STAR SPANGLED TO DEATH
Sunday 2 November 2008, 2pm-10pm
London Chisenhale Gallery

STAR SPANGLED TO DEATH
Ken Jacobs, USA, 1957-59/2004, video, b/w & colour, sound, 400 min

Star Spangled To Death is an epic film costing hundreds of dollars! An antic collage combining found-films with my own more-or-less staged filming (I once said directing Jack and Jerry was like directing the wind). It is a social-critique picturing a stolen and dangerously sold-out America, allowing examples of popular culture to self-indict. Race and religion and monopolisation of wealth and the purposeful dumbing down of citizens and addiction to war become props for clowning. In whimsy we trusted. A handful of artists costumed and performing unconvincingly appeal to audience imagination and understanding to complete the picture. Jack Smith’s pre-Flaming Creatures performance is a cine-visitation of the divine (the movie has raggedly cosmic pretensions). His character, The Spirit Not Of Life But Of Living, celebrates Suffering, personified by poor rattled fierce Jerry Sims, as an inextricable essence of living.

I was 24 when I began the film, Jack 25. Jerry in his mid-thirties seemed middle-aged to us. Jack later said, I think appreciatively, I taught him to hate America. We met 1954 and got to hanging around, broke most of the time, walking the streets “shadow starved” (Jack’s expression) for movies a mind could fix on. Max Ophuls’ Sins Of Lola Montez, even in its producer-reassembled state, stood out in its love of the art, in showing what a camera could still do. Hollywood with some few exceptions had gone numb, frantic and numb in this time of fascist ascendance and cultural impoverishment. The enemy had been switched from Right to Left at the end of World War II and the owners had returned with a vengeance. Their message was simple: “Shut up and do what you’re told.” War had done the trick of loosening industry from its Depression fix and war would now be America’s raison d’être. War would serve to rid the country of excess wealth, lest more equitable distribution shake its class structure. In light of how much bullshit it takes to win a war, consider the bullshit it takes to sell ongoing war-to-war-to-war; we were inundated. Only the Abstract-Expressionist painters had been left to proclaim the old radical hopes (because the liberties they took were abstract). The Sixties were nowhere in sight.

Then one day on the set (the rear courtyard of the W. 75 St. brownstone where I was janitor) Jack pushed a copy of ‘On The Road’ into my hands, saying, “It’s about us.” I’d been reading Paul Bowles and H.P. Lovecraft and a smuggled in copy of ‘Lolita’ and the drop in writing level was too steep. “You’ll be able to stay with it on your sixth attempt”, Jack said, which proved to be true. It caught some things right, quirky ephemerals that hadn’t registered as events. Of course it helped stir a social revolution (disowned by Kerouac) and maybe Star Spangled To Death would’ve participated in that great humanist eruption if I had completed it and got it out in its proper time. Over six hours then, there was no way I could pay final sound-joining and printing lab costs. I screened camera originals a few times to records and spoken commentary but money didn’t happen and, pissed, in 1963 I put it aside to continue with affordable works (like near cost-free shadowplay). Its moment, I felt, had passed. Its invention, the very look of it, its texture was to a degree no longer unique. My pride was wounded. People were treating me as if I was normal. I got a measure of Jack’s fame when I heard a girl address her dog as Flaming Creature, but he chose – at a time when patrons were available to him – not to help. Like maybe his movie might be seen as coming from somewhere. I let it go and had another life, better I’m sure than the one that would’ve resulted from the release then of Star Spangled To Death.

I recall thinking when Kennedy took office there was less urgency to get it out. He looked like he had a sex life, had little kids that he surely wanted to raise above-ground, and indeed he did interfere with the Eisenhower plan to return Cuba to The Mob, costing him his life.

Video makes its present release possible. Yeah, yeah, it ain’t film, and I’d already begun my quest with it into the actuality of film rather than film as transparency. Rising from my own abstract-expressionist mindset. Let me be. I so appreciate what video permits (although the work, with one sinful exception, the reprise of ‘Are You Havin’ Any Fun?’, does not take off into electron free-play but stays respectful of film limits), and I appreciate the possibility of cheap DVD distribution. And if anyone has the passion and money and patience the video can guide final assembly of the film. At age 70 I have to attend to other cine-demands, like leaving something lasting of what Flo and I did in live performance with The Nervous System and Nervous Magic Lantern.

“Something lasting”? Habit of thought. I wonder if our masters (the hallowed image of The White House insists, to the subconscious, that The Old Plantation prevails) figure, in rationalising a way to live with their crimes, that “natural death” is often no less painful than an accelerated conclusion, so what the hell, the little fuckers will replenish their numbers soon enough. From where they are we all look alike, excepting those of us that stand up. I don’t feel hopeful when Bush lies are exposed, implausible to begin with; followers elect to believe, and hold on to beliefs doggedly. Followers expect leaders to lie and believing an obvious lie is how they demonstrate their faith. Lying mostly offends professors and not all of them by a long shot. No, I think we’re due to be interrupted, that history is about to come down through the roof on us this time. Sorry, truly, but I believe my film-title. Perhaps that it arose to mind almost a half-century ago and so many of us are still here, in sight of scientific breakthroughs galore, is reason for confidence in ongoing life. We certainly can resist the bastards! They are taking our lives, what more can we lose? Jack fumbled the making of his last film but how meaningful a title is No President.

Here, explaining, you get gravity. The movie achieves levity.

Is this video the real thing? In the winter of 1959 editing facilities were two nails in a wall holding two film reels and an enlarging glass and in 2003 a G4 with Final Cut Pro. Better to figure the entirety as another entry in my found-film oeuvre. I did drop some found-films from the original collage, including all biographic elements (like my maybe-father’s third-wedding home-movies), replacing with items more on track with central concerns of the work. Stuff gathered over the years with SSTD in mind, only some that could be squeezed into its ultimate realisation. The Follies entered sometime in the Sixties, the Micheaux entered my life with a bang in 1968 (Ten Minutes To Live being up there with the greatest; the DVD of SSTD should by rights be a double-feature with Ten Minutes To Live seeing as the titles go so well together) but only infiltrated SSTD during this latest editing. Ronald Reagan and the twerp presiding now, how ignore them? Perhaps with precisely the same pitch of outrage as my younger self I would not have made any concessions to audience capacity, only added things. There’s friends, I know, that will be glum over what they will perceive as signs of an orderly mind. My head, inside, isn’t all that different from what it was, I didn’t become someone else, but I did get the work together and in a profound way that’s the problem. It was supposed to lie in a jumbled heap, errant energies going nowhere, the talented viewer inferring form. A Frankenstein that fizzled but twitching and still dangerous to approach. Thoroughly star spangled but still kicking. —Ken Jacobs

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