SEX, POWER, AND MONEY: FILMS BY BETH B – Blu-ray Review

Harsh and Buried Truths in the Artistic Key of B

DIRECTOR: BETH B/1983-2017

BLU-RAY STREET DATE: SEPTEMBER 19, 2023/ KINO CLASSICS

Always confrontational and often experimental in nature, filmmaker Beth B (Lydia Lunch: The War is Never Over) has forged an unconventional career of diverse shapes and sizes. A prominent icon of 1970s New York’s “No Wave” movement, Beth B’s work embodies “a radical, DIY, interdisciplinary movement defined by a nihilistic worldview, stark minimalism, dissonant soundtracks, and a confrontational, “anti-everything” attitude.” Always with a grassroots scale and a rugged aesthetic, Beth B’s “film/tapes” (as she often labels her projects), may be a variety of things, but “misunderstood” should never be one of them.

Therefore, in the interest of consistency, it’s important to clarify the perhaps-misleading title of this Blu-ray collection. Kino Lorber, in having heroically brought B’s documentaries and video statements to mass availability, has titled the thorough two-disc set “Sex, Power, and Money.” Sex is a central theme, but the films are distinctly non-sexy. Power? Well before “smash the patriarchy” was a catchphrase, Beth B was swinging her artistic sledgehammer in that direction. Money? Frankly, there’s no trace of money in these films- thematically, budgetary, or otherwise. (Being a working artist, B’s projects are largely funded by arts grants).

More power to her in her poignant amplification of her own voice and, vitally, others’ oft-suppressed voices, on the cheap. The fourteen video projects on this explore issues of sexuality (in a time when any non-straight orientation was considered horrendously deviant), abuse, addiction, and trauma. Most are shot on video and, as far as this jump to Blu-ray goes, they haven’t visually aged well. (Beth B appears in a newer Blu-ray bonus feature to discuss her work). The themes, however, are as poignant as ever. Several of the projects in Sex, Power, and Money (all are reviewed below) will leave any feeling person quite wrecked.

That said, not all of B’s subject matter is heavy laden. The very first project on this set is something of an outlier, a peppy 1983 music video called “The Dominatrix Sleeps Tonight.” Perhaps the only shot-on-film piece included, Dominatrix is a fabricated dance number set to a house beat ditty taking place in an auto shop. Women in stiletto heels, leather skirts, and fishnet stockings dance around the car parts and equipment. The title may be the most eye-opening aspect of this video, yet I’d be kinda shocked if it ever aired on MTV.

Things get considerably darker with 1989’s Belladonna, a twelve-minute experimental video collaboration with the late conceptual artist Ida Applebroog. Repetitive and eerie, it’s mainly repeated snippets of actors dramatically delivering excerpts from the following: [Quoting the credits] Joel Steinberg, lawyer convicted of murdering his adopted child, NY (1988); Sigmund Freud’s essay, “A Child Is Being Beaten” (1919) & case histories; Testimonies by survivors of Dr. Josef Mengele’s medical experiments at Auschwitz concentration camp (1944). So yeah… it’s a lot. Even in its relatively brief form, Belladonna proves a bit trying for home viewing.

The forty-minute Stigmata maintains the muddy video aesthetic of Belladonna (as do many of the shorts in Sex, Power, and Money) and its direct-address/black background interview assembly but shakes off the repetitive gallery-ready editing experimentation. In this case that’s a good thing, as Stigmata is all about allowing drug abusers to share their stories. B understands the weight of their stories and demonstrates a valiant urgency in having them share, in their own words.

Thanatopsis (1991) is a ten-minute mood piece/monologue written and performed by frequent Beth B collaborator Lydia Lunch. The oneiric aesthetic nicely suits Lunch’s controlled stream-of-conscience recitation on the futility of war and the inherent aggression of humanity.

Following the sepia-toned two-minute piece about American anti-immigration xenophobia (from 1992, cleverly titled “Amnesia”) is a harrowing half-hour storytelling piece called Under Lock and Key (1983). An installation piece that’s been featured at MoMA, Under Lock and Key showcases a handful of individuals, including fellow artist Nan Goldin (All the Beauty and the Bloodshed), simply sharing their own traumatic tales. It’s bookended with brief recitations of the words of serial killer Ted Bundy, portrayed by a young Clark Gregg (Marvel’s The Avengers).

1995’s Visiting Desire is a sixty-five-minute social experiment asking a group of alleged strangers what they’d do with a stranger were they locked together alone in a room for thirty minutes. It’s largely fascinating, as none of the scenarios play out as any of the subjects apparently hoped. The participants are aware that they are on camera, which can’t help but be a factor. The piece is truly carried by its punchy editing, hinging on the interactions being divided into labelled segments such as “Aggression”, “Flirtation”, “Control”, and “Vulnerability.” The participants, ranging from blatantly sexually assertive to outwardly uncomfortable, hit it off or don’t in extremely different manners. Sexy play is kept to a shocking mini minimum considering that’s why most everyone seems to have volunteered for this.

