[..] La séquence de la pêche au thon (la fameuse cérémonie de la «tonnara») ferait basculer la diégèse, déjà chétive, dans le documentaire si elle ne constituait une épreuve qualifiante que la jeune femme s'impose à elle-même pour savoir si elle continuera à supporter cet environnement inhospitalier, voire hostile, où se dressent à la fois la barrière de la langue et la violence de son mari. Comme tout le film incarne à merveille cette situation purement optique (ou sonore) du personnage devenu pur témoin oculaire (ou auditif) incapable de réagir de façon sensori-motrice, assister à une pêche au thon exacerbe dès lors pour Karin le rôle de pur réceptacle sensoriel qui lui a été assigné dès le début. C'est par cette situation sensorielle bien particulière et par l'errance dans un «espace quelconque» (terrain vague, lieu déserté, déconnecté) que Gilles Deleuze distinguait d'ailleurs le néoréalisme du cinéma d'action qui lui précéda.
«[...] le personnage est devenu une sorte de spectateur. Il a beau bouger, courir, s'agiter, la situation dans laquelle il est déborde de toutes parts ses capacités motrices, et lui fait voir et entendre ce qui n'est plus justiciable en droit d'une réponse ou d'une action. Il enregistre plus qu'il ne réagit. Il est livré à une vision, poursuivi par elle ou la poursuivant, plutôt qu'engagé dans une action. »
Gilles Deleuze, Cinéma 2. L'image-temps, 1985
La séquence en question met en scène une double perception : celle des pêcheurs dont la sensorialité est soumise à un programme d'action bien réglé et celle de Karin (Ingrid Bergman), notre observatrice déléguée, qui, empêchée dans ses actes, gênée dans ses mouvements, subit la scène de façon d'abord visuelle, puis polysensorielle suite à l'abolition partielle de la vue et, partant, de la raison de sa présence en ce lieu : elle était censée assister visuellement à, contempler, la pêche au thon de son mari.
Les pêcheurs en «formation» attendent la «pêche miraculeuse» dans le carré de mer qu'ils ont circonscrit, surface de nature découpée en culture, espèce de «templum» afin d'abord de con-templ-er le lieu en plongée [..] Le cadrage épouse un moment cette enceinte-templum dominée par le regard des pêcheurs à l'affût de la première altération de la surface plane, regard qui cédera devant tout un programme narratif débrayé où les compétences modales sont actualisées l'une après l'autre dans un rituel bien ordonné (que Barthes ramenait au dépli d'un nom) et où les sensations, domptées, acclimatées par une pratique ancestrale, sont toutes au service de la praxis : savoir-faire (compétence pragmatique), pouvoir-faire, vouloir-faire, faire ; tirer le filet, chanter, crier, siffler, harponner, hisser, immobiliser, prier (remercier pour la «pêche miraculeuse»), rentrer (avec de façon implicite les promesses mercantiles et la consommation alimentaire gustative finales). Autrement dit, ce rituel, qui n'a rien à envier à la tauromachie, affecte chaque sensorialité à une étape précise de la séquence pragmatique de sorte qu'à aucun moment l'intensité de la sensation ne risque d'entraver l'efficacité du geste ; scruter pour repérer, crier et donc s'écouter crier pour s'accaparer la proie, loucher pour harponner et hisser, sentir et goûter ensuite pour se nourrir. Je voudrais en dégager la loi suivante : l'action est une puissance d'endiguement des sensations et des passions qui en résulteraient. L'action établit un barrage contre l'intensité qui pourrait faire déborder la polysensorialité en affect. Les pêcheurs ont beau faire corps avec leur proie dans un couplage qui se termine par une estocade aquatique, ils maîtrisent entièrement la situation.
Or, à la séquence très ritualisée de la pêche (annonce-développement-conclusion) s'effectuant selon une doxa bien ancrée que la noblesse des travailleurs de la mer met encore en évidence, s'oppose la séquence d'observation anarchique de Karin, qui la montre subjuguée, décomposée, perdant sa dignité malgré sa tenue de ville (et cherchant des enveloppes supplémentaires pour se fermer au monde : le foulard, son propre coude). C'est ce regard désempare et brouillé que la séquence épouse par la technique de la caméra subjective (point of view shot) hormis quelques plans en contrechamp conçus précisément pour montrer la réaction thymique de l'observatrice et quelques plans en plongée réitérant le surplomb des pêcheurs. [..]
