Michael Robinson‘s All Through the Night (2008) is a trenchant journey of melancholy and longing; a four minute pastiche of found footage, found audio, and found music. A cacophony of sound bites, shuttering, stuttering, and Cyndi Lauper. The titular track by Cyndi Lauper is looped beyond recognition apropos as the opening edit jogs and shuttles; as with the pacing that hops, skips, and jumps o’er the misty water to find a Priestess on the bow of an oneiric sail boat, directing emotion with her movement. Perhaps the Priestess embodies spirituality and the sail boat forward movement.
Spiritual movement, a spirit journey guided by a female higher power; however, on the lower plane of existence is the paradox of knowing and not knowing, the illusions of Maya, expressed in the cavernous animated sequence where an older figure explains to the youth that, “I told you, time and time again — now remember: flowers, beauty, joy and love, are all illusions. They do not exist — at all — forget them.”
Undulating architecture follows, tinged in blue against black: blue emotion, black uncertainty.
“There is no room for love.”
Oh, but there is room for love. For some, this glum line is a salutary reminder that love and beauty are omniscient — but there is a tendency to overlook it in everything, everyday — sometimes the sad part is time and space. But every emotion holds its opposite, and the effect of every action its polarity. Each hold balance, each direct change for the better, for the progress of all.
Robinson’s All Through the Night is wind that blows the mind and spirit. The more you know, the more you don’t know. The more you remember, the more you forget; the more you forget, the more you remember — the good ole story of love and beauty, movement and transformation.