somethings
nothings
can cant
the rehearsal and the curse (2020s) - does a work's constant ironic hyperconsciousness of its own savvy cringiness sufficiently redeem it? fielder seems to be wowing many and in some ways we get the grab - they're sort of a buber pataredux (the i-thou put through the grinder of modern identity, social breakdown and hyperized dissimulations) - a guiltified de-innocenced candid camera - shoved through a drugged mirror into our current current's reality in wonderland, its lens spinning hallucinogenically - a viscerally compelling seduction to our complicity in the squeamishness and horror of the omnipresent other (outside and in) - but the further these series go the more they drag - might his 16.10 release hold me tighter in its three hour enclosure
speaking of might - might it be fun to have borat, fielder and allen funt - perhaps with buber and frederick wiseman - live in a house together for six months doing a kind of survivor reality tv - discussing things like authenticity, money, privilege, voyeurism, truth, ecology animal rights and slaughterhouses, misrepresentation ...?
fielder's work primarily draws me not to his subjects (or is it objects?) but to fielder himself (as object ... or is it subject?) - the camera (wherever it's physically pointing) increasingly raising questions about him (or is it me?) (if we've been paying attention, do we learn anything more about eg holmes [or greed, amerika, big tech, lust, gender, hypocrisy, deception] ... are the questions primarily about method and the ubiquity and complicities of vice?)
iow is fielder's investigative aesthetic spiritual trajectory aiming squarely for a series - fielder on fielder - alone in a house with himself and himselves and a thousand cameras, everyone questioning everyone and none of the ones sure of anything - a sort of arrebato twisted into hypertechnomodernized paranoidarama amerikana, closing on the protagonist(s) disappearing into infinite representations
oops, there eye go