The goal of Playing Favorites is simple. Over the course of this column, I plan to share my opinions on films that I love, which stand a decent chance of showing up in my Top 100. This isn’t a compendium of the best cinema ever assembled, but more a cross-section of art that has influenced me, formed my taste and sensibility. While I don’t know that this will be a clean 100 titles, it will hopefully be a chance to explore the themes that mean the most to me, both in terms of genre and subtext. I’m also not sure that I’m designing this column as a thorough examination of these stories but, as with most topics on this website, a chance to dive into personal connections and their relevance at least in my life.
It only feels right to start with director Jacob Krupnick’s Girl Walk // All Day (2011), which will officially be 10 years old come December 8. Of the many films I love, few have held as special of a place in my heart as this “feature length music video” that finds characters dancing around New York, set to Girl Talk’s “All Day” album. To me, it’s a perfect intersection of everything that I look for in cinema as a kinetic language. What it lacks in complex storytelling it more than makes up for with exuberant energy. It’s an indie film that feels like it was shot guerrilla style, catching almost everyone off guard. Krupnick’s ability to punctuate Girl Talk’s music with a jump cut to a passerby staring in confusion is masterful. More than anything, this is a story about feeling alive.
More than any other film, every minute has a digestible quality that makes it addictive to watch. Due to it being legally available for free online, I have found my evenings often wanting to watch only five minutes and end up there for a half-hour, amazed at the small details. In theory, I’ve only seen the film all the way through about five times, but many of my favorite moments are ones I’ve returned to maybe 10 times as often. I love the expressive nature of Anne Marsen, who plays “The Girl” as she tries to get the entire city of New York to dance. It helps that she has an expressive face and endless energy, constantly twirling her arms and not caring what others think. It’s the confidence that everyone wishes they had, where they can go into Grand Central Station and bring some joy into somebody’s day.
I think the reason that the film feels special to me is my relationship with Girl Talk. Like most 20-somethings in the early 2010s, there was something inescapable about mash-up culture. While I’m not well-versed in the genre, Gregg Gillis had enviable publicity that put him at the forefront of the medium, releasing albums through the Illegal Art website, finding loopholes where he could sample every song under the sun without breaking copyright. Starting with “Night Ripper,” he released increasingly complex mash-ups that were very impressive. It wasn’t just a chance to put the beat of a song over the vocals of another. He was growing ambitious, playing with tempos in such a way that it recontextualized certain songs, often adding humor such as mixing the radio-friendly lust of Rick Springfield’s “Jessie’s Girl” with Three 6 Mafia’s more explicit “I’d Rather.”
I remember reading a review in Rolling Stone or Spin that Girl Talk’s gift was that he took songs with limited appeal and gave them as much attention as they deserved. Maybe it’s because I’m specifically in the demographic that knows a lot of the “ringtone rap” tracks that he references, in some ways creating nostalgia for my own high school/early college years. It helps that I find it catchy, still putting it on whenever I need a quick boost of energy in song form. The manic quality full of consistent shifts and hidden samples buried in the background only made it rewarding, allowing me to focus in ways that a conventional verse-chorus-verse artist wouldn’t allow me to.
Like all ambitious creators, I had this project that I had conceived but had no real plans on following through on. Having listened to “Feed the Animals” several times, I wondered if it was capable to make a film based around the soundtrack. Like Alejandro Jodorowsky sharing his vision for Frank Herbert’s “Dune,” I’m sure that I had crazy ideas that were neo-psychedelic. Without any real talent for visual storytelling, let alone choreographing dance numbers that I wanted, I never took it seriously while at the same time having it in the back of my head as a dream. I didn’t actually think anyone would pull it off, especially given that Girl Talk’s appeal was the fleeting sound. Unlike something like Moulin Rouge! (2001), the mash-up never overstayed its welcome.
Discovering Girl Talk // All Day was a revolutionary day for me, realizing that somebody else had that fever dream. Sure it wasn’t for “Feed the Animals,” but it was the next best thing. With what would become his final mash-up album, “All Day” became the soundtrack to Krupnick’s crazy world. Backed by a Kickstarter that makes me regret not knowing about it in preproduction, the film became a lingering success story. It was released in 2011 but I didn’t discover it until 2013. By then I bought so into the story that I would buy a DVD and even a t-shirt that’s many sizes too small, but I needed to have any memorabilia.
I am not a good dancer. While people used to know me for just letting loose whenever a song came on, I was always envious of those with professional training. To watch someone who knows the moves and can make it look natural or even comic speaks to me. It’s why I love the Step Up franchise or the TV series Bunheads, having been indoctrinated into the world of dance since watching West Side Story (1961) as a child. There was an elegance, a beauty that captured humanity at its most nimble and purest. I still want to be part of that world, though I’m usually more as an observer, feeling my heart race as I watch people on a stage twirl, tumble, forming this deeper expression. I’ll admit some of it comes from having friends in this world, where my sister and I watched So You Think You Can Dance? and admire Misty Copeland. Plain and simple, I find dance to be an attractive trait in a person.
