For cultists
only, Died Young Stayed Pretty tells
a shambling, confusing tale of counterculture poster art as witnessed by a
select cadre of artists and collectors. As chaotic and straggling as its
subject, the film attempts to pay tribute to an underappreciated sector of
the art world: the largely misanthropic geeks who turn assorted detritus ÐÐ
mental and cultural litter ÐÐ into original commercial posters. This unsung
subset of graphic artists is celebrated as a powerful element of the
alt-rock and especially the punk rock community. Indeed, a partial
storyline (they're all partial in this non-linear, DIY-tinged doc) confers
some credibility on the concept that guerrilla art is dead and punk rock
along with it.
Odd folks are around every corner, like farm boy Tyler Stout, who
specializes in hip-hop art, even though he has no affinity for the music or
even urban culture. Or Clayton Hayes, spending his days compiling via
computer a master catalog of poster art for posterity. Or a long, rambling
yet fascinating dissertation on gay Elvis by Rob Jones, revealing the fact
that "Jailhouse Rock" refers to bunk beds rocking from prison sex. Really.
Check the lyrics.
Some intriguing aspects arise: the alternative poster as town crier,
pre-Internet, collecting community through shock and awe, and often coded
to a subset reference for a specific audience. Seen by all and reviled by
many, these posters in their ephemeral nature become what they often are
made of: lost cultural relics, lifted from old magazines and books and
manipulated through color and context to a whole other level of visual
interest. Some of the least interesting work is the freehand art imagery,
akin to stoner doodling ˆ la 1967.
Died Young Stayed Pretty makes
scant mention of the commercial nature of the work, with the ubiquitous
'70s smiley face given props, but little else, such as the absorption of
alt-rock poster art into mainstream advertising, a phenomenon worthy of an
entire documentary on its own. Remember, almost all of this art promoted a
concert, band or political viewpoint; very little "pure" imagery surfaced,
as its very creation was beholden to the concept of promotion. Perhaps this
circumstance drove the originality of the work; the film also cites obscure
cultural influences like the critter sculptures of folk artist Clyde Jones
from Bynum, North Carolina, and, um, rodeos. Yep: rodeos.
Whether by
design or financial constraint, director Eileen Yaghoobian makes no effort
at inclusiveness: The major focus of this film is on the North, with Canada
given more than its due, Seattle seen as a hub, and a token inclusion of
the New York City scene. The vibrant, already-documented art posters and
album covers of San Francisco's Joshua Light Show are AWOL, and apparently nothing ever happened in Los
Angeles, either. The film makes repeated stabs at telling us via interviews
with, well, dudes, that the DIY poster art scene is over. There's no
mention of the underground poster's evolution into graffiti art, and of
course Shepherd Fairey's iconic OBEY poster art comes to mind, as though a DYSP
II: The '00s is next in the offing. The
film also spends little time at the Flatstock Poster Convention in Seattle,
presumably because these dull art nerds are about as compelling to watch as
a Minnesota clothesline in winter.
Mercifully, there is an Unfinished
No. 2: Life With the Lions-style electronic score by
Mark Greenberg that brings the film out of its static, droning narration.
Tip: For prime viewing, pop in the DVD, mute the sound, turn the color
saturation up, put on your favorite Soft Machine album and watch the pretty montages of
brutality and beauty fly by. Or bring your iPod to the theater and adjust
volume accordingly.
