Where Forgotten Films Dwell

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Saturday, March 24, 2012

Last Chants for a Slow Dance

Directed by Jon Jost
The United States of America

Somewhere along a desolate highway in Western Montana where the scorched grass burns brown and cotton-ball clouds dissolve into an endless ocean of white, a decrepit old pick-up truck speeds along. The driver, a shifty, uneasy man named Tom Bates fidgets and cackles a rapid, kookaburra laugh. “I mean, what you ever get the feeling that everything was just, just going by you like WHOOSH -- just going by, it’s all, all too fast. You can’t, can’t see anything,” he philosophizes to a lanky hitch-hiking hippie sitting in the passenger seat. “I guess, well I guess what I got to do is sort through some of this shit, y’know, just get some of this shit outta my life,” he continues as his passenger sits in solemn silence. Indeed, Tom Bates is a man with a lot of shit in his life. He has no job, no money, a wife he keeps running away from, and two kids (soon to be three) he doesn’t want. And the worst part is that he is either incapable or unwilling to realize or admit that all of these problems are his fault. He is the nightmare of a living, breathing hamartia; an Aristotelian tragic hero devoid of anagnorisis. He is unapologetic in all he does: when he screams at his wife, when he wastes what little money he has on cheap drinks, and even when he cruelly throws the hippie out of his truck when he begins to suspect that he might be “a queer.” He feels cheated by life, yet has no idea that he stacked his own deck against him.

Such are the ways of Tom Bates, the character around which Jon Jost’s Last Chants for a Slow Dance revolves. One of the neglected treasures of the early American independent film scene, it is, to use Jonathan Rosenbaum’s words, a “chilling portrait of an embittered, misogynistic lumpen proletarian.” Made for about $2,000 and shot on dusty, faded 16mm film stock, the film looks like the remnants of overexposed home movies. It embodies the lulling sense of fatigue brought on by days of endless driving with no radio or air conditioning. And yet there was not a single moment of Last Chants for a Slow Dance that didn’t leave me completely enthralled.

Jost constructs his film through the use of two primary techniques. First, he routinely utilizes long takes where the characters are either partially or completely obscured. Consider the opening scene in the truck with the hippie hitch-hiker. The third shot of this sequence is a medium close-up of Tom Bates and the hippie framed by the front windshield. The camera first focuses on Tom.

Since up to this point the hippie hasn’t said a word, the audiences is shocked when the camera pans left to reveal his presence.

Then, the camera pans further left to profile the hippie. All the while, Tom continues to rattle on from off-camera.

Then, after a time, the camera pans right to frame both characters one last time.

This whole unbroken shot is roughly six minutes long. Not only is it aesthetically fascinating, but it is a technical marvel. Considering that Jost only had two grand to film with, it is very doubtful that he had an expensive camera that could be fixed on the top of the engine. So this raises two possibilities. One, that Jost managed to cobble together a system of pulleys and ropes which not only held the camera in place but panned it back and forth to perfectly profile the characters. Two, that somebody was literally tied to the front of the truck and worked the camera while on a busy freeway. I honestly can’t decide which would be more practical.

The second technique that Jost extensively utilizes is the montage. As Tom stumbles from confrontation to confrontation, the film dissolves into sequences of rapid, quick cuts set to country music written, played, and sung by Jost. When I say country music, I don’t mean the polished, glittery Nashville tripe that usually floods the radio-waves. This is authentic country music, the kind Townes Van Zandt crooned to empty bar rooms in Austin, the kind borne from picking on a guitar or banjo on a rocking chair on a front porch, the kind that paints pictures of misery, despondence, and exhaustion. The music evokes the tedium that rules Tom’s life.

The combination of the long take and montage skew the audience’s senses of temporality. On this subject, Noël Carroll wrote, “Jost’s strength in this film is his ability to portray the experience of time of the lumpenproietariat who is outside the regimented rhythm of work and sleep, who lives without directions, schedules, and goals.” And indeed, Tom seems drifts in and out of time. One minute, he is flirting with a woman at a bar. In the next, we see Tom sitting on the bed in her apartment in his underwear making a phone call to his wife, alternating between begging her to take him back and screaming obscenities at her. The woman from the bar, having heard the whole conversation, asks him who he was talking to. Without missing a beat or batting an eye, he responds in a terse monotone, “It’s something ‘bout a job.” The woman, obviously amazed that Tom would lie so blatantly to her face, continues, “You always yell at people who are about to employ you?” “Yeah.” Not buying it, she says, “You didn’t mention anything about a wife last night.” “I don’t remember being asked about a wife, last night.” It isn’t long before Tom begins to yell again.

