Maybe old news at this point, but film avant-gardist Bruce Conner died last Monday at the age of 74. Not that I’ve anything to add to the basic obit info (which you can click here for … and here too), and in fact his films—which I’m pretty sure I’ve seen some of, at least one or a couple—are mainly a blur right now, just an avalanche of collagelike impressions, which is essentially what they were and are. (Like Brakhage in that, the effects visceral and immediate, even overwhelming if you’re in the right receptive mood, though admittedly in retrospect it’s hard to distinguish one from another, separate out what the films individually do.)
My only personal take on this, from a proofreader’s vantage at the bottom of the editorial totem pole, is to note how often people who wrote about the guy spelled his name wrong. It’s -ER, ladies and gents, not -or. Let’s hope they get it right on the tombstone.