For a 78 brisk minutes, Aaron Brookner and Rodrigo Areias’ defining documentary about the Nova Convention which almost 50 years ago brought artistic icons like Patti Smith, Frank Zappa, Allen Ginsberg, Laurie Anderson, and, most prominently, William S. Burroughs to New York’s East Village, transports the creative essence of a long-gone late-1970s New York into the present. Assembled from reels of 16 mm footage, shot by Brookner’s uncle Howard – whom the director dedicated his very own documentary feature – at the Nova Convention of 1978, their resurrection of a forgotten fragment of avant-garde history is both a cinematic time capsule and a tribute. Premiering Out of Competition at Locarno’s Piazza Grande, this living artifact feels both shorter and longer than its emblematic running time of 78 minutes.
The vibrant visualization of the three-day event that is both legendary and curiously obscure rushes by in no time but also lingers long after the creative collision of artistic, literary, and musical rebellion has ceased. Crafted by Howard Brookner—Aaron’s uncle—for an NYU project that evolved into the 1983 film Burroughs: The Movie, these previously unseen reels lay untouched for decades. Their restoration between 2012 and 2024 happened thanks to efforts spanning the UK and Portugal, breathing into the once intimate and electrifying material the avant-garde pulse of its era. No explanatory voice-overs or museum-quality plaques guide the uninitiated. Instead, the archival mosaic jumps directly into the Nova Convention’s vortex: grainy 16 mm color film, flickering with occasional instability.
More captivating than the slick cinematography is the immediacy. A powerful sense of discovery lies in these fleeting frames, not only of the footage itself, but of the historic figures in uninhibited moments. Jim Jarmusch contributed direct sound recording, preserving ambient reverberations with claps, chatter, and traces of spontaneity. One of the few faults is the uneven attempt to bridge the archival images with contemporary sensibilities through a soundtrack by The Legendary Tigerman. Nova 78′ thrives on its refusal to explain itself. After all, conventional understanding was never the primary goal of this event. It was much more about experimentation and exposure of ideas, rhythms, moves, and words, disciplines dissolving into each other.
Literature leaned into music, music into performance, performance into a sense of intellectual rebellion. Though all this immersive innovation can be overwhelming, the film nevertheless mirrors the era’s ideal of intellectual openness by declining to impose a generalized meaning. Nova 78′ transcends mere preservation by evoking the specter of a counter-culture not yet commodified, whose rawness cannot be replicated. Burroughs, as inspirational icon of the Beat Generation, anchors the gathering’s intellectual spine. Foregoing narrative or analysis invites viewers to inhabit the time and atmosphere without the filter of retrospective commentary. It’s an immersive experience, summoning the energy of an art scene that has been mostly demolished by gentrification, time, and death. Meanwhile, Aaron Brookner’s personal story of family legacy behind the documentary almost dissolves within the whirlwind of politicized performance.
At its best, the amalgam of historical document and artistic creation revivifies an overlooked chapter of counter-culture, offering a rare, unadorned presentation and curatorial trust into a glimpse upon a past that feels strangely ahead of the neo-populist present.
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