The Clock

Christian Marclay's 24-hour montage of time checkers throughout cinema history, a wondrously simple and perfect idea executed with his trademark economy and wit, hovers you between boredom and engrossment, deep trance and passing fancy, frustration and ecstasy. Time here can feel crushing, cloying, abundant, scarce, and much else.

I saw three-and-a-half hours or this truly gob smacking work of art. At about the two-hour mark, something happened, and I became one with the World Soul among proliferate Bronson's, crouched Erice dreamers, saboteurs, dupes, molls, and the entrancing character that is film language itself, whose catalog I was led through so breathlessly that I found myself in a kind of delirious abandon.

But my real question, Gentle Reader, is this: how, having never seen the movie 'Red' and only viewing the character from behind in silhouette as Marclay cut to the scene, did I instantaneously know that it was John Malkovich?

If you can answer that question, then you can understand why this really is the single most important work of art of the 21st Century in any medium, the fulfillment of Bazin's proclamation for a Total Cinema, the holding of a most sublime space for reflection on story, visual language, and the colossal way it all connects us... all under the guise of merely keeping time.

Find it somewhere in Boston, NY, San Fran, etc. And see it if you can.

The Clock is a bold and immersive experimental film that pushes the boundaries of narrative structure and time-based cinema. By combining thousands of clips from movies, television shows, and documentaries, the film creates a 24-hour visual journey, continuously referencing the passage of time, moments of human connection, and existential reflections on mortality. While its innovative approach to editing and montage is impressive, the film's very concept can feel repetitive and somewhat exhausting for viewers not accustomed to such avant-garde methods.

The lack of a traditional storyline or character development may also alienate those who seek a conventional narrative structure. However, for cinephiles or those with a deep appreciation for film history, The Clock serves as a fascinating tapestry of cinematic moments that reflect our collective experience with time, clocks, and the human condition.

Though not a film for everyone, it offers a unique experience for viewers who are willing to embrace its experimental nature and philosophical undertones. Ultimately, The Clock stands as an ambitious work that showcases the power of montage and its potential for transforming the way we engage with the concept of time on screen.

If you get the chance to see any of this take it. I saw it when It was at the Musée d'arts contemporain in Montreal. I did not see all 24 hours, but I did sit in that room a lot longer than I expected (like, 2 hours!) a couple of times.

The clips are so well chosen and linked together. Many sequences from the same films are used and I found myself drawn into several stories at once.

I really can't otherwise explain it. Art film really isn't my thing, but this captivated me. Every so often I look up where the exhibit is now and wonder if I could realistically get there to see it.

It's worth recording that Christian Marclay's masterpiece, first seen at the White Cube in London in 2010, returned to the UK capital in September 2018, this time at the renowned Tate Modern gallery, where it will run until January 2019, on occasion for its allotted 24 hours. We dipped into the private view from 19.15 to 21.15 and intend to return several times in order to view the entire cycle. The content already has been described here but this review was written specifically to confirm that it's mesmerising. Part of the fun is in identifying the unidentified clips - thousands of them - but one is mostly in awe of the amount of research involved in piecing together a visual record of every minute that passes during 24 hours. (Apparently the early hours of the morning were hardest to locate). Marclay took 3 (not 2) years to piece everything together and did so with a team of researchers who trawled through videos. They're all credited at the Tate. The film is of such huge significance because no one who experiences it will ever again see in a film a cut-away of a clock or a watch without thinking, "I wonder if he used that one?" Go to see this film whenever you get the opportunity. For all manner of reasons it will never be available for home viewing.

Perhaps the most staggering, entertaining, addictive, hilarious, mesmerising and exhausting film you'll ever see; probably all of the above in equal parts. It is part film, pastiche, port-manteau, mash-up, and a true a work of art. In The Clock you get exactly what you might expect: images of time, in different forms but all crystal clear. It is a montage of film clips of clocks, watches and depictions of times in the day exactly to the minute. The process of watching such a film is puzzling, what do you start watching, when do you stop (and if you should stop), it is the experience altered depending on what time you come in?

There is a novelty factor watching a film pieced together so precisely so that each clip flows from one to the next; the sound effects and film scores are edited so seamlessly it's hard to one where one film ends and another begins. Someone opening a door transitions to someone in another place, another era, someone steps out of an elevator of ends up of a barge down the river Seine. The film clips ranging from a second to half a minute, sometimes setting up the scene then after inter cut with several other films, returned back to the initial one with that satisfying glimpse of the clock with the time. This is a virtuosic display (if not one of the greatest) of film editing that gives you a glimpse of the staggering task at hand to the director for watching and cutting the hundreds of thousands of film together. Mr Marclay should be commended not just for the fact that was able to pull it off (taking 2 years to complete and several assistant cullers to look for clips), but do it so astoundingly into a cohesive and cogent piece of work.

This sounds incredibly tedious, a film without any plot, story, characters, running non-stop for 24 hours without repetition any explanation about each clip. It is liberating expression of what time means to us as a society and individuals. What does 7 o'clock in the morning mean to most people? Getting up having breakfast, showering, getting ready for work. 10pm is driving back 50 miles to home, on the last errand or getting ready for bed. In a way, it is a documentation of society, although, is it a fictional universe on screen, it is as real as possible to our daily lives and our routine for every each minute of the day.

After some time however a meditative mood (perhaps fatigue) started to set in, and I became less conscious of the images of time because it was always so present, and became more interested in the thematic significance of the time, at the time, whilst being bombarded with hundreds of clips hour; what most people are doing at a set time, and whether the time of day restricts us to certain activities even in a fictitious universe.

I started watching at 10pm on an all-night bender at the Museum of Contemporary Art in Sydney. They only have one 24 hour session a week, so there was an quite an audience amassing on the over-sized leather couches to transfix themselves on this curious experiment, hopefully for the long haul. Some lay on the floor, some reclined over the chairs, some brought snacks and easter eggs to kept them sustained through the night. The beauty was that one could come in and out at any time, return any day of the week and see something completely different. I stayed until 9:30am the next day (I lost track of whether anyone else had, don't think so, probably had a job to go to), sustained through the night by the unpredictably of what I would see in the next minute, next second, in a trance-like mediative state, acutely aware of the time on screen, but unconscious of the fact that I was up at 3:18 in the morning watching random clips of thousands of film across the ages.

I must mention that this is a self-confessed film buffs dream to pick out all the literally hundreds on thousands of film clips from the silent era to the past decade. From F.W Murnau's Nosferatu (1922) to some 60s or 70s film of the RMS Titanic to The Devil Wears Prada (2006). You will see some of your favourite films, and some films you will want to see, if only you could find out what they were! I am now fatigued from my almost 12-hour session but not exhausted; I am strangely exhilarated and invigorated, and eager to get the next opportunity to return to that parallel universe.