When reports surfaced that
Kevin Costner was shooting unprecedented amounts of film while making his
directorial debut, Dances With Wolves
(1990), wags coined an alternate title for the project: Plays With Camera. Yet it’s unlikely that any actor-turned-director
ever approached the levels of self-indulgence unique to rock stars
experimenting with cinema. Just as Frank Zappa did beforehand and Bob Dylan did
afterward, Canadian singer-songwriter Neil Young used his directorial debut to
create a phantasmagoria blending dream sequences, performance footage, and
shapeless narrative vignettes. Despite a title that promises a chronological
rundown of his musical adventures, or at least an informative biographical
sketch, Journey Through the Past is
an irritating movie that starts out like a straight rock doc—backstage antics
and concert clips—before degrading into the sort of pretentious silliness one
normally associates with first-year film students. Toward the end of its brief
running time, Journey Through the Past
stops dead for an interminably long slow-motion shot featuring black-robed KKK
riders driving their horses along a beach. Why? Your guess is as good as mine,
and considering how much weed Young smokes onscreen during the picture, it’s
possible he didn’t know, either. That said, Journey
Through the Past isn’t as aggressively dumb as Zappa’s 200 Motels (1971) or as maddeningly vague as Dylan’s Renaldo and Clara (1978). The simple
stuff in Journey Through the Past is
fine, especially Young’s onstage guitar duels with Buffalo Springfield/CSNY
partner Stephen Stills. Watching CSNY’s David Crosby engage in a pot-fueled rant
against The Man is entertaining, as well, although Young seems determined to
reveal things about everyone except himself. That is, unless viewers are meant
to parse something meaningful from the recurring motif of a scruffy college
graduate wandering the world—because, like, there’s something happening here,
what it is ain’t exactly clear. Heavy, man.
Journey Through the Past: LAME
1 comment:
I streamed this terrible movie from the Neil Young Archive last night, and it was quite lame indeed. I like the music but there is not really much music in this folk/rock doc. It's as dumb as T Rex's BORN TO BOOGIE, without the generous slabs of live rock and roll music that make Bolan's movie palatable.
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