Director/writer/photography/editor: Charles Burnett
Music: Paul Robeson, Dinah Washington, Faye Adams, Arthur Crudup, Little Walter
Music: Paul Robeson, Dinah Washington, Faye Adams, Arthur Crudup, Little Walter
Cast: Henry G. Sanders, Kaycee Moore, Charles Bracy, Angela Burnett, Eugene Cherry, Jack Drummond
Killer of Sheep was the first feature-length picture by one-man band director, writer, cinematographer, and editor Charles Burnett. It was made as Burnett’s master’s thesis for the UCLA School of Film. It’s relatively short and episodic, with little narrative arc or perhaps more accurate to say with many little narrative arcs, a probing look at life in Watts during the 1970s, when it was shot. Henry G. Sanders stars as Stan, Kaycee Moore is Stan’s unnamed wife, and Jack Drummond and Angela Burnett are their unnamed children. The picture won praise and appreciation when it was shown in film festivals in 1978 but, because the music rights had not been obtained, and the picture is full of music, it failed to get a wide release and languished for some 30 years.
Stan is a simple, decent, hardworking family man trying to get along in the obviously dire conditions of Watts. He applies himself patiently to life—fixing up his rundown house, in need of many repairs, and working a day job in a slaughterhouse. Which gets us to the nonmetaphorical implications of the title. Literally, Stan is a killer of sheep. But I suspect the sheep themselves bear metaphorical implications, not least because I think it would be more likely to run into cows and pigs in a slaughterhouse. Sheep are eaten too, of course, but are also raised—and kept alive—for their coats as a source of wool. The slaughterhouse scenes here can be unpleasant, explicit, and difficult to watch, notably one where the coats are being stripped off corpses impaled on hooks. But those scenes are only a small part of the picture.
Killer of Sheep was the first feature-length picture by one-man band director, writer, cinematographer, and editor Charles Burnett. It was made as Burnett’s master’s thesis for the UCLA School of Film. It’s relatively short and episodic, with little narrative arc or perhaps more accurate to say with many little narrative arcs, a probing look at life in Watts during the 1970s, when it was shot. Henry G. Sanders stars as Stan, Kaycee Moore is Stan’s unnamed wife, and Jack Drummond and Angela Burnett are their unnamed children. The picture won praise and appreciation when it was shown in film festivals in 1978 but, because the music rights had not been obtained, and the picture is full of music, it failed to get a wide release and languished for some 30 years.
Stan is a simple, decent, hardworking family man trying to get along in the obviously dire conditions of Watts. He applies himself patiently to life—fixing up his rundown house, in need of many repairs, and working a day job in a slaughterhouse. Which gets us to the nonmetaphorical implications of the title. Literally, Stan is a killer of sheep. But I suspect the sheep themselves bear metaphorical implications, not least because I think it would be more likely to run into cows and pigs in a slaughterhouse. Sheep are eaten too, of course, but are also raised—and kept alive—for their coats as a source of wool. The slaughterhouse scenes here can be unpleasant, explicit, and difficult to watch, notably one where the coats are being stripped off corpses impaled on hooks. But those scenes are only a small part of the picture.
Killer of Sheep is often compared to Italian neorealism of the 1940s, to pictures by Vittorio De Sica (Bicycle Thieves, Miracle in Milan) and Roberto Rossellini (Rome, Open City; Paisan). All are shot on profoundly black & white filmstock and they focus on the look and feel of impoverishment. Killer of Sheep continually alternates scenes of grinding despair with scenes of kids playing in vacant lots, using abandoned sheets of plywood as shields, throwing rocks at one another and wrestling in the dirt. Or they are seen shot from below leaping like ballet dancers from roof to roof. There is poverty and pathos in these images, but also a good deal of joy. The kids are always playing, happy even when they are crying about being hurt.
