Sitting on what appears to be no more than splintered old pieces of wood lashed to cinder blocks the anxious crowd fidgets uncomfortably.  The room is small and almost completely dark, save for an old lamp on a table in the back of the room.  People nervously look to the door through which they entered, and find that it’s covered with heavy velvet drapery, but if one observes closely they notice the shadows and laughter emanating from the main room of the Lowenstein Gallery.  Outside people are conversing and drinking as they look over some of the other art that’s being exhibited, but inside the room, there is no laughter, only nervous chatter.

In the back of the room, where the old lamp glows, people begin to gather.  The table is old, and appears dirty.  There are posters, and a large wooden mallet, which several people pick up and turn over in their hands.  There is also a large plate of fresh baked chocolate chip cookies that seem more than a little out of place, in the dark musty room.  All of a sudden a sound becomes evident, at first it sounds like baseball cards put into a bicycle spoke, but as people pause to hear the sound registers.  The film has begun.

As people move quickly to find seats among the rows of plank and cinderblock benches the screen shows characters in gradations of black and white with an almost brownish tint.  While the characters move their mouths only the sound of scratchy 1920’s music and the constant patter of the film can be heard.  The room has become a time machine, and the audience is immediately transported to a strange and old world.  This is Clifton Childree’s element, this is his film.

Childree is a Florida based artist who was first stung by the movie bug at a young age while watching classic horror movies like Nos Feratu and The Wolf Man.  “I loved everything about them, and I was so young I didn’t understand that there were mistakes in them, like when the lighting dims out, I didn’t understand that that wasn’t supposed to happen.  I thought that the transformation of a character was so great that even the lights were affected.  Later when I learned that these old movies were filled with errors I thought it was even cooler.” –said Childree.   This is a powerful concept in Childree’s art, as it is the small imperfections that make his films special.  This feature offers an immediate confrontation to the viewer, who has been conditioned by the polished nothingness that is modern entertainment.  Luckily for the movie-goer Childree has not watched television in over ten years.

Childree is also largely self taught.  “My parents let me go to Oregon to study at film school, but when I got there all the art students seemed a little snooty.  I was like Fuck This, I just want to make a movie.”  In speaking with Childree the first thing that becomes apparent is his contagious enthusiasm.   He laughs, slaps handshakes, and never stops smiling.  Many would say that this isn’t the typical behavior of an accomplished artist on the come up, but it is that very idealism that comes across powerfully on the silver screen. 



It Gets Worse is shot in 16mm film, which gives it a beautiful aged effect, reminiscent of an old stop-motion film.  It Gets Worse is also a second part of a slapstick horror trio, the first of which was Something Awful, that won Legal Arts Native Seeds Grant last year.  Childree is also well known for his award winning 2003 feature film The Flew, but has been making films since middle school.  In sixth grade Childree made his first film, entitled the Red Caped Killer, with the help of his friends, who are still helping him make films today.   While Red Caped Killer was financed through mowing lawns, the finished film was never premiered as Childree was too scared of the developer, who was a hunch back, to ever pick the film up.

In the previous installment of the trilogy an early 1900’s fisherman catches a butt.  The Butt has some sort of mystical powers and interacts with a toilet called “shitty britches”.  The butt does have a rather bad habit of launching projectile poops, and the fisherman is driven to returning the posterior to the murky depths. 

It Gets Worse picks up with some new characters combined with all the favorites from Something Awful.  On the ship a mysterious plague is causing passengers to die.  Croaker, a fisherman and resident cremator, discovers a coffin that gives him a Mr. Hyde-esque murderous alter ego.

For me, it was the films edginess that made it endearing.  Gallery openings can be quite proper, but the film reduced much of the audience to children.  It doesn’t matter if you are a mature connoisseur with an Italian cut sports coat, flying poop and giant testicles are funny.  I felt like a kid sneaking into a rated R movie.  I felt that some of the things I shouldn’t have seen at a gallery, and this made them even more hilarious.  This created a bond between myself and some of the other members of the audience, as we felt that we had been privy to a funny secret, and I exchanged several winks and hidden smiles with fellow movie-goers as we later walked through the gallery. 

While the main medium is film, it is easy to overlook the fact that the artist is working on a grander scale.  The entire room is in a way an installation.  Everything has been manipulated, from the heavy velvet cloth baring the door, the uncomfortable cinderblock benches, and even the cookies have a specific role in the artist’s vision.  By doing this the audience is tricked into believing that they are watching the art, but in reality they are a part of the art, and as each new crowd gathers in anticipation of a film and cookies the art changes.

Although It Gets Worse is a silent film, the theater never gets close to silence.  The scratch and whirr of the sound and the old music combine to provide a lovely accompanying soundtrack, but the audience also helps to complete the accompanying audio.  The ring-tone of a cellular phone, the laughter when Croaker is caught smelling farts, and the whispered discourse between audience members help to add a modernizing and participatory element to the overall ambience. 

As the film plays some people get up and make an exit while others come in to take their place.  Latecomers however, don’t seem to be discouraged as they pick up the flow of the film easily.  After 32 minutes the film comes to a climatic and hilarious end. 

Everyone rises, but there is a traffic jam, as people gather to discuss their feelings after digesting the film, and grab one last cookie.  As viewers enter back into the main gallery this continues.  Some gather in groups while others introduce themselves to other audience members.  The gallery is filled with small circles talking about the art.  While some people don’t care for the film at all others seem to like it.  This was the most meaningful aspect of the entire night for me.  I am always glad to see people confronted with art that they absolutely dislike.  These people become duped by the artist as they discuss and disseminate the very art they dislike.  People are so used to the “little white cube” that I often see museum patrons mindlessly being lead about, looking, but observing nothing.  Ergo it is the art that makes people think, even if they are negative thoughts, that is the best art. 

Childree was also just named the first annual winner of the Hilger Artist Project Award, by Locust Projects.  With the award Childree will be doing an exclusive project with LP that is set to premier in September of 2008.  For more information on Childree or his films you can visit www.theflew.com