so the story goes, clouzot had a little freak out after seeing fellini's 8 1/2 and basically had a creative, "oh fuck," moment. new wave was creeping on his cred and that mid-career fear of becoming obsolete, old, and boring set in (can't wait for that one). it's hard when you have unlimited access to actors, production funds, and beautiful fucking film stock that you can afford 70+ takes of a color separated romy schneider. not to mention bullying your sound techs to refine every burp and hiccup of the soundtrack. one by one his crew left, and the film was never finished.
i guess it's a testament to artistic paralysis; that fear and competition with the world is never a productive motivator. or maybe making the hubristic claim to reinvent cinema is a damning goal that almost always equals failure. or maybe people really do have only a few good creative gestures in them and it's terrifying to accept and believe that possibility.
i have definitely had those obsessive moments, refining every microscopic bit of an image to the point where i've sanded it down to dust. i've wasted hours harping over a two-inch corner with a fine two-hair brush when i would have made a better drawing with two marks and a fat brush. i've whined about not having enough time to draw, and then make the most progress in compressed two hour intervals.
boundaries, limitations and bullshit are so important when making creative decisions. if there's no counterpoint to the crazy monologue you have with yourself when you sit down to push a bunch of ink and paint around or write a story, or make a song, you are just alone, demonstrating rote motor skills, and muttering crazy talk to yourself. and probably making a mess.
even so, the film scraps of inferno are so visually seductive. i think this movie would have been one of those movies. i mean, look how good that shit looks even on youtube!
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