Director: Godfrey Reggio
Cinematography: Ron Fricke
Music: Phillip Glass
My Score: 4.5/5
Have you ever looked at the world around you as if you’re seeing it through the eyes of nature itself, and then asked yourself the question: do I like what I see?
This seems to be the existential question of the ages presented by director Godfrey Reggio and his 1982 experimental documentary, Koyaanisqatsi. Technology has been a part of our existence since our early human ancestors learned to utilize sticks and stones as tools to improve their own standard of living. But can we apply that reasoning to today’s technology in all aspects, practically and psychologically? Has technology made our lives better, or just easier? And if the answer is the latter, is that necessarily a good thing?
A Life Out of Balance
These were only a few of a thousand questions going through my mind as I sat glued to my screen while watching Reggio’s acclaimed visual tone poem that shines a light on the role technology has played in our existence, for better or worse. It’s important to note, in this case, that Reggio never intended his film to illustrate technology’s effect on our lives, but rather how we now seem to exist within technology as if the two entities were melded together. Koyaanisqatsi (in the Hopi language, it translates to “a life out of balance”) is presented as sequences of video shots, original and sourced, edited in a specific and deliberate order, accompanied by a superb minimalist score by Phillip Glass that pulls us further into the narrative. There is no dialogue, no acting, no prepared set pieces. Just a real-time glance at the every day world around us as if we’re seeing through nature’s viewpoint, which returns us to the ultimate question: do we like what we see?
Technology and the Environment
After a short prelude featuring the Horseshoe Canyon’s Great Gallery pictograph in Utah, going into the 1969 launch of Apollo 11 propelled by the Saturn V rocket engine, Koyaanisqatsi presents us with the beauty of nature uninterrupted in the form of vast canyons, desert landscapes, rolling clouds, smashing waves and majestic waterfalls. Ironically, what stood out for me here was the very first thing I experienced when I began watching – the sound of a melancholy pipe organ, later accompanying a contrabass chant of the film’s title. It was like a requiem of sorts for the beauty we were about to witness.
Having said this, the kaleidoscope of nature is short-lived, as humanity inevitably makes its introduction. What I appreciated here is how it was introduced using the illusion of beauty, be it vast fields of planted flowers (to quote another film: “God does not build in straight lines”), or the over-calmness of an artificial lake. Just as subtly as this was introduced, so it suddenly transitions into more intrusive and destructive aspects such as mining operations, oil fields and pipelines, a vast network of power lines (I should note here that Glass’s music transitions from an acoustic nature to synthetic – a perfect parallel), and eventually atomic bomb testing – humanity’s ultimate tool of destruction.
Two shots in this sequence stood out for me due to their sheer simplicity and use of juxtaposition, both involving power stations. The first is an arial view of the Navajo Generating Station near Page, Arizona. The music suddenly goes silent, as if we are forced to pay attention to only this image of environmental exploitation being displayed. It’s a powerful moment and one that, in my view, should give us all pause. The second shot is that of bathers on a beach that slowly pans up to the vast orbs of the San Onofre Nuclear Generating Station, south of San Clemente, California. I found this shot to be the perfect oxymoron of sorts – enjoying the natural comfort of the beach in the shadow of a nuclear power plant. The messages of both these juxtapositions came loud and clear to me. To offer a slight reprieve that was not available in 1982, these power stations have recently been decommissioned, with Navajo being demolished and San Onofre permanently closing.
Technology and the City
From the impact on the environment, we move next to the concrete jungles of the big cities. The first thing that went through my mind is that there were hardly any bits of natural land to be seen anymore, signifying humanity and technology’s complete dominance. The rolling clouds that we enjoyed at the beginning of the film are now reflected on the windows of giant skyscrapers that occupy most of our field of vision. Nothing screamed “artificial” to me more than these shots. Transport also takes centre stage here as we see all manner of vehicles, from cars to planes to tanks to fighter jets to aircraft carriers. Glass’s score, at this point, employs an a-capella choir which, in my mind, signifies the total presence of humanity against nature’s will. Synthetic aspects are eventually incorporated into this theme to reinforce Reggio’s viewpoint of humanity existing within technology.
The next sequence is one of significance that takes us to – among other places – what was once the infamous ill-fated Pruitt-Igoe housing project in St. Louis, Missouri. I began to feel claustrophobic as the camera took me between the tall buildings on either side of a narrow road. Glass’s score is among its most memorable here as a repetitive ostinato orchestra and choir accompany a system of apartments that is clearly in disarray, with some of these buildings seeming to not have one single intact window. It is through Glass’s music that I saw this once-promising project in all its misery – complete with sights of poverty-stricken men, women and children amid a pollution-ridden neighbourhood – to the point that by the time the buildings were finally demolished, I felt more pity than relief. Here, technology intended to serve its purpose of providing shelter to those who needed it, only to fail spectacularly – the scary part being that technology is unable to feel remorse or guilt. The sequence’s concluding slow-motion shot of smoke and debris flying through the air only added to this sentiment.
