'The Wold Shadow (1972)' reminded me of the sort of dreams that I always find myself having. There's usually somebody chasing me, and, try as I might, I can never run any faster than I already am. But the important point is that I can never see who is actually pursuing me. I turn, I squint, I focus as closely as I can on the moving figure
but I can never discern anything except for a vague outline. It's always frustrating, and I wake up wishing my mind wasn't plagued by such infuriatingly-inconclusive dreams. This three-minute film from Stan Brakhage certainly isn't his most exciting effort, but, in it, I noticed elements of my own dreams. An ordinary forest scene is captured through a sheet of painted glass, which acts as a half-transparent barrier that blurs and mysticises the trees' outlines. As much as I watched, squinted and focused, I could never clearly discern the image except for a single frame, which was like turning from Plato's cave wall to recognise true reality.
To shoot 'The Wold Shadow,' Brakhage travelled to the forest for a full day. He placed a piece of glass between the camera and the trees, and shot a single frame at a time, between which he would paint on the separating glass. The result is a forest scene strangely disconnected from reality; for much of the film, the images appear to have been animated rather than captured from real-life. But it's also exasperating. Just as the viewer is beginning to discern something recognisable, Brakhage blankets the screen in darkness again, and we're left unsure of what we've just seen, or, indeed, wondering if we even saw anything at all. He denies us any satisfaction or closure, and I was left feeling unfulfilled. It's my "being chased" dream all over again must I really be tormented by that which I'm not allowed to see? That, I suppose, is the quandary faced by all philosophers; Brakhage, through cinema, did his own fair share of philosophising.
