Directed by Godfrey Reggio
Written by Ron Fricke, Michael Hoenig, Godfrey Reggio, Alton Walpole
USA, 1983
MESSAGE MOVIE
I suppose there’s something inherently ingenious about a film that concerns itself with looking at the world around us. We are all witnesses of God’s awesome creation so, in a way, we are all cinematographers- choosing how we see movement, at what angle and proximity. Director Godfrey Reggio and director of photography Ron Fricke have made a movie, Koyaanisqatsi, that is rather impersonal, I think; it’s a non-narrative documentary comprised of God’s-eye-view shots of undisturbed nature and city life. They have chosen all sorts of great angles from which to view their subject, but there’s nothing human behind it. The mood is majestic, neither sad nor ecstatic. Land formations are soberly observed, for the most part, at normal speed while urban action is sped up and slowed down (this film, with its cult following, undoubtedly inspired Jonas Akerlund’s prosaic video for Madonna’s “Ray of Light”). The Philip Glass score is in the style of transcendent Asian religious music, I guess because Buddhism and Taoism are much more heavily focused on transcendence and the natural environment. Despite the non-narrative approach, the film is cinematic; it is basic audio and visual and both elements stun the viewer, even when there’s no evident personality, and that’s why I must admit that I saw this on pan-and-scan video (though I hear it wasn’t filmed in the extra-wide Cinemascope). I can only imagine how powerful it would be in a theater. Koyaanisqatsi is a sublime movie because its subject is the all-time greatest work of art and that’s presented in a palatable way.
The universe is a heartbreaking work of staggering genius, of course, and Art by The Creator is pure and harmonious while art by people is not. Or at least that’s one of the fascinating things Koyaanisqatsi gets across as it travels from gorgeous wilderness to the grim beauty of city lights. What’s not so fascinating is the gooey message-movie trappings sticking to the sides of this entertaining film. While the movie hasn’t the verve that usually grabs an audience, it has ordinary skill and an incredible environment to work from. Reggio is not particularly inventive; the film is divided into three sections addressing the natural world, the creations of mankind, and mankind’s habitat, and these separate movements (the Glass score, while pretty mundane itself, conventionally acts as an emotional stimulator and also gives the film the quality of music) are executed predictably. The editors seldom take the opportunity to juxtapose these images (it catches your eye when they do). The message is sacred, environmentalist kitsch: we are losing ourselves in this barrage of technology and industry and people are becoming very unhappy. The movie gives us peaceful valleys and canyons and, as it moves on to populated areas, stock footage of bombs exploding and the ruins of a flying rocket burning to ashes. The urban segment is a crescendo; the music gets faster and more cluttered, the editing becomes quicker- then, unsurprisingly, it bursts and cuts to an aerial shot of an anonymous city, which we watch in silence. The film actually begins and ends with an Indian cave painting; it’s like 2001: A Space Odyssey without the dead air tension. The meaning of the title is revealed, too: it means “life out of balance.” I don’t think the message was meant to be that we should all return to living like primitive cavemen, but that’s how it seems.
Even after my first viewing, I didn’t know the movie was a criticism of modern society. I thought it was serving up the contrasting natural and metropolitan settings and proclaiming them both as beautiful. There are some magnificent shots here, like the world looked upon at the altitude of clouds, and curvy highways lit up by the procession of cars. Skyscrapers imitate tall, rolling hills, reaching up to God. I did not find the city lights ugly and miserable but Reggio has found some people to give frigid and frozen expressions to the camera because technology has anesthetized us all. It is true; we are getting ourselves lost in the commotion, but it is we who are doing so, not the computers and conveyor belts. Progress is dangerous but inevitable. Cloning is a frightening example of how grotesque it can become. As I watched the cinder remains of the blown-up rocket, which is one of the final shots of the film, I thought Reggio was saying we don’t need to go into space when we can’t even appreciate the beauty on Earth, including the beauty of the city. I thought he was exclusively addressing our space programs and warning against digging too deep into the mysteries of the universe. Now I see that this is not the opinion he is expressing. He seems to be telling us that we should not even stay in the present and that we should go back to the past, when everything was peaceful and nobody felt sad because they were one with nature and they didn’t have machines running their lives. I’m sure that what he really means is that we should take time to get away from our hectic lives and find a place in us that is just as tranquil as those undulating clouds and curvaceous sand dunes. But far be it for me to put words in his mouth.
Koyaanisqatsi reaches its greatest heights when its simplistic, admirable message is unknown and it examines shape, time, and movement. The film is rather numb because it takes on God’s perspective of the world. The urban sequence is the most emotionally affecting piece of the film because it’s the only one that isn’t alien to us. At a subway or train station, crowds of people empty into the tributaries of escalators, and the throngs of people are endless. We get to see the humorous stop-and-go action of cars as they face traffic lights. The tiny windows of buildings light up and darken over and over again. The shadows of clouds dance across the face of the city. Clouds resemble rivers as they churn furiously. The camera flies over fields of grass and corn. One beautifully spooky shot, I think, is double exposed so that we see the people at the location shown at the present time and also the people who were there at a previous time. It creates an image with a ghostly atmosphere, with past overlapping present. If only the complexity being filmed were appreciated by those filming it. We need spirituality, we need a time of stillness, we need to conserve and respect the land and we need fresh air, but without city life, what would happen to good movies?
By Andrew Chan [JUNE 29, 2001]