Decasia

Bill Morrison's experimental "Decasia" does not have a story, per se. It consists entirely of decayed footage from the days of yore, set to music. Some of it is from movies, some looks like footage from newsreels.

In an interview included on the DVD, Morrison basically said that all this decaying footage tells a story just as much as the plots of the included movies do. In this case, it's what happens when art gets neglected. Over time, practically anything will suffer damage if left exposed to the elements. No telling how many stories are lost because there was no way to safely preserve them.

Anyway, it's a movie that will probably on appeal to film buffs. Most people won't be able to relate to it.

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.

The screening I saw had a very low walkout rate for an experimental movie, although admittedly the audience were mostly students taking Berkeley's avant-garde film course, so they probably had to be there. Poor kids, you might say, but this'll probably be one of the high points of their semester. It'll take you a few minutes to flesh out the decay metaphor (even film doesn't last forever so what chance do we puny humans have, etc.) but surprisingly a large proportion of the imagery continues to be affecting beyond that point.

The game I play when viewing an unannotated found-footage work is to discover what scenes the filmmaker's way of seeing enhances, and why. I could draw up a list of (possibly false) dichotomies - human vs architectural, familiar vs exotic. The one that struck me, though, was documentary vs fiction. Bill Morrison (the same guy who worked on Futurama? Really?) uses excerpts from both categories, but all of the scenes that moved me were unscripted. When I watch a silent fiction film, the image on the screen is evidence that the characters, and thus the stars, are alive. When I watch old documentary footage, the first thought that comes to mind is "These guys must all be dead by now". Perhaps that's why I slightly prefer Gianikian's and Lucchi's all-doco "From the Pole to the Equator", even though that film makes "Decasia" seem as watchable as "Fantasia".

But probably a pertinent reason is "From the Pole to the Equator" has a more useful soundtrack. Gordon's "Decasia" symphony sounds like a parody of Glass, which of course is still better than the score to "The Hours". My favourite bit of "Decasia" is when a long take of nuns 'n' schoolgirls is accompanied by a seemingly infinite collection of continuously descending string lines. Interestingly, Gordon reverses this trick at the end, using ascending lines, and it sounds just like the Beatles' "A Day in the Life". I would've been happier if Morrison had set the film to "Sgt. Pepper", as long as I didn't have to see decaying footage of Peter Frampton.

Obscure references aside, "Decasia" is better than most avant-garde films because the pictures look nice, the same way a body lying in state looks nice, only better. Morrison is an outstanding undertaker.

Hour long film made up entirely of fragments from decaying nitrate film. A hypnotic film the film becomes an trip through the minds eye as the unconnected pieces end up joined by the minds ability to impose order. What is the film about? Thats for you to discover as decay infuses the images with eerie, surreal and amusing power. The music is minimalist in the Philip Glass style which adds to the trippiness. At first odd and disconcerting the film slowly sucks you in and remains riveting viewing until almost the very end (images of planes and parachutes go on way past the point of boredom). An amazing film that will send your mind off on an odd trip to piece together what its all about. (One piece I read on the film stated the filmmaker likes to talk to audiences to see what they think its about since other than the idea of decay and rebirth he has no set meaning) Worth a look - especially in a dark room with no distractions

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.