Ce regard, qui est d'abord accompagné du degré zéro des autres sensations - pour l'auditif ; le silence ou du moins le chant très rythmé, pour le tactile : la nappe d'eau homogène, lisse et lustrée, pour l'olfactif : l'inodore, pour le gustatif : l'absence de goût -, va cependant progressivement se brouiller : les formes-poissons surgissant de la mer se métamorphosent en une masse informe et grouillante à la fois homogène et discontinue, mieux, la vue est tellement sollicitée de tous côtés qu'elle ne distingue plus que l'informe. Et c'est l'informe, semble-t-il, qui va entraîner une virtualisation de la visibilité; le savoir-voir est désormais défaillant : Karin ne comprend plus ce qu'elle voit donc elle ne voit plus bien et finira même par fermer les yeux, le pouvoir-voir est obstrué par les éclaboussures, le vouloir-voir, le goût de voir, se mue en dégoût. De sorte que le terrain est propice à l'émergence de saillances sensorielles relayant la vue. Le rôle purement scopique du témoin oculaire cède donc vite le pas à une vertigineuse spirale polysensorielle qui actualise des sensations plus organiques : saillances auditives chaotiques, stochastiques : les clapotis, les cris ; saillances d'abord haptiques : le gluant, le dentelé, le dur, le lourd, et ensuite relevant d'une tactilité dysphoriquc : les giclées d'eau qui assaillent et fouettent le corps propre si tant est qu'on puisse étendre le tactile à une sensibilité aux vicissitudes de l'atmosphère, à un sentir épidermiquc du «moi-peau», saillances gustativo-olfactives dysphoriques : l'amer, jusqu'à la confusion totale des stimuli sensoriels dans la somatisation d'un corps affecté : le début de la nausée. [..]
Le tour de force de la rhétorique de Rossellini consiste dès lors à nous montrer de façon purement visuelle, et auditive, une expérience d'émancipation des autres sensorialités hors de la perception visuelle et ensuite l'offuscation des sens.
Ce maelström polysensoriel et l'effondrement des/du sens qui en résulte s'explique sans doute par la topologie et la proxémique : contrairement aux pêcheurs nombreux (tandis qu'elle est seule) et surélevés, debout, dominants, en position de force, l'observatrice, légèrement en retrait mais sensoriellement participative, est assise dans une embarcation qui enregistre les remous, et partant, fragilisée. Au même niveau que le banc de thons, elle baigne littéralement dans l'épaisseur de l'événement olfactif, gustatif, tactile que constitue la pêche et que les travailleurs de la mer ont su transformer en programme d'action. Ces deux postures présagent déjà en quelque sorte d'emblée de la victoire de ceux-ci et de la défaite de celle-là. [..]
Le spectateur, en revanche, qui vit l'événement par-dessus l'épaule de la spectatrice in situ, troisième acteur de la séquence après les acteurs débrayés et l'observatrice embrayée, ne sombre pas dans la perte des sens et du sens car, vivant l'événement en images, par procuration en somme, il n'est pas plongé dans celui-ci. L'expérience spectatorielle bisensorielle (image-son) s'étoffe certes d'opérations synesthésiques tributaires d'une caméra qui enregistre le tangage et le roulis de la barque jusqu'à nous indisposer, nous faire reculer, voire nous blesser dans notre chair, tributaires que nous sommes d'un objectif (lui-même aspergé d'ailleurs) qui focalise sur le harponnage de ces peaux coriaces et gluantes. Nous sommes mus et émus. Toutefois, au contraire de Karin, nous demeurons physiquement à l'abri de toute violence. La médiation par l'image nous protège de tout débordement des sensations. La synesthésie demeure soumise à la polysensorialité. A telle enseigne que notre réponse au chaos sensoriel de Karin est une polysensorialité sublimée qui, parce que nous ne trempons pas dans l'événement ressenti comme informe, ne risque pas de se déliter en confusion. On pourrait dire que Karin est dans le devenir - devenir éclaboussure, devenir-proie meurtrie par les hommes (selon le «devenir-animal» de Gilles Deleuze) - tandis que nous sommes dans la condition rassurante de la médiation. De sorte que la jonction entre polysensorialité et affect comme perturbation interne, entre motion et émotion, ne s'avère pas aussi évidente qu'il n'y paraît". [..]
