the 31-year-old Kubrick to write to Bergman such words of appre­ci­a­tion about his “unearth­ly and bril­liant” work? The dream sequence above, made haunt­ing in a way only Bergman could do it, show­cas­es just one of the many facets of that pic­ture’s mood, atmos­phere, and unearth­li­ness.

Along­side Vic­tor Sjöström as the bad-dream­ing pro­fes­sor Isak Borg, Wild Straw­ber­ries stars Ingrid Thulin as his con­temp­tu­ous daugh­ter-in-law Mar­i­anne. Kubrick sin­gles Thulin out as one of the Bergman reg­u­lars who “live vivid­ly in my mem­o­ry,” though she may also have attained her place in that cre­ative­ly hyper­ac­tive mind on the strength of her gen­der bound­ary-cross­ing per­for­mance in 1958’s The Magi­cian, view­able just above. Read all that Kubrick wrote to Bergman below, or vis­it the orig­i­nal post fea­tur­ing it at Let­ters of Note. You’ll notice that Kubrick also name-checks Max von Sydow, as any seri­ous Bergman enthu­si­ast should: not only did the man appear in both Wild Straw­ber­ries and The Magi­cian, but by 1960 he’d also starred as a venge­ful father in Bergman’s The Vir­gin Spring and, of course, as the Cru­sades-weary knight Anto­nius Block in The Sev­enth Seal, which would become a sig­na­ture film for both actor and direc­tor. Whether those par­tic­u­lar per­for­mances cap­tured Kubrick­’s imag­i­na­tion I don’t know, but I feel sure of one thing: play chess with Death, and you right­ful­ly earn the admi­ra­tion of the next big auteur.

Feb­ru­ary 9, 1960

Dear Mr. Bergman,

You have most cer­tain­ly received enough acclaim and suc­cess through­out the world to make this note quite unnec­es­sary. But for what­ev­er it’s worth, I should like to add my praise and grat­i­tude as a fel­low direc­tor for the unearth­ly and bril­liant con­tri­bu­tion you have made to the world by your films (I have nev­er been in Swe­den and have there­fore nev­er had the plea­sure of see­ing your the­ater work). Your vision of life has moved me deeply, much more deeply than I have ever been moved by any films. I believe you are the great­est film-mak­er at work today. Beyond that, allow me to say you are unsur­passed by any­one in the cre­ation of mood and atmos­phere, the sub­tle­ty of per­for­mance, the avoid­ance of the obvi­ous, the truth­full­ness and com­plete­ness of char­ac­ter­i­za­tion. To this one must also add every­thing else that goes into the mak­ing of a film. I believe you are blessed with won­der­full actors. Max von Sydow and Ingrid Thulin live vivid­ly in my mem­o­ry, and there are many oth­ers in your act­ing com­pa­ny whose names escape me. I wish you and all of them the very best of luck, and I shall look for­ward with eager­ness to each of your films.

Best Regards,

(Signed, ‘Stan­ley Kubrick’)

Stan­ley Kubrick

via Let­ters of Note

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Stan­ley Kubrick’s List of Top 10 Films (The First and Only List He Ever Cre­at­ed)

Rare 1960s Audio: Stan­ley Kubrick’s Big Inter­view with The New York­er

Stan­ley Kubrick’s Very First Films: Three Short Doc­u­men­taries

Ing­mar Bergman’s Soap Com­mer­cials Wash Away the Exis­ten­tial Despair

Col­in Mar­shall hosts and pro­duces Note­book on Cities and Cul­ture and writes essays on lit­er­a­ture, film, cities, Asia, and aes­thet­ics. He’s at work on a book about Los Ange­lesA Los Ange­les Primer. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall.

Slavoj Žižek’s Pervert’s Guide to Ideology Decodes The Dark Knight and They Live

Do we have a more ener­getic com­men­ta­tor on pop­u­lar cul­ture than Slavoj Žižek, the Sloven­ian phi­los­o­phy pro­fes­sor who has risen to the role the Chron­i­cle of High­er Edu­ca­tion calls “the Elvis of cul­tur­al the­o­ry”? In the 2006 essay film The Per­vert’s Guide to Cin­e­ma, Žižek offered psy­cho­an­a­lyt­ic read­ings of such pic­tures as The Red ShoesAlien, and The Matrix. (See him take on Ver­ti­go in a clip fea­tured here before.) Now he returns with a sequel, The Per­vert’s Guide to Ide­ol­o­gy. At the top, you can see him expound upon the role of ide­ol­o­gy in They Live, John Car­pen­ter’s 1988 sci­ence-fic­tion semi-com­e­dy in which wrestler “Row­dy” Rod­dy Piper hap­pens upon a pair of sun­glass­es that, when worn, reveal a host of sin­is­ter alien com­mand­ments behind adver­tis­ing and the media. “These glass­es func­tion like cri­tique-of-ide­ol­o­gy glass­es,” Žižek asserts.“We live, so we are told, in a post-ide­o­log­i­cal soci­ety. We are addressed by social author­i­ty not as sub­jects who should do their duty, but sub­jects of plea­sures: ‘Real­ize your true poten­tial,’ ‘Be your­self,’ ‘Lead a sat­is­fy­ing life.’ When you put the glass­es on, you see dic­ta­tor­ship in democ­ra­cy.”