If Jon Jost’s direction was the stuff of genius, then Tom Blair’s performance as Tom Bates was the stuff of legend. He encapsulated the kind of brutal, honest naturalism that John Cassavetes spent decades trying to coax out of actors like Gena Rowlands and Peter Falk. Blair manages to change emotions from one extreme to another with a swiftness that would have seemed robotic or artificial from another, lesser actor. The fact that these violent mood swings are almost always captured in unbroken long takes gives him an almost sinister presence that spreads unease over the audience. We slowly become morbidly curious of just how far gone Tom Bates might really be.

Jon Jost’s Last Chants for a Slow Dance is a fascinating film which seems to stylistically predict the works of Béla Tarr and Jim Jarmusch. Without relying on the over-abused metaphor of the Death of the American Dream, suffice it to say that Jost’s film is a scathing rebuke of traditional American machismo and individualism. Tom Bates is no John Wayne, no Clint Eastwood, no Marlboro Man. He inhabits two wastelands: the plains of Montana and the killing fields of his inner psyche. Is it any wonder that the film ends in violence? Jost wisely realized that Tom Bates’ story could not end any other way.


  1. Hi Nathanael, welcome back; I've been looking forward to a new post and this one is terrific. I have never heard of the film, but the title's play on words and your review has me intrigued. I should also say that any post that introduces me to a new concept in anagnorisis is impressive indeed. The idea might help explain a character in a film that has had me baffled. May I ask you a question regarding the concept? How (if at all) would this work in Greek tragedy, melodrama, etc, and must the character always bring on the trials herself/himself. Could an injury be used as an excuse leading to anagnorisis, and is this similar to a catharsis?

    1. First off, I'm glad that you like the new review! I'm going to be posting more for the next few days to catch up with my March quota.

      As for the debate on Aristotelian tragedy...ah...that takes me back to my 12th grade AP Advanced English course when we read Chinua Achebe's "Things Fall Apart" and Sophocles' Oedipus trilogy...

      Ah, but yes, your question. While I have studied the basics of Aristotelian tragedy, don't let the fact that I throw words like "anagnorisis" around make you think that I'm trying to write a treatise on the subject. My use of the terms were illustrative. When I said that Tom Bates was "a breathing hamartia" I was referring to how he was the root of all of his problems. While some define "hamartia" as a hero's fatal flaw, a more accurate definition would be that a hero's "hamartia" is a sin, injury, or error committed in ignorance. Tom Bates is thoroughly incapable of realizing that his behavior and lifestyle is what's ruining his life. As a result, he keeps making the same mistakes over and over and over.

      The entire concept of the term "anagnorisis" has to do with the hero's sudden realization of the true state of things and the consequences of his actions. An example would be the moment that Oedipus Rex realizes that he had inadvertently killed his father and married his mother. At no point during the film does Tom Bates have that moment of recognition.

      According to Aristotle, if I remember correctly, a true "hamartia" can only occur as a result of the hero's actions, usually accidentally. Therein lies the key: no true Aristotelian tragic hero would WANT to undergo "hamartia" which would lead to "anagnorisis." The fact that they DO proves that THEY messed up, that THEY made a mistake.

      Does that answer your question somewhat?

  2. Haven't seen this, but would like to. Where did you find it?

    1. From the dark underbelly of the Internet where few venture and none return...


      But seriously, though, I found my copy of this film via a torrent. It's out there.

    2. This comment has been removed by the author.

  3. Nate, we movie lovers can find the most amazing films through torrents, don't you find? I'm always impressed at the unique movies you come across. They always illuminate aspects of life and people, especially those who seem to live on the edges of society. While many folks might not consider LAST CHANTS FOR A SLOW DANCE (clever title!) to be a feel-good movie, it sounds quite compelling. Excellent review, Nate; glad to have you back!

    1. Many thanks! I've got two more reviews coming out in the next couple of days. I'm curious to hear what you'll think of them, too!

  4. Hey Nathanael and Dorian,

    Just so you know, Jost sells his films through his website: www.jon-jost.com. And it's not like he's swimming in money, so please re-consider the next time you decide to download a torrent of a film like this (basically robbing jost of a few dollars) and then advertise the practice on your website!

    1. I just want to say for the record that I only used a torrent because I couldn't find a copy of the film anywhere else. I wasn't aware that Jost even HAD a website. But now that I know he has one, I'll gladly buy my own copy on his website.

  5. I'm not that hard to find - Google my name and up will come my website, and blogs:

    Recently someone noted for me some of my films being torrented - and I managed to get some taken down. One had 181 hits on Last Chants. I sell DVDs for 30. so that was minus $5000 which is these days about half m annual income. Being an independent filmmaker is not exactly a grav train. At 70, you're taking food out of an old man's mouth.

    1. First, let me say that at the time of watching this movie I wasn't aware that the film was available for purchase. That was my own fault. And for that, I apologize.

      Second, as soon as I am able to get some money together, I will purchase LAST CHANTS FOR A SLOW DANCE.

      Third, I just want to say that I love LAST CHANTS and I am thrilled that you found my blog! Even if it is under such unfortunate circumstances.

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