Koyaanisqatsi then returns us to the vast cityscapes in what seems to be a glimpse in the life of the modern world told once again in time-lapsing form. Certain sequences reinforce the artificial and/or obstructive nature of this environment, be it a sunset reflected in a skyscraper window or the moon passing behind another such building. I enjoyed this shot, because this was the first time since the opening sequence that I saw a glimpse of nature uninterrupted before losing it again behind a vast skyscraper. One constant aspect of this sequence is the number of vehicles we see on the road and how they seem to be constantly going faster – the first real sign of technology maybe starting to run away from itself. This is reinforced by a POV shot of a car driving along a highway system.
Technology and its People
Soon, however, the real focus of this sequence finally comes into view – people. More specifically, their interaction with modern technology of the time, with automated technology being singled out. After seeing a few people up close looking soulless as they stare into the camera lens – among them, a rather awkward group of elderly showgirls try to sustain a smile during what seems like an unnecessarily long shot – we are introduced to scenes that are edited in a certain fashion to reinforce the principle of humanity existing within technology, such as hot dog conveyers followed by crowds of people moving up and down escalators.
Technology and its Apathy
Once we finally get through this high-paced rollercoaster, Glass once again delivers a memorable score moment with his foreboding track entitled “Prophecies.” A forewarning of doom by a pipe organ and choir singing in the Hopi language (translation provided at the end of the film) accompanies what I interpreted to be the ultimate impact of technology – convenience at the cost of empathy. We are introduced to microchip technology coupled with satellite imagery of major cities, and people moving to and fro about their lives like robots of routine.
However, we also see the dark side of not keeping up with, or being let down by the god that is technology – a motionless homeless man being lifted onto a stretcher, a scabbed beggar staring at his few coins with a resigned hopelessness, an elderly smoker frustrated by a cigarette lighter that won’t light. Even a firefighter seems to wonder around aimlessly as he guides a poverty-stricken crowd through a smoke-filled street. Humanity and technology are now indistinguishable, with employed workers keeping the cogs going and the less fortunate being discarded as redundant parts.
Technology and its Self-Destruction
However, through everything that we have witnessed during this visual experience that is Koyaanisqatsi, the most powerful sequence happens at the very end. Coming full circle, we return to the opening shot of the Apollo 11 launch and its famous Saturn V rocket booster. In what I interpreted as the perfect symbolism of technology imploding onto itself in all its advancement, we watch a rocket fly through the air before bursting into flames seconds later (the exploding rocket is not the Apollo 11 craft, but the first ever launched rocket of the crewless Atlas-Centaur ELV program in 1962).
And just when you though the experience was over, the end credits are accompanied by a barrage of voices from broadcasters and phone calls thrown in together, with some being irregularly looped. This is the first time we hear human dialogue of any kind.
I knew what Koyaanisqatsi was and what it represented when I began watching it, but I was not prepared for how it would completely change the way I look at the world around me. What makes this film such a challenge, especially for a first-time reviewer like me, is that even if I found fault with it, those faults seemed to further serve its message.
What I can say quite confidently is that in this age of superhero franchises and CGI blockbusters, Koyaanisqatsi is certainly not for everyone, but it may be the breath of fresh air we need to rediscover the beauty of experimental filmmaking, as well as the need to maybe take a few minutes of each day to live unplugged from everything. However, committed cinephiles will be only too happy to revisit this film, if only for the sake of how it brings its message across.
I could tell that director Godfrey Reggio and his team put their hearts and souls into this film in order to convey in sound and pictures what, in Reggio’s opinion, words are not capable of conveying. Ron Fricke’s cinematography, combined with stock footage, is expertly shot and edited to represent humanity’s dependence and co-existence with technology. The cherry on the top is, of course, Phillip Glass’s magnificent score that combines acoustic and electronic sounds to further drive this narrative forward. I have begun to appreciate Glass’s minimalistic style more and more of late, so his involvement in this film was all the motivation I needed.
I do not believe Koyaanisqatsi is intended to be a lecture or warning or political statement, but all the same I would say that maybe it’s time for this film to find its way to a new generation of viewers. Its objective glimpse into a near-nihilistic civilization that may have embraced technology a little too eagerly is just as relevant today that it was in 1982… if not more so.
Review by RICHARD CAMPBELL
