In case you haven't seen this, which has made the internet rounds this past week. (Works in Google Chrome or Firefox only.) It's the first instance I've seen of the internet's full utility deployed in the service of art. Kudos to filmmaker Chris Milk and Arcade Fire. When I worked at the nation's broadcaster I used to hear a lot of buzz about "user generated content" as the next wave of...content. The phrase never impressed me. This film, or digital experiment / interactive media experience, on the other hand, did.
Notes on affect // I don't claim to understand affect
This film's emotional affect may depend on one's generation, and socioeconomic background, and/or whether or not you think Arcade Fire is "over." Are you motivated by a desire to return "home."? Does your childhood home continue to give you nightmares? Psychoanalysts go nuts for this shit.
Alternately, did you grow up in the suburbs at the height of the suburbs? Do you find it passe to critique "the suburbs," or does the topic still hold critical relevance for you? Etc.
I watched it four times, keying in the house I lived in from 9 months to 9 years, the house I lived in from 9 years to 18 years, (incidentally that rock garden appeared after my time) the school I attended from kindergarten to grade 6, which was bordered by the backyard of the house I lived in from 9 years to 18 years, and the house I lived in from 18 years to 23 years. It never failed to produce a lump in the throat or a sense of vindication when the trees sprouted up from the streets. Watch my alienation grow with the size of each subsequent house.
Nostalgia is a sickness // I don't claim to understand sickness
The success, as a project, of this film is that it comes close to representing a collective experience, that of disaffected youth.9 years ago I workshopped a poetry manuscript about the city of Calgary and living downtown vs. living in the suburbs. One common critique I received was that my poems were not representative of (the commenter's experience of) Calgary. Then a friend came over to my parent's place, from the lower-middle class surroundings of the University, through downtown, to the leafy upper-middle class suburbia that raised/constrained me, bordered by Fish Creek National Park, a highway and the Tsuu T'ina Nation. My friend said, "You should bring the whole class here. Then they'd understand your project."
I suppose I could have. But I took it for what it was; a failure of the poem to communicate. This film communicates to me, because it produces an experience that I tried but failed to produce.But what are we collectively looking for when we look at art? Is it only to see ourselves reflected? Is it only to hear "You turned out a-ok"? What happens after the death of the subject? When you press run...run.
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Nikki Reimer is the author of one book of poetry, [sic]. She writes poems in Vancouver.