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Sunday, August 28, 2011

Losing the ability to contemplate nature for itself


Should something happen at the end of the pier?


Must this trail lead somewhere at all?
Tok Tokkie, Namibia


Would a cataclysm make this place any more spectacular ?
Antarctica

No need for suspense here
Namibian desert

Who said a desert was emptiness?
Little Sandy desert; Australia

Does unfamiliarity frighten you?


Would a back story improve your impressions?
Beardmore Glacier; Antarctica


Is it plain to you?


Over-dramatized oil war or peaceful oasis?
Lybia desert

There is still beauty where there is "nothing"
Bonneville salt flats; Nevada

 If you find this boring get the hell out!
Atacama desert; Chile




THAT IS CONTEMPLATION

If you're not moved by the immensity of the landscape, by the humbling scale, by the subtle variations in uniformity, by the depth of emptiness, by the simple beauty of Nature... you're not ready to immerse yourself in contemplative cinema which requires you to leave at the door your conformist expectations, your need for patronizing signposting, your self-indulgent entertainment craving. CCC is the antithesis of the horror vacui, there is no fear of emptyness, by embracing the absence of oversignificance. CCC is not merely an uneventful static landscape... far from it, there are macro narratives and micro dramas going on in a minimalist film. But being able to handle the breath-taking contemplation of a simple scenery for more than a hasty glance at a postcard (these pictures above stand in for the real life location where you could experience the view over there, in situ, not just the snapshot on a webpage they are here), is the minimal requirement to enter the understated universe of time-based cinema (as opposed to action/word-based cinema). Go walk deep into the non-industrialized Nature for a while to shake off your conditioned automatism that make you find boring anything that is not instantaneous, pre-digested and dumbing down.  




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Monday, August 22, 2011

Déjà-vu (Köhler)

"[..]This map that did (as [Gilberto] Perez [The Material Ghost; 1998]) go out of style for a time, perhaps during the period of postmodernism, and definitely during the period when Fassbinder ruled the arthouse. But the map has been opened again by a new generation. Its influence can now be seen in films from every continent - too such extent that the Antonioni open film can be said to be in its golden age. There are some examples: the work of Apichatpong Weerasethakul from Blissfully Yours to Uncle Boonmee; Lisandro Alonso's La Libertad through to Liverpool; Uruphong Raksasad's Agrarian Utopia; C.W. Winter and Anders Edström's The Anchorage; Ulrich Köhler's Sleeping Sickness; the entire so-caled Berlin School of which Köhler is a part; Albert Serra's Honour of the Knights and Birdsong; James Benning; Kelly Reichardt; Kore-eda Hirokazu; Ho Yuang's Rain Dogs; Jia Zhangke's Platform and Still Life; Li Hongqi's Winter Vacation. The list goes on...
Some of these filmmakers may disavow any Antonioni influence - but we know that what directors (including Antonioni) say about their films can't always be trusted. Besides, the ways in which L'Avventura works on the viewer's consciousness are furtive and often below a conscious level. In Apichatpong's fascination with characters being transformed by the landscape around them; in Raksasad's interest in dissolving the borders between "documentary" and "fiction", or the recorded and the staged; in Alonso's precision and absolute commitment to purely cinematic ressources and disgust with the sentimental; in Köhler's continual refinement of his visualisation of his characters's uncertain existences; in Reichardt's concern for what happens to human beings in nature - especially when they get lost; in all these and more; the open film is stretched, remoulded, reconsidered, questioned, embraced. A kind of film that was first named L'Avventura." 
Source: Great Wide Open (Robert Koehler; Sight and Sound, August 2011)


I can't seem to remember where I've heard this before... could someone help me please?





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Saturday, August 20, 2011

Slow Parody (Sight&Sound)

"I fell to wondering how Europe's great auteurs would get on should they stray into the world of cunning stunts and spectacular car crashes [..]
Béla Tarr remakes Two-lane Blacktop
The development process is slow given Tarr's insistence that the existing screenplay (a) has too much dialogue, (b) spends too much time off the highway, and (c) is too short. Progress is slow; producers come and go; and, as a decade goes by, Tarr immerses himself in 1970's American cinema, showing special interest in Five Easy Pieces. Shooting begins with János Derzsi in a Dodge Charger driving very slowly along an empty desert highway with the camera tracking beside him. Chapter two : Derzsi stops at a roadside diner and orders potatoes. The waitress points out that potatoes are served only as part of other dishes. Very slowly, Derzsi begins to work his way Jack Nicholson's "hold the chicken" speech from Five Easy Pieces until potatoes are served - for that, it turns out, is all there is - and slowly eaten. Chapter three : Derzsi returns to the car and drives some more. It begins to snow, necessitating expensive special effects since snow is rare in Arizona. Some time later, a car passes in the other direction. [..]"
Source: Europe's auteurs in action (Nick Roddick; Sight and Sound; Aug 2011)


