Rooftop Films is a New York City-based film series that screens the work of underground filmmakers in unusual settings, though primarily in venues referenced in the namesake. When the weather does not permit rooftop screenings, RF moves the events into locations that can best replicate the minimalist layout and expansive setting of a rooftop. Earlier this week, Rooftop invited the electro-acoustic drone duo Mountains perform beforehand, setting the mood for filmmaker Alex Karpovsky’s Woodpecker.
I’ve written about Mountains elsewhere, but it’s worth noting that their newest album, Choral, is also their most palatable to date. In the past, Mountains’ music has been both thornier and thinner, which makes the newfound gooiness of Choral a much more soothing and immersive experience. As with many of the best albums of 2009 so far, Mountains’ music functions equally well as wallpaper or framed image, rewarding the listener who chooses to pay either little or close attention.
Using two laptops to transmit a variety of instruments—bells, rattles, melodica, accordion, harmonica, keyboards, voice—but primarily two acoustic guitars zapped by effects pedals, the duo granted their listener the same courtesy they do on their albums. A free supply of Radeberger Pilsener (though not, unfortunately, an unending one) helped the after-work crowd ease into Mountains’ enchanting whorls.
The duo performed the same composition they had first revealed just over a week beforehand at East Village venue The Stone, beginning with mallets tapping out lithe guitar notes. As the tones distended, evolving into wide waves and whooshes, new instruments were looped onto the original drone. Eventually, the resultant sound was manipulated with the laptops, becoming a colorful pool of gestating sounds. Member Brendon Anderegg emitted a half-hearted chant, which was smoothed out into a choir-like backing. This effect gave the music an ethereal quality that complemented the swelling melody, intertwining with each other and creating a poignant electronic orchestra. This ability to create seemingly organic music through such artificial devices, and an audible control over the piece that was lacking in the earlier performance, gave the music a passionate, yet comforting, overtone.
Following the concert, the program’s MC stated that he felt the music was a perfect introduction to the film, but that was inaccurate. Woodpecker is a tragicomedy disguised as documentary, telling the story of Johnny, an eccentric Appleseed who joins in the meleé of fanatical birdwatchers trying to spot the elusive Ivory Billed Woodpecker, a legendary avian specimen. Johnny is joined by Wesley, a taciturn and dimwitted companion who assists his fellow traveler while the camera documents their frazzled states—as the bird persistently evades them.
Kaprovsky splices the fictional tale of Johnny with actual news footage and interviews concerning the real-life brouhaha over the woodpecker. However, because of his reliance on a single setting on his digital camera, Kaprovsky intentionally bewilders the viewer into trying to parse fact from fiction. While some may claim that is the very element that redeems the film from being mere camp, it produces the opposite effect. Many of the scenes in the film achieve their thrills and yuks from the shock generated by the director’s ability and luck to capture the material. Once that notion has been eradicated from the viewer’s mind, it’s presumed that the whole movie could be fictitious, and thus many of the film’s best scenes lose their spark. Had Kaprovsky experimented more with the camera, the film would cease to look like a lengthy WebTV episode, which, upon reflection, is was it appears to be.
Image: Still from Alex Karpovsky’s Woodpecker.
