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Noise (Olivier Assayas, 2006)
🕑 Added 2019-05-14 20:03:50 +0000 UTC
A document of various performances from the 2005 Art Rock Festival in St. Brieuc, France, Noise has very little to distinguish it from any of the other run-of-the-mill concert films that once clogged the VHS shelf at brick-and-mortar record shops. The show features a number of interesting performances, by the likes of Metric, Jeanne Balibar, and Afel Bocoum, and at its best Noise resembles the various compilations released by the Knitting Factory during the 90s.
However, there are two problems. First, Assayas's attempts to render Noise "visual" are pointless and pedestrian. There are lots of superimpositions of city lights, airport runways, neon signs, and other ephemera, and the overriding effect is that of an undergraduate stab at "experimental filmmaking," where shaking the camera counts as "texture." Some ideas are risible, like a sax solo being overlaid with a gas flame, which makes it look like the fire is emerging from the bell of the sax. Ooh! Hot licks! All in all, Noise is very much like a poor imitation of Paul Clipson. I frequently grooved on the music and forgot to look at the screen altogether.
The second problem, which is significantly more serious than the first, is that the majority of the running time of Noise is given over to Art Rock's two worst acts. About mid-film, we are introduced to Text of Light, a noise combo featuring Lee Ranaldo, Alan Licht, and the flaming sax guy. The music is formless and inarticulate, the sort of generic downtown skronk that any third NYC musician could replicate with very little trouble. Text of Light take their name from a Stan Brakhage feature, and one assumes this was meant as a tribute. But aside from a few glimmers of Ornette Coleman style anti-harmonies, it's a bland affair.
The final thirty minutes of Noise are devoted to Kim Gordon and Thurston Moore copping attitude and fucking around. As the camera fixates lasciviously on Gordon's shoulders and thighs, ignoring Moore altogether, the duo mutter and clang, generate unshaped feedback and rub their guitars and microphones on various objects. Improvisational performance at its worst, this semi-Sonic Youth set is delivered with off-putting seriousness considering the musicians are content to entertain the crowd with random whoops and factory-standard echo effects. A career low for two artists whose work I've appreciated over the years.
And through it all, Assayas bombards the screen with Japanese TV, weather reports, and lots of highway overpasses, showing us what it might be like if a one-year-old chimp were tasked with remaking Sans Soleil. Noise is for completists only.
