Bill Morrison’s DECASIA is a wonderful thing, to me anyway — a kind of thaumaturgical travelogue of an unknown, unknowable kingdom, a melting world of nitrate decomposition. Morrison’s film, which belongs to that form which, perhaps fittingly, has no satisfactory name — call it avant-garde, experimental, non-narrative or abstract — and is composed of extracts from various silent-era films, both drama and documentary, which are in the advanced stages of decay.
Parts of DECASIA remind me of a strange, abstract nightmare I had recurrently as a child — some vast annihilating force was coming to destroy the world — it started at the top of our garden and rolled towards our house, engulfing or obliterating everything before it. But what was it? I woke in terror, but quite unable to identify the source of the fear.
Perhaps TIME? Perhaps these images fascinate because they are a photochemical analogue of our own eventual extinction?
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