La fin de la séquence et, en même temps, la sanction de l'épreuve ne pourra dès lors rétablir entièrement les sensations dans leurs organes respectifs. Il lui faudra pourtant reprendre ses esprits et donc ses sens, pour pouvoir mettre en œuvre un programme d'action cette fois : quitter l'île en traversant le volcan [..]
Le parcours perceptif et cognitif a cédé le pas à un pur parcours thymique allant de la phorie à la pure dysphorie, qui dilue la figurativité de la séquence. [..]
Mais, à étendre cette expérience cinématographique à toute expérience spectatorielle, peut-être convient-il d'appliquer une lecture plus blasée, plus cynique, peut-être faut-il accepter que la polysensorialité est elle-même un leurre, que ce sont les images qui nous donnent une impression de sens multiples tandis que nous sommes bien aise que ça n'arrive qu'aux autres. [..] De l'atrophie des sens à la réceptivité du corps entier il y a toute une gamme de polysensorialités intermédiaires dont nous avons tenté de montrer les attraits et les risques."
Friday, February 18, 2011
La pêche aux thons de Stromboli (Roelens)
Wednesday, October 06, 2010
10 min of Life at the time
All videos here are 10 minutes or longer. Your choice to watch the whole thing or just part of it. Although you might miss something or NOT. Most of the videos are filmed from a tripod. Videos are in real time. Audios are in real time. All natural sounds. No artificial sounds added. It's like you're sitting on the bench outside, smoking weed, enjoying nature. Most of the videos are unedited from beginning to end.I'll try to avoid people on all videos. You might hear people yucking on the phone in the background.Read the movie title before watching it. If you watch it and don't like it, don't get mad. It says in the title exactly what you're going to see. Read the description too.I might put up a video you might remember for the rest of your life, or NOT.P.S. Please STOP downloading my videos and reupload it with time lapse, please use your own.
- Watching the sun disappears into the horizon (15 Jul 2010) [watch also Reygadas' Stellet Licht's opening shot]
- Watching Water from a Marshland ; a Bridge ; a Salt Pond ; a Bridge from afar ; the Sun shining into the Bay (15 Jul - 2 Sept 2010) [watch also James Benning's 13 Lakes]
- Watching Sunlight Breaking Thru the Clouds ; Clouds Moving (6 - 14 Sept 2010) [watch also James Benning's Ten Skies]
- Watching a Little Island with Ducks Swimming and Geese ; Seagulls Doing a FlyBy on the Ocean (15 Jul - 2 Sept 2010) [watch also Kiarostami's Five]
- Watching the Moon passing a street light ; the Moon on a Cloudy Night (26 Jul - 3 Oct 2010)
- Watching a Shadow from the Tree Leaves (26 Jul 2010)
- Watching a Superman Alarm Clock (26 Jul 2010)
- Watching Water Dripping From a Faucet (26 Jul 2010)
- Watching Ice Cream Fudge Bar Slowly Melting part 1 - 2 ; Another one (28 Jul - 2 Sept 2010)
- Watching a Small Ant Trail ; Ants eating a Donut (29 Jul 2010) [see also the last shot of Kiarostami's 10 on Ten]
- Watching chicken wings getting deep-fried (31 Jul 2010)
- Watching a Sunny Side Up Egg in the Sun part 1 - 2 (6 Sept 2010) [see also Kiarostami's Lumière and Company short] ; a Soda Spill Evaporate in the Sun (1st Sept 2010)
- Watching 2 Goldfish eating and fighting (6 Aug 2010) [see also Tsai Ming-liang's films]
- Watching Milk Leaking from a Baby Bottle (10 Aug 2010)
- Watching a Washing Machine Wash Dirty Towels (14 Aug 2010) [see also Geyrhalter's Our Daily Bread]
- Watching 5 Birthday Candles Melting on a Chocolate Cake (18 Aug 2010)
- Watching Ice Melting With Something Inside part 1 - 2 (21 Aug 2010)
- Watching a Door Open and Close By Itself (23 Aug 2010) [see also Michael Snow's Solar Breath]
- Watching an Excavator Digging and Loading Dirt into a Dump Truck (27 Aug 2010) [see also Rudin's This Longing last sequence]
- Watching a Bunch of Birds Eating Lunch and Almost Got.... (27 Aug 2010)
- Watching Ricky and Lucy Guarding the Eggs (14 Sept 2010)
- Watching a Hibiscus Flower Open Wider in Real Time ; a Dandelion and Grass (10 - 27 Sept 2010) [see also Jean-Daniel Pollet's Jour Après Jour]
- Watching Cows Eating Dinner (14 Sept 2010) [see also Geyrhalter's Our Daily Bread]
- Watching Phone Books Pages Blown by the Wind (21 Sept 2010)
- Oversparse
- Stasis films 1 (conceptual) - 2 (landscape) - 3 (behaviourist)
Tuesday, July 20, 2010
Longest slices of life
