![]() And then there are watches, which are smashed, pawned, handed down from father to son, and used as weapons. ![]() This includes clocks of the wall, mantel, grandfather and bedside-table variety clocks on steeples, towers, dashboards and bombs and clocks in train stations, shop windows and spaceships as well as the occasional hourglass and sundial. Questions asked in one will be answered in the next or the next after that.Īnd there are, of course, clocks galore. ![]() A door opened in one movie leads into another movie. to 6 p.m.īut while “The Clock” is accurately parsing real time, movie time goes nuts, rushing past in an exhilarating, surprisingly addictive flood. Otherwise it tells time during regular gallery hours: 10 a.m. The same for 11:15 in the evening, as can be experienced on weekends, when the gallery stays open and runs the piece continuously from 10 a.m. When a clock on the screen reads 11:15 in the morning, it does so at exactly 11:15 in the morning Eastern Standard Time. Moviemakers have developed endless devices to make us aware of time’s passage in their films, and to hold us in thrall, or suspense, within that artificial time while we forget about the real kind outside the theater.Ĭentral to the power of “The Clock” is its strict adherence to real time and its manic compression of movie time. Time is the form and content, and, above all, the material. That timepieces crop up everywhere in movies is no surprise: Film was the first visual art form to capture and package time, and every movie is an elaborate manipulation of time. Now it is ensconced in a theaterlike installation at the Paula Cooper Gallery in Chelsea, where it should not be missed. Yet it conveys an almost unbelievably visceral sense not only of the historic sweep of the medium the most pervasive, avidly consumed of modern art forms but also of the passions that making movies requires, not to mention those they express and inspire.Ī labor of some two years, “The Clock” was hailed as a masterpiece when it made its debut at the White Cube gallery in London last fall. Watching it, I kept wondering what the late, great, film critic Pauline Kael would make of it and also how many of the often-obscure scenes she would recognize. It is like a history of film for our ADD times, or the greatest movie trailer ever made, as well as the ultimate work of appropriation art, a genre that owes so much to the movies. It samples film from around the world and throughout the last century, from silent movies to the present. Thus “The Clock” is also a 24-hour valentine to the movies. All of them feature clocks or watches or people announcing the time, or more obliquely conjure up the passage of time. “The Clock,” his latest excursion into extreme editing and radical sampling, is a 24-hour timepiece that ticks off the minutes and sometimes the seconds of a full day, using thousands of brilliantly spliced-together film clips from all kinds of movies. Christian Marclay, the wizardly visual artist, composer and appropriator has done it again, and then some.
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