A VIEW FROM DUMPLAND
A film by M. Woods
"M. Woods has created a deeply visceral, honest reflection of the fuckery of our own minds. A reflection of our reality, which although terrifiying, is a wake up call to act, to love, and to allow ourselves to heal. To stick our fingers deep into our open wounds and really feel what the fuck is going on inside of ourselves and in the world. To nuture what deserves us and to shed light on the darkness that surrounds us. A VIEW FROM DUMPLAND is an unveiling of a truth we so often choose to deny but must ultimately face. Remember our numbness is not permanent. Open your fucking eyes."
-MOONFAZE FEMINIST FILM JOURNAL
The sharp pain at the back of the throat, an infection tied to a thick black wire, throbbing to be picked at, pulled out, and lanced. A Trump mask stuck to a husband's head and a wife stuck to a phone. Strangers occupying similar transient spaces until dissolution is a permanent state. As the order crumbles, it does so on all fronts, and so a "tremendous" blaring shit screen never stops broadcasting the bad bad fake real fake news; the truth is, as I've sat alone with my once lover, I've felt like I've needed to be inside my lover's thoughts. the truth is, as I've sat and watched this world fall apart, I think it best we add more fire and watch it burn.
A note from the filmmaker:
This movie is a short film culled from my upcoming feature film, Dailies from Dumpland. The whole project is an attempt at coming to terms with the dissolution of the only relationship I've had, to my high school sweetheart and the mother of my daughter, while watching the dissolution of Western society. As the world is falling apart, the one person who I've had with me my entire adult life, and my best friend, is also lost to me. The movie is, more than anything, an attempt at communication, an attempt from my fixed perspective to try and understand the things she felt that I could never know; trying to cull together some semblance of order out of 13 years that are now compressed into memories that haunt me. It is also a melancholy love song to the dream I had of a family that is now over, of the things we suffered, of the racial hierarchies that we butted up against, of the micro aggressions of race that are both familial and societal; and it is an apology to my daughter, who I can never love enough, that leaves me with an undulating pain when I think too hard about it.
-M. Woods, Filmmaker
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