Peru Ana Ana Peru originated in Bushwick, Brooklyn, New York. They were each born of a virgin birth, performed many miracles in each of the five boroughs, were eventually crucified, buried, and, after three days, resurrected. Many people doubt the spiritual side to their existence, and with good reason. As it turns out, Peru Ana Ana Peru are really just a couple of no good lousy thugs who spend the bulk of their time making films and leaving little keepsakes around the city for others to find under the mask of anonymity.
Because of this, they project an image of vigilantes, caped crusaders that swing to and fro in the dark of night, leaving their marks on walls, light posts, trash cans, stop signs, and the like.
They are phantoms. Nothing more. Phantoms who happen to have formed the habit of leaving their name wherever they go. No big deal. You could do it too.
It is our belief that the current state of things, which is to say of [american?] cinema—of what it is, of what it has become—is in shambles, that of a deformed being, with its skin all bumpy-bruised and bleeding, stubbly and prickly and purpleblack-like and disgusting. This, it must be said, is merely the result of a series of countless beatings and other brutalities that have been brought against it by a conglomeration of thugs and money-men who have stolen it out from under our feet, and who have proceeded to pound the poor thing into a mashed hump, forcing it rudely into the mangled and ugly state that it is now in, a shoddy molding block that we will call simply film.
Let it be stated clearly at this time: FILM DOES NOT EQUAL CINEMA.
But as it stands, and for some time now, cinema has been missing, stolen as it were, and in its successive care it has been many times over stifled and neglected, perhaps even murdered! The culprits? Bastards! Bastardos! The Bastard children of a thousand men, born of a thousand more! Despicable bankers and the ill-mannered, simple minded masses that bank with them. Bastards we do say!
The reason, as we do see it, for this hijacking is quite simple: mass appeal means more money. And the bastard bankers are sure sweets on the mulah! Yes, we do say, it is now an ugly state. For in the arena of ultra-capitalism, in which we do currently reside, the halls and quarters are filled to the asshole with many a bugger, and there is a stench of rotted-mustard and burning popcorn, and your feet stick to the floor which is covered in a thick gooey mess, and when you walk there is a loud shlick-shlack. The problem with the appeal to mass appeal is that it promotes mass production, which is a soulless creature, more robotic than human, and boring to boot. In addition, mass production necessarily breeds the notion of efficiency, which is a disgusting critter all its own! Ardent adherence to efficiency overlooks, for the simple sake of time, the experimentalism needed in any work to truly ever evolve into a higher status, to become better, to grow. In doing exactly this, the bastard culprits have suffocated cinema!