Flak Magazine: Review of Groove & Better Living Through Circuitry, 06-29-00

There's danger inherent in making films about electronic music and rave culture — a culture that prides itself on being hipper than the hippest hipster.

Often, such as in the case of the 1998 electronic music documentary Modulations, it becomes so apparent that the filmmakers are proponents of the rave scene that they lose objectivity, causing the film to become little more than a music video, with artists greeting the camera with cries of, "Are you down?"

Two recent films avoid such pitfalls and have the confidence to less subjectively define yet show with conviction the rave philosophy.

Groove dissects rave culture by giving insights into it, then makes it accessible by fleshing it out with realistic human emotion and interaction.

The film is San Francisco Bay Area filmmaker Greg Harrison's feature film debut. The edges are rough, and the performances amateur at times, but Harrison's patient direction and screenplay ring true throughout.

Colin Turner (Denny Kirkwood) invites his brother David (Hamish Linklater) to a rave taking place in a San Francisco warehouse. David is Everyman, an uptight Midwest transplant that moved West to pursue a career as a novelist, and ended up writing instruction manuals.

In contrast, Colin is a stereotypical raver. He drags David to the event, and ends up proposing to his new girlfriend, Harmony Stitts (Mackenzie Firgens). Then the brothers take ecstasy. Wackiness ensues. David fancies himself as an intellectual, but finds himself confronting conflicting social and class issues when he meets Leyla (Lola Glaudini), who has no job and didn't finish college. Their relationship undergoes significant changes during the film, which is to Harrison's credit.

What's striking about Groove is its methodical, patient pace. The characters, particularly David, evolve as the film progresses. It's a credit to Harrison's screenplay that he can examine a fast-paced culture like rave, which begs for attention and overexposure, yet still develop his characters.

Likewise, Harrison's direction never loses itself in the rave's carnival-like atmosphere. There are no sweeping shots of flashing lights or meaningless camera angles. Mostly, people talk, existing in the culture. The music is prominent, but never dominates the action.

The drug use in the film is also realistic. David takes drugs for the first time and is coached through the experience by Leyla.

The film is filled with small, well-executed character touches. The DJs that work at the rave play integral parts in the film, and their subculture is shown to have its own struggles and politics. DJ Snazz, from Fresno, Calif., makes a couple of mistakes during his set and must watch as the next act, DJ Pollywog, takes hold of the crowd. Later, he's nervous when he meets DJ John Digweed, a high profile performer from England.

Anthony (Vince Riverside) is a creepy presence in the film. He lurks around the warehouse and ends up nearly dividing the newly engaged couple with his antics. The main publicity still for Groove is a raver sitting down in a transit station holding a giant disco ball on his lap, a serene, comfortable expression on his face. Like the raver in that image, Harrison has a patient hold on this flashy subject.

Exercising a similarly careful grasp is Director Jonathan Reiss, whose Better Living Through Circuitry is as thorough a documentary as Groove is a feature.

Reiss filmed 200 hours of footage with a digital camera he smuggled into raves. The film doesn't try to justify raves, rather, it suggests why they are important to people who attend them.One young man in the film describes rave culture as "the sharing of energy with other people." Rave proponents argue this credo is as important than the music itself.

While a Reiss show doesn't stir up much controversy, the footage takes a close look inside rave's sweltering ovens of bass and drugs. The artists featured in the film range from high-profile, commercially successful acts like Crystal Method, Roni Size and BT to more underground types like Scanner and System 7.

Reiss' subjects all offer interesting takes on raves, but the interviews with those on the scene's periphery are the most interesting. Mike Szabo talks about when he created rave invitations that incorporated the NASA logo in a pop art fashion, which both embodied the culture's sampling philosophy and helped the space theme become an integral one in rave propaganda.

Szabo's work is on display at the Smithsonian Institute. Members of The Pure Children, a communal collective living in a New York City loft, explain how they create graphics, promote raves and run a record label from their comfy confines.

The film's most interesting personality is Genesis P'Orridge, co-founder of industrial music forefathers Throbbing Gristle. The well-spoken artist gives a great explanation about the genesis of house music.

Kraftwerk's Wolfgang Flur — like P'Orridge, an elder statesmen — discusses the development of his group's trademark sound. Both Flur and P'Orridge give the film a historical perspective that helps explain, if not justify, why ravers and electronic artists do what they do.

This is juxtaposed with artists like Superstar DJ Keoki, who is motivated by the sex and drugs that often characterize rave culture.

But the selling point of these films is that they present these contrasts and conflicts within the scene without overselling their respective positions. And when all is said and done, these two films deserve at the very least a spot right up alongside of Modulations as the movies that defined a scene.

— Aaron Tassano (aaronaroundthecorner@yahoo.com)