Michael Gordon

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Ruined antique stock footage of a boxer in training.

Bill Morrison’s brilliant 2002 experimental film, Decasia: The State of Decay, uses ruined antique film stock and a brilliant score by Michael Gordon to meditate on aging, imperfection and loss–and the surprising solace these things can bring.

The director presents a seemingly unrelated stream of silent images that has been degraded by exposure and poor maintenance: a man in a fez does a whirling dance, butterflies flit about, firefighters make a rescue, a baby is born, a camel walks across the desert, a boxer hits a punching bag, an artist paints a portrait, workers run looms and machinery, nuns watch over children, etc. The scenes represent all the important aspects of life–birth, nature, play, labor, culture and love–but the images are often partially or wholly distorted and obscured by damage to the film, alternately creating effects akin to a house of mirrors, sunspots, sand storms and eclipses. Gordon’s furious score is the perfect counterbalance to the unimposing scenes, sounding at different times like an ambulance siren, a war march and a rocket hurtling toward Earth.

What makes Decasia so profoundly moving is its verisimilitude to life itself, as all of us age from the moment we’re born, collecting imperfections from the start. But Morrison shows that there’s beauty in the wear, treasure in the detritus, gold in the rust. What a beautiful consolation. (Available from Netflix and other venues.)

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