Nobody would dare making fun of Robert Bresson today, even though his idiosyncratic style was received in his time with a similar mockery, superficial and puerile, because his detractors couldn't conceive the possibility to make cinema outside the norm. Today you would pass as a dumb philistine, a lazy anti-intellectual, if you pointed finger at Bresson (ask Gavin Smith), Antonioni (ask Steven Shaviro), Bergman (ask Jonathan Rosenbaum) or Tarkovsky... for being slowish, wandering, pondering, intellectual, with laughable clichés and shorthands. Today, if you can not understand serious art, if venturing outside of Entertainment is too much for your brains, you don't write for the specialized cinephilic press and you stick to Ain't it Cool News, Entertainment Weekly or Variety where the readership indulges in cheap shots at highbrow culture! 
Making fun of Tarr Béla, of slowness and boredom, is as near-sighted and shallow today as it was back when the press establishment was not ready to welcome one of the greatest aesthetic rupture in cinema history. Why would I expect Sight and Sound to support forward thinking cinema rather than reinforcing stupid clichés about art cinema? I must be a desperate idealist...  
By some bizarre inspiration, Nick Roddick (who already entertained ridiculing the Auteur theory in his column earlier this year) thought he was employed by News of the World and found no shame in playing with the memory of the suicide of Tarr's producer during his production of The Man From London (which had nothing to do with it), with the misconceived cliché that Tarr makes long films (only one of his films exceeded 2h30, which has become rather common a runtime, even for a lot of recent Hollywood-made entertainment, get with the time!), with the reductive stereotype that his cinema is all about "slowness" and boredom (like another Dan Kois)... He starts off with the hypothetical that European intellectuals would want to sell out to Hollywood in order to make big-bucks spectacles, he mentions stunts and car crashes... then his examples of Hollywood remakes are not really the typical mass-appeal action movie. Two-lane blacktop and Five Easy Pieces are as far away from Hollywood standard production as European cinema was at that time. WTF are you talking about? You can't tell the difference between New Hollywood (which is not new anymore) and Hollywood (which is newer)? Not to mention he assumes that "European auteurs" is a phrase that necessarily corresponds to "slowish filmmaking" (see: To America everything Foreign is slow), always opposing this binary construct of cinema, with action, entertainment and fun on one side, that's Hollywood (this time it's a British critic saying it), and on the other side is everything else, or everything that is not Hollywood, therefore, slow, boring and tedious, Europe being shrunk into an uneducated cliché.
Good job forging a clever remake that only educated cinephiles would get, but targeted at an anti-intellectual mainstream readership who loves to hate slowish films, and are not educated enough to get the joke. I guess that's what the Sight and Sound readership has become... a sophisticated crowd who loves to indulge in artfilm bashing, cause they have the culture for the in-jokes but not the taste to feel offended. That's when you know you're no longer a cinephile dude!
But who cares? You may publish ANYTHING you want when you have no moral standards (ask Rupert Murdoch).
They try to pass it as "humour" (yeah, Tarr interrupts his career because the state of the production system sucks, S&S will make fun of him anyway! How tactless and low), although I didn't know Sight and Sound was a jester magazine for cinephiles who need to laugh at their own alienating niche, but the competition in this domain is pretty tough in, let's see, ALL OF THE MOVIE PRESS that doesn't take art cinema seriously. Could we expect Sight and Sound to at least have the balls to take challenging cinema SERIOUSLY and not make fun of it like a mere high-school fanzine? Come on. You've fallen so low (no wonder they lost any credibility when they publicize Farhadi's A Separation and it only comes out on less than 30 screens!). It's been a few years since the historic reputation of the Sight and Sound brand has been washed out into vulgar culture, Hollywood sell-out and the absence of serious reflection. There is a public for that, but real cinephiles feed on richer content, even vegetables, without the sugar-coating of cheap parody.
Go review Phineas and Ferb, Nick, that's your level. 