Then comes Hysteria. We hear a guy say, “The only thing that matters is male ejaculation.” That quote, which should be shocking, might in truth be the foundational statement of all patriarchal human endeavor. Which is to say, a lot of human endeavor. Beth B’s Hysteria, at a mere three minutes of such quotes- all plucked from centuries of medical journaling regarding female sexuality and its repression- manages to hit the mark. The culmination of this quickie video isn’t so much explosive but teary eyed, as such manipulative lies wash over an assortment of nude everywomen (their heads cropped for presumed privacy protection), each trying to get a word in edgewise about how they, you know, like their vaginas, or don’t love their breasts. They may not be altogether satisfied with their non-glamorous bodies (who is?), but Beth B, in her own confrontational way circa 2001, is giving them a voice. We not only see them, we hear them. And by extension, Hysteria quite effectively promotes humanizing liberation.

The flip side of her 2001 short Hysteria, the equally experimental Voyeur, shows just the heads of people- people of all walks of life- as they… ahem… get down to business. You might say that this silent video is five minutes of pure bliss. Not necessarily for us, the voyeurs, but for the subjects. However they’re all going about whatever they’re doing, they’re all certainly enjoying themselves. I suppose the question is, how does such intensely intimate yet non-explicit sharing of these would-be private moments make us feel?

Brief and to the point, High Heel Nights is “A film/tape by Beth B” about drag queens. In the short documentary, we meet a cross-dressing performer, Michael/Veneer. He discusses the angst of being a gay artist, and how his painting and sculpture gave way to his identity as a performing drag queen. At one point, there’s a montage of New York City denizens being asked what they know about drag queens. Most have a hard time differentiating between drag queens and full-on transvestites. One doubts that B would encounter the same consensus today, as drag queens have since permeated the cultural discourse for reasons all too fearful, dismissive, and judgmental.

Out of Sight, Out of Mind is a brief (six minute) experimental piece that asks questions about juvenile psychotic behavior and what, systematically speaking, could and should be done. It doesn’t come together until the last minute or so, the previous run dominated by not-great actors asking vague scripted questions. These questions are eventually are contextualized via news footage of a specific case. The dull recitations mar the otherwise provocative piece, demonstrating that Beth B’s work is strongest when the truths delivered ring as authentic rather than weirdly performative.

Raw and immediate, the seventy-one-minute Breathe In, Breathe Out is a tremendously powerful 2001 portrait of three American Vietnam War vets facing their suppressed demons. Where this fits into this Blu-ray set’s titular triptych of “Sex, Power, and Money” is difficult to say, as it’s a low-budget sexless documentary about the powerlessness carried by past experience. What matters is that this film exists, and that it is here.

The three former G.I.s, each well into middle age, travel back to Vietnam in a coordinated effort to finally deal with the baggage they acquired there decades earlier. Each is accompanied by a son or daughter, all of whom are ultra-supportive despite growing up on the wrong end of PTSD-induced anger and other behaviors. Shot down n’ gritty and on the fly with probably just one camera, the makers of Breathe In, Breathe Out present several incredibly vulnerable moments. Following visits to the My Lai Massacre Memorial (which none of these three guys was involved in) and other pertinent sites, one participant states, “They let loose five million Americans on a society that wasn’t ready for them, and they weren’t ready for society”. Perhaps only in 2001 were we finally ready for Breathe In, Breathe Out– a distinct highlight of this Beth B collection.

Finishing out this oft-experimental director’s collection is the surprisingly straightforward one-hour PBS-ready documentary, Voices Unheard. In the 1997 program, B nets bold and brutally honest sit-down interviews, pixelated and unpixellated, with victims and relatives of victims of sexual abuse as well as recovering abusers. B’s approach to the subject matter of is no punches pulled. Most of the exchanges happen at a sexual abuse recovery center in the very rural Fort Wayne, Indiana.

In embedding herself in the heart of American “flyover country”, B, in a successful effort to humanize all parties involved, not only gives voice to a widely dismissed swath of the U.S., she takes us into the darkest recesses of what some would dismiss as “white trash culture.” Without ever downplaying the severity of sexual abuse, B focuses on the abusers’ struggles toward recovery and reintegration into society.

A particularly poignant moment comes as a mother of a victim shares her own journey from angrily viewing all abusers as inhuman monsters to uneasy reconciliation (though not forgiveness, per se) with her daughter’s abuser. Such a path isn’t viable for many, but in the telling of this story, we witness true healing winning out over cyclical hatred and further hurtful behavior.

Voices Unheard is a raw and tough watch that takes us to the heart of an all-too-private social problem within the flag-waving heartland of America. With unheralded access to intimate group meetings and well-arranged talking head interviews, we ultimately come away enlightened and encouraged that there are people who care, and that even the most difficult of healing is possible. It’s a rough road but one important to witness and understand.