It is why I fell so deeply in love with The Girl as a character. What she lacked in a character arc she compensated with this bright optimism. She starts the story a bit anarchic, at odds with a ballet class embracing a classical style, stretching while a piano plays over the credits. As color enters the cinematography, the music shifts. Girl Talk enters the equation with a simmering intro that mixes Black Sabbath’s “War Pigs” with 2Pac’s “How Do U Want It.” The Girl’s body distorts to the beat, her arm twisting in rejection before her body jerks to Jay-Z’s “99 Problems.” She has become possessed, dropping to the floor, yelling at the teacher, and running to the streets for an even bigger dance floor. By the time that she zips up her jacket in time to a sliding sound, I knew that I was in good hands.
As far as I can tell, a lot of the sequences are a mix of choreographed and improvisation. I don’t necessarily believe that every move was planned to a beat, but more the chance to live in a space and interpret how it speaks to you. I’ve seen several videos of Marsen performing what would become the dance aboard the Staten Island Ferry, all slightly different. Even then, her ability to dance while interacting with a confused public is its own spectacle. During this number, she finds people smiling, giving thumbs up to a camera. Some even stare, baffled, as she rides the edge of an escalator. Are they concerned that she will fall off or even that she’s existing at that moment outside of basic rules? It’s hard to say, but for the remaining 75 minutes, Krupnick will find that balance while turning the city into a gorgeous, artful backdrop.
It should be noted that while The Girl is theoretically the protagonist, there are two additional plots that emerge. Dai Omiya is “The Gentleman” and is more presented as a tap and classical dancer. There’s also John Doyle as “The Creep.” Both of them are following her around the city, reflecting themes of romance and fear, bringing pantomiming to parks and corner streets. The facets of ballet are present visually, finding Marsen and Omiya at one point dancing to a mix of Radiohead’s “Creep” and Ol Dirty Bastard’s “Shimmy Shimmy Ya.” The camera swirls around, finding their emotional connection before she breaks free, dancing through a playground with childlike joy at the love she’s just experienced.
This chemistry would return aboard a subway where people dance on poles. The entire car explodes, save for the one or two people not expecting a movie shoot. As the story continues, Krupnick shifts attention away from the strict trio and incorporates a sense of viral infection. In one particular number, he captures a string of dancers taking turns. Upon touching The Girl, they become infected with the desire to dance, and it carries down the street, each new person providing their own unique style. The last 15 minutes are more a collage of different styles and cultures dancing in harmony, reflecting the diverse ways that movement connects everyone. By the end, it’s a crowd dancing through the park with sparklers, just enjoying the sense of community.
I understand that Girl Walk is an acquired taste for a handful of reasons. The most noteworthy is the mash-up nature and one’s willingness to watch a dancer push herself into spaces that aren’t conventionally accepting of dance. It’s subversive, in its own way a growing flash mob that benefits from immortalizing the environment. Who likes it? Who hates it? The sense of The Girl (“an outsider”) finding others who embraced her interests is heartwarming. With a soundtrack that embodies almost every significant pop song of the past two centuries, it’s the most universal example of how dance joins us together.
With all of this said, I have one particular regret about the film. While I saw it in a period where there were still screenings, they were often more an excuse to dance. I’m not opposed to it in theory, but it feels overwhelming. I wanted to find people who loved the film and just enjoy Krupnick’s charisma. I still spread the word in hopes of introducing audiences to this wonderful movie. To me, it’s the epitome of what indie cinema can be in the 21st century, where auteurs like Stephen Soderbergh are shooting entire stories on iPhones. This technology is more accessible than ever, and here was a film that embraced the spirit of just following your dreams no matter what the world thought.
The group that made the film hasn’t necessarily been prolific since, though I’m still eager to see what everyone does. Dai Omiya in particular hasn’t had significant film work since. With that said, Krupnick and John Doyle have reteamed for an upcoming film called I’m an Electric Lampshade (with Doyle as director) that has gotten positive reviews so far. Marsen has had a little more success with a recurring role on The Good Wife (playing, once again, a dancer). She has also been teaching and encouraging others to dance. As far as I can tell, her everyday life is almost a mirror image of The Girl in that she’s very encouraging others to dance and have fun. If nothing else, she has some fun videos on YouTube that make me glad to know she’s still out there doing her thing.
For me, the best thing about cinema is finding artists who have a personal message that they want to share with the world. The more organic their voices are, the more exciting it is to see what they have to say. While Kickstarter-backed movies have sometimes gotten a bad name, Krupnick reflects the ultimate good that they can produce. This is in some ways a novel concept that at worst would be an odd curio. What it ended up being was something far greater, a love letter to how everyone should dance and enjoy life. It is in no way conventional, but still universal enough, capturing an emotion in a fully realized way. I love this film for so many reasons, and cannot wait to see if they do anything special for the big anniversary.
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