Scorpio Rising: A Queer Film Classic

SCORPIO RISING

SCORPIO RISING

A QUEER FILM CLASSIC

R.L. CAGLE

Scorpio Rising: A Queer Film Classic

Copyright © 2019 by R.L. Cagle

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any part by any means—graphic, electronic, or mechanical—without the prior written permission of the publisher, except by a reviewer, who may use brief excerpts in a review, or in the case of photocopying in Canada, a license from Access Copyright.

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The author wishes to acknowledge the Research and Publication Committee of the University of Illinois at Urbana–Champaign Library, which provided support for the completion of this research.

Efforts have been made to locate copyright holders of source material wherever possible. The publisher welcomes hearing from any copyright holders of material used in this book who have not been contacted.

Arsenal Pulp Press acknowledges the xʷməθkʷəy̓əm (Musqueam), Sḵwx̱wú7mesh (Squamish), and səl̓ilwətaɁɬ (Tsleil-Waututh) Nations, speakers of Hul’q’umi’num’/Halq’eméylem/hən̓q̓əmin̓əm̓ and custodians of the traditional, ancestral, and unceded territories where our office is located. We pay respect to their histories, traditions, and continuous living cultures and commit to accountability, respectful relations, and friendship.

Queer Film Classics editors: Matthew Hays and Thomas Waugh

Cover and text design by Oliver McPartlin

Cover image frame enlargement from Scorpio Rising courtesy of Kenneth Anger

Edited for the press by Shirarose Wilensky

Proofread for the press by Alison Strobel

Printed and bound in Canada

Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication:

Cagle, R. L., 1962–, author

Scorpio rising / R.L. Cagle.

(Queer film classics)

Issued in print and electronic formats.

ISBN 978-1-55152-761-1 (softcover).--ISBN 978-1-55152-762-8 (HTML)

1. Scorpio rising (Motion picture). 2. Short films--United States--History and criticism. 3. Homosexuality in motion pictures. 4. Anger, Kenneth—Criticism and interpretation.

I. Title. II. Series: Queer film classics

Contents

Acknowledgments

Synopsis

Credits

Introduction

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

References

Filmography

Index

To my mother, who (thank goodness) shares my obsessions with pop music, underrated films, and sad Korean dramas.

And in memory of my father, who was so nervous about getting me to New York to interview Kenneth Anger that he drove up a down exit ramp on the way to O’Hare.

I should have realized the rest of the day was going to be a little crazy.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

I am deeply grateful to Matthew Hays and Thomas Waugh for inviting me to contribute a volume to this valuable series and, even more, for their continued encouragement and support throughout the writing and editing processes. It is an honor to be included in such an esteemed group. Thanks also to the wonderful folks at Arsenal Pulp Press—Brian Lam, Oliver McPartlin, and Shirarose Wilensky—each of whom has provided immeasurable assistance with the preparation of this manuscript.

Thank you to the staff at the George Eastman Museum, Anthology Film Archives, and Canyon Cinema, for their assistance in verifying facts and locating research material. I owe a special debt of gratitude to the truly amazing Mr Steven Finger of the Los Angeles Free Press, who provided me with invaluable research material and an evening of much-needed laughter and movie talk. Jon Vickers of the Indiana University Cinema kindly sent me a recording of Kenneth Anger’s post-screening question and answer session at IU that was eye-opening, to say the least, and provided a helpful framework for my analysis. M.M. Serra of the Film-Makers’ Cooperative always has the right answer, no matter what the question, and has been a kind and thoughtful friend for more years that I care to admit. Robert Haller of the Anthology Film Archives has been the source of invaluable information, by phone and via correspondence, as has John Mhiripiri. The late Bill Landis graciously shared his insights and experiences with me over a series of phone chats and letters, and sent me a lovely collection of materials from his publication Sleazoid Express. Brian Butler, Kenneth Anger’s creative partner, has graciously facilitated my most recent communications with Mr Anger and has answered several important questions for me.

It was the truly inspiring Constance Penley who first introduced me to the world of avant-garde cinema in a class that changed my life. She, Sharon Willis, and Tom DiPiero continue to inspire my writing and teaching, perhaps without even realizing it, as do the late Craig Owens and Edwin Jahiel, both of whom were generous teachers and gracious human beings.

My dear friends David Desser, Karin Egloff, Frances Gateward, Lalitha Gopalan, Yvonne Hammer, Diana Jaher, Dimitri Katsaros, Aaron Han-joon Magnan-Park, Barbara L. Miller, and Gloria Monti have selflessly shared delicious food, helpful perspectives, and heartwarming encouragement. I cannot thank them enough. A few words from Richard Leskosky or David Tietz (who made even the most boring screenings entertaining with his salty commentaries—Early Bummer is a fave) can restore my energy and interest in film, even on the most dismal of days.

Kenneth Davis, Beth Trotter, Yvonne Rohde, and Lynn Voss religiously trekked with me, rain or shine, to the various opening nights, campus screenings, and midnight movies that shaped our senses of style and humor, from our earliest childhood into the present. Our conversations about film and Hollywood gossip continue to this day.

