Outer Space (Peter Tscherkassky, 1999)

A Short Reflection on the
Mechanized and Mutilated
Found Footage
of Peter Tscherkassky's
Outer Space:

I love how Tscherkassky can seem to turn the violent force of disjointed narrative and avant-garde aesthetic into a villain of sorts: we see a young woman enter a small suburban home, surrounded first by an eerie calm... the woman is assaulted by broken images, the rumblings of the film itself (being torn and juxtaposed against itself). She screams in pain, seemingly raped and horrified by the narrative break. She seems to struggle against this chaos, however "the film itself screeches and tears as the sprockets and optical soundtrack violently invade the fictional world."[1] It is irresistible.

This is not only the aesthetic modus operandi of Peter Tscherkassky but, arguably, his own subversive conspiracy against the conventions of filmic narrative. Tscherkassky is an Austrian avant-garde filmmaker who uses "found footage" and heavy photo-manipulation and editing. Although he studied journalism, political science, and philosophy at the University of Vienna, his life moved towards the production and promotion of film as art after, in January of 1978, he attended a five-day lecture on avant-garde cinema by P. Adams Sitney.[2] Evidently, this inspired Tscherkassky to experiment on his own and at the edge of film narrative, leading to the contradictory, grotesque, and beautiful short films he is best known for today.

Previously, I alluded to a "conspiracy" in Tscherkassky work. That conspiracy, insofar as I can tell, permeates and vibrates out of Outer Space - A place, literally, outside of our world, our understanding, and, often, our reach. Already we're aware that we're being taken far away. Even in a short ten minute running time, Tscherkassky is able to comprehensively exhaust his audience. The onslaught of broken images, echoed gestures, and fragmented shots is almost completely without repose. The film begins with strong implications of genre - a dark suburban landscape with a woman (Barbara Hershey from Sidney J. Furie's 1981 film The Entity) moving towards a dubious sanctuary. As much as the footage was chosen for Hershey's manic performance (attacked by an invisible force), the idea that the symbology of classic horror scenario was just as powerful (if not more powerful) is persuasive. As the woman reaches the door, the film gesticulates and moans. The woman turns the handle and as the door opens a great foreboding falls over the viewer. Slowly, the physical structure of the film reveals itself: images becomes ghosts of themselves, the soundtrack becomes more forceful and violent, and our protagonist splits apart.

There is an attacker, an invisible agent inside the house. As the woman fights back (smashing mirrors, screaming in horror, and attempting to flee) the editing becomes so heavy and realized that the film reel itself becomes apparent. I'm tempted to say that this makes the filmmaker himself the antagonist... there was a narrative, a character within it, and Tscherkassky violently tore both of them from their world. Further, this highlights the distinction between the world behind the camera and the world the camera absorbs. The absence of coherence and the exaggerated departure from conventional story-telling can be difficult to digest, and we're compelled to believe that this is what is so horrifying to the woman on-screen. Or, possibly, it is just the aesthetic itself which is the monster. In either case, Tscherkassky's piece, however esoteric, is part of a larger philosophy - the idea that cinema as a reflection of reality is not enough. That, the appeal to realism is one born and sustained by a lack of imagination and the bravery to step out into world's unknown.

--------

[1]. Outer Space: The Manufactured Film of Peter Tscherkassky by Rhys Graham