Fireworks is powerful stuff, and, with the exception of a narrated prologue that explains what fireworks mean in poetic language (at least in the version that's currently online, there are others and they may not include this), is all done through the powerful visual motifs of dreams. Or, at the least, that's how Anger wants to present this vision of what happens when the ideal of MALE-ness is put into danger and promiscuity.From seeing Scorpio Rising first, Anger's most well-known and semi-notorious film, I knew that this director knew how to shoot a shot of a man below the chest. Now, this doesn't mean to suggest nudity; he has his actors sometimes without a shirt or it unbuttoned (or in the 1964 film in some leather), and jeans being put on or taken off. But in its strange way he has a tastefulness to his erotica, the idea of the visual being the tease, the prolonged state of something that you KNOW is really sexual and provocative, but you're not seeing as much as you are.This may be why he was arrested on obscenity charges when the film was first screened (where exactly I'm not sure, who knows where underground cinema could get screened in 1947), but it went to the Supreme Court and, in one of those early/landmark decisions, it was ruled as art. But it was the suggestion of sex, and certainly *male*, homo-erotic sex, and remember our friend context which is that in this decade homosexuality was thought to be a crime and/or psychological ailment that could be legitimately cured. So just in the manner of creating this film, whether out of a dream or not, it was a brave act on Anger's part.The film is basically showing a guy waking up, seeing some (suggestive? likely?) photos that he tosses in the fireplace (though not yet lit), getting dressed, going through a door marked "GENTS", and then coming upon some sailors who... proceed to beat the hell out of him. This is all done in such a stylized manner that it reminded me of how Cocteau treated violence in Blood of a Poet: when blood comes out it feels otherworldly and yet very real in its way, like because it's not the blood we're used to seeing (yes it's graphic in how much comes out and in a sustained shot/angle), it has an effect that is uncanny.The way music is used adds to the poetry of it all, how it evokes feelings of high drama and curiosity and intense violence - whether it's underscoring the man who is flexing his muscles in such a campy manner (not funny so much as exaggerated), and then when the group of sailors accost our main character (played by Anger himself, the one nitpick I'd have is he doesn't carry a lot of screen presence as an actor, even in, yes I know, a scenario that doesn't ask for naturalism) it takes on the feeling of being in a nightmare you can't escape.How it ends takes on another feeling, but it's one I can't pinpoint yet. As far as a through-one may be tempted to say it's simply that he's still asleep by the end, but I'm not sure. The power of this whole 14 minute experience is to get into an intense psychological state, meditative even, about what it means to have the male gaze: it can be powerful, it can be imposing, it can be tough, and it can be beautiful, but all the while it can be dangerous as well. It's also worth noting that as this was 1947 this was before sailors and those in the navy were seen as something that could be mockable as 'that's gay' or something derogatory. This was just after WW2, don't forget, and the Navy sailors were among the heroes of the war. At the same time Anger's taking from an event - when sailors beat up a Mexicans on a famous day, I don't recall the name - so that adds to the provocation.Fireworks may lack some of the visual sophistication in little parts of the cinematography (not overall as far as lighting and composition, more like things involving focus, which makes sense as he shot this over a weekend on extremely limited resources), but that doesn't matter to the full scope: this is a brave little package of a cinematic experience that works much like its title: an explosion and series of things to look at, and from afar it may appear delightful - but get too close and it'll burn your fingers off and make you disfigured.Ah, Men.