Our mission is to collaboratively build a video library of human life experience that reshapes how we as both producers and viewers conceive of cultures, nations and people outside of our own communities.Framed by the arc of the day and conveyed through the intimacy of video, we have slowly and faithfully captured 24 continuous hours in the lives of 10 people from around the world [China, India, Indonesia, Japan, Kazakhstan, Lebanon, Malawi, Serbia, Brazil, USA]. They are screened here in their own right, but also in relation to one another.There is no narrative other than that which is found in the composition of everyday life, no overt interpretations other than that which you may bring to it.By extending the long take to a certain extreme and infusing it with the spirit of cinema verité, we invite audiences to confer close attention onto other worlds, and simultaneously reflect upon their own. The force and depth of human difference and similarity are revealed in this process. Gaps which mark cultural divides feel, at once, both wider and narrower. This sense - that we, as humans, are both knowable and unknowable, fundamentally different as well as the same - opens a space for dialogue.
- James Bullock - San Francisco, USA (November 17, 2004) offline [10' excerpt] [YT trailer]
- Israel Feliciano - São Paulo, Brazil (May 21, 2006) [YT trailer]
- Edith Kapuka - Ngwale Village, Malawi (May 2007) [YT trailer]
- Rumi Nagashima - Tokyo, Japan (July 2007) [YT trailer]
- Kai Liu - Anren, China (September 2008)
- Dadah - Sarimukti Village, Indonesia (October 2008)
- Muttu Kumar - Hampi, India (March 7, 2009) [YT trailer]
- Dusan Lazic - Vojka, Serbia (April, 2009)
- Jamila Jad - Beirut, Lebanon (May 15, 2009)
- Zhanna Dosmailova - Vannovka, Kazakhstan (October, 2009) [YT trailer]

- article en français (Télérama)
- Hour by hour footage available at Mubi.com (unfortunately no longer free)
Norwegian coastal express - minute by minute
NRK (Hurtigruten), 16-22 June 2011
Bergen-Oslo train ride
NRK (Bergensbanen), 27 Novembre 2011
Related:
Sunday, November 22, 2009
Mysterious Object At Noon
Thai filmmaker Apichatpong Weerasethakul’s maiden feature Mysterious Object at Noon (2000) is an instant success. Loosely based on the game Exquisite Corpse, originally conceived by the surrealists, wherein the participants of the game take turns to advance a storyline, Weerasethakul’s film shows us the director and his crew traveling throughout rural and urban Thailand, picking people at random, presenting them with an audio tape that contains the narrative of a story as told by its previous bearers and asking them to further the tale in whatever way they like. The “story” in the film begins with a physically challenged kid, taught at home by a visiting teacher, who notices a strange, round object roll down from his teacher’s skirt one day, which later transforms into a mystic boy with superpowers! Wait till you see what this already bizarre setup mutates into. The “characters”, who narrate the story, almost run the gamut and include a sober tuna fish seller who, she believes, has been “sold” to her uncle, a talky old lady whose cheerfulness seems to conceal a tragedy, a gang of timid teenage mahouts who seem straight out of a Jarmusch movie, a troupe of exuberant traveling players, each of whom would have a quirk or two if probed, a bunch of TV show participants, two deaf and mute girls who seem to be the most excited of the lot and a bevy of primary school kids whose imagination would, literally, leave one speechless.The original Thai title of the film, apparently, translates to “Heavenly Flower in Devils’ Hands”, evidently, calling attention to the film itself. It is undeniably true that what starts as a beautiful emotional drama is unfortunately mutilated and metamorphosed into a tale of fantasy, then, mystery, horror and romance. But, surely, this “heavenly flower” is not of much interest compared to the devils which hold it. Mysterious Object at Noon is, perhaps, closest in style and intent to Abbas Kiarostami’s Homework (1989), in which the director brings down a whole nation sitting in a stuffy room with a bunch of first graders (Actually, Weerasethakul’s whole body of work tempts one to equate him to Kiarostami, especially given his penchant for cars and roads!). Here, as in Homework, the initial objective of the filmmaker, eventually, turns out to be one big MacGuffin. The ultimate point of the movies is not to investigate whether the kids complete their homework promptly or if the story streamlines into a smooth narrative ready for Hollywood, but to draw out a portrait of a society derived from these first hand accounts. Weerasethakul’s movie may be a joke derived out of a simple afternoon game, but what it does, in effect, is to draw the cultural landscape of a country, not by taking a didactic top-down approach but by examining the most basic fears, desires, anxieties and interests of common folk who form its social structure.
