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This past week, the SAC department held a series of panel discussions on queer theory and film, drawing professors from across the country to participate in a discussion of film’s potential to challenge and redefine an audience’s understanding of sexuality. In the spirit of this discussion, the department screened Philippe Vallois’ 1976 film Johan, a film which exemplifies the controversy surrounding the boundary-pushing potential of the entertainment industry.

Johan is a mockumentary, or fake documentary, following a director who’s lead actor and lover has been arrested. Grief stricken at this separation and frustrated by the loss of his film’s star, the director surveys France for a new male actor comfortable with filming scenes containing explicit homosexual content.

A little background—although released in 1976, Johan did not make it into public discourse until decades later due to censorship and controversy. The film is daring and explicit, featuring multiple scenes involving sexual intercourse, between man and woman and man and man. Censors found the material far too offensive to be screened in theaters, and for years, Johan remained an unseen work. Years later, distribution mechanisms such as VHS, DVD, and re-screenings helped gain this film an audience.

The controversy surrounding Johan today involves more than the graphic portrayal of homosexuality. Some viewers highly appreciate the innovative style and bold subject matter of the film, while many others believe the film lacks an engaging plot. They believe Johan’s success is due entirely to controversy—a film that is style over substance, a film which generates controversy for publicity.

Had I seen the film without attending the lecture events, I would have fallen into the latter category of Johan viewers, appreciative of the film’s unique style (one of the first instances of mockumentary, the fake documentary style. A blend of color footage and black and white) but unhappy with the lack of an engaging plot and dramatic resolution. After considering film’s potential to influence public thought, I see Johan as a far more impressive work of art. Contextually, the film is a subversive attempt to redefine sexuality and ethics.

To understand Johan in an historical context, consider what the act of watching a film in the theater. For approximately two hours, a group of people walk into a dark room and stare at a series of moving images, contrived by a director to deliver not only entertainment, but also ideas about what the world is and what it ought to be. According to this idea, watching a film is like participating in a dream, seeing a new vision for the world.

Johan is a radical re-envisioning of social norms. Drawing on explicit sex scenes and portrayals of homosexuality, the film forces audiences to face a reality repressed—the fact that homosexuality and heterosexuality are both basic libidinal impulses. This is Vallois’ dream, and the affect of mockumentary helps not only to comment on society, but on the relationship between media and social norms. The director’s anguish and struggle to find the right actor demonstrates the conservative, repressed society that was 1976 Europe. In direct contrast to the portrayal of contemporary society is Vallois’ dream—a society where all forms of sexuality can be expressed freely. Films like Johan are powerful tools to redefine socially accepted behavior. There can be no change without a radical idea.

Shofar, a free jazz/klezmer trio of saxophone, (Mikołaj Trzaska) electric guitar (Raphael Rogiński) and drums (special guest Tim Daisy!) performed Tuesday night at Kerrytown Concert House. Every member had such unique personality as a soloist, and the synthesis was intensely kinetic. There was no preoccupation with blending sound—this chamber music trope was sidelined in favor of energy and layers.

Macho Polish frontman, Mikolaj wailed on saxophone with a warm trembling vibrato. I’ve never heard such fast sustained vibrato on saxophone before, and I imagine it imitates a Polish or klezmer folk style—the origins from which Mikolaj harkens! The gorgeous warble would often turn impetuously to a polyphonic screech (in which a horn player literally screams into their instrument, creating another pitch that layers with the sounded pitch.) At one of my favorite moments, Mikolaj’s polyphonics ripped into a full gutteral growl that seemed to surprise even him. (Like Bruce Banner realizing he has transformed into the Hulk.) Polyphonics are never about a sterile delivery, so the more roughness, the more squeak, and the more extraneous animal noises the better.

Raphael’s electric guitar playing had at least as much rock to it as jazz, but often when the texture would thin out during a solo he would show a much more gentle meandering approach to melody while fingerstylin multiple voicings.

Tim Daisy was playing in his toy box of bells and whistles for the duration concert. He was in constant motion, like a modern dancer, grabbing for different gongs, and hitting his broom-tipped shaker on every surface within arms reach. At one point he, one-handed, was turning audio recorder samples on and off. This was the first time I have ever seen this in an instrumental performance, way to go Tim Daisy! It was awesome! This is one of the most dynamic performances by a drummer I have ever seen. It reminded me of baroque classical music, where no two notes are ever intended to be the same. There is no such thing as groove or imitative loops—there is only the innovation incited by every musical whim that appeared in his mind, shaped only by what is happening in that specific moment.

