Even the weirder artists of the twentieth century have been attracted to the allure of Hollywood filmmaking, and Salvador Dali was no exception. In the fall of 1941, the surrealist painter hosted a masquerade party at Pebble Beach during one of his regular visits to the town. Called "Surrealism Night in An Enchanted Forest," the fundraising event, intended to assist European refugee artists, brought out a number of stars, including Bob Hope and Ginger Rogers. It was here, the story goes, that Dali became attached to a major studio production called Moontide. The great German emigre Fritz Lang was hired to direct the movie, and asked Dali to create a three-minute nightmare sequence for the film. Unfortunately, after the incident at Pearl Harbor later that year, Twentieth Century Fox deemed the project too bleak. Lang was replaced, and Dali's nightmare sequence went with him.

Although inspired by the movies, Dali didn't always have the easiest time making them. He would get another chance to inject his hallucinatory vision into American cinema with the hypnosis scene in Alfred Hitchcock's Spellbound, but it's his unrealized projects that truly indicate the scope of the painter's ambition. So many ideas, such little time. Dali: Painting and Film, a breathtakingly unique exhibit currently on display at the Museum of Modern Art in New York, surveys Dali's completed cinematic works in addition to tidbits from the ones that never came to fruition. Marvelously structured to show how his paintings were intentionally cinematic, the exhibit contains all the obvious highlights from Dali's movie career alongside lesser-known productions. The importance in film history of his collaborations with Luis Bunuel remain uncontested; two large screens in separate rooms showing Un Chien Andalou (where the opening eye splicing retains its original gross-out impact) and L'Age D'Or attest to that. Fewer visitors, however, might know about Dali's collaboration with the Marx Brothers on a deliriously strange movie that sounded too good to be true.

Now showing at the MOMA is "Tomorrowland," the aptly-named exhibit of three decades of filmwork by filmmakers and video artists who studied at the California Institute of the Arts. Founded in 1961, CalArts is the product of Walt Disney, who wanted to bring together the visual and the performing arts in one school. Their famous animation program boasts alumni who have gone on to work for Pixar, Disney, Laika and just about every other major animation company. The Village Voice has a review of the show; "Tomorrowland" appears to represent a style that is at once commerical and avant-garde. Ed Halter cites mainstream folks like the Pixar team and Pee-Wee Herman (I also believe that David Hasselhoff attended the art school), as well as artists like John Baldessari and Joanna Priestly. Manohla Dargis also gives a review of the show and an extensive background of CalArts for The New York Times. Despite being founded by Disney, the school has managed to hold onto its more experimental, purely artistic side: "Perhaps because of its freewheeling early history (courses in joint rolling and witchcraft). Or because its campus is at a geographic remove from the Disney studio in Burbank." (CalArts is located in the little suburb of Valencia, CA). Witchcraft, Tim Burton, David Salle, and a freedom to commit to art versus industry? I kind of wish I went to this art school . . .

Texas, the first feature from 29-year-old Italian director Fausto Paravidino, is clearly a very personal film. Paravidino co-wrote the screenplay with two of his stars, and, as Enrico the narrator, he himself also appears on screen. His movie has the feel of something for which public exposure is a bonus, not the goal; it exists because it has to, not because there is an audience to wow. That is not to say, however, that Paravidino isn't sure of himself as a filmmaker. Indeed, Texas practically explodes off the screen with a thrilling, inescapable confidence that expresses itself not in showy, attention-getting tricks but rather in a willingness to be wildly unconventional without regard for the reaction of viewers. The movie is crazed mix of tones, jumping from almost slapstick humor to complete solemnity at the drop of the hat, and combining one-joke, one-dimensional characters with fully-developed, tragic figures in virtually every scene. And yet, thrillingly, it works. Of the six New Directors/New Film offerings I've seen so far, Texas is easily the most assured, most accomplished of the bunch.