Perversity is a matter of perspective.

I didn’t notice it before in “Sweet Movie” until my second viewing: The commune sequence in the second half of the film is cast entirely with, and most likely shot, in Friedrichshof, where performance artist Otto Muehl and his merry band of anarchist artists vomit and shit and piss the day away. Puzzlingly, this is regarded as art by some. I’m not sure I read the importance of these “acts” in relation to the art world.

I came across Muehl’s early vomit art on YouTube and the bad vibes I felt seeing the video carried over to “Sweet Movie”. It’s puzzling how something Muehl and Makavejev considered brave and political and shocking is mainstream enough to be in 1,000 theaters for weeks. That’s right, the films I’m talking about are the “Jackass” series. Created by Spike Jonze and his pals, who happen to thank Pasolini and Bunuel, among other artists, in the end credits. No doubt, you’ll find Muehl and Makavejev on that list.

The “Jackass” boys reference to performance artists and surrealists was most likely a tongue in cheek joke. I bet modern filmmakers and artists, of the likes of Jonze and co., can see the irony in taking something as “artistic” as vomit and penis grabs and making it popular knucklehead entertainment.

Let’s face it, in the critical world the harder you look the more you see. With the right perspective you can see the disillusionment and pain and isolation and confusion in America’s youth watching “Jackass Two” or “The Hills” or anything of the sort. We know better. We can see that it’s trash and we regard it as trash and we go to it for the sake of trash.

Pasolini goes and makes “Salo”. Our Serbian pal makes “Sweet Movie”. Otto “shits” and “pukes”. Is it art because they say so? I’m not so sure. I know kids my age who see these movies with the same fascination that they see “Jackass”. Frankly, that makes sense. I think we’ve grown past being shocked into believing this stuff is art.

Yet.

I find myself rolling my eyes when I see “Sweet Movie” or “Salo”. Something I find as serious as talking about these films in absolute reverence. Spouting off about their artistic statement.

Saying they matter.

Maybe they do matter to me. After all I can’t stop thinking about them. I scoff and I groan and still I talk about these films.

So.

If I have one artistic ethic I love, it’s the right to free expression. Yet I find myself asking, why does Otto’s vomit have to be considered art?

http://www.abc.net.au/thingo/txt/s1155422.htm
http://members.ozemail.com.au/~annandbilld/vomitorium/vom_pics.htm
http://media.www.dailynebraskan.com/media/storage/paper857/news/1996/12/02/Arts/Art-Student.Plans.To.Vomit.On.Paintings-2098412.shtml
http://www.ratemyvomit.com/?action=ssp&pid=1229

and on and on.

There are enough sites online dedicated to vomit art to shame those who let their food go out traditionally. No wonder Otto’s community went out of style. It’s because EVERYONE else in the world is doing it. What does this mean?

And how long until it becomes fashionable? When Otto Muehl and Makavejev made their films it was meant to rise against the modern art politics of the time. Now kids do it all over. Next it’ll be sold in boutiques in the fashionista boulevards of Manhattan. Celebrated in parties thrown by snobbish art appreciators.

Will it?

I’m musing. Though can it?

It’s been on every screen. You can find it in any store. Criterion releases these films in their collection. We feature “Sweet Movie” on our site. The truth is it probably was already hip in high class social circles.

I felt like being grossly prophetic for a moment.

I’m in obvious need of clarification. Is a work of art still considered important and meaningful in light of the context alone?

Or is it pretentious, artistic perversity?

INDY 4

Imagine the summer's biggest adventure. Imagine no fun. No suspense. No charm. No camera. No cinema. There's nothing in the world that can prepare you for this. There is no booklet that will counsel your feeling of loathing and regret. Take a seat and stay there. At home. Don't leave your door. Don't go to the cinema. Don't you dare. Indiana Jones takes his next adventure to an empty Burbank backlot where the mystery lies in our hope of something remotely interesting actually ever happening. Take the risk. Take a coma. There's no hope for old Spielberg. It's glory lost my friend cuz there are new kids in town. They are cooler and smarter and they've carried the fire. I've never been so let down by an artist in a very long time.