Experimental Film, Vintage Reels of Pagan Gods: a book review

Experimental Film was so cool, so fun, and then a little bit goofy.

Gemma Files is a deft writer, painting clear characters and scenes, while leaving room for the exact satisfying amount of personal imagination and mystery. In the context of unearthing a local history of spiritualism in the early 1900’s, her imagery compels the reader forward through old films projected onto sheets and curtains, train compartment conflagrations struck with silver nitrate film, veils encrusted with tiny mirrors reflecting brilliant light in blinding rays, and pagan worship and possession - naturally.

Moments of the book genuinely creeped me out, as I found myself peeking over my shoulder while I read on the sofa late at night. It has tastes of a Pynchon-style chaos adventure, as the reader is dragged through museums and film houses and decaying mansions in Toronto and its surrounding area, on the tails of a ghost and a god. Oh and through the eyes of a sometimes-blind, often-hospitalized protagonist. The god bit, however, is what fell flat for me. When Lady Midday, the ancient, pitiless god of the midday sun, tries to break into the real world through a film, the novel flipped from a horror to a horror-fantasy in a paragraph. Like, quick flip. In a book that had hitherto not felt cheesy at all, I suddenly found myself a little squeamish.

To Files’ credit, she was a very cool and terrifying god. I relished her imagery - blinding, sharp, harsh, violent, too beautiful to look at or look away from, too beautiful to even really see - but an ancient god trying to bust out into the real world and gain control felt silly, almost a little Avengers-y. I would have preferred the seizure-induced-hauntings-with-creepy-rhymes-sung-by-unknowing-children vibes. But that might just be a matter of taste.

Aside from the surprise fantasy-esque ending, however, it was a fun, eerie tale whose turn of the century, occult aesthetic I devoured. The characters felt alive and reachable, like they were possibly people I already knew. Not in a done-before way, but in a believable way. The protagonist, who is a retired film professor and sometimes-active film critic, is honest about her struggles parenting her autistic son. She is also unapologetic to her family, specifically her husband, about pursuing her project and letting it swallow her up. It’s extremely refreshing, holding a crisp sort of feminism that isn’t so much stated as it is assumed through the characters’ decisions. Lois is a woman not asking for permission, and not in an outrageous, standout way - but in the way a man would. Naturally, without thinking about it.

Files writes technical moments well that are hard to find language for. Her tricky descriptions of early and experimental film effects skillfully painted vivid portals into the story. I didn’t take for granted the probability that with another author, I might have been lost to the detail, settling for a vague energy around the event rather than the thing itself.

I would recommend Experimental Film - with a little asterisk warning of a veer into the slightly-goofy realm near the end there. But still with a good conscience that any curious reader with a penchant for vintage ghosty stuff and good writing will view their time spent with the novel as deserving.