James Benning’s California Trilogy reminds me of a story about mastery attributed to the great Japanese artist Hokusai. A patron once hiked up a mountain to his studio to observe Hokusai make a work of art. When the great master handed it over and asked for the agreed purchase price for the work, the patron said, “But it only took you a few minutes to make this work of art!!” Hokusai, 60-years old at this time, responded, “It did not take minutes to create, it took 60 years.”
El Valley Centro, Los, and Sogobi—the three films in James Benning’s California Trilogy—are all made with the same structure: 35 shots, two minutes and 30 seconds in length. Anyone can make a film like this. Just plop a 16mm camera on a tripod and hit the shutter button. Simple, right? Unfortunately, it’s not that easy. On the surface, James Benning’s feature films are basic structuralist films. Much of what translates as elemental is disguised in years of creating, teaching, reading, looking, and living. When California Trilogy was completed Benning was no rookie. He had been making films for nearly 30 years.
Los is the second of the three and the one most focused on urban Los Angeles. Completed in 2001, it is systematically arranged in a composed tempo reminiscent of Miles Davis’s groundbreaking album, The Birth of the Cool. Here Benning uses ambient sounds for the soundtrack in his film, not jazz, but the overall pacing, tempo, and feel of the film captures the spirit of Southern California and Davis’s homage to the Southern California jazz experience of the 1950s. Every shot in Los is dictated by the action within the frame—the movement of a cloud, smoke from a fire, or just the waves crashing on the beach. A memorable shot is a groundskeeper watering the infield at Dodger Stadium; nestled within a city of millions, in a space where thousands of people share collective experiences, the groundskeeper works nearly alone as if he is just one of a few people alive in this vast city. The shot is hauntingly poetic and deeply lonely. It’s as if the groundskeeper prepares the field for himself and a few distant friends.
Benning’s choreography of lines and angles reminds me of another Los Angeles-based artist, Ed Ruscha. These artists share the palette of Los Angeles, in color, form, and light—the density of edges and angles, from electrical lines to pavement, buildings and billboards, rendered in soft, hazy Southern California light. This atmosphere inspires countless hours of California dreaming.
Benning has been teaching at CalArts since the mid 1980s. Nestled just outside of Los Angeles, the school has produced major artists for decades. The late, great John Baldessari is said to be one of the most influential teachers at CalArts. No argument here. I would argue that Benning as well helped shape countless artists eyes in his long career teaching at CalArts. Both, incredibly productive and focused, working tirelessly, leading by example. Benning has cranked out more than 25 feature-length films, countless short films, and numerous gallery and museum exhibitions over a 40-year career.
Is there rhyme or reason to Benning’s edits? Give yourself up to the viewing process, and you’ll soon savor his strategy. It’s like this: a family carefully crosses a busy street and slowly walks off frame, with another family beginning the process all over again, as if we are observing what a camera posted on an intersection, awaiting speeding cars, sees all day long. Benning observes and creates structure deliberately, methodically and slowly. He inserts humor carefully and ironically like this: below a large billboard featuring two lovers nearing a dramatized embrace, cars whiz by and walkers walk by, not looking up at the sign, oblivious to the camera, and this comedic, classic moment in Hollywood advertising. This is Benning’s idea of a kissing scene.
California Trilogy brings us back to the Lumière films of the early 1890s. The first films ever made and projected, these are simple one-shot films, static camera, on a tripod, called Actualities. Here, workers leave a factory, a train enters the train station, etc. One hundred years later, referencing the history of this art form and taking complete advantage of the advancements of the medium, Benning’s static camera opens a window into contemporary California. Accustomed to cameras on street corners, Los Angeles is oblivious to Benning. The city wheels by as if the camera does not exist. It’s just another day in Los Angeles. Benning exploits peoples’ indifference to the camera, their lack of curiosity, even—perhaps because Los was filmed in the city that helped define the trajectory of the medium. When filming his trilogy, Benning was a “Cinema of One.” No lights, no actors, no producers pacing about, just him and his camera and his eye pointing at one of the world’s most iconic cities.
I can’t help but think of another great Japanese artist when viewing Benning’s films. Like Yasujirō Ozu, Benning lets the action in the frame drive the story. Ozu’s films never had camera movements: he always constructed stationary shots and always used the same lens for every shot in every film. The scenes in Ozu’s films would often appear to be over, but he would keep the camera running, showing what is often seen when the camera is turned off, an empty room, providing us the interior quiet of a living room. No humans dictate action; the viewer just sees light in a beautifully composed space.
California Trilogy is not documentary film, nor is it experimental and certainly not narrative film. Benning’s trilogy is not one specific genre; it shares elements of each. Benning became the sage between the camera and intention. A flawless performance. I hope one day we can simply recognize his California Trilogy as a transcendent work of art. If after viewing Benning’s films you have a reaction like, “I can do that” or “That looks easy,” then please, do! Make a film. Create a painting. Take a photograph. Write a book. Create! We need more bold makers like James Benning in our world.
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