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I almost fell asleep during Scrap, which sounds bad, but is possibly purposeful on the movie’s part. It’s an intentionally slow movie, not so much a documentary but a meditation on the way that stuff lingers on after it has supposedly been thrown out.
We visit a cemetery for old cars in Georgia, with trees growing up from 1930s Fords; a broken down airplane in Bangkok, now home to a poor family, which makes a decent living off money from the tourists who come to see the disassembled plane. A man who turns the rusting hulls of old ships into buildings. A recycling plant in India, where old electronics are broken down to their component parts. A sculptor in Iowa who turns scrap metal into tigers and trees and buffalo.
There is, perhaps, a message here, articulated by the photojournalist interviewed in India, who comments that she hopes her works help people have a more intentional relationship with items they see as disposable. But mostly this is a collection of images: long shots of the forest growing up through the cars, close-ups of the shattered glass in a classic red telephone booth awaiting refurbishment. An artist’s hand as he puts the final touches on the crown on that telephone box, dabbing on a yellow paint that dries to gold.
We visit a cemetery for old cars in Georgia, with trees growing up from 1930s Fords; a broken down airplane in Bangkok, now home to a poor family, which makes a decent living off money from the tourists who come to see the disassembled plane. A man who turns the rusting hulls of old ships into buildings. A recycling plant in India, where old electronics are broken down to their component parts. A sculptor in Iowa who turns scrap metal into tigers and trees and buffalo.
There is, perhaps, a message here, articulated by the photojournalist interviewed in India, who comments that she hopes her works help people have a more intentional relationship with items they see as disposable. But mostly this is a collection of images: long shots of the forest growing up through the cars, close-ups of the shattered glass in a classic red telephone booth awaiting refurbishment. An artist’s hand as he puts the final touches on the crown on that telephone box, dabbing on a yellow paint that dries to gold.
