Herostratus

A surreal exploration of the potential endgame of the cynical capitalism behind Swinging London - and a vague play on the Faustian legend. A young man sells his suicide to an advertising agency in return for a month of luxury. The agency will market his suicide to advertisers, filming his jump from a high building past their posters in the windows. The price gets higher the nearer the ground. As a film it illustrated the hard edge to those loose days; I saw it in 1968 at the Everyman Cinema in Hampstead. Several people fled during some highly graphic abbatoir close-ups. Some of the acted images have never left me, particularly the hero walking into the agency director's office carrying an axe and sinking it into his desk. What a way to get attention! 35 years later I would really like to see this film again but for some reason it seems to have disappeared without trace ... Don Levy - you out there?

HEROSTRATUS was, sadly, the only feature-length narrative project realized by the remarkable scientist, visual artist, and filmmaker Don Levy. Though little-known and seldom screened, its influence has been greater than one might think and may be visible in A CLOCKWORK ORANGE, PERFORMANCE, and perhaps in the early films of Werner Herzog.

The film is remarkable not only for its very high visual quality (often on the level of the best of Antonioni and Tarkovsky) and for its sometimes innovative relations of sound and image, but also for the attitude and working method of the director: a highly personal and historically deeply rooted concept of surrealism, linked to the scientific method, that shapes the stream of consciousness woven into the narrative into something close to visual music.

I had the opportunity to see this film twice in the 1970's, and thirty years later, images are still vividly present. I'll mention just two: first, the black-clad woman (Ines Levy) lighted from behind, face painted white, carrying a black parasol, seen either slowly stalking out of an alley towards the viewer, or standing on a rooftop, viewed from below, recalling for me drawings by Hans Bellmer. Second, the lengthy hyper-violent sequence in which the protagonist demolishes his paraphernalia-packed apartment. A swaying suspended doll stands out within the jagged rhythms of the editing and will much later in the film be flashed into another key sequence: one example for the rich network of associations that go far beyond story-telling structures. On the soundtrack during the demolition: one of the virulent fugues from Beethoven's MISSA SOLEMNIS.

The film's female lead is named Clio, and CLIO is, in Greek mythology, the muse of history.

HEROSTRATUS does have some flaws, but is by any applicable standards a work of depth and integrity. Had it received more extensive distribution, it might have turned out to be a key film of the late 1960's. It's to be hoped that current plans for a commercial DVD release will soon bear fruit and that this film will receive the (belated) recognition that it richly deserves.

There is a very enticing sequence in this movie featuring Helen Mirren that has gone somewhat viral on the internet recently. She's really hamming it up, turning the seduction up to 100, and she looks absolutely stunning while doing so. After seeing The Cook, The Thief, His Wife, & Her Lover for the first time, I have become far more curious to explore Mirren's body of work, as that has become one of my favorite films of all time. Not only did the sultry 1967 version of her have me intrigued, but so did the schizo editing style of the sequence. Aesthetically, it reminded me of a strange DVD I somehow ended up with that I used to throw on in the background at parties, called Bizzare! (originally Secrets of Sex).

Any way, I'm glad that the Mirren sequence drew me in... because this movie has a lot to offer and I've never seen anything quite like it. Immediately from the first couple of minutes, you know you're in for an obscure sensory ride. I don't think I've ever seen a feature film this long that maintains such "art-house" cutting throughout it's length. The film weaves very consistently through surrealist sequences, quick cuts of intense historical footage, and traditional dialogue-based scenes.

The movie has plenty of strong suits. It's photographed very tastefully. The UK setting is quite gorgeous to look at and immerse yourself in. Michael Gothard carries the film in a unique and thrilling way, through his impulsive and virile character. Co-star Gabriella Licudi is divine looking in all of her orange clothes and accessories, and she puts in an extremely strong performance. I didn't expect to feel any emotive response as I reached the end portion of the movie, but one sequence fronted by Licudi took me by surprised - and all of a sudden the tears hit me. I was totally won over by her presence and will definitely be exploring more of her catalogue soon. She sucked me in a similar way to my favorite Euro actresses of the 60's/70's tend to, such as Catherine Deneuve, Claudia Cardinale, or Isabelle Adjani.

