The idea behind this project was to provide a way of exploring some of the orphaned footage I have been collecting opportunistically and lazily over the past couple of months. As I had no hand in the creation of the footage itself, deciding how I wanted to relate to it was an interesting prospect.
The essayistic mode seemed quite adequate for this exploration. There is a tangential, forgiving quality to the essayistic which lends to it spending more time than it ought in places, and that's OK. Don't know the answer to your question? That's OK. Don't know what your question is? That's OK, too.
I had a number of ideas--about lost and found things, about the illusion of digital privacy, collecting, foraging, hoarding--while I enjoyed these ideas, it wasn't practical to explore them in the scope of this project. Dissonance, however--dissonance I could deal with.
The idea of how to invoke dissonance came out of not knowing what music was being played as my unwitting subject danced. A safe bet was pairing him with music that was culturally and stylistically different. To my delight and surprise, the juxtaposition with a blind Ecuadorian accordionist created an altogether different effect than I'd intended. (Sad note: She'll never see this film, and he'll never hear it. Whether this is a tragedy or a mercy remains unresolved by the world's top scientists.)
By employing the essayistic mode as Ross McElwee did in Sherman's March, I hoped to gain some sort of insight into an abstract idea. I also hoped to gain some sort of insight into myself, though besides the revelation I dance even worse than I'd supposed I still don't know what that might be.
One difficulty I have observed in employing the essayistic mode is knowing when to digress and when to shut up and cut. I feel this film needs to be tighter, but am not sure how. Maybe I'll make a film about it.
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