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Thursday, August 18, 2011

Jeanne Dielman (Courant)

JEANNE DIELMAN, 23 QUAI DU COMMERCE, 1080 BRUXELLES de CHANTAL AKERMAN.
Gérard Courant, in Cinéma différent, n° 1, février 1976.
"Le sang neuf du cinéma coule dans ces images statiques où s’installe une tension indicible. Honte à ceux qui se plaignent de l’inexistence d’un nouveau cinéma car, s’ils n’ont pas vu Jeanne Dielman, ils ne savent pas alors que ce film est d’une modernité à couper le souffle et, l’un peut-être ne va-t-il pas sans l’autre, un hommage à l’intelligence et à l’esprit féminins. Et si certains ont ressenti cette oeuvre comme une provocation, c’est parce que Jeanne Dielman s’applique à détruire certains mécanismes ancrés dans nos habitudes mentales. Ce film est un défi à l’encontre de tout un cinéma reposant sur des concepts exclusivement commerciaux. [..]
Chantal Akerman: « Jeanne se raccroche à un ordre masculin, qui n’a plus aucun sens. La mécanique tourne à vide. Un geste la mène au geste suivant et lui permet de tenir. Mais quand pour la première fois, elle prend du plaisir avec le deuxième client, tout se détraque. Il n’y a plus de place dans la vie pour le plaisir [..]
Je suis allée aux États-Unis et ce fut une seconde rencontre décisive, après Pierrot le fou  : le cinéma de Michael Snow. J’ai pu réfléchir sur le langage cinématographique que je voulais utiliser et j’ai tourné trois films sans narration ».
De ce séjour, elle a ramené l’étonnant Hôtel Monterey.
Dans Jeanne Dielman, les plans durent, s’éternisent et le geste le plus banal acquiert une dimension universelle. L’utilisation des plans fixes, seuls autorisés dans le film, donne à chaque mouvement des personnages et aux choses une noblesse que l’on croyait perdue à jamais dans le cinéma moderne. Pour arriver à ses fins, Chantal Akerman a évité certains pièges comme le gros plan ou le travelling qui auraient brisé l’unité et l’harmonie de son film.
Les dialogues sont rares. Bien souvent, ce ne sont que de faux dialogues, une suite de monologues collés bout à bout. Jeanne Dielman est un film sur le silence que Chantal Akerman maîtrise pour en créer un langage, mais c’est un silence bruité. Chaque son de la vie de Jeanne Dielman est entendu et devient vivant et personnalisé. La moindre goutte d’eau s’écrasant dans l’évier ou le simple touché d’un objet donnent à l’espace une épaisseur sonore et, davantage même, une profondeur et un relief qui en font l’équivalent d’une partition musicale. [..]
Chantal Akerman nous montre les faits et gestes de la banalité quotidienne dans leur intégralité. Elle ne triche pas avec le temps. Ces gestes acquièrent alors une nécessité et une présence inattendues dans de longs plans-séquences d’une densité oppressante. Le film joue sur la frustration (la vaisselle montrée intégralement de dos, la confection des repas, les scènes de prostitution hors champ) et invite le spectateur à un travail de perception. Jeanne Dielman modifie totalement la nature même de l’acte consistant à regarder un film. Inutile de préciser que n’importe quel spectateur ressentira l’écoulement lent et meurtrier du temps littéral qui ne cesse de se dérouler sous nos yeux. Cette image nous plonge dans une sorte de profondeur cinématographique qui, soudain, transforme radicalement toutes les modalités temporelles associées jusqu’alors au fait de regarder un film.
Les objets jouent un rôle de premier plan. Ils sont traités socialement. Lorsque Akerman veut dire cette lourde aliénation de la femme par l’homme dans son foyer, ce qu’elle montre ce sont des pommes de terre, un couteau pour les éplucher, un évier rempli de vaisselle, un tablier. Si Jeanne Dielman dépend tant de l’ordre petit-bourgeois, c’est sous la forme de gestes bien précis : la délicatesse quasi rituelle avec lesquels elle plie les vêtements ou range la vaisselle.
Roland Barthes: « L’art ne commence-t-il pas quand on rend les objets intelligents ? »
[..] Dans ce film, le réalisme est dépassé. La diction, la durée et les couleurs nous distancient immanquablement de la réalité et, par ce décalage, tue le réalisme. On a parlé de « film hyperréaliste ». Pourquoi pas ?
Chantal Akerman: « Je ne voulais pas faire du naturalisme. Mais à partir d’une image très stylisée, atteindre à l’essence même de la réalité ».
Après la projection d’un tel film, quelques noms nous viennent à l’esprit : Andy Warhol (le sens de la durée), Jean-Luc Godard (La force provocatrice de certains plans), Robert Bresson (la diction des acteurs) et, surtout, Ozu (la contemplation).
Si la réussite de Chantal Akerman est tellement évidente, c’est dû à plusieurs raisons. Primo : sa condition de femme l’a placée dans une situation marginale vis-à-vis du monde masculin dominant du cinéma. Elle se trouve sans habitude, sans tradition culturelles. En ce sens, elle a réalisé ce que beaucoup d’autres n’auraient pas osé imaginer. Cette non-perversion par une culture dominante lui a permis d’explorer des contrées peu visitées et, par conséquent, inventer un style nouveau. Bien sûr, il ne suffit pas d’être femme pour être cinéaste, mais, à sa manière, Chantal Akerman est une pionnière et Jeanne Dielman laissera, à n’en pas douter, quelques traces durables dans ce long ruban qu’est l’histoire du cinéma. [..] En 3 heures 20 minutes de cinéma, Chantal Akerman défait ce mythe et nous propose autre chose. Quoi ? Un refus. Un pied de nez à tous nos concepts culturels. Et encore ? L’éclosion d’un nouveau cinéma. La naissance d’un style, d’une esthétique et d’une manière nouvelle de voir les choses à travers ce formidable filtre de la réalité qu’est le cinéma. Quand le mot fin apparaît, les questions jaillissent de toutes parts et l’on ne peut écarter de notre souvenir ce dernier plan, lorsque Jeanne Dielman-Delphine Seyrig, après son geste fatal, reste assise, impassible, comme un point d’interrogation."
Gérard Courant

