“Double Play,” a documentary film by Gabe Klinger running at Anthology Film Archives in New York City from July 18 through 24, highlights the unusual relationship between two artists, both of whom represent divergent filmmaking practices: James Benning, the legendary experimental filmmaker, and Richard Linklater, who’s carved out one of the most interesting Hollywood careers of the last two decades.
The hook of the film rests on the unlikely pairing of the two — one makes films starring celebrities within a system defined by capital while the other makes films largely on his own. But are the two artists really that dissimilar? They met when Linklater was a much younger man, just beginning his career as a filmmaker while sharing a role in the creation of the Austin Film Society, which he helps organize to this day. The first filmmaker they invited to town to show films was James Benning, who, as Linklater mentions in “Double Play,” showed up not long after with his film in one hand and a small plastic bag with a few articles of clothing in the other.
The two share formal interests as well. Duration is essential to many of Benning’s films, which utilize long takes and natural sound, and it’s easy to see his influence on “Boyhood,” Linklater’s latest film, which was shot over a 12-year period and derives much of its power through subtle shifts in time. Going back further, the languid pace of films such as “Slacker” and “Waking Life,” which avoid a narrative center in favor of a multiplicity of directions, hint at an experimentation far removed from the world of Hollywood cinema, in which Linklater is an active participant.
The documentary traces these and other connections in interesting ways. Klinger’s camera, never intrusive, absorbs influences from the work of both subjects, making the film feel more like a collaboration between the three than an authorial vision by one. At certain moments the camera will hang back, remain static, and simply observe; other moments, it’s naturalistic and flowing with the action, following the two as they go for a hike, talk about their careers over a meal, and throw around a baseball. In the latter segment, another connection is discovered — both were star athletes earlier in life (Benning was also a math teacher before turning to film).
“Double Play” was produced under the banner of “Cinéastes de notre temps,” a French television program that aired, in its original incarnation, until 1971, before returning intermittently beginning in 1989. The episodes, many of which are now hard to find, have gained in stature among cinephiles over the years partly due to their obscurity as well as their uniqueness — many of the portraits were made by filmmakers about their contemporaries and avoid the typical structures of traditional documentary film. “Double Play” is a fine addition to this group, not only because of its subject matter — and someone needs to make a more in-depth film about James Benning, pronto — but because of how it expands our knowledge of both filmmakers and their work just by letting the two get together for a day and hang out.
