Z Channel: A Magnificent Obsession

Obsessive, indeed. My own insatiable love of film began in 1977, when I was 8 years old. The two box-office champs of that year, STAR WARS and SMOKEY AND THE BANDIT (two more dissimilar films you were unlikely to find) ignited some mysterious thrill in my subconscious. I saw both films multiple times during their original runs. The obsession continued. Every Friday I would grab the "Poster" section of the Palm Beach Post to absorb the new movie ads and their reviews. The Sunday "Arts and Entertainment" portion of the New York Times was even better, though frustrating as I would gawk at all the titles that would never make their way to South Florida. Then it got, in retrospect, a little concerning. As I learned of the workings and possibilities of cable programming, their schedules filled with unedited theatrical films, I became increasingly intrigued. I started creating my own movie schedules, writing lists of films. I would program movies in particular order, perhaps like a DJ would segue music. 

Of course, most of the films I listed were unseen by me, due to restrictive ratings or just being unavailable. But I read about films quite a bit, even at age 8 and 9 being very cognizant of the classics, the contemporaries, the camp extravaganzas, the documentaries. I dreamed of overseeing my own network, just one endless festival of cinema. Jerry Harvey was another such misfit. Only a fascination such as his could have made the term "director's cut" mainstream. Five years after Sam Peckinpah's THE WILD BUNCH was released, Harvey arranged for the original, longer version of that masterpiece to screen at the Beverly Canon Theater in Los Angeles. Intact cuts of films by Bertolucci and Leone would also be showcased in revival cinemas. Harvey would also go on to rescue Michael Cimino's full-length HEAVEN'S GATE from a British vault. In between, an L.A. cable station called "Z Channel" would become the sort of venue I fantasized over: a 24-hr. parade of all sorts of cinema. Uncensored and no commercials.

From 1974 until the late 80s, Z Channel would air an impressive variety of classic arthouse like THE 400 BLOWS, CHILDREN OF PARADISE, LA STRADA, and ANDREI RUBLEV. Cult favorites such as ERASERHEAD would also be shown. And yes, even commercial hits were played in the mix. A good balance, I believe. Nothing but "stellar cinema" would be as limiting as the reverse. A filmgoer's education should be selective, but I think one can't really understand and appreciate the medium without exposing themselves to a bit of everything (almost). Accordingly, Z Channel was solely available in the L.A. area, thereby very favorably influencing a spate of future filmmakers such as Tarantino and Jarmusch. Film school, in a box. In the 2004 documentary Z CHANNEL: A MAGNIFICENT OBSESSION, we learn not only about how such a maverick station influenced so many, but also of the madness within its brainchild. Jerry Harvey was, by most of the talking head accounts in this movie, a caring and generous individual. His devotion to Z Channel, as well as film preservation, was legendary in the business. But he was also quite tortured. A major catalyst involved the suicides of both of his older sisters in the 70s. These events would perhaps influence his difficulty with his attempts at marriage. How much it influenced him in his decision to murder his second wife (before turning the gun on himself) in 1988, might only be conjectured.

Many of the interviewees in this doc do just that, in between a liberal sampling of clips from so many of the films that graced Z Channel. Director Xan Cassavettes (daughter of John) weaves a mostly seamless pastiche of footage and discussion, about 50/50 on Harvey's life and his obsession. Either subject could fill its own 2 + hours. At times, Z CHANNEL gets a bit frustrating for this reason. Just as we're engrossed with Harvey's life, the doc switches gears. Then, as the film geekery reaches a crescnedo, we're back in Harvey's Rorschach of despair. However, this film still works on both accounts. It would also serve to further frustrate me that I was not around to subscribe to such a channel. Z would degenerate, following Harvey's death, into a mishmash of programming that would include professional wrestling and other sporting events. In 1989, it would sign off forever; its final film, MY DARLING CLEMENTINE. As it was, when my family started receiving HBO and Showtime, my jones for film deepened, perhaps reaching the level on par with that of Jerry Harvey's. With Z Channel, I may well have never left the house.....