I enjoy jazz, I enjoy the discord of free jazz, and the difficulty of the more out there styling of folks like Derek Bailey and Peter Brotzmann. All of the liquid chaos suddenly solidifying. Unfortunately, I am not as familiar with jazz as I am other kinds of music, and am not at all confident writing about it in it’s historical context. So I won’t write about this excellent soundtrack of the 19dickty5 film of the same name.
This film though, reminds me of a category of film that I enjoy very much, one not generally discussed. It’s a category that can be described as almost documentary, or fictionalized documentary or something. The films I generally associate with it are films like Rockers, Downtown 81, and Breakin’. Films that attempt to capture a time and a place and a movement, but without the pretension or presumption of documentary. They recognize that a pure representation of the scene is impossible, so a fabrication is necessary. The cheeseyness of these films feels intentional, like a wink, an over arch to tell us that of course this is fiction, because it was impossible to catch the reality, but this is somehow close, closer than a talking head documentary. I love it, it’s my favorite kind of movie.