Shofar gave some of the best endings– beautiful examples of emergence, like when fireflies light up in perfect sychrony even though there is no apparent organizational push to do so. (Half the things I know are because of Radiolab.) In free jazz there is no predetermined musical form, so convincing endings are so difficult. This trio felt them as one, and often ended with these amazing cliffhanger climaxes, no one so much as stutter stepping to the drop-off.

This Sunday I attended a rendition of the play The Violet Hour, written by Richard Greenberg, directed and performed by students at the University of Michigan school of Theater, Music, and Dance. The play is highly reflexive in nature, not only about itself, but also about the act of artistic creation itself, particularly in an increasingly technologically sophisticated world. Given the highly relevant and nuanced themes of the play, I imagine expressing these ideas through an authentic, relatable performance is a daring and difficult attempt. That being said, I was highly impressed by the performance, which has left me reflecting upon my own role as an artist ever since. I believe my highly personal reaction to the play is a testament to the strength not only in its writing, but in its live performance.

The Violet Hour is set in 1919, in the wake of a world forever changed by leaps forward in technology, in a country scarred by a world war of destructive proportions beyond any previous war in human history. Although technology is absent on stage, the play alludes to the grim specter of technological change which haunts modernity. The sound design on set perpetually reminds the audience of the marriage between human life and modernization—meaning the integration of machinery to enhance productivity. The clicking and whirring of this invisible, nameless machine resonates serves to comment on contemporary society just as much as it does on 1920’s America—I cannot think of a single day since returning to school during which I have not been surrounded by a background layer of mechanized sounds, be it the churning factories near the medical center, the buzzing of my laptop, or static from my television set. The events depicted in Violet Hour are not intended to portray an isolated incident, but rather an historical moment of societal evolution—the nondescript publishing room in the play can represent the very backdrop of any publishing room. As with all other aspects of life, creativity too has been integrated with technological production.

Violet Hour also delves into questions of artistic creativity and in particular, the question of originality. When independent publisher John Seavering, a man in the position to publish a single book, debates between publishing his college friend’s work and his artistic mistress’ book, he must determine what makes a work original, authentic, and resonant to its audience. The debates between Seavering and his prospective clients center around notions of timelessness and “classic”. This dilemma descends into a fundamental question every artist faces early on in their careers—how can they produce something original when they write about the same moral quandaries that have faced humanity since the beginning of civilization?

In the wake of this on-stage dilemma, the acting is particularly poignant. Seavering’s self-doubt and conflicted mind, his college friend McCleary’s self-confident drive for success, and his mistress Jessie’s assured sense of originality are striking embodiments of archetypal artistic sensibilities. Seavering represents the self-doubt which holds an artist from creating as they struggle to distinguish themselves from the hallowed greats enough to one day stand amongst them. McCleary’s tone is more cynical and practical, less interested in crafting a masterpiece than in utilizing art as a means to an end—to pay the bills and lead a materially fulfilling life. Jessie is the classic artist, ambitious, convinced she contains within herself a narrative so authentic it will forever change the literary landscape of America. So does this play about the timeless question of originality bring a unique perspective on the question?

I believe it does. The Violet Hour resonates with me because of the interaction between both themes. As the play progresses and the publishing dilemma escalates to a heated debate, the off-stage machine whirrs violently and spews out pages of literature—classic, modern, and current. Seavering is heavily discouraged, asking why anyone would ever read anything new when technology can already provide us with a lifetime of great reads and then some. This sobering thought resonates with current society even more than the setting of the play—why make anything when the ubiquitous internet provides us with millions of films, paintings, and songs with a click of a button? What can any artist today make which distinguishes itself from a staggering multitude of multi-faceted, easily accessible art across time and culture? Well, they could write a play about this very challenge.

Who? Shofar

Mikolaj Trzaska, Saxophone/bass clarinet

Raphael Roginski, electric guitar

Macio Moretti, drums

Where? Kerrytown Concert House

When? Tuesday November 5, 8pm– TONIGHT!

From the mouth of the band:

“The concept behind Shofar is to carry on the Jewish musical traditions that are still alive for us, while also searching for a common denominator shared by Hasidic music and free jazz.”

No spoiler alerts here, we have no clue what is comin. This show promises an interesting and unusual foray into the sounds of old Jewish folk (it is Sponsored by the Copernicus Endowment and the Frankel Center for Judaic Studies) and the most unbounded improvisatory stuff in jazz. Bring your hasidic grandparents and weird-eared friends. Somethin for everyone!  Kerrytown Concerthouse, 8pm.