Herostratus

A somewhat avant-garde and confusing - in the best possible way - drama that has proved itself to be remarkably prescient and another fantastic gem in the BFI's series of British rediscoveries.

Combining satire and tragedy, and starring the brilliant Michael Gothard, this is a blazing account of how acts of genuine rebellion are ultimately destined to be commodified and sanitised and deserves to be appreciated by a wider audience looking for drama presented in an offbeat manner.

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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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.

The 1960s was a weird time with lots of cultural experimentation. So, as a 20 year old in 1968, I went along to the Manchester Film Theatre to see this British independent avant-garde film with an open mind. I found it one of the strangest movies I'd seen but described it in my diary as "superb" and commented: "I would certainly like to see it again." Yet, for the next 40 years, the film was inaccessible and only in 2007 did the British Film Institute intervene to make it available once more. It took me another five years to rent it via Lovefilm. But, in all that time, the stunning imagery lived with me and in particular I was haunted by a scene towards the end in which a woman (Gabriella Licudi) sobs in despair.

Written and directed by Don Levy, it was the only full-length film he ever made and it is a long (142 minutes) and slow work distinguished by its innovativeness and opacity. The narrative is pretty minimal and therefore can be briefly stated: a very angry young man called Max (Michael Gothard) decides he has had enough of life and offers an advertising company the opportunity to exploit his public suicide. This explains the erudite title: Herostratus was an Ancient Greek arsonist who destroyed the Temple of Artemis, one of the Seven Wonders of the Ancient World, and his name has become a metonym for someone who commits a criminal act in order to become famous.

The film looks and sounds amateurish and indeed had a tiny budget (but took six years from conception to completion). However, clearly Levy wanted some of the dialogue to be hard to hear and some of the scenes to be difficult to watch. One of the most startling and memorable sequences inter cuts the dancing of a sexy woman with the butchering of a dead animal and one of the most inexplicable (but again memorable) images is of a parasol-carrying woman clad in black with a white face. This is a work full of odd interjections ranging from the voice of the elderly Malcom Muggeridge to a near-wordless burlesque by a very young Helen Mirren in her first film role. There are extracts from semi-contemporary newsreels scattered about the film which seem to be inviting us to question what kind of world we have created.

Seeing "Herostratus" after such a long interval and at the more mature age of 66, I found that I was less tolerant of the pretentiousness of the whole thing but still captivated by the bewildering images. Also I was disturbed to read after the viewing that both the director and the lead actor subsequently committed suicide.

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.