This is just the Bechers with a jazz soundtrack.
Like Marclay's Clock, interest is subsumed to a logic, an accounting fulfilling the parameters. Quality is mere quantity, organized. Collector porn or just something to do with those stacks of old magazines. It would seem to have some relation to conceptual art, with the aesthetics of administration. But what Bernd and Hilla Becher made into an ontological question, Mungo Thompson turns into a funhouse, conceptual art with the numbing affects of cinema. There are no questions here, only bad answers. Questions depleted to games. Thompson trades the aesthetic experience for the trick of "getting it." Getting it becomes the relief. Because people hate "not getting it" and Mungo is there to apply balm that the world makes sense, that there is rationality in the system.
