Henry David Thoreau: In His Own Words; New Walden

Sadly, the 32-minute Henry David Thoreau: In His Own Words is a surface-scratching introduction that turns the influential writer/philosopher into a quotidian eccentric--in fact, the passion, intellect, and challenge of Thoreau's words barely register here, thanks largely to bad filmmaking and monotonous oncamera talent. Shot on location at Walden Pond, the film features "Thoreau impersonator" Jeffrey Hyatt declaiming bits of Thoreau's writing--distinct ruminations on individual, social, and political topics--with no energy whatsoever, creating a weirdly disconnected state between the writer's passionate observations and the actor's enervated style of conversation. Hyatt's speeches are interwoven with comments from a trio of "Thoreau specialists," who appear in separate studio segments, framed in tight close-ups and speaking directly into the camera with feeble intensity and weak sincerity. Anyone who comes to the film with a bare understanding of Thoreau will find little more here, while those who know something about the man will be seriously disappointed. Not recommended. Aud: H, C, P.In New Walden, Bruce Merwin's independently-produced musical inspired by Thoreau and the Transcendentalist movement, an actor playing Thoreau falls asleep at his Walden Pottage cottage, is awoken by a brigade of forest spirits (who suspiciously resemble a high school ballet class) wearing faded costumes and war paint, and whisked away to a convenience store, where he begins to wander the aisles reciting sections from Walden as the spirits try to eat sunglasses and sniff antifreeze. From there, the film goes haywire with an endless skein of bizarre imagery: a white truck driver keeps a black man in chains, a group of dancers dress up like the aliens of Close Encounters of the Third Kind and wiggle their hips while holding circular mirrors, and a trio of women outfitted like the Solid Gold dancers bump and grind in a muddy field amid a gathering of toga-clad mannequins and shirtless men. The soundtrack includes 13 songs that pinball from sugar-coated pop to faux-African-American spirituals, the choreography looks like it was staged by the Three Stooges, and members of the cast frequently cannot maintain straight faces (there's even a boy in blue diapers playing Puck, but what he's doing outside of Shakespeare is not clear). What any of this has to do with Thoreau or transcendentalism is debatable. Not recommended. Aud: C, P. (P. Hall)