The Song of Stone (1963) is an abstract, experimental piece from director Toshio Matsumoto, a filmmaker still best known for the avant-garde masterpiece, Funeral Parade of Roses (1969). Later in his career, he dedicated more of his time to artwork; creating a host of esoteric installation projects that stressed the use of repetitive visual design concepts and digital photographic techniques over the more recognisable film-making approach of Funeral Parade of Roses, or indeed, subsequent films like Demons (1971) and The War of the 16 Year Olds (1973). However, even before that particular phase of his career, his approach to film was decidedly more abstract and didactic; with the idea of a story being told through images, devoid of the more recognisable use of character, narrative or conventions of genre. You can also see the influence of someone like Chris Marker - whose short film La Jetée (1962) remains the benchmark for this kind of film-making approach - with the use of found-footage and still photographic images combined with scenes that blur the line between documentary and recreation.
There is an element of this to the film in question; not to mention many of Matsumoto's other short films of this period, such as The Weavers of Nishijin (1961) - in which documentary-like footage is presented as a cryptic commentary on the nature of creativity and the cycle of life - to the more recognisable and vaguely cohesive For the Damaged Right Eye (1968); a film that introduces the more obviously filmed elements (as well as the pop-art influence) that would enthuse the spirit and presentation of Funeral Parade of Roses. Whereas that film is essential, these earlier short works are mostly for the curious, best appreciated by fans of Matsumoto's style or for viewers more willing to appreciate projects such as The Dziga Vertov Group's A Film Like Any Other (1969) or The Wind from the East (1970), or Peter Greenaway's similarly structured earlier works, such as Water Wrackets (1975), Dear Phone (1977) and A Walk Through H: The Reincarnation of an Ornithologist (1978).
So, we have images presented without context - there to be thought about and interpreted - with Matsumoto offering a sort of filmed essay charting a story entirely through images and told in a metaphorical style, wherein the ideas behind the film form a kind of meta-narrative. Again, as with The Weavers of Nishijin, you can't help but view the film as something a comment on the cycle of creativity, as Matsumoto shows us huge blocks of stone and then later contrasts the same images with more structured shots of houses, buildings, statues and quarries. It probably won't be of much interest to an average movie-going audience more accustomed to films that tell an obvious story connected to characters and emotions we can identify with. In fact, many viewers will probably see the film with a combination of quiet curiosity and outright contempt. However, those familiar with this kind of abstract, short-form cinema may appreciate the ideas that Matsumoto is attempting to explore, if not the more immediately commendable use of black and white cinematography, sound-design and editing.
There is an element of this to the film in question; not to mention many of Matsumoto's other short films of this period, such as The Weavers of Nishijin (1961) - in which documentary-like footage is presented as a cryptic commentary on the nature of creativity and the cycle of life - to the more recognisable and vaguely cohesive For the Damaged Right Eye (1968); a film that introduces the more obviously filmed elements (as well as the pop-art influence) that would enthuse the spirit and presentation of Funeral Parade of Roses. Whereas that film is essential, these earlier short works are mostly for the curious, best appreciated by fans of Matsumoto's style or for viewers more willing to appreciate projects such as The Dziga Vertov Group's A Film Like Any Other (1969) or The Wind from the East (1970), or Peter Greenaway's similarly structured earlier works, such as Water Wrackets (1975), Dear Phone (1977) and A Walk Through H: The Reincarnation of an Ornithologist (1978).
So, we have images presented without context - there to be thought about and interpreted - with Matsumoto offering a sort of filmed essay charting a story entirely through images and told in a metaphorical style, wherein the ideas behind the film form a kind of meta-narrative. Again, as with The Weavers of Nishijin, you can't help but view the film as something a comment on the cycle of creativity, as Matsumoto shows us huge blocks of stone and then later contrasts the same images with more structured shots of houses, buildings, statues and quarries. It probably won't be of much interest to an average movie-going audience more accustomed to films that tell an obvious story connected to characters and emotions we can identify with. In fact, many viewers will probably see the film with a combination of quiet curiosity and outright contempt. However, those familiar with this kind of abstract, short-form cinema may appreciate the ideas that Matsumoto is attempting to explore, if not the more immediately commendable use of black and white cinematography, sound-design and editing.