Review Summary: Our life is Patission Street.
In 1980, Greek cinematic director Pavlos Tassios filmed the real story of a Greek-Athenian blue collar worker who, on a February night in 1973, knifed a company of men in a tavern. Purportedly, the attack stemmed from the collective's refusal to allow the laborer's brother to pay his respect to his sibling, by dancing a "rebetiko" folk song all alone in front of the tavern's live band. The impact of the incident was such that it monopolized the oral and written outings of the public opinion and press, even though Greece was undergoing its 6th (and next to last) year of military dictatorship. The authorities argued that the worker had premeditated his assault, with some further speculating that this blind outbreak of rage was the indirect result of social and/or political discrimination. The film's spiral narrative deals with the dramatization of the events that led to the incident and the relentless police manhunt that followed (two of the victims were policemen). The success that followed the film's release in Greek theatres was also attributed to the soundtrack Στο Δρόμο (On The Road).
Tassios’ novelty regarding the film structure, is that the latter is inspired from ancient Greek tragedy plays. In parallel with the ongoing plot, he has his wife and poet/actor Katerina Gogou reciting pieces of her work, at segments that could be dubbed as “movie intermissions”. Gogou, whose poetry would be issued and appreciated in the States in the early ‘80s, does an excellent job in painting the portraits of marginalized people struggling to fit in an environment that appears to have little or no room left to do so. Her choice of words and prose are blunt, yet precise regarding the message to be conveyed. Some verses are censored, due to profane language, courtesy of the strict Greek censorship legislation at that time. However, not all of Gogou’s writings is soaked in dismay; her anger and disappointment, progressively give way to a restrained optimism for a future world, free of all forms of segregation.
Gogou’s oral testament lies upon the arrangements of Greek composer Kyriakos Sfetsas. If a single quote could be used to characterize Sfetsas’ work, that would be “crossover in the best possible sense”. Sfetsas puts together a jazz/prog rock band with a carefully assembled orchestra of classical and folk instruments, and goes back and forth in a non-trivial way, with respect to genres such as Greek folk (rebetiko), jazz, progressive rock, doom rock (!!), and horror movie soundtracks. Nominally, the mood is on par with Gogou’s vocal temper, but quite often, the arrangements follow a route of their own; there are times where Gogou is growling in despair, while, for example, the joint orchestras give in to a loose and casual jazz rock jam.
At times, it's hard to fully realize the depth and the genuine progressiveness of the actual music, especially in view of the corresponding political and social environment in Greece during the '70s; during the 7-year military dictatorship, the Western world's contemporary musical heritage - especially as it pertained to rock music - was banned by law. As a result, there was a serious time lag regarding the diffusion of progressive and hard rock within the land (artists like Led Zeppelin and Jimi Hendrix were little known in the '70s and early '80s, in contrast to almost everywhere else). Sfetsas' work herein, along with outfits such as Socrates Drank the Conium, Akritas, and Axis, slowly but steadily began to turn the tide to a different direction.
In 2014, the Greek branch of Capitol Records reissued this film score, some 20+ years after its first release. In contrast to what Katerina Gogou hopes at the end of the album, her poetry is (unfortunately) still relevant, whereas Kyriakos Sfetsas' compositions form a major contribution, one that’s sure to stimulate the taste of obscure progressive rock and soundtrack enthusiasts whenever necessary.
