A film set in a hotel, or involving Elvis Presley, on the date Heartbreak Hotel topped the charts in 1956.

“I love to see myself in Technicolor.”

Once home to the stars, Hollywood's crumbling Montecito Hotel is now populated by drug dealers, prostitutes and the Tinseltown hopeful — extras hoping for that big break. They play the bit parts of their own re-enacted lives and dreams – some imagined, some real – whatever that may mean in Hollywood.

A road movie becomes interesting when the traveller is a stranger. When he or she takes that first step, head still firmly planted at home, soul on its way out.

“Salt, pepper, sugar, ketchup and napkins, New York.”

Jørgen Leth is a Danish documentary maker who in the early 80s sent sixty-six postcards from America. These postcards form a #travelogue of bewilderment. The #landscape, #food, language, anything an American may take for granted framed in a moving still. The American, ever ready for stardom, poses and orates. The scenes become show, regardless if it's a New York cabbie or a man famously (falsely) credited for predicting fame, slowly eating a Whopper.

 

The resulting 66 scener fra Amerika is as much a time capsule as it is a portrait of forever.

'Twas the week before Christmas. Not too far from Copenhagen a helicopter lands, carrying #SantaClaus and a Christmas angel. A small welcome orchestra plays carols, after which the party makes its way to the Danish capital. There, more Santas join the duo.

“Here Santa opens a factory with 1000 workers”

– banner next to a Julemandshæren-occupied factory

Over the course of several days they bring cheer, song and hot chocolate to delighted Copenhagen Christmas shoppers. Then they show up at a local bank, demanding low-interest loans. Then, in support of the laid-off workers, they unroll a large banner at the recently shutdown General Motors factory. On the final day, Santa Claus visits Magasin, the Danish version of Macy's. In the true spirit of Christmas the Julemandshæren hands out the store's books to thrilled customers. Magasin staff is not amused. Some of them start pummelling the Santas, ripping off beards to prove that these are crooks, not real #Santa​s. Small children are in tears, their dreams of a just world shattered.

 

The Santas were a gift to the workers from Solvognen, Fristaden Christiania's anarchist theatre troupe. With disruptive, meticulously planned performances they sought to bring attention to social issues such as worker's rights, the massacre of Wounded Knee and – as late as 2006 – Guantanamo Bay.

A strange man arrives at neurosurgeon Dr Max Holst's #hospital one day. So strange in fact that he's promptly send to the psychiatric ward. This man, a Mr Steinmetz, insists on the doctor's help. He can materialise things – look see here's a cigar – but living things is what he wants. This bird, it died. Can the doctor help? No no, not the bird, the brain! Steinmetz has set up a theatre in his home, it can be done there. While the doctor, however tempted, refuses, Steinmetz evolves.

“We are now entering the century of the soul!”

– Steinmetz

Manden der tænkte ting intrigues in its clinical monotonous settings, its pale late-60s stock, and precise composition. Early Cronenberg – Stereo (Tile 3B of a CAEE Educational Mosaic) (1969) and Crimes of the Future (1970) – comes to mind and, of course Lars von Trier's majestic Riget [The Kingdom] (1994 – 2022). But only Jens Ravn mastered this strangling lightness. Slowly, while you count backwards. Now you no longer feel the straps. 10… 9… …