O Matador de Ovelhas

Before writing this review, I read the four comments that were already posted- by tvspace, zumlinz, seabiscuit, and bartman. Their ratings ranged from two stars to ten stars, and one reviewer here (in addition to Manhola Dargis of the NY Times) hailed it as a masterpiece.

After viewing the film this afternoon at the IFC Center in Greenwich Village, I have to say that all four reviewers have valid points about the film.

It certainly has an "amateur" feel to it, including the acting of some of the smaller roles, as one of the previous reviewers pointed out. But I found much that was beautiful about it, and saw a sort of perfection in its lack of polish- polish and formula that is so commonplace today in not only big studio pictures, but many independent films as well.

While certainly not about "nothing," it does lack a conventional narrative, as was pointed out previously as well. But it is this absence of an obvious agenda (other than to portray typical, everyday life in Watts from the point of view of one family) that allows the film to work so well as a loosely structured, poetic slice of life. It is an amazing mood piece, and it made me feel quite sad. Yet there was humor, warmth, and hope scattered throughout the generally melancholy film.

I think this is the kind of film that will effect people differently, as is already evident from the first four reviews. If you don't catch this film in the theater this time around, it will be available on DVD in the fall and is well worth watching. Nowadays it seems to be in vogue with hotshot filmmakers to recreate the specific,unique look of older films, using all sorts of advanced technology to turn back the clock. Here's a chance to see the real deal-something raw and authentic from a talented filmmaker as he emerged.

Raw American Poetry. Killer of Sheep takes the immediacy of Italian neo-Realist cinema and shapes it into a dreamy, beautiful montage of everyday life in Watts, Los Angeles, California, in the 1970s.

The revelations, in the year 2000, are surprising: black kids in the middle of the Ghetto acted up and goofed off exactly the same as white kids in small towns across the midwest...but not like black OR white kids today. The folks in this movie have an innocence about them that survives, along with their dignity, regardless of the social decay around them. You are left with a simple fact: these are still country people, who happen to be living in a city.

For anyone, like me, who grew up in the 1970s, the movie aches with a sense of a lost era, when being a kid meant building forts out of left-over construction materials, throwing dirt clods, and laying down big fat skidmarks with your bicycle.

And all this is just the subplot. The main storyline, of a slaughterhouse-working father trying to run a stable family in the midst of urban decay, is simple, understated, and powerful. The musical sequences inside the slaughterhouse rival Kubrick's ability to juxtapose music and image in a manner that creates infinite levels of meaning and irony. You can only sit with your mouth half agape and think, 'aaah.'

Like La Jetee, this is a movie that will allow you to see life anew, with children's eyes. Never pass up a chance to see it.

Somewhat reactionary to the black exploitation films that usually define the Black cinema experience in the 70's, Killer of Sheep presents a realistic portrait of a Black urban L.A. community. Burnett's method of telling a story, using the camera in the most unobtrusive manner, enlivens the film and draws the viewer into a world not frequently seen on film. Stan, the depressed insomniac lower middle-class worker struggles to provide for his family, love his wife and maintain responsibility to his community while haunted by the historical futility and impotence of the African American male. In Killer of Sheep, Burnett aptly demonstrates his knowledge of the cinema aesthetic and his proficiency with the camera while telling a most compelling story about the Black experience in America.

One of the things I found interesting and original about this film was the ironic and off-kilter use of music. The underscoring includes whistling and other disconcerting sounds that go against the standard, traditional cinematic grain. While black children play in the desolate Los Angeles cityscape we hear on the soundtrack Paul Robeson's recording of "The House I Live In," a song from 1945 that deals with the ideal of racial harmony in America; what a contrast between this high-minded song and the brutal reality of 30 years later. A scene of children throwing rocks at a passing train looks like a newsreel from one of any number of modern African countries in the grip of civil war and poverty. Director Charles Burnett faithfully and accurately captures the texture of daily life in a 70s slum where life is merely existence sustained by a vague but constant hope that things will improve one way or another. The domestic scenes are painful to watch, so barren and stunted are the characters' lives. Similar territory has been explored surrealistically by David Lynch (ERASERHEAD), satirically by John Waters (PINK FLAMINGOS) and with wry formality by Jim Jarmusch (STRANGER THAN PARADISE) but Burnett treats it as cinema verite.

Unfortunately the technical level of this film is only so-so (yes, I realize this was a student thesis project). Although the shots are interestingly composed, usually starting with a close up that makes you wonder what you are looking at and then widening to give you a context, the uneven sound recording and poor diction of several performers distance the viewer.

I think that for showing us the reality of this particular cluster of humanity at this particular time in history KILLER OF SHEEP deserves the attention it has been getting,

Yes, can be cold. Young, soon too old. What a wonderful song and film as this song.

This is the picture here; a life of drab, interminable drudgery, hard work when it does come by and small pleasure, perhaps only the slow dance before the window. They will tell you the attempt here is for neorealism, and you will maybe note how the palette and commentary has been later studied by other prominent directors, black or not. Not so here. Our gain is that it's by a filmmaker who still hasn't learned too much about the craft to lose the innocence of looking and the commitment to keep doing so. Who doesn't have a hell of a lot to say and just wants to film. And who maybe knows this life and neighborhood intimately enough to take us to where it's ordinary and real.

All things considered, it's an evocative portrait of life at the outskirts. It's raw and affective in ways that Malick had to train himself over the years to accomplish. And that Jarmusch and Gordon Green (George Washington) only mechancically repeated in later years. It is about nothing in the sense that every life is, there is no story outside what we choose to remember as one.

So this earth can be cold. But maybe not so bitter after all. It's a moment of happiness that new life is finally on the way. Are they crazy? Who'd be happy to bring a child into this? Things don't work when they should, it's all an uphill struggle to even drive to the racetrack. Love grows distant and sullen. But the kids are playing everywhere you can find them. Young, soon too old. But happy that each one gets to go through it this once?