Just above, Žižek looks into the ide­ol­o­gy of The Dark Knight, Christo­pher Nolan’s sec­ond Bat­man movie. “Who is Jok­er?” he asks. “Which is the lie he is oppos­ing? The tru­ly dis­turb­ing thing about The Dark Knight is that it ele­vates a lie into a gen­er­al social prin­ci­ple: the prin­ci­ple of orga­ni­za­tion of our social, polit­i­cal life, as if our soci­eties can remain sta­ble, can func­tion, only if based on a lie, as if the truth — and this telling the truth is embod­ied in Jok­er — means destruc­tion.” Last year at the Toron­to Inter­na­tion­al Film fes­ti­val, Žižek par­tic­i­pat­ed in an on-stage con­ver­sa­tion about the project (intro­duc­tion, part one, two), “explain­ing” in his inim­itably round­about fash­ion some of the think­ing behind these cin­e­mat­ic cul­tur­al analy­ses. The Per­vert’s Guide to Ide­ol­o­gy also uses oth­er big-name movies like Taxi Dri­ver, Titan­icWest Side Sto­ry (and Jaws, some of which you can see him com­ment briefly upon in the trail­er) as jump­ing off points for extend­ed mono­logues on the unseen forces that he finds shape our beliefs and behav­ior. Unseen, of course, unless you’ve got those super­pow­ered sun­glass­es — or unless, even more uncon­ven­tion­al­ly, you’ve got a mind like Slavoj Žižek’s.

via Metafil­ter

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Žižek!: 2005 Doc­u­men­tary Reveals the “Aca­d­e­m­ic Rock Star” and “Mon­ster” of a Man

Good Cap­i­tal­ist Kar­ma: Zizek Ani­mat­ed

Slavoj Žižek: How the Marx Broth­ers Embody Freud’s Id, Ego & Super-Ego

A Shirt­less Slavoj Žižek Explains the Pur­pose of Phi­los­o­phy from the Com­fort of His Bed

After a Tour of Slavoj Žižek’s Pad, You’ll Nev­er See Inte­ri­or Design in the Same Way

Col­in Mar­shall hosts and pro­duces Note­book on Cities and Cul­ture and writes essays on lit­er­a­ture, film, cities, Asia, and aes­thet­ics. He’s at work on a book about Los Ange­lesA Los Ange­les PrimerFol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall.

Watch Dating Dos and Don’ts: An Old-School Instructional Guide to Teenage Romance (1949)

From the mid-1940s to the mid-1970s, Coro­net Instruc­tion­al Media, that for­mi­da­ble fac­to­ry of class­room edu­ca­tion­al films, taught Amer­i­ca’s school­child­ren how to study, how to land a job, how to per­form their soci­etal and fil­ial duties, how to bathe. Cer­tain gen­er­a­tions no doubt retain vivid mem­o­ries, fond or oth­er­wise, of such 16-mil­lime­ter stand­bys as Good Eat­ing HabitsJoan Avoids a ColdAre You Pop­u­lar? and Com­mu­nism. In 1949, Coro­net came up with a short sub­ject rather clos­er to the eter­nal inter­ests of the teenag­er: Dat­ing: Do’s and Don’ts. This twelve-minute film, direct­ed Gilbert Altschul with the assis­tance of Reuben Hill, Research Pro­fes­sor of Fam­i­ly Life at the Uni­ver­si­ty of North Car­oli­na, nav­i­gates the gar­den of fork­ing paths formed by all the choic­es, from ide­al­ly gen­tle­man-like to poten­tial­ly dis­as­trous, that con­front young Woody on his very first date.

Who, for instance, should Woody ask to join him at Cen­tral High­’s Hi-Teen Car­ni­val? “Whose com­pa­ny would you enjoy?” asks the voice-of-mid­cen­tu­ry-author­i­ty nar­ra­tor.” “Well, one thing you can con­sid­er is looks. Woody thought of Jan­ice, and how good-look­ing she was. He real­ly had to rate to date some­body like her.” Still: “It’s too bad Jan­ice always acts so supe­ri­or and bored. She’d make a fel­low feel awk­ward and infe­ri­or.” Per­haps the more ground­ed Bet­ty? “And yet, it just does­n’t seem as if she’d be much fun. What about Anne? She knows how to have a good time.” Even 64 years on, I dare­say fel­lows would still do well to cleave to the Annes of the world. But giv­en how far the pen­du­lum of sex­u­al pol­i­tics has swung since Coro­net’s hey­day, oth­er pieces of of Dat­ing: Do’s and Don’ts advice seems more quaint than cur­rent. For a more mod­ern per­spec­tive, see also How to Be a “Mr. Good-Date,” a Looney Tunes par­o­dy star­ring Bugs Bun­ny as the hope­ful suit­or Reg­gie Geran­de­vu and Elmer Fudd as the pro­tec­tive home­own­er of whom he runs afoul.

