SYMBIOPSYCHOTAXIPLASM (1968) Directed by William Greaves
Criterion Collection DVD
THE FILM
I'm numb. Because William Greaves was right.
By the late 1960s, the influential talons of cinéma vérité had sunk in. Deep. Thanks to films such as Morris Engel's The Little Fugitive (1953) and Robert Drew's Primary (1960), everyone from John Cassavetes to Andy Warhol to Doris Wishman was exploring the movement's utmost-realism-as-narrative-form ideals and destroying the traditional mores of cinema in the process. Naturally, it was only a matter of time before the concept was pushed even further. That's where actor-director-writer-renaissance man William Greaves comes in. And his Symbiopsychotaxiplasm.
Filmed shortly after Jim McBride's brilliant 1967 vérité spoof, David Holzman's Diary, Symbio mines much of the same territory. That is, both experiments concern the filming of a film being filmed. But, whereas Holzman's angst was mostly self-contained and fabricated, the unease of Symbio lies in its widespread blur between fiction, reality, and the emotional conflicts which arise as a result. It's less "film", more sociological dissection, like stumbling upon a box of anonymous Kodachrome slides and attempting to piece together someone else's reality -- solely based on what your eyes perceive.
At least...at first.
Summer, 1968. NYC's gorgeous Central Park is booming with peace medallions, Buddy Holly glasses, and fat joints. It is here that William Greaves assembles a three-camera crew to capture screen tests from the reading of his new script, Over The Cliff. Direction is simple -- film everything. The actors. Greaves himself. The crew filming the tests. Anyone else who might stumble upon the scene. As the days creep on, the abrasive nature of the script's coarse sexual politics, combined with Greaves' aimlessness, begin to take a toll on everyone. Pow-wows are had. Actors explode. Agitation spreads. Still, Greaves remains steadfast with his intentions, going so far as to request an improvised musical version of his vision, much to everyone's confusion. If they only knew.
I've watched the enthralling Symbio three times this year. Yet, the film's complications continue to bewilder me. When you get down to it, this is personal obsession disguised as cinematic ingenuity. How so? Well, Over The Cliff wasn't a real script. Greaves fashioned it as a hypothesis, one designed to incite social, sexual, and filmic conflict amongst those working on the project. In short, the director was having a laugh. A thoroughly intellectual laugh, but a laugh nonetheless. As such, this celebration of film immersion, creativity, and form (complete with incredible triple split-screens and a dedication to "leaving it all in") transforms into a tangled portrait of a man tinkering with genuine human emotions. That's a disturbing conceit, no matter how you rationalize it. What's more, Greaves predicted (and hoped) that most of the upheaval we witness was imminent prior to shooting. And he was right. So where does that leave us?
At the climax of the film, a fascinating homeless man presents the crew with the following observation: "Oh, it's a movie? So who's moving whom?"
Perhaps, the answer isn't as obvious as William Greaves would have us believe.
AUDIO AND VIDEO
Terrific. It's as if the answer print just arrived from the lab in 1968. The heavy grain, bold colors, and crude mistakes-as-experiments are all pleasantly intact. Add a complementary Miles Davis soundtrack in thick, oozing mono and you've got a winner.
EXTRAS
Two discs, two films, and a whole lot of Greaves. Disc one, which houses Symbio (billed as Symbiopsychotaxiplasm: Take One), also includes a 2005 re-release trailer and a thorough, hour-long documentary on the impressive career of Mr. Greaves. We get the full scoop on Symbio, loads of contextual information, and a through overview of Greaves' dedication to furthering the legacy of African-American filmmakers. It's a great watch. Disc two gives us Symbiopsychotaxiplasm: Take 2 1/2. Produced by Steven Soderbergh and Steve Buscemi (who also provides a separate video interview), the 2005 film presents both vintage and newly shot footage as a sequel/continuation of Take One. I've never been able to make it all the way through, but what do I know? Rounding things out is a hefty booklet, which features a wonderful essay by Amy Taubin and William Greaves' original production notes.
FINAL THOUGHTS
Still numb. The compelling Symbiopsychotaxiplasm is heaven for the cinéma vérité aesthete. Perplexing and addictive, you could watch it fifty times in a row without uncovering every answer. Or question. If you're on board, don't hesitate. If you're not on board, don't even bother. If you're William Greaves, take a bow.
— Joseph A. Ziemba, 04.22.10 | 
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