Some filmmakers tell stories; Maya Deren transformed cinema into an excavation of the self. Her films—fragmented, surreal, rhythmically hypnotic—unfold like spells cast on celluloid. To enter a Deren film is to dissolve the boundaries between reality and imagination, to experience cinema as ritual. Her legacy as a pioneering experimental filmmaker and mother of avant-garde cinema (or perhaps, a radical architect of cinematic rebellion— gendered titles be damned) serves as a call to question, disrupt, and create anew.
As someone navigating the intersections of identity, I often return to Deren’s films to remind myself of cinema’s radical potential: to hold ambiguity, resist simplicty, and embrace multiplicity. Deren opens a door and asks you to linger on the threshold—a threshold where the fragmented self can find its reflection.
Rituals of Self-Discovery or cinematic alchemy
Deren was a cinematic alchemist, transforming the ordinary into the extraordinary. She sought not to simply be seen, but to uncover herself through film—a radical pursuit for a woman of her time.
Her early masterpiece, Meshes of the Afternoon (1943) feels like an incantation. Shot with just $275, it broke new ground in experimental film. What lingers isn’t its plot but its rhythm: a knife, a flower, a cloaked figure recurring in fragmented loops. These symbols don’t demand decoding but ask to be experienced—their meaning shifting with every repetition.
The fragmented repetition of symbols in her works creates a visual language that disrupts linear storytelling. They resist the tyranny of continuity, instead embracing the disjointed and nonlinear as fundamental truths. For me, these moments reclaim and rebel against the rigid structures that seek to confine both women and art.
By placing herself at the centre of Meshes, Deren reclaimed the gaze. Her body became both subject and symbol—fluid, unbound by constraints of the male gaze. Watching it, I felt struck by its defiance: its refusal to flatten complexity and its courage to embrace fragmentation as truth. Deren’s act of creation is a form of liberation—a deeply feminist rebellion that reshaped not only how women were seen but also how they could see themselves.
Time and Space as Fluid Landscapes
Deren manipulated time and space in ways that defy linearity, creating dreamscapes that feel both intimate and otherworldly. In At Land (1944), the protagonist emerges from the sea, and seamlessly traverses disparate landscapes: the beach, a forest, a dinner table—shattering any sense of temporal or spatial continuity.
Her films invite us to experience time as elastic, where memory and presence coexist, and space folds into one another. Each moment feels like a fragment of a larger truth, offering narratives that loop, disrupt, and reassemble. Watching her films feels less like following a narrative and more like slipping into someone else’s dream.
Cinema as Ritual, the Body as Archive
Deren’s work feels like engaging in a shared ritual, where the body becomes a vessel for storytelling and ritual becomes a cinematic language. This idea threads through much of her work, offering a deeply personal and transformative view of cinema.
Ritual suffuses Deren’s work. In Ritual in Transfigured Time (1946), the flowing fabrics and deliberate movements evoke a meditative rhythm, grounding the film in a sense of the sacred. Each gesture carries weight, becoming part of a larger rhythm that speaks to the cyclical nature of existence.
This focus on ritual extends to her documentation of Haitian Vodou ceremonies in Divine Horsemen: The Living Gods of Haiti (1954). Deren didn’t approach these rituals as an outsider but as a participant, allowing the sacred to shape her filmmaking. The result is a body of work that views the human form not as static but as a vessel for memory, history, and transformation.
As trans folx, we often approach our bodies not as fixed entities but as archives—sites of history, resistance, and memory. Deren’s work resonates with this complexity, offering a language of ritual and reimagination that feels like home.
The Gaze Turned Inward
Deren’s films turn the gaze inward, creating spaces where the viewer becomes both witness and participant. In The Very Eye of Night (1958), celestial choreography unfolds against an endless void, creating a meditation on mortality. Meanwhile, in At Land, the protagonist’s journey through shifting terrains feels less about destination and more about the act of moving, of becoming.
Her gaze isn’t about control but reflection, asking the viewer to question what they see and how they see it. This is not cinema as spectacle but as an intimate exchange—fracturing the male gaze to create space for multiplicity.
Queerness and Feminist Frameworks
Though Deren didn’t openly identify as queer, her work deeply resonates within queer and feminist frameworks. Her refusal to conform to traditional storytelling, her fascination with the fluidity of identity, and her insistence on centering the body as both power and vulnerability embody a queer sensibility.
In Meshes of the Afternoon, the recurring figure cloaked in shadow isn’t simply a threat or a protector but both—its meaning shifts with each encounter. This fluidity mirrors the queer experience, where identity is constantly renegotiated. Daren's films feel like rituals of self-discovery and healing, offering a framework for reimagining identity beyond rigid categories.
Legacy and Contemporary Relevance
Deren’s influence ripples through the works of filmmakers like Chantal Akerman, whose Jeanne Dielman redefined the domestic space; David Lynch, whose surrealist nightmares owe much to her dreamscapes; and Apichatpong Weerasethakul, whose meditative blending of myth and landscape echoes her ritualistic style. They all echo her commitment to breaking form, to treating time and space as malleable. But more than that, Deren’s work offers a way of thinking about art itself: as a means of questioning, as a space for ambiguity, as an act of resistance.
Her unfinished works, particularly Divine Horsemen, speaks to her ethical approach to filmmaking—an ethos urgently relevant in today’s debates on cultural appropriation and hyper-visual consumption. She understood that representation is fraught, that to document is to carry responsibility. In hindsight, her refusal to complete the film feels like a blueprint for engaging ethically with cultures beyond one’s own without perpetuating colonialist dynamics—a reminder that some things cannot, and should not, be fully captured.
Through the Veil
In a time when visibility and representation are fiercely contested, Deren’s films remind us of the power of ambiguity. They invite you to step through a veil, to lose yourself in the layers, and find yourself in the spaces between.
Every time I return to her work, it transforms, revealing something new with each viewing. Her exploration of identity, ritual, and the subconscious remains as urgent and resonant today as ever. Deren’s films don’t resolve—they reveal truths, shifting and shimmering in their complexity. And for that, for her willingness to embrace the unknown, for showing us the beauty in what cannot be defined, and urging us to step through the veil, to see, and to be seen, I am endlessly grateful.
Disclaimer:
All images used in this post are sourced from the internet and used solely for educational and commentary purposes. They remain the property of their rightful owners. The opinions? Purely ours. And shared to inspire thoughtful conversation.