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Friday, August 12, 2011

The Post-Tarkovskian bandwagon (Pigott)

Excerpt from a thesis by Michael Pigott: "Time and Film Style" (University of Warwick, Department of Film and Television Studies; June 2009) [PDF] :
Slow Cinema
While one of the central goals of this thesis was to show that temporal stylisation occurs across a range of film styles, a distinction may still be made between the kind of cinema that uses time as an equal or lesser element within a formal framework and those that actively foreground the temporality of the moving image as an aesthetic principle, a mode of enquiry and expression. I have stayed largely away from contemporary arthouse cinema,

  • FOOTNOTE: This was partly in an effort to maintain a sense of comparability between categories. To embark upon a discussion of a whole sub-genre within the Long Take category would be to unbalance the structure of the whole thesis. Also, my method throughout has been to analyse key examples and limit cases that demonstrate the major characteristics of a particular category’s temporal stylistics. While this loose genre contains a wide range of uses of the long take (and would provide a rich source for the study of long takes already mentioned) it is rooted in the mode of the Tarkovskian/Akermanian long take. 

of which one particular trend (stretching from at least the early nineties into the present) has particular significance in this respect. This ‘wave’ has come to be known as ‘contemplative cinema.’ While geographically dispersed these films share certain distinct formal characteristics, such as a preponderance of long takes, tracking shots following characters through streets or halls, along plains or beaches, and a slow (sometimes seemingly non-existent) development of plot within these long sequences. The progenitors of, and main influences on, this wave are Tarkovsky, Akerman, Alain Resnais, and Chris Marker (though it is Tarkovsky who is most often cited). Contemporary directors working in this vein include Hou Hsiao-hsien,Tsai Ming-liang, Alexandr Sokurov, Gus Van Sant, Jose Luis Guerin, and Béla Tarr.
This area is still under-served in terms of concentrated critical analysis, though such a project is currently being undertaken by Matthew Flanagan, his opening gambit arriving in “Towards an Aesthetic of Slow in Contemporary Cinema,”

  • FOOTNOTE: Matthew Flanagan, ‘Towards an Aesthetic of Slow in Contemprary Cinema,’ in 16:9 no. 29, November 2008. Available at http://www.16-9.dk/2008-11/side11_inenglish.htm

as well as by the editors and contributors of the recently established journal Unspoken. Much of this work discusses time predominantly in terms of speed. The ‘slowness’ of these films and their focal sequences is often what seems to define them for audiences, attracting some and putting off many others. And most of the scholarly work done on them has engaged with this idea, examining the aesthetic effects of this slowing down. This study differs somewhat in that speed has not been the primary optic through which time is considered. To accurately describe cinematic time in terms of qualities has been my aim throughout. Speed was just one parameter within a matrix of qualities available to invoke. Throughout there has been an effort to produce a description of the texture of time, the sensuous surface of its image, and the tonal density of its flow. This has allowed me to look with equal interest at films that are not characterised by their slowness or fastness, those that risk being ignored by discussions of cinematic time precisely because of their seeming ordinariness.