Margaret Montalbano, who sent me her very own copy of the first edition of Boyd McDonald’s Cruising the Movies, has been a beacon of strength and a tireless resource on issues ranging from celebrity eyebrows (Mr McDonald would undoubtedly be impressed) to ice cream treats. To Kerri Baker, a rousing chorus of Ding-Dong! The Witch Is Dead (minus the cape and the Snickers bars) is, I believe, the most suitable way to say thank you.

To Kenneth Anger, who, at the time of this writing in 2018, continues to create and tour, thank you for your stunningly beautiful and always challenging works. Your influence extends around the globe, and your works—both available and lost—are as legendary as anything Hollywood, even at its greatest, could ever have produced.

And finally, to my mother, Florence Cagle: Thank you for being so insistent about my studying and getting a university education and, even more, for always finding something interesting and noteworthy in whatever projects I have undertaken. I wish that everyone in the world could have a mother as supportive and wonderful as you. I love you very much.

SYNOPSIS

Scorpio Rising (Kenneth Anger, 1963) is a silent short film (28 min.) with a pop music soundtrack and sound effects.

The synopsis that follows is far more detailed than those generally provided for feature films. This is because Anger’s film develops along what might be termed an associative or connotative axis, using juxtapositions of images rather than dialogue or traditional narrative as its primary mode of communication. Providing as detailed a description as possible of these myriad visual and musical elements gives readers a basic road map of where the film goes and how it gets there. That said, I realize that to convey an approximation of the experience of watching would be impossible. As P. Adams Sitney explains in Visionary Film: Lengthy analysis diffuses the strength of rapid montage. The importance of Anger’s film is the clarity and depth of his vision and the skill with which he can present complex ideas and sudden qualifications through the editing of tiny bits of film (1979, 117).

As has been the case with most of his films before Invocation of My Demon Brother (1969), Anger has revised Scorpio Rising throughout his career—an ongoing process that at one point, as his current collaborator Brian Butler recalled, even led to his screening a version of it without sound. My films are a little like lithographs, Anger notes in a 1967 interview with Bruce Martin and Joseph Medjuck. I make one state and then put it aside. And sometimes I’ll come back to them and do another version or another state (13). The film that most recognize as the definitive edition (that Anger refers to as its second state) differs somewhat from the version that premiered at in New York City in October 1963. At the time of this writing, no copies of any earlier or alternative editions were available for viewing.

In his Magick Lantern Cycle: A Special Presentation in Celebration of the Equinox, Spring 1966, Anger describes Scorpio Rising as a conjuration of the Presiding Princes, Angels and Spirits of the Sphere of Mars, formed as a ‘high’ view of the Myth of the American motorcyclist. The Power Machine seen as tribal totem, from toy to terror. Thanatos in chrome and black leather and bursting jeans. (See color Figure 1.) And he divides the film into four chapters (capitalization and punctuation maintained from original):

I. Boys & Bolts (masculine fascination with the Thing that Goes)

II. Image Maker (getting high on heroes: Dean’s Rebel and Brando’s Johnny: The True View of J.C.)

III. Walpurgis Party (J.C. Wallflower at cycler’s Sabbath)

IV. Rebel Rouser (The Gathering of the Dark Legions, with a message from Our Sponsor)

The synopsis provided below is for the second state edition, in distribution for nearly fifty years and restored in 2006 by the UCLA Film and Television Archive. This version of the film first appeared on the home video market as a 1986 VHS by Mystic Fire Video. More than twenty years later, it reappeared, this time fully restored, in 2007 as part of Fantoma’s beautifully packaged two-volume set Kenneth Anger’s Magick Lantern Cycle, and then again, in 2011, as part of a DVD/Blu-ray Disc dual format edition (restored version) by the British Film Institute.

A young man dressed in black pulls back the tarp covering his flashy, customized motorcycle as Ricky Nelson sings Fools Rush In (1963) on the soundtrack. The same young man, now dressed in shades of gray and surrounded by bright chrome motorcycle parts, works diligently on his project, polishing and preparing the pieces that will transform his bike into a work of art. A pair of engineer boots sits discarded on the floor, one flipped over on its side, and as the sound of a motor revving invades the soundtrack, a painted talisman featuring a red scorpion zooms into close-up and beyond. The camera slowly tilts downward along a tomato-red wall, revealing, as it goes, the leather-clad torso (from behind) of a man dressed in motorcycle gear. On the back of his jacket is the title of the film, Scorpio Rising, spelled out in studs, along its waistband, Kenneth Anger. The scorpion talisman zooms toward the audience again as the cyclist turns around to reveal a naked torso. After a brief pause, the cyclist walks into the camera, creating a fade to black.

Once more, the scorpion zooms into close-up, this time accompanied by the music box chimes that open Little Peggy March’s Wind Up Doll (1963). A black cloth pulls away from in front of the camera and the motorcycle, now fully assembled with a matching cap perched atop the shiny chrome handlebars, sparkles in the spotlight. The camera smoothly traces the machine’s lines, capturing its beauty in the kind of extremely haloed soft focus once seemingly reserved solely for close-ups of Doris Day on her weekly television program. Here the camera cuts away for the first time to show another motorcycle, this one a tiny tin toy, as a child’s hand reaches into the frame and winds up the toy while the sound of a clockwork being wound (part of March’s song) plays. The camera cuts back to the adult working on his machine as he adjusts the lug nuts (his