Persistent dream of an unauthorized sequel to Akira Kurosawa's Rashomon
No attempt to replicate the plot or characters,
just a cameramind stalking the forest
in glorious black and white
cameramind compulsively keeps looking up into the sun
a Bolero-esque score drives the action
maybe this cameramind wants to burn out its brain
whatever that may consist of
relentless sense of motion
make the trees and bushes and grass and rocks and dirt go faster
keep cutting to the blazing sun
camermind's doing its own montage
free of all narrative, perfect arrangement of sensations
fades and wipes and zooms and pans
and there's a passage where it slows down,
you expect it to be a slasher-stalker routine
but this is just about the speed, the texture, the mood
I used to think of this as a kind of fanfilm or homage knitting itself together within my subconscious.
But I think it's a freeform cinema virus,
replicating and altering the other memories associated with my viewings of the Kurosawa film over the years,
seeking to refine itself
into purest expression
of itself
a complex of sensations
cutting itself free from the movie that birthed it
and this is mostly how I remember the original
now
as this refined thing,
both less and more than what it existed as originally.
Lately,
I dream of copyright police trying to get a warrant to break into my mind,
to shut down my unauthorized derivative fan work,
'cause there's gotta be some kind of plot, right?
Too many hacky screenwriting how-to books and YouTube videos trying to impose order upon my dream life.
Copyright 2019 by William D. Tucker. All rights reserved.
