One of the inherent pitfalls of lost or forbidden
phenomena—film or otherwise—is that it often develops a
near-mythical status that’s impossible to live up to. Anticipation,
rumor, and our yearning for the unattainable all conspire to elevate
the “rarely seen” to the supposed level of “phenomenally mind-blowing,”
making the ultimate consummation an inevitable disappointment.
Few filmmakers in recent years have been so squarely in position for
this deflation as Charles Burnett, a relatively unknown African
American director whose 1977 feature, Killer of Sheep, is the
stuff of whispered legend. Prior to its re-release last year (both in
theaters and on DVD by Criterion), Burnett’s film-school thesis had
been seen only by a tiny handful of cinephiles. Shelved for decades
because the director never cleared the film’s music rights,
Killer‘s film-buff reputation intensified as the National
Society of Film Critics named it one of the 100 best films of all
time.
When Killer of Sheep was finally released last year, most
critics (including this one) wet themselves in excitement—mostly
by the movie itself, but also partly in relief at not being
tremendously disappointed by the secreted-away film. Shot in the Watts
neighborhood of Los Angeles with virtually no budget, Killer of
Sheep marries neorealist cinema with working-class ghetto life.
With scenes that are alternately heartbreaking and hilarious (once you
acclimate to the performers’ awkward stiffness), Killer proved
itself to be a deeply moving film.
In the wake of the deserved Burnett renaissance, audiences are now
privy to My Brother’s Wedding, the director’s 1983
follow-up—also “long-lost.” It’s a worthy companion piece to
Killer—stylistically, it’s similar in its
vérité approach to the minutiae of black American
existence. But it’s hard enough to make one huge comeback in a
lifetime, let alone two, and Killer of Sheep is the superior
film. For audiences that haven’t seen it yet, Killer‘s patient,
three-decade gestation reminds us that in art, there’s no such thing as
“too late.”