Similarly, the relationship between Stan and his wife is a mixed bag but tends toward the solid and heartening. They struggle with their constant problems and they are sometimes even troubled by one another. But that’s where they turn for solace and mostly they are there for each other. One tender scene, where they are seen dancing by themselves in the living room to a record playing Dinah Washington’s “This Bitter Earth,” ends strangely when Stan’s wife turns away from him to the window and breaks down crying. It is as if the pressures of her life have gotten to her once more and even the love of her husband can’t protect her.
One comical thread here involves Stan’s friend Eugene (Eugene Cherry) attempting to get a car running. In one long scene Eugene negotiates the purchase of an engine block and then he and Stan must carry it down treacherous flights of rickety stairs to the street. It is agonizing to watch and absurdly reminiscent of Laurel & Hardy’s The Music Box, the staircase mainly but perhaps also because of the palm trees and Los Angeles vibe. It finishes exactly the way you fear and expect even as you pray it doesn’t. And then there are further chapters in the saga of Eugene’s car.
The main problem Killer of Sheep confronted for release was the music. The rights had to be worked out or the music removed. Burnett suspected and was probably right that the music is a large part of what makes the picture work. It’s a big soundtrack from a panoply of great Black artists: Paul Robeson, Dinah Washington, Louis Armstrong, Earth Wind & Fire, Lowell Fulson, Cecil Gant, Elmore James, and more. Burnett was right to hold out for keeping the music and finally, 30 years later, a restoration effort including securing those rights.
Killer of Sheep is purposefully aimless, and often depressing, but it is also full of life and hope somehow. As it happens, Burnett was not any better sorting out the cast credits than he was with getting deals done for the music. The picture is full of players and interesting performances, but the credits are unfortunately scanty on the specifics beyond the handful of main players. Like the credits, IMDb lists them without noting their roles. For most of them Killer of Sheep is their only film credit. It’s an interesting picture for all its small faults and remains worth a look. Burnett’s later work includes My Brother’s Wedding (1983), To Sleep With Anger (1990), and The Annihilation of Fish (1999).
Similarly, the relationship between Stan and his wife is a mixed bag but tends toward the solid and heartening. They struggle with their constant problems and they are sometimes even troubled by one another. But that’s where they turn for solace and mostly they are there for each other. One tender scene, where they are seen dancing by themselves in the living room to a record playing Dinah Washington’s “This Bitter Earth,” ends strangely when Stan’s wife turns away from him to the window and breaks down crying. It is as if the pressures of her life have gotten to her once more and even the love of her husband can’t protect her.
One comical thread here involves Stan’s friend Eugene (Eugene Cherry) attempting to get a car running. In one long scene Eugene negotiates the purchase of an engine block and then he and Stan must carry it down treacherous flights of rickety stairs to the street. It is agonizing to watch and absurdly reminiscent of Laurel & Hardy’s The Music Box, the staircase mainly but perhaps also because of the palm trees and Los Angeles vibe. It finishes exactly the way you fear and expect even as you pray it doesn’t. And then there are further chapters in the saga of Eugene’s car.
The main problem Killer of Sheep confronted for release was the music. The rights had to be worked out or the music removed. Burnett suspected and was probably right that the music is a large part of what makes the picture work. It’s a big soundtrack from a panoply of great Black artists: Paul Robeson, Dinah Washington, Louis Armstrong, Earth Wind & Fire, Lowell Fulson, Cecil Gant, Elmore James, and more. Burnett was right to hold out for keeping the music and finally, 30 years later, a restoration effort including securing those rights.
Killer of Sheep is purposefully aimless, and often depressing, but it is also full of life and hope somehow. As it happens, Burnett was not any better sorting out the cast credits than he was with getting deals done for the music. The picture is full of players and interesting performances, but the credits are unfortunately scanty on the specifics beyond the handful of main players. Like the credits, IMDb lists them without noting their roles. For most of them Killer of Sheep is their only film credit. It’s an interesting picture for all its small faults and remains worth a look. Burnett’s later work includes My Brother’s Wedding (1983), To Sleep With Anger (1990), and The Annihilation of Fish (1999).
No comments:
Post a Comment