Does this remind you of the Post-Tarkovskian bandwagon?
Nick James (Sight and Sound, Nov 2009) : "[..] But what concerns me most about the purism of On Film Festivals is its use of the word cinephilia, as if it were a religion of shared belief. The same directorial deities come up : Lisandro Alonso, Béla Tarr, Pedro Costa, Bruno Dumont, Apichatpong Weerasethakul - great directors all, but all also unified by a post-Tarkovskian idea of poetic cinema that currently holds sway."
Jonathan Romney (S&S, Feb 2010) : "Apart from filling the gap left by philosophical-poetic auteurs such as Bergman and Tarkovsky, the current Slow Cinema might be seen as a response to a bruisingly pragmatic decade in which, post-9/11, the oppressive everyday awareness of life as overwhelmingly political, economics and ecological would seem to preclude (in the West, at least) any spiritual dimension in art."
See my previous commentary of these topoi (Slower or Contemplative?) and (Slowish obsession, ter).

The most recent "slow films" Michael Pigott uses as evidence for his theory on "time" are Caché (from 2005), Russian Ark and Irreversible (from 2002). The other recent ones are cited under the speed montage category. However the bulk of his material largely belongs to an anterior era altogether, aesthetically speaking. Tarkovsky, Bergman, Bresson, Altman came before CCC and are obviously a much milder form of minimalism (See this 2007 Tentative Genealogy for historiographical issues), let alone all the examples from the Classic era.
I'm definitely against the oversimplification of "slowness" in cinema history, lumping everything together, Silent Cinema, Classic Cinema, Modern Cinema, Avant Garde, Post Modern Cinema... They might be slow, each in their own way, but the fact they emerged during a very distinct aesthetic period is enough to realize that they deal with the problematics of time in very different ways, and for very different results. Seeing one single homogenous slowness is a superficial mistake. Just like thinking that "time" is an element (re)discovered by Modern Cinema (because they are slower than traditional narrative), and that Mainstream cinema doesn't play with "time" (because they are not "slow"). Somehow the idea of "time" only interests academics when related to "long takes" or "slowness"... The long take is the grand unifier of all styles across half a dozen eras since the end of Silent Cinema, as if a painting critic would use paintbrushes to lump together Renaissance, Baroque, Pointillisme, Impressionism and Cubism. Yes all these painters use brushstrokes, but their singular technique results in very different styles and in unmistakable successive aesthetic periods (thus the different names)! 

Get over it. The long take is a basic film language tool, it doesn't define in itself a predetermined style. And the long take is not the only thing Bazin wanted to see develop in cinema (in very specific circumstances).

As for pairing up Tarkovsky and Akerman (and I'm not even referring to her mainstream musicals), as if they produced a comparable style... There are evident structural and qualitative similarities between Jeanne Dielman's long takes and what Béla Tarr (not his early work) does with it, or between Gus Van Sant's Death Trilogy (not the rest of his filmography) and Béla Tarr's later work. But there is a stylistic leap between Tarkovsky's aesthetic generation (Bergman, Garrel, Jancso, Kubrick, Angelopoulos, Wenders) and the later conformation of a (non-verbalised) long take (a couple of Akerman's, Tarr, Bartas, Alonso) which functions on other stylistic devices. When you only care for mainstream plotlines and classic montage, I understand that glancing at Tarkovsky and Akerman from the distance they might look alike, or at least similarly distinct from the traditional Hollywood norm. But if you watch the films carefully enough, you'd realize that if you take away the dialogue from the Tarkovsky generation, the films do not collapse, but the content of the filmic message is obviously amputated of a significant portion, a portion that the images cannot replace because they are not redundant of the spoken message. Not hearing Jeanne Dielman's outloud letter doesn't deprive the spectator of an irreplaceable information, because the spoken words do not provide a foundamental structure to the  story we are expected to pick up on. 
Deleuze divided film history into a very simple binary : Movement / Time. But he never said that all filmmakers of the Image-Temps were equivalent, in fact he refines the subcategories that developped under these two very broad and Manichean umbrella terms.

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