Looky, as I noted back in 2007, seems to be an ironic glance at spectatorship in a number of forms. The scene begins in a museum or gallery where people peruse artwork thats mostly invisible to us, stare, flirt, and bicker. Its a nice touch to have them gaze at a tiny white stone thats spotlit on the floor and pretend that they understand it to be an important work. They also look at art from a different perspective, sketching Okamura as she poses for them. Then theyre watching, or not watching, a shootout in a Hollywood Western bar between swaggering Elisa Clark and Joe Bowie. In the best scene, some of them line a narrow corridor of space, combining to portray a tall, complicated jumble of statuary; others enter to view them with curiosity or boredom. Okamura touches one, and they all tumble. Finally, to Texarkana, the spectators switch on their honky-tonk best in order to tell us, Youre the watchers, look at me!
I like it that Morris can make a work as profound and tender as Socrates and still relish something as silly-smart as Looky.