Irina Evteeva’s debut quickly became a kind of manifesto for the one-room experimental studio: it defines classification by interweaving animation, appropriated footage, feature and documentary to form a unique whole, a film that rushes backwards into the future, thereby re-inventing Futurism. Mayakovskiy is the star; his occasional presence holds together a film driven by the sound, the beat, of his poetry. Evteeva develops a dramatic structure of flaring, fading, being from light: violin strings become rays, quivering dull yellow spots, pictures. The plot assails the material from which it derives energy from material. History, growling and roaring, finds its form.
More
Irina Evteeva’s debut quickly became a kind of manifesto for the one-room experimental studio: it defines classification by interweaving animation, appropriated footage, feature and documentary to form a unique whole, a film that rushes backwards into the future, thereby re-inventing Futurism. Mayakovskiy is the star; his occasional presence holds together a film driven by the sound, the beat, of his poetry. Evteeva develops a dramatic structure of flaring, fading, being from light: violin strings become rays, quivering dull yellow spots, pictures. The plot assails the material from which it derives energy from material. History, growling and roaring, finds its form.
