Journey Through the Past

I saw this movie many years ago at a private studio screening. It was so terribly bad and self-indulgent that I remember well just how horrible it was. In scenes set in a junkyard, Neil Young imparts his "wisdom" in rambling bits of nonsense. Thinking that he had something of import to say showed both his arrogance and his shallowness. I remember being appalled that Carrie Snodgress, freshly off the very good "Diary of a Mad Housewife," thought he was worth spending time with. Even in the hippie era, when people were prone to blathering on about their philosophy of life, this was insufferable. Clearly the studio thought it was pretty bad because it didn't get a theatrical release until two years after I saw it.

I feel obligated to write this review to save people from thinking this is worth watching, which the current 7.1 rating might lead them to believe.

Was discussing the film this afternoon with a friend who hadn't seen it. I told him I was in a slightly altered state of mind when I saw it, and that it was the kind of film that you think afterwards you might have better understood with a clear mind. Not necessarily and probably unlikely. Our college film club was showing it on a Saturday night. It wasn't the sort of movie you'd see at the local theatre. The fact remains that one particular remark Neil made somewhere during the film hit me like a divine revelation. It totally changed my understanding of reality.

Might sound pretty far out, but I've often wondered about that film. Couldn't remember the title. If anyone tracks a copy down, put me on your list of people who are interested in seeing it again.

Having been a fan of Neil Young for several years, I never thought I'd get the opportunity to see this rare film. However - a bit of online sifting is all it takes nowadays, and Journey Through The Past is out there as a BitTorrent. Not sure if this is something IMDb condone, but I'm sure they'll let me know by deciding whether to post that or not! The copy I've found is clearly from an n-th generation videotape (how it found its way on to any videotape I'm sure is a story in itself, as the film never found commercial release outside of the few cinemas that showed it) and the picture is washed-out, occasionally wobbly but essentially watchable. Basically no worse than finding a vintage first-issue Chainsaw Massacre tape, or any video nasty of a similar age.

The film itself has had a reputation over the years for being poorly conceived and poorly received; an incoherent navel-gazing exercise that probably didn't even make much sense to Young once the pot wore off. What must be considered, though, is that much the same was said of Young's '73-'75 album releases in their day, and much of his music from that "Dark Period" is now held to be among his strongest work. Hence my summary headline above; if you appreciate the myriad tangents that Young went off on during his 1970s recorded work, then you'll at least know where this film's coming from.

In more detail then, Journey Through The Past is part-documentary of Young's first five-six years as a recording, touring artist; and smaller parts road movie and surrealist fantasy. If you consider these three aspects together, you might get a sense of why this film reminds me on more than one occasion of Werner Herzog's late 60s-early 70s work, particularly Fata Morgana (there's even some brief desert scenes here among the fantasy sequences). That is, of course, if Herzog suffered a serious whack on the head and lost all of his directorial and editorial talent in a month-long amnesia; Young was no great movie-maker at this early stage in his career (and judging by Human Highway a decade later, probably wouldn't learn much more).

But therein lies a lot of the film's charm; when you hold this up against, say, Led Zeppelin's rather pompous Song Remains The Same, Journey Through The Past does have a lot going for it in its homespun unpretentiousness and intimacy. The countercultural-political sequence of the film, about 45 minutes in, might be clumsily handled, but you kind of get the idea. There's a fair amount of goofy comedic material here too, from a grinning Buffalo Springfield camping it up in a TV spot, to Graham Nash in a dapper gold waistcoat calling for the legalisation of marijuana (after identifying a drummer-rolled joint at first sight), to a hard-hatted Young clambering around in a scrapyard then later giving some Jesus Freaks a pricelessly deadpan baiting.

And of course, if you want some electrifying footage of early CSN&Y, it's here providing arguably the highlight of the movie; you'll wish this footage went on for much longer. Much proof is provided that Stephen Stills was possibly the coolest human being in the universe during the early 70s. The 'Harvest' rehearsals do drag on a bit (thankfully not to the sheer tedium that they went to on the soundtrack album) but are still an interesting snapshot of Young's work-in-progress at the time. And if you're left bemused by the bearded wanderer/junkie, black hooded Klansmen, and the bishop, the general and their chauffeur in the fantasy sequences, I wouldn't take it too seriously. Young did pass it off as "No plot. No stars". Enjoy this film primarily as a great rock documentary. Seek it out!

Given how brilliant this film could have been, Neil - as Bernard Shaky - is about as exciting as watching Bob Dylan tune a guitar (which doesn't want to be tuned) between songs and, eventually, Mr Dylan in/with/directing one of his own movies.

"Greendale", the DVD of Neil in Ireland presenting his acoustic interpretation of the work/text, shows just how amazing his talent is. However, brilliance aside, being stoned and self-congratulatory about CSN&Y (which at the time wasn't happening) does not forgive this almost illusive, unintelligible, allusion (for so it is) to the South that he hates - "Alabama" is a paeon to this. All must be forgiven when Lynyrd Skynyrd reply most sincerely to his claims.

And yet, one wonders what would have happened had Jimi Hendrix taken Neil and the boys through the same landscape. Even with Stephen Stills as escort, the geography of the "Chitlin' Circuit" would have been alien to say the least. Still, long-haired hippies and weird musicians wasn't the way to go. There is a sense that the whole thing was set up as a battleground that really didn't happen.

Bernard has done much better things than this. Consider, for instance, the soundtrack to "Deadman". Then, perhaps, listen to the soundtrack and watch "Journey Into The Past" at the same time. It's surely better than watching paint dry. Hmmm... almost. 'Course I love Neil and Johnny both. Next!

Yes, about 30 years since I've seen this film but some images from that night in Knoxville, Tennessee are crystal clear. My crowd and I had driven the 3.5 hours to Knoxville from Nashville (on other business) and had partied all the way. So, when somebody suggested we go check out this flick, the group was rather pliant.

If memory serves, it opens oddly enough with CSNY doing an in-studio, call-in interview at, I believe, WMC in Nashville. Trippy. Other random images, drawn through the years from a night of robust teenage drug experimentation:

Neil and somebody else sitting on the fender of an old, old car deep in the woods on a summer night right in front of an ancient country bridge. I seem to recall they were drinking moonshine from a jug and the headlights of the car were on, providing the only illumination. Looked like a good way to spend some time.

A close-up of a man's feet walking on a sidewalk, which went on interminably. Then, the film reverses and the feet walk backwards for a long time. THEN, the camera inverts and we see the feet walking backwards and upside down. Not good visual stimulation for anyone under the influence of hallucinogens. I remember we almost cried.

All these years I've wondered what it would be like to see the film again and with a clear mind. If you're a CSNY fan like me, it would be worth it. But, at the time, it was rather hard to stay awake, as I really had no business even attempting to watch anything that required something more than infantile concentration. The film turbocharged our stupor.