Scorpio Rising

Scorpio Rising
Directed by Kenneth Anger, USA, 1964, 28 minutes.
Source: Google Video

Kenneth Anger's very influential and enigmatic Scorpio Rising is a classic of the experimental genre, and it manages to combine leather clad bikers, early 60's music, homoerotic undertones, a James Dean and Marlon Brando obsession, Christ imagery, and Swastikas into a kind of documentary-like and music-filled bouillabaisse of both motorcycle culture and the early days of the culture-churning "Age of Aquarius."

It was experimental and taboo-breaking enough (according to an interview with Anger) that the film was cited for indecency and pulled from theaters by the Hollywood Vice Squad when it first ran on the underground circuit. The California Supreme Court later overruled objections on the grounds of redeeming social merit. Anger has crafted a career out of shocking people both in video and print. His Hollywood Babylon books, for example, chronicle the myriad scandals of early Hollywood.

Scorpio Rising uses no dialogue throughout, but instead relies on the guttural roar of motorcycle engines and an ongoing soundtrack of 13 songs, beginning with the jangly back beat of Ricky Nelson's "Fools Rush In (Where Angels Fear to Tread)" and ending with the Surfaris classic "Wipe Out." Viewers are led gently by the hand via Nelson's song into scenes of bikers cleaning and prepping their motorcycles, lulled almost into a false sense of security, before heading to the more controversial elements of a frat-like Halloween biker party, a biker taking over an empty church, various flashing Christ movie images, and Swastika checkers pieces, among other things.

One of the more iconic images in the film is a cartoon of a sun glass-wearing skull that appears near the end, with a cigarette dangling out of its mouth. Stenciled on the cigarette is the word "youth." Is this a foreshadowing of what would eventually befall the "What are you rebelling against? Whaddya Got?" generation, a metaphor for the young soldiers then heading to Vietnam, or just a general comment on how quickly youth flies by?

I found myself engaged from the start with the movie, and a lot of this has to do with the music, which flows from scene to scene and acts as its own kind of dialogue, and I hardly noticed the fact that this was 28 minutes (I found myself looking at my watch a lot more when I watched the longer non-musical experimental films in class). I think each viewer can draw their own conclusions from watching this montage; I found myself both fascinated and a bit disturbed, and contemplating the strange dichotomy of that turbulent time between the the Utopia of "Flower Power" and the murderous onslaught of Charles Manson.

Interestingly enough, the word "documentary" does appear often when researching this film. These are not professional actors. Anger found this group of bikers in Brooklyn, N.Y., and encouraged them to realize their full narcissistic selves in front of the camera.

The music and brazen attitude of Scorpio Rising, and other Anger-directed shorts, influenced some big names in Hollywood, including Martin Scorsese, David Lynch (who obviously took the song "Blue Velvet" and ran with it 20 years later), and Quentin Tarantino. Scorsese, in at least one article, stated the Scorpio Rising played a major influence in his thinking about how music could be used in film.

We spoke in class of how much the ideas and images of experimental film, with their often limited audience, can go on to become the basis for trailers and music videos. I think Scorpio Rising is a great example of this - an underground short-film vision that still reverberates in features and music videos 30 years after its premiere.

Der Fuehrer's Face

1943
directed by Jack Kinney



"Der Fuehrer's Face" is an anti-Nazi propaganda film made by Disney and starring Donald Duck. It won the Academy Award for Best Animated Short Film in 1943.

As modern viewers, I can think of two reasons why those previous statements seem nothing short of absurd to us. First of all, living in a world where things like Baby Einstein and Veggie Tales exist, we are clearly a society that is hypersensitive about what we expose our children to and what messages these things are trying to convey. Even in a cartoon that is clearly painting Nazism out to be bad, there is something undeniably jarring about Donald Duck, complete with swastika armband, saying in his characteristic spittle-filled squawk, "Heil Hitler!"

But I'd venture that it seems just as strange to us that this film actually won an Academy Award. There tends to be a fine line between what we consider art and what we consider propaganda; many consider the two categories to be mutually exclusive, and whatever gray area exists between them is as contentious as a mine field. As I was searching lists of major award-winning film for this post, I was baffled when reminded that in 2004, Michael Moore's Fahrenheit 9/11 won the Palme d'Or at Cannes, a prize that many people consider the highest of "high art." Whether or not Michael Moore's films are propaganda is a horse we're probably best to leave beaten to death and buried back in 2004, but I think his win at Cannes serves as an interesting case study. Propaganda is something that intends to persuade or influence opinion. Thus, for propaganda films, a direct and obtrusive engagement with the viewer is part of their very nature. On the other hand, we tend to think of "art" in the most general sense as something that is more reluctant to yield its meaning; often a certain degree of effort is often expected on the viewer's part to understand the artist's intention. Perhaps we have trouble reconciling propaganda and art because propaganda gives up its meaning so readily, we often feel like there is no work required on our part. Furthermore, "art" often yields multiple interpretations, while propaganda tends to communicate only one. People seem to get uncomfortable when propaganda films win awards usually reserved for "art" films because it feels as though the juries who award the prizes are trying to tell the viewer which opinion he or she should hold. It feels intrusive, it feels as though they are threatening the right to multiple interpretations that most people associate so inextricably with art.

But what about when a piece of propaganda is 8 minutes long and starring Donald Duck? Maybe it's because the presence of Donald Duck assures me that this is not a film masquerading itself as high art. Maybe it's because I'm watching it decades after its release and social relevance. Whatever the reason, "Der Fuehrer's Face" doesn't feel threateningly manipulative to me in the least. Even at the moment when its message is most laughably blatant (when Donald wakes from his nightmare and, wearing star-spangled pajamas, hugs the Statue of Liberty and croaks, "Oh boy, am I glad to be a citizen of the United States of America!"), the film's use of humor tightens the grip of the propagandistic squeeze on the viewer's sensibilities. "Der Fuehrer's Face" is a great and highly entertaining film; its ability to blend the techniques of propaganda with an amusing narrative and the recognizable flair of Disney humor make it fascinating to watch even today.

Interesting note: despite its Oscar win, Disney tried its best to keep this cartoon "in the vault" and not widely seen until it was released on video in 2004. It has since garnered a rather widespread internet audience and has over half a million views on Youtube.