Help! I've Become Chronology-Pilled!
Much of my film watching has become largely guided by the film podcast Blank Check. This desire to be told what to watch has been explored in past writings, but the podcast has also had another lasting impact that has crept into my appreciation for other mediums. Namely, an adherence to chronology as the structure for my artistic consumption.
For those not in the know, Blank Check follows the filmographies of directors whom have been given a blank check to pursue passion projects. The filmographies are then explored in full chronologically. Watching Kubrick? Start with Fear and Loathing and end with Eyes Wide Shut. Park Chan-Wook? The Moon is… the Sun’s Dream leads to Decision to Leave. If one has a completionist mindset, chronology is an excellent way to order an approach. There is not a question of what to watch next, you merely follow what’s next in line. This approach is not just practical. Chronology adds a tidy narrative to these filmographies that end either in death or the present. Chronology allows us to see a director’s skill grow and tastes change. We can see an artist come into their own or lose their touch. To return to Director Park, his masterpiece The Handmaiden is enriched by the context that comes before it, of the Vengeance trilogy, I’m a Cyborg, But That’s OK, and Thirst.
This chronological mindset has appeared in other mediums, too. I’m listening to Barbra Streisand's autobiography, so it only makes sense to go through her discography and filmography chronologically. I want to dive into Toni Morrison, so The Bluest Eye seems to be the best place to start. When a coworker today recommended Mouth Moods by Neil Cicierega, I questioned, wouldn’t be better to start from the beginning? And right now, as the “All Star” riffs on Cicierga’s first album Mouth Sounds blast, I’m confident in my choice.
Of course, chronology is not the best approach for all media consumption, and really only works as a specific exercise or for someone going in with a completionist mindset. If you lack the buy-in, diving headfast into an artist’s first work could put you off their art forever. So please, if you aren’t sure if you want to watch any Park Chan-wook films, please don’t start from the beginning. Pick the one that sounds the most interesting. Blank Check provides my personal buy-in, because if I want to listen to the episode, I’m listening to the episode, and I listen in order.
This fascination with chronology stems from my perceptions of my own artistry and identification with the artists behind the works. I am an artist in my infancy, beginning to shape my taste and skill. Seeing the first films of masters I respect is incredibly inspiring. Humble beginnings like Kubrick and Park assuage my fears of failure and falling short, and masterpieces like Eraserhead from David Lynch and Boyz n the Hood from John Singleton (Oscar nomination for Best Director at 24!) remind me that greatness is in fact possible.
The trouble comes from my imagination of my future filmography or body of work. I spend so much time focused on the future masterpieces I am going to make, that I am not focused on the present work at hand, all the refining to do. I’m constantly thinking of my own filmography and legacy, expending energy on imagination instead of writing and directing.
So perhaps chronology has me too focused on beginnings, right as I’m in my own. I think that’s why the sight of my peers having children is so gutturally frightening. I didn’t think we were supposed to be done baking yet, and new lives are already starting. I hope in many, many years, I can look back on the steps and works in my career and connect the through lines, from what will then be far away beginnings to present creativity. The far scarier thought is that there will be nothing to look back on at all.
For those not in the know, Blank Check follows the filmographies of directors whom have been given a blank check to pursue passion projects. The filmographies are then explored in full chronologically. Watching Kubrick? Start with Fear and Loathing and end with Eyes Wide Shut. Park Chan-Wook? The Moon is… the Sun’s Dream leads to Decision to Leave. If one has a completionist mindset, chronology is an excellent way to order an approach. There is not a question of what to watch next, you merely follow what’s next in line. This approach is not just practical. Chronology adds a tidy narrative to these filmographies that end either in death or the present. Chronology allows us to see a director’s skill grow and tastes change. We can see an artist come into their own or lose their touch. To return to Director Park, his masterpiece The Handmaiden is enriched by the context that comes before it, of the Vengeance trilogy, I’m a Cyborg, But That’s OK, and Thirst.
This chronological mindset has appeared in other mediums, too. I’m listening to Barbra Streisand's autobiography, so it only makes sense to go through her discography and filmography chronologically. I want to dive into Toni Morrison, so The Bluest Eye seems to be the best place to start. When a coworker today recommended Mouth Moods by Neil Cicierega, I questioned, wouldn’t be better to start from the beginning? And right now, as the “All Star” riffs on Cicierga’s first album Mouth Sounds blast, I’m confident in my choice.
Of course, chronology is not the best approach for all media consumption, and really only works as a specific exercise or for someone going in with a completionist mindset. If you lack the buy-in, diving headfast into an artist’s first work could put you off their art forever. So please, if you aren’t sure if you want to watch any Park Chan-wook films, please don’t start from the beginning. Pick the one that sounds the most interesting. Blank Check provides my personal buy-in, because if I want to listen to the episode, I’m listening to the episode, and I listen in order.
This fascination with chronology stems from my perceptions of my own artistry and identification with the artists behind the works. I am an artist in my infancy, beginning to shape my taste and skill. Seeing the first films of masters I respect is incredibly inspiring. Humble beginnings like Kubrick and Park assuage my fears of failure and falling short, and masterpieces like Eraserhead from David Lynch and Boyz n the Hood from John Singleton (Oscar nomination for Best Director at 24!) remind me that greatness is in fact possible.
The trouble comes from my imagination of my future filmography or body of work. I spend so much time focused on the future masterpieces I am going to make, that I am not focused on the present work at hand, all the refining to do. I’m constantly thinking of my own filmography and legacy, expending energy on imagination instead of writing and directing.
So perhaps chronology has me too focused on beginnings, right as I’m in my own. I think that’s why the sight of my peers having children is so gutturally frightening. I didn’t think we were supposed to be done baking yet, and new lives are already starting. I hope in many, many years, I can look back on the steps and works in my career and connect the through lines, from what will then be far away beginnings to present creativity. The far scarier thought is that there will be nothing to look back on at all.
Published January 24, 2025 | Edited by Chandler P. Jorgensen