When you’re done watch­ing Dat­ing: Do’s and Don’ts, don’t miss Coro­net’s 1951 sequel of sorts “Going Steady.”

Relat­ed Con­tent:

The Sto­ry Of Men­stru­a­tion: Walt Disney’s Sex Ed Film from 1946

Duck and Cov­er, or: How I Learned to Elude the Bomb

How to Spot a Com­mu­nist Using Lit­er­ary Crit­i­cism: A 1955 Man­u­al from the U.S. Mil­i­tary

Col­in Mar­shall hosts and pro­duces Note­book on Cities and Cul­ture and writes essays on lit­er­a­ture, film, cities, Asia, and aes­thet­ics. He’s at work on a book about Los Ange­lesA Los Ange­les PrimerFol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall.

Watch The Surreal 1960s Films and Commercials of Jim Henson

Today marks the 77th anniver­sary of Jim Hen­son’s birth. To cel­e­brate the pup­peteer, film­mak­er, and Mup­pet inven­tor’s life and career, we offer here three of his ear­ly short works. Most of us know only cer­tain high-pro­file pieces of Hen­son’s oeu­vre: The Mup­pet Show, the Mup­pet movies, Sesame Street, or per­haps such pic­tures now much attend­ed on the camp revival cir­cuit as Labyrinth and The Dark Crys­tal. But even by the Mup­pet Show’s 1974 debut, Hen­son (1936–1990) had already put in decades devel­op­ing his dis­tinc­tive aes­thet­ic of pup­pets and pup­petry. We’ve pre­vi­ous­ly fea­tured the unchar­ac­ter­is­ti­cal­ly vio­lent com­mer­cials he pro­duced for Wilkins Cof­fee between 1957 and 1961 and Lim­bo, the Orga­nized Mind, his sev­en­ties trip of a John­ny Car­son seg­ment. But unless you count your­self as a seri­ous Hen­son, fan, you prob­a­bly haven’t yet seen the likes of Mem­o­ries, The Paper­work Explo­sion, and Rip­ples. Cre­at­ing each of these shorts, the young Hen­son col­lab­o­rat­ed with pianist, jazz com­pos­er, and sound engi­neer Ray­mond Scott, now remem­bered as a pio­neer in mod­ern elec­tron­ic music.

The par­tic­u­lar sound of Scott, no stranger to scor­ing car­toons (we’ve by now heard it in every­thing from Looney Tunes to Ren and Stimpy to The Simp­sons), also suit­ed the sorts of visions Hen­son real­ized for his var­i­ous projects of the six­ties. Mem­o­ries, which plunges into a man’s mind as he remem­bers (with nar­ra­tion by Hen­son him­self) one par­tic­u­lar­ly pleas­ant after­noon near­ly ruined by a headache, appeared in 1967 as a con­tin­u­a­tion of Hen­son’s com­mer­cial career; the pain reliev­er Bufferin, you see, lit­er­al­ly saved the day. That same year, the com­mer­cial (and in form, almost mini-doc­u­men­tary) The Paper­work Explo­sion illus­trates the time- space‑, and labor-sav­ing advan­tages of IBM’s then-new word-pro­cess­ing sys­tem, the MT/STRip­ples Hen­son and Scott put togeth­er for Mon­tre­al’s Expo 1967. It takes place, like Mem­o­ries and Lim­bo, inside human con­scious­ness: an archi­tect (Sesame Street writer-pro­duc­er Jon Stone) drops a sug­ar cube in his cof­fee, and its rip­ples trig­ger a mem­o­ry of throw­ing peb­bles into a pond, which itself sends rip­ples through a host of his oth­er poten­tial thoughts. You’ve got to watch to under­stand how Hen­son and Scott pulled this off; con­ve­nient­ly, they only take one minute to do it.

For more ear­ly works by Hen­son, see this Metafil­ter post.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Jim Henson’s Ani­mat­ed Film, Lim­bo, the Orga­nized Mind, Pre­sent­ed by John­ny Car­son (1974)

Jim Henson’s Orig­i­nal, Spunky Pitch for The Mup­pet Show

Jim Hen­son Pilots The Mup­pet Show with Adult Episode, “Sex and Vio­lence” (1975)

Jim Henson’s Zany 1963 Robot Film Uncov­ered by AT&T: Watch Online

Col­in Mar­shall hosts and pro­duces Note­book on Cities and Cul­ture and writes essays on lit­er­a­ture, film, cities, Asia, and aes­thet­ics. He’s at work on a book about Los Ange­lesA Los Ange­les PrimerFol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall.

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Open Culture was founded by Dan Colman.