Expecting an uneventful night at the Seattle Crisis Clinic, volunteering psychology student Alan Newell is left to his own devices. Alan takes his books to study, it is quiet after all. Then a call, a woman. We learn she's called Inga (Anne Bancroft). She's drowsy. She has taken barbiturates and wants to talk while slipping away. While Alan fights to keep the woman on the line, attempts are made to trace the call.

“Do you think that not getting caught in a lie is the same as telling the truth?”

– Mark Dyson

The Slender Thread is an excellent example of picturing the invisible. The two leads never meet, both bound to their setting. The call tracing scene, a very technical affair, bears echos of Soviet Montage. The warm #jazz soundtrack by Seattle's own Quincy Jones tones down the mechanics, making the human aspect even more harrowing, almost physical.

Warren Beatty plays Mickey, a #StandUpComedian who has it all, then gambles it all away. Well, that's the first 5 minutes of Arthur Penn's Mickey One. Beatty is out of his element, and the movie's still too indebted to the cheery 60s to carry that New American Cinema grit.

“I'm the king of the silent pictures. I'm hiding out till talkies blow over.”

– Mickey One

Having said that, there are several great small surreal moments that are carried by uncredited character actors alone. And then there's a sole spotlight, stealing it all away.

CoBrA (1948—51) was a Copenhagen / Brussels / Amsterdam art collective whose manifest revolved around the liberation from the rigidity of art and life in drab, post-war Europe. Their spontaneous primal iconography and graffiti allowed them to not only regain the pleasure of painting, but also forge a new connection to colour and material. Especially the Dutch artists involved – Corneille, Appel, Lucebert, Constant – looked at the way children respond to the act of creation resulting in easy to comprehend semi-abstract paintings, sculptures and poems. The moronic “my child can paint that” that people still associate with modernist art can be traced back to (deliberately) misinterpreting these artists' objectives.

“Ik schilder als een barbaar van deze barbaarse tijd.”

– Karel Appel

After CoBrA broke up, Appel started treating his canvas not as something that merely props up an image, but as part of the artwork itself. Working in layers of paint and other media, with any tool at hand, he'd build a sculptural object that incorporates the movement of both artist and material. In order to film De werkelijkheid van Karel Appel, he cut a hole in the canvas through which the camera captures the physicality of the action and the emotional involvement of the artist.

 

For this film, and Karel Appel, Componist by photographer Ed van der Elsken (1961), Appel (in collaboration with Frits Weiland) composed tape loops to create a wall of sound complementing the image.

Thomas Reichman follows bandleader and musician Charles Mingus in those tense hours on November 22, 1966, right before he's forced to evict his #GreenwichVillage studio.

“I pledge allegiance to the flag–the white flag. I pledge allegiance to the flag of America. When they say “black” or “negro,” it means you’re not an American. I pledge allegiance to your flag. Not that I have to, but just for the hell of it I pledge allegiance. I pledge allegiance to the flag of the United States of America. The white flag, with no stripes, no stars. It is a prestige badge worn by a profitable minority.”

– Charles Mingus

Between the banter (“This is the same gun they shot Kennedy with”) and magical moments between the giant and his little daughter, we see and hear Mingus perform at Lennie's-On-The-Turnpike in Peabody, Massachusetts.