Eggshells is play.
Eggshells is a girl in the flatbed of her parents' truck.
Eggshells is inexhaustible fascinations, bold formal style, and filmic invention. Yes, I love Eggshells now.
Eggshells is social portrait, despite my scurrilous bid to
devalue the uncomplicated but sincere.
Eggshells is
buoyant and wide-eyed.
Eggshells is culturally inquisitive.
Eggshells
is surfeit of anthropological warmth, but with the infusion of Hooper's
bracing formal irony found in his incessant formalist play.
Eggshells
is Hooper being not want for staunch formalist daring in his first
feature film out, his supposed free-wheeling hippie documentary: see him
fold in time and maturity level with just the use of park benches, the
camera, and a liberal use of sarcastic whip-pan.
Eggshells is truly hybrid: catching the real vérité world, catching an artistic and heightened rendering of it.
Eggshells is the story of a liberated girl... somewhat oblivious.
Eggshells is political, despite my cantankerous bid to devalue the elementary but spirited.
Eggshells is magic roaming forces.
Eggshells is
a regimented or ritualistic moving camera. This can be seen in what one
can say is Hooper's first
clearly blocked narrative scene of his feature film
career, depicted below, involving the restless and awkward "Ben Skavorcik" [sp?]
maneuvering
about
for a place he finds comfortable. Hooper was Hooper right out of the
gate, being the point I'm trying to make:
Eggshells is our anti-hippie, Ben Skavorcik (again, there's no spelling for this name anywhere, so I'm constantly making up the spelling).
Eggshells is
an enchanting, magical "gusting wind" conjuration (I
choose not to picture the moment, for when you see it and its careful,
rigid construction, you'll automatically get the idea that
a stunning rigor and gentle realist artistry lies behind the filmmaker
who summoned such a
moment), a flying paper airplane reverie, and the war-colored explosion
of the seemingly innocent plaything. And the boy who tries to put it
out with a little milk.
I do love
Eggshells
now. It is endlessly inventive thus pleasurable, and not as disjointed as I
thought, and truly inexhaustible a thing of play and formal ideas. Its
sociological interests and emotional throughlines become clear when
finally getting a foothold on the characters and how they - their
beliefs, their activities, their relationships - contrast and represent types and psychologies, representations enhanced by
Hooper's simultaneously poignant and idea-driven cinema. With its fond fascination
alongside its avant-garde segues of pleasure, alongside its exacting
cinematic set pieces, it's like a warm, laid-back blanket made out of
M.C. Escher lithographs.
Eggshells is this remarkably kinetic scene of a communal house at daybreak that beats Scorsese in the 1990s by a few decades.
... edited in classic, jagged
Texas Chain Saw fashion...
Eggshells is
a young and fresh-faced Kim Henkel. Centrally placed, the future
Hollywood writing partner as charismatic but sad, conflicted image of
youth, his growing insecurity the core of the picture.
Eggshells is the idealism and adventurousness and sincerity of youth.
Eggshells is revealing the people doing what they do. An impromptu and extempore kazoo performance becomes an intrinsic
tour de force, where phenomenological
magnitude is proffered to this blithe and unthinking one-piece ensemble, power given to the coded "frivolous activity," created through Hooper's regal cinema; where a performance of pure
pastime suddenly commands
space - collapses and symphonizes it - as if of the note of a
philharmonic orchestra:
The kazooer kazooes, and the writer writes.
People doing what they do. The people, all, exist, powerfully. Hooper does, and he does - is such an active "maker" of cinema - for much human sakes, and so notable is this in Eggshells.
Eggshells is animation. Eggshells is this is a house.
Eggshells is magic smoke being.
Eggshells is a basement to a secret, gel-colored world.
Eggshells is a talky toilet.
Eggshells is magic-making.
Eggshells is people trying. "What is wrong with this country? Were they really bayoneted?"
Eggshells is David, Amy's shameless, work-averse, dandy boyfriend,
who still will fight Amy on discussions of politics because, like said,
he's shameless (endearingly so).
Eggshells is let's not forget Ben Skavorcik, his creepy artist's room, his weird self-portrait.
Eggshells is this scene. Damn, this scene.
Damn.
Eggshells
is the half of the narrative given over to the timid boy living with
them but never acknowledged. The "Ben Skaborcik" (as I've been
erroneously referring to him as, although he's never named), being
written of mockingly by carefree hippies, but really hoping to take part
and engage
in the
world in some way of his own. He struggles just as our main protagonist
hippies do.
Eggshells is a surprising ode to the meek, in a film about the liberated.
Eggshells is dreaming of balloons.
Eggshells is the bubble scene.
Eggshells is my hero David. Eggshells is our most unapologetically fey male love interest.
Eggshells is the true creative spirit. Here I am imposing some idea of Hooper as some demure, delicate artiste,
but it turns out he can roll with the hippie-dippiest of them when the occasion arises. "Let's
paint some walls for my movie, guys! Everyone take off your clothes!"
Eggshells is accumulating balloons of happiness.
Eggshells is a rather incisive examination of the marriage choice.
Eggshells is yellow dog, god damn Yellow dog!
Eggshells is two couples.
Eggshells is a should-have-been-better-put-together climactic wedding scene.
Eggshells is such creativity and social purposes and artistic purposes at a joined-together head.
