Apparition of the Eternal Church

This film begins mysteriously, first with a woman with flaming antlers on her head, then moving to head-shots of individuals with headphones on, listening to something that is obviously very affecting to many of them. Whatever they are hearing appears to be loved by some and hated by others, but obviously offers each an intense experience. The viewer doesn't know what they are listening to until later, which creates a tension and then a real appreciation of the music when it is finally revealed. I acquired a new method of listening to music by watching this film. I've watched it a number of times, and enjoyed it every time. The director has a number of eccentric friends (I presume they are friends) who appear as his subjects, some of whom seem to be on the verge of having a religious experience through the audio. Paul Festa's latest short, "Glitter Emergency" is completely different, but equally as wonderful, and I'd recommend it to anyone who can find it.

Trying to describe unfamiliar music is an automatic exercise in futility. Music is its own language. It must be heard to be understood.

And when the music in question is Olivier Messiaen's "Apparition of the Eternal Church" (Apparition de l'Église éternelle), a ten-minute solo organ piece written in 1930 by this enigmatic and unique French composer -- well, forget it. Descriptions are not merely futile; they're downright impossible.

Well, not really. Filmmaker, musician, and writer Paul Festa has done the seemingly impossible in this brilliantly conceived and executed documentary about this one piece of music. And then some. Festa goes beyond the music to explore it's impact on a couple of dozen people who hear what is, essentially, the language of a strange and bold new world.

Festa includes, among these subjects, everyone from musicians and scholars like Albert Fuller (a renowned harpsichord and organ virtuoso who taught at Julliard), Harold Bloom ("The Western Canon," "How to Read and Why"), and Richard Felciano (who studied under Messiaen) to non-musicians hearing the piece for the first time, including filmmaker John Cameron Mitchell ("Hedwig and the Angry Inch" and "Shortbus"), Daniel Handler (aka Lemony Snicket), and Rabbi Angela Buchdahl.

And what do these subjects do? It's simple enough on the surface. Festa puts headphones on them, and they listen to the Apparition of the Eternal Church. Their only instruction is to react spontaneously. To describe what they're feeling, what they're seeing, and how the music is affecting them.

This is where the film becomes simply amazing, as powerful in its own way as the music it's exploring. As one who first heard this piece of music two decades ago, I've since listened to it at least a hundred times. Many of the film's subjects described the piece in the ecstatic, joyous terms that I might have used. Others, though, had radically different experiences.

Somehow in the process, Paul Festa has managed to capture the essence of these experiences (none of which are tame), and to distill them for us in a captivating and insightful look into the language of a new and shocking world of emotion, passion, and vision.

If at all possible, see this film! You'll never listen to music the same way again.