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BZV
The Island of St. Matthews
BZV
Directed by Kevin Jerome Everson
US 2009, digital video, color & b/w, 30 min
BZV’s title refers to the airport code of Brazzaville in the Republic of Congo, where Everson visited in 2009. A breezy slice of compassionate tourism, BZV is a cinematic record of his time there, capturing in both black-and-white and color a variety of leisure activities in and around the Congo River.
The Island of St. Matthews
Directed by Kevin Jerome Everson
US 2013, 16mm transferred to digital, color & b/w, 64 min
The city of Columbus, Mississippi, and the neighborhood of Westport, home to some of Everson’s family, has fallen victim to numerous catastrophic floods over the past four decades, and one particular disaster from 1973 made an impact that resonates into the modern day. The Island of St. Matthews spotlights the weathered townsfolk whose family heirlooms, photographic archives, clothing, amenities, and loved ones have been whisked away by these calamities. Amidst these running biographies, Everson weaves discrete lyrical interludes, such as lengthy contemplations of the Tombigbee River and the town’s mechanically operated dam, recurring episodes focusing on a water-skier’s persistent attempts to keep balance, scenes with a group of teens who perform impromptu baptisms in the water, and one vignette featuring a bell-ringer who fulfills his duty with the same resounding force applied by the madman at the end of Bela Tarr’s Sátántangó. In its steady accumulation of these motifs of perseverance, the film frames Westport as a place of constant rebirth while always reminding of the region’s overwhelming personal, collective, and historical losses.
BZV’s title refers to the airport code of Brazzaville in the Republic of Congo, where Everson visited in 2009. A breezy slice of compassionate tourism, BZV is a cinematic record of his time there, capturing in both black-and-white and color a variety of leisure activities in and around the Congo River.
The city of Columbus, Mississippi, and the neighborhood of Westport, home to some of Everson’s family, has fallen victim to numerous catastrophic floods over the past four decades, and one particular disaster from 1973 made an impact that resonates into the modern day. The Island of St. Matthews spotlights the weathered townsfolk whose family heirlooms, photographic archives, clothing, amenities, and loved ones have been whisked away by these calamities. Amidst these running biographies, Everson weaves discrete lyrical interludes, such as lengthy contemplations of the Tombigbee River and the town’s mechanically operated dam, recurring episodes focusing on a water-skier’s persistent attempts to keep balance, scenes with a group of teens who perform impromptu baptisms in the water, and one vignette featuring a bell-ringer who fulfills his duty with the same resounding force applied by the madman at the end of Bela Tarr’s Sátántangó. In its steady accumulation of these motifs of perseverance, the film frames Westport as a place of constant rebirth while always reminding of the region’s overwhelming personal, collective, and historical losses.