DAM about 1997 – 1035 words

Autobiographies of Discovery

Autobiography's tend to be false reconstructions of what the individual would have liked their life to have been, or, more often than not, they are mere ego trips. Stephen Dwoskin's intelligent and highly sophisticated movie Trying To Kiss The Moon: an autobiographical film is a deeply personal reflection on his life that doesn't follow any usual pattern of biography - and this is his, and its, strength - there is no linear narrative, no voice over to fill in the details and no egoistic comments of "I did this" or "That happened to me there" in this movie. What Dwoskin offers us in this, his latest movie, are fragments of his life (a life) through old b&w, and colour, home movies and photographs; all beautifully interwove with inserts from his long line of avantgarde films, personal reminiscences, extracts from letters to and from friends and family, and apparently disparate images. So that what we end up with is a film of such craft and haunting resonance that ones breath is taken away. That the French film critics loved it is no real surprise.

Dwoskin's experience of disability, polio acquired in adolescence, is not overtly dwelt on in this autobiographical film (it isn't really mentioned by name) but the home movies of Dwoskin in the hospital, and soon after, in his home country (1950's USA) carry an emotional charge that permeates the entire movie (and his life, one presumes). The need to be specific, or obvious, is transcended by Dwoskin, by his (masterful) reliance on, and use of, imagery. Dwoskin is saying "such is life for us all": images from the past surround us with no apparent chronology or significance if they stood on their own, yet these fragments of time and place and space constitute our very essence of being. It is this essence (existence as fragmentary, as ephemeral, as leading to death, and as such no time, place or space) which Dwoskin is portraying; and he portrays it gloriously.

The predominant motif of this biography is memory: signified by the reminiscences and recollections (sometimes contradictory) from the lives of people directly and indirectly influencing the central figure of Dwoskin. The role that the past plays in the present (in all our lives) is constantly examined, and revealed, with an admirable lack of egoism and an appropriate reverence for that past (however contrary it may have been to ones' own present beliefs). The film's backers, The Arts Council (under their short lived "Experimenta" Longform project) should be congratulated on giving us a film that not only comments on Dwoskin's own life but our own: the disability aspects of the film, as I have said, are never explicit but constantly strike at the core of the lives that many of us have lead. The role of women in Dwoskin's life, as in most disabled people's lives (in all manner of speaking), is ever apparent, and his use (and love) of them and their bodies is clearly revealed in the part of the film which Dwoskin uses to examine his time as a painter.

Dwoskin's poetic insights, covering a mere ninety minutes, in to the creation of a life (that we construct and are, at the same time, constructed by the experiences that we have), seem to be imbibed with the humanitarian idea(l)s that a European sensibility (that recognises the social as instrumental in the creation of the individual) has as its fundamental philosophy of life. Dwoskin's residence in Europe has given him the edge over most Stateside disabled filmmakers by enabling him to escape from the need to assert ones self as 'normal', and to instead explore the self as being the sum total of his life experiences and not his desires or dreams. Such principles are clearly emphasised by Dwoskin's clever, and careful, knowledge of the role memory and relationships play in not only how we remember the past but also the manner in which we direct the rest of our lives in relation to that (in many senses, shared) past. The use of childhood home-movies of the young Dwoskin in hospital - with no direct narration to tell us that the young lad is Dwoskin himself - frees the viewer to experience this autobiographical film as it was meant: not as an explanation of a single life but as a celebration and elaboration of all the lives that have been influenced by, or are influencing, the individual: in this case Dwoskin.

Trying To Kiss the Moon (which we must hope Channel Four - who have agreed to screen it - screen it fairly quickly) is not like any other film Dwoskin has made, it is both more, and less, accessible. There is no linear characterisation of the individual, and as such (and as is life) it is both anti-realist, and more realist than any other film I have ever seen. Dwoskin is one of the few people, let alone filmmakers, to appreciate the significance of personal history in the location of the individual in the present; a history that is transformed as the present unravels itself. Thus, Dwoskin's filmed autobiography is not about closure (stating facts, or declaring this is what and who I am) but about the subjective opening out of the individual to examine that life from the differing, and different, perspectives of all those who give meaning to a life: other lives. Dwoskin's self-portrait has the sophistication, and insight, to acknowledge and explore, with images, sounds, music and voices, the self as deeply complex and interdependent upon other complex and interdependent upon other selves. Something we, as disabled people regularly portrayed and made to feel solely dependent, are more aware off than any other social group.

No doubt Channel Four will sneak this film out late-night when no one is looking (so keep your eyes peeled) and the Arts Council will be slow in making it available (but we at DAM will keep you informed) but hopefully it will get shown in the UK at some venues or festivals. Its significance is immense, to both disabled and ordinary audiences, so lets hope more people get the opportunity to see it: it tells us not only about Stephen Dwoskin, but about ourselves.

1035 words