It has far less faults than it does strengths. I would certainly trim a bit of fat off of the overall length if it were up to me - I think this would have sat perfect at about 1 hour and 50 minutes to 2 hours, rather than 2 and 20, but I can't complain much - this is a one-of-a-kind offering and it is what it is. The plot may require a slight suspension of disbelief in the beginning but once you open up to it's concepts, everything else that happens around it is very relatable and correlates with general human experience. The film requires patience but if you have that, and a love for the atypical, chances are you will find plenty to love about this bizarre movie.

I will end by saying that it does have a very bleak tone, overall. So as long as you can get down with that, I would recommend checking this movie out. It is about suicide, and power, after all. To learn that both the lead actor and the director later killed themselves in real life did not come as a huge surprise. <3

This forgotten artifact of British art-house cinema, has been resurrected (like so many other forgotten British films) by BFI's Flipside releases. The release marks it's first commercial distribution since its release in 1967. The film had made quite an impact at the time with - particularly - other film makers and film critics, when the film was exhibited at festivals. In one publication Herostratus was described as "the great white hope of British art cinema'. Directed by Australian born film maker and physics graduate, it has a powerful and prescient message about fame and greed, and the dangerous, dark aspects of marketing and advertising. Like the film itself, director Don Levy, has fallen into obscurity. I had not heard of him until I read of this release (in fact I had never heard of this film until this time).

Max (Michael Gothard), is a struggling poet. He is agonised by society around him, and like Travis Bickle in the later film Taxi Driver (1976), he foments a distinctive hatred whilst holding up alone in a disheveled flat in a distorted, crumbling London. But unlike Bickle, Max's ideas are motivated by fame. He proposes to a marketing executive, Farson (Peter Stephens), an offer he cannot refuse. Max will publicly kill himself by jumping off of a tall building, and the advertising company can own this commodity, and do whatever they please with it. The machinations of the marketeers begins, as they attempt to come up with adequate exposure for the death-as-entertainment, subversive performance art piece. The silence that preceded Max's encounter with Farson, is perfectly highlighted in a line from Albert Camus, in his book 'The Myth of Sisyphus': An act like this (suicide) is prepared within the silence of the heart, as is a great work of art. As the workings of the sadistic minds of advertisers is quietly taking place in the background, Max begins a relationship of sorts with Farson's secretary, Clio (Gabriella Licudi), with devastating consequences.

As a commodity, Max is used, humiliated, and displayed as despicable for his desperate attempt at using his death for fame and immortality. The title of the film is taken from a character from ancient Greece who wanted immortality; which he gained by setting fire to the Temple of Artemis. The film is most certainly relevant today with our wealth of deluded people, hungry for fame with no substance. Fame has itself become a commodity: We are in an age of fame that is hinged on one act; one single moment. And like the fame that Max is attempting to gain, it is also very fleeting.

The films technical brilliance is in its editing, a process that took Levy two years to perfect. Levy approached editing like science (he did have a PhD in Experimental Physics). The film is littered with subliminal images. Short sequences of static shots, obscure imagery, and images of animal slaughter. The latter of these are often used to juxtapose with images of a female stripper. The snippets also seem to appear, not just as fractured images of a deranged mind, but also almost synonymous with televisual adverts themselves. Almost self contained. In one, a very young Helen Mirren (uber-MILF) seduces the camera and its audiences, stating that you want her. The use of jump-cuts and long takes is reminiscent of the then new European movements, mostly evoking some of the work of Godard and Antonioni.

