Decasia

I saw this at the Cleveland Film Festival, and the Director, Bill Morrisson, was there for a Q&A session afterwards. It was hard to sit through the film because most of it is the same; the same images, the same sounds, just a lot of decayed film.

No doubt it seemed like a good idea for an experiment, and it was, but if you're not into experimental film making, you will absolutely hate this, as you can see from other's comments.

If you are into experimental stuff like this, you might see the point or even like it. The film maker definitely put his neck on the block by creating it; you wouldn't find James Cameron or Quentin Tarantino doing something like this. Maybe Harmony Korine or Richard Kern.

In any case, what you'll see is a lot of damaged old film, of nothing particularly interesting, accompanied by a repetitive soundtrack from out of tune instruments. Most of it is very repetitive and somewhat monotonous.

I have seen a few films regarding the decay of old film stocks, but this one really brings out the beauty of such images. The slow moving images presented with this progressive avante-garde soundtrack brought back memories of the old school industrial musical movement of the late 70s and early 80s. But when it continues onwards to the scene of the Geisha girl lost in a soup of decay and stains and the music rose with its intensity I felt as if I was witnessing wonderfully horrific. I could actually feel my heart beginning to race with the onslaught of the images and sounds mixing together, moving faster and becoming more agitated and excited.

I recommend anyone looking for the modern "art" in films to give this one a try.

Close to 70 minutes of footage that is rotting away, accompanied by a discordant symphony. It sounds like slow torture, and to some, it may be. But to me, it was like looking at visions of a lost civilization. Trying to scry the images out of decomposing footage was akin to reconstructing a piece of pottery from shattered fragments.

The "decaying" music was a haunting accompaniment to the film, complete with detuned pianos and an orchestra that played out of phase with itself. But the visuals hit me the hardest.

This is what happens to film if we neglect it. All those visions of the past are being lost forever to time and the elements. The silver nitrate base of those films decomposes at the same rate as human flesh! To me, the film was both a poetic look at decay, something that happens to everyone and everything, as well as how our cinematic history is vanishing as we speak.

It goes without saying that this film is not for everyone, but if you truly want to step outside the boundaries of conventional cinematography, this is it!

I was unlucky enough to catch this film at the Boston Independent Film Festival. Upon reading the description of the movie, I was intrigued as I have always had a passionate love and fascination with old photography and films. The notion of seeing a collection of old decaying films artfully woven together sounded wonderful on paper, the actual film however leaves MUCH to be desired.

The film's "score" (if it can even be called a score) is a painful melange of long drawn out sharps and flats that are akin to having a gremlin in one's head scratching a blackboard with their claws.

This seemingly neverending barrage of ambient noise is the number one thing that is wrong with this film. I found myself squeezing my hands to my ears in the fashion of the "Hear no Evil" monkey and wishing that the theatre speakers would just give out.

The film would have improved by 150% if the "music" had been exchanged for absolute silence, or the whir of a film projector. Aside from being beastly torturous to the ears, the score also had the unfortunate affect of changing the way you perceived what you were seeing on the screen. Because of the dreadful hopeless sound of the "music" it influenced your perception of the film dramatically and made you see all of the hopelessness in the film's subject matter.

Some of the imagery used in the film was quite beautiful, the shapes and patterns created by the decaying celluloid could have been displayed separately as works of natural art on their own.

There were a few noteworthy film sequences, a boxer who appears to be fighting against a pulsing column of nothingness, patrons at an amusement park who appear to be jetting out of the wavering nothingness of a black hole in roller coaster cars, a solarized man and woman going out for a stroll. However, it was the segments themselves that brought the small bit of beauty that there was to the film, there was nothing that the director did which in any way enhanced or did justice to the visuals that he collected.

All in all this film seemed to me to be a selfish piece of art wherein the artist forcefully inflicts his own interpretation of his piece onto the entire audience and doesn't leave them any freedom to make their own judgments. The music told you how you were supposed to feel about the decaying films and the disintegrating characters shown in them. "Despair in the shortness of life and in the fact that death and decay is an unavoidable inevitability! Despair at the frailty of our existence!" The director got that message across within the first twenty minutes of the film, the rest could have been edited extensively and we all would have left the theatre much happier. The phrase beating a dead horse comes to mind, after twenty minutes of disintegrating celluloid and ambient noise, 50 more minutes of the same thing isn't going to do much good.

And interesting side note, after the film was finished, not a single member of the audience applauded, so I imagine that I was not the only viewer who felt unimpressed by Decasia. Unless you are a rabid historical film buff with a taste for insanity-inducing musical scores, philosophizing on the futility of life and endlessly long and repetitive imagery, skip this film.

Bill Morrison's "Decasia: The State of Decay" is not a film-it's an experience. A haunting symphony of decay, this experimental documentary transcends traditional storytelling to become a visceral meditation on impermanence, memory, and the relentless passage of time. Composed entirely of decaying nitrate film stock and set to a dissonant, pulsating score by Michael Gordon, "Decasia" is as much a requiem for analog cinema as it is a mirror reflecting our own mortality.

The film unfolds as a collage of forgotten fragments: flickering images of carnival dancers, laborers, children, and landscapes, all consumed by the corrosive embrace of chemical rot. Morrison transforms the degradation of celluloid into an eerie art form. Faces melt into abstract swirls, landscapes crumble like ash, and once-vivid scenes dissolve into spectral shadows. The film's decay is not a flaw but its essence, rendering each frame a battlefield between preservation and oblivion. The visuals, both beautiful and grotesque, evoke a dreamlike trance, where the viewer is forced to confront the fragility of human legacy.

Michael Gordon's score-a relentless, atonal orchestral storm-amplifies the unease. The music throbs with urgency, its dissonant strings and clashing harmonies mirroring the chaos onscreen. At times, the soundtrack feels like a dialogue with the imagery, as if the orchestra is racing against the disintegration of the film itself. Together, sight and sound create a hypnotic rhythm that lulls the audience into a state of sublime disquiet.

Thematically, "Decasia" is a profound exploration of entropy. The decaying film becomes a metaphor for all transient things: civilizations, memories, even our own bodies. Morrison unearths a paradox-the very medium meant to capture moments in time is itself succumbing to time's ravages. In one haunting sequence, a nun spins endlessly in a void of emulsion blisters, her motion both eternal and futile. Such imagery lingers long after the credits roll, prompting reflection on how all creation inevitably trends toward dissolution.

While "Decasia"'s avant-garde approach may alienate viewers seeking narrative coherence, its power lies in its abstraction. It invites interpretation as a tone poem or a visual installation, closer in spirit to Stan Brakhage's "Mothlight" or Godfrey Reggio's "Koyaanisqatsi" than conventional cinema. This is not passive viewing; it demands surrender to its sensory and philosophical currents.

In the end, "Decasia: The State of Decay" is a masterpiece of impermanence. It is a film that stares unflinchingly into the void, finding eerie beauty in collapse. For those willing to embrace its challenging, meditative pace, it offers a transcendent reminder: art, like life, is rendered poignant precisely because it cannot last.

A mesmerizing, if demanding, journey into the abyss-essential for lovers of experimental art, but approach with an open mind and a tolerance for the sublime grotesque.