In 1947 there were very few contexts in which a film could portray one man embracing another. Fireworks (1947) opens with one of these (a soldier carrying a man who appears to be wounded or even dead) but quickly begins to subvert this imagine; drastically changing its implied meaning. The film begs for analysis more than review because, while it is as direct as abstract art can be, it is obscure enough to be daunting.A man awakes in bed and removes a phallic symbol from beneath the sheets. He begins to get dressed while the camera lingers on his crotch and naked chest. He gathers up photos scattered around the bed and disposes of them in the fire. Through this sequence we began to think of sex. It is not a stretch to imagine the pictures (of one man holding another) to have been masturbatory material now destroyed implying shame and the desire for secrecy.The man finishes dressing while being framed as a visual mirror of the earlier phallic symbol. This gives a hint into his emotional state. His matchbook is both empty and branded with United States Navy. It is discarded and the man enters the night through a public restroom where he sees a sailor. The sailor removes his shirt and begins to flex his muscles and show off his body, but when asked for a cigarette he is seen to be fully dressed. This implies that the previous shirtless shots may have been the man's subjective view, mentally undressing the sailor as it were.The sailor reacts violently to the request for a cigarette and it is not hard to imagine that the question was a veiled (or even overt as the movie lacks dialogue) pick up attempt. Remembering the matchbook, we can assume the man has tried this approach before. The violence that follows is brief, suggestive, and ends with the man smoking a cigarette; a classic visual shorthand for the conclusion of sex.The original sailor leaves, but a new group arrives. They are armed and angry. The violence here is both extended and graphic, yet far more abstract. The man's reaction to the beating is sensual implying, if not outright rape then, at least, a connection to sadomasochistic sex. Using (to my mind at least) the Soviet Montage theory Anger turns milk into a bodily fluid by having the shots follow shots of blood and ecstatic writhing. This, somewhat appropriately, heralds the unsubtle climax where both patriotic symbols (fireworks), and religious symbols (Christmas tress) are converted into phallic symbols as the music swells triumphantly. We are brought back to the image of one man holding another as it is destroyed by the invasion of of now homoerotic symbols.The final scene shows the man once more sleeping in bed (though this time with a male partner) and suggest that all that preceded was a dream. Here we are recalled to the opening narration we the director talks about dreams expressing emotions that are repressed during waking life, but providing only a "temporary relief."

In Kenneth Anger's first masterpiece, "Fireworks" chronicles the senseless irony of homosexuality and violence as well as the longing for love. Here we see depicted as the plot even calls, "the very rape and torture of Anger himself", and Anger here being metaphor to describe all feelings related to love-leading to anger. For some, it would be considered 'wrong' or 'stupdi' but to others who understand the masterpiece clearly understand the beauty of underground cinema. This is one of these films to prove how brilliant avant-garde Anger truly is. In two thousand years, people will find this film, appreciate, love it, and embrace the darkness of one man (and legacy's) soul for many years to come.

Granted, Fireworks is not the kind of movie that is going to lead to a very promising filmmaking career. In fact, it's more likely to END a promising filmmaking career than anything else. It is a perversely brutal depiction of the attack and rape of a young man, played by Anger himself, but you have to take Anger's purpose into account when you watch and judge this film. At a mere 15-20 minute running time, it is not entirely doubtful that Anger may not have made the film for profit at all, but possibly for his own sexual gratification. The question that remains, it seems, is whether he meant to derive that satisfaction during its making or during its viewing. Either way, it is clear that the film's distribution pertains much more to the latter and, assuming that Anger realized this, it can also be assumed that he did not have the hugest aspirations for tremendous commercial success for Fireworks.One of the first things that you learn in the study of Gay and Lesbian film is that films pertaining exclusively to the homosexual community generally do not have much commercial success, if only because of the relatively small size of its target audience. Even under those circumstances, however, I have to admit that I don't feel that the film would have had much of a chance even if it was directed at a more general audience. It is a hugely uncomfortable and un-enjoyable cinematic experience to a much greater extent even than films that are purposely meant to be unattractive and ugly, like Buffalo '66.I spent about the first minute of Fireworks waiting to see something that would justify the fact that I was watching it at a screening for a film class at the University level, and then I spent about the next 19 minutes or so waiting for it to end. I did not enjoy a second of the film, but it is clear that there is a message to be derived from it, maybe about the plight of the young homosexual male in the late 40s or the fact that men get raped, too (although, of course, also be men). In any case, the films of Kenneth Anger seem to have been relegated mainly to below even the status of bottom shelf oblivion, and quite frankly, I can't say so far that it's any huge loss.