It's an interesting piece of forgotten cinema. As with many art-house films of this type, it is highly pretentious. But it is watchable pretension. It's idea does not really carry throughout the film, and it could have gone in more interesting angles. But this could perhaps be just an opinion from today's perspective: Marketing has certainly become more all-pervasive since the late 1960's. As a closing statement, it is ironic that later, both Don Levy and Michael Gothard ended their lives by suicide. The film remains though, and is at times visually arresting. Classic? No. But as an artifact of British '60's cinema, it is a delight.

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Don Levy passed away in 1986. I was a close friend of his and film student when he taught at Harvard (1968-1970). In 1972, I secured the North American distribution rights to Herostratus. The film was invited to screen in the 2nd Annual Los Angeles Film Exposition (FILMEX) in 1972. It screened at midnight (the perfect time) on Friday, November 17. Kevin Thomas in the Los Angeles Times wrote an excellent review in the week leading up to the screening. Thomas was very impressed by this groundbreaking film. Another interesting anecdote about Herostratus is that Paddy Chayefsky saw the screening at FILMEX and then wrote Network (released in 1976) – a very-much more tame treatment of a more-than-similar subject matter. Below I've included two synopses of the film. The first comes from the original brochure, which was passed out at the many European film festivals in which Herostratus was shown. The second was taken from the 1972 LA FILMEX brochure.

A film by Don Levy (1967)

Herostratus is the first feature film by Don Levy whose short films have been distinguished by their original technique and penetrating approach to their subject.

Herostratus is in the same tradition. The story, on the surface, seems simple. A young man wants to commit suicide publicly and in the presence of as many people as possible. He persuades a public relations firm to exploit the event…then he changes his mind…but by this time other forces are active and he is no longer in control of the situation.

Levy exposes his characters and their motives layer by layer. He does so in the context of a society whose aims and aspirations are centered on private gain and personal success, virtually at any price; in this society the idealism and humanism which can unify a country after a war are rapidly displaced by destructive self-interest. It is not enough, in Levy's view, to say that war is hell. One must go deeper, find the causes, and attack them.

Herostratus, essentially a film d'auteur, is technically dazzling, but never in a gratuitous or bravura sense. Levy alternates "one-take" scenes (designed to gain the greatest response from the actors, who improvised their dialogue) with short scenes and "threshold" sequences making, in Levy's words, an intricate network of emotional references.

Herostratus takes its title from the legendary figure who burnt down the temple of Artemis in Ephesus, one of the Seven Wonders of the World, in a bid to gain immortality by some great feat of destruction in the manner of the conquerors. On the same night Alexander the Great was born.

From the brochure of the 2nd Annual Los Angeles FILMEX (1972), written by Richard Whitehall:

A British masterpiece of underground cinema seems almost a contradiction in terms, yet Don Levy, with his first feature, has broken through those literary traditions on which the British cinema has been so firmly founded. Under the greatest of difficulties (more than six years from conception to completion), and a minimal budget ($25,000) Levy has produced a dazzling film d'auteur quite unlike any other film ever made. Long takes, through which the actors improvise brilliantly, alternate with clusters of staccato, sometimes subliminal imagery as Levy explores the ramifications and resonances of his theme: the revolt of a young failed poet against the horrors and corruptions of society, and the means he takes to make his protest known.

This theme becomes a visual mosaic of emotional cross-references, combining an apparent linear form, in which sequences seem to follow a chronological order, with an abstract and metaphoric visual structure in which the magnificently composed and edited images are placed in emotional and intellectual juxtaposition and conflict. Levy, filmmaker, painter, scientist, and now on the faculty of California Institute of the Arts, has produced one of that handful of films which has changed the contemporary conceptions of narrative cinema.

Distribution problems may have kept Herostratus from general audiences, but its impact on filmmakers, especially in western Europe, has been profound. Its influence may be seen not only in the revitalized German cinema of "Junge Deutscher Film" but also in Kubrick's A Clockwork Orange.