Taking over from where my previous post left off, why have we had to wait until 2007 for this film, an undoubted classic, to appear on the big screen and receive a full distribution? The answer appears to be that the music rights were too expensive, because the soundtrack features famous American artists like Paul Robeson, Dinah Washington and Elmore James. What? How much were the rights eventually bought for in the end (thanks, in part, to a donation by Steven Soderbergh)? $150,000. What? Are you seriously telling me that no Hollywood studio could afford to spend $150,000 dollars on some music rights when - to pick a few random examples - Saw 4 had a budget of $10 Million, Cradle 2 the Grave had a budget of $25 Million and Book of Shadows: Blair Witch 2 had a budget of $25 Million. Not buying that one at all. Here we have the selective tradition at work again, the process by which great works, Whitman grass-level cultural artifacts, become lost in the cultural ether because of the strange choices and decisions of certain powers that be. At least Killer of Sheep has now been saved and is available to buy on DVD. It is a shame that it only saw a limited cinematic release in 2007, 30 years after it was first made, it deserves a much wider audience.
This is a film where nothing really happens but nothing happens brilliantly. The film is as invigorating as the first summer rains or the sight of a single star shining bright through a city's smog, dust and ether. The narrative loosely follows Stan (Henry Gayle Sanders) as, in what amounts to a series of vignettes, his life drifts aimlessly on through the Los Angeles ghetto of Watts, where he works in a slaughterhouse. Other characters drift in and out (it reminded me of the Thin Red Line, which is perhaps one reason I loved it so much) and Stan's relationship with his unnamed wife (Kaycee Moore) provides some of the most beautiful and perfect moments of simple, everyday, tenderness that have ever been seen of screen. One scene where the pair dance to Dinah Washington's 'This Bitter Earth' is a perfect symbiosis of musical and cinematic soul and might have made it into my top 25 scenes of all time, but I don't have the heart - yet - to start again. This moment of everyday beauty encapsulates both the film and human life at its most beautiful, its most tender and its most shy.
Burnett clearly has an eye for the brilliant and the beautiful. The cinematography - done by Burnett himself - here is stunning. Although notable for looking strikingly everyday, the film's images retain a power that transcends the everyday. One shot of the local kids playing and running across train lines (see above) more than resembles a war zone, surely no accident given the year (1977) this was filmed and, therefore, its global context. Striking image follows striking image and the black and white only adds to the depth, beauty and realism of the whole thing. Burnett also said that he wanted the film to stand as a testament to the history of African-American music. That's a grand claim and it clearly doesn't live up to it (the film is, after all, only 81 minutes long), however, this does not detract from the amazing symmetry between sight and sound, as though the music is plumbed deep into the veins and lifeblood of the film's rhythmic and soulful heartbeat.
Aside from Sanders and Moore and the children in the film (one of which was played by Burnett's daughter, Angela), the rest of the performances are pretty bad or simply appalling, though none are in the film long enough to tarnish it, nor are any as bad as Charlton Heston's 'effort' in A Touch Of Evil. Sanders invests Stan with a quiet, meandering, dignity and charm and every look and expression reflect the feel of a man whose life is a self-defined struggle and whose quest for purpose and meaning is lost in the depression- and-isolation-scarred landscapes and tenements and found only in life's tender little moments, like the pressing of a warm teacup against a cheek. You really feel for Stan and that is some achievement (to be shared by Gayle and Burnett), given the total lack of narrative or plot of the film. Killer of Sheep is just life.
This is a classic example of brilliantly drawn realism. Realist films don't tend to be considered 'high' culture, perhaps being, in their very essence, too gritty, pavement-centred and down-to-earth. What becomes 'high culture' and why? No one really understands this, especially, perhaps, with cinema, because the infinitesimally small-level, ants-eye, processes by which films get selected, made, produced, distributed, reviewed are totally beyond the sight of both films critics and those of us who form the general film-going population. The same is true of literature, theatre and art (among other things). We just will never know in the vast majority of cases primarily, of course, because the inner processes of selection and choice go on in the privacy of the mind, which can only be shared by communication and, in such cases, rarely is shared. If Killer of Sheep has remained hidden for thirty odd years, what other gems lie unearthed in film-school vaults and studio filing cabinets? Perhaps I can suggest that Indy 5 should be called 'Indiana Jones and the Quest for the Lost Reels', where Indy battles evil film executives, producers and critics to give the world a true view of global culture now lost and hidden.
In the meantime, I'll just have to enjoy Killer of Sheep. And enjoy it again I will. I'm sure this will make it into my top 25 of all time, I've already watched it twice and might watch it again this weekend. A stunning, unusual, imperfect, tender, beautiful film, unlike any other you have ever seen, even other classically 'realist' films. Killer of Sheep and Burnett as a film-maker stand on their own. Not least in the fact that the film is unique in - ultimately - surviving the dreaded clutches of the selective tradition.
Killer of Sheep: A+
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