If you were channel surfing on November 17, 2000, you might have
stumbled on a strange succession of images, edited at unfamiliar
rhythms: the surface of the sun, the interior of the body, a man
climbing a mountain to chop down a tree. You would have been
watching Dog Star Man (1964), a much-revered but little-seen
experimental film by the prolific director Stan Brakhage, being
broadcast as part of the Sundance Channel's month-long salute to
non-narrative filmmaking.  For half a century, Brakhage has made
movies that alienate some audiences, transfix others, and leave
others wobbling from one state to the other. Today, faced with
climbing costs, he rarely uses film to photograph, instead
painting and scratching directly onto celluloid. This comes,
paradoxically, at a time when moviemaking is increasingly cheap
for those who work with video and digital technologies. Another
paradox: Though few theaters screen Brakhage and other
experimental filmmakers today, their work is increasingly
available on videotape, i