Essentially, Mysterious Object at Noon examines the function and power of stories as cultural artifacts and explores how stories preserve and reflect the spirit of the age they originate in, much like every art form – major and minor. Additionally, Weerasethakul’s film acknowledges the tendency of these stories to undergo transformation through the years as they pass from one social class, age group, ethnicity and way of life to the other. These stories may get corrupt along the way, may absorb elements from real life and even end up losing their original meaning, but, in any case, they serve to perpetuate culture and build links between generations (One kid in the final segment recites a story about an uncle who recites to his nephew a story about an uncle and a nephew. Presumably, this story was told to him by his uncle). These stories may be passed on in the form of books, paintings, photographs, modern recording media (a la audio tapes, which are used in this film to record the story) and word-of-mouth, as Weerasethakul’s film indicates by turning on and off sounds, images and texts in an incoherent fashion. But, whatever the form, each version of these stories carries an imprint of the narrator’s sensibility and world view. With some effort, from each story, one should be able to reconstruct the realities of the world the narrator lives in and vice versa. Like the image of the railway tracks, which are parallel but seem to be converging at infinity, that punctuates the film, these stories, although appearing to be all over the place on the surface, have one point of convergence – they all help out in sketching the collective consciousness and the collective unconscious of a particular culture at a given point in time.
Moreover, by actually making a film out of the concocted story, Weerasethakul concludes that cinema, too, is one such medium that could well function as a sociological document and which the posterity can use to understand their own history from very many perspectives. By merely filming in black and white, Weerasethakul takes his film one step away from reality and makes it seem like an antiquated object that is being preserved for a long time. And like these stories that shape-shift with time, Weerasethakul, call it a running gag, makes certain folk tales and myths repeat themselves across his filmography, albeit in different avatars – another one of his many similarities to Kiarostami. The humourous father-daughter duo, who talk to the doctor about the old man’s hearing problem, reincarnate in the director’s next movie Blissfully Yours (2002). The story about the two greedy farmers and the young monk, which makes an appearance in the hypnotic Tropical Malady (2004), resurfaces with a more violent outcome in Syndromes and a Century (2006). And the tale about the shape-shifting “Witch Tiger” that the young boy begins to narrate at the end of Mysterious Object at Noon forms the entire second half of Tropical Malady, needless to say, in a completely transformed tone. For a writer-director who has consistently soaked his films in the themes of permanence of history and mythology, recycling of human memories and behaviour and the existence of a common binding spirit across generations, this gesture just can’t be considered as a mere prank.
Mysterious Object at Noon consistently reinforces and reminds of Weerasethakul’s preoccupation with juxtaposition of cultural extremes. Often in the director’s films, aptly highlighted by the “traveling shots” filmed from the car’s front and rear windows, we find ourselves wondering whether we are going forward in time or backwards. The very first shot of this film presents us everything that would become the director’s trademark in the following years. This single four minute point of view shot from inside a car presents us a host of extremes placed alongside each other. The car starts out on a broad highway, amidst tall buildings of the city, and takes a serpentine route to gradually arrive at a sparse and quieter suburban locale. The vehicle is that of an incense and tuna fish seller. He is broadcasting an advertisement using loudspeakers attached to the car, endorsing his brand of incense sticks, citing its virtues, and asking people to use only this brand while worshiping Buddha. This blatant lie on the soundtrack counterpoints the truth of the photographic image, which is also much more banal and undramatic compared to the fictional stories we hear on the car radio. Furthermore, by using an advertisement marked by scientific terminologies and latest capitalistic strategies to endorse a product used in a religious ritual, Weerasethakul brings total modernity and total antiquity – the future and the past – together to provide a broad outline of a country in transition (Tokens of American influence on contemporary Thai culture are abound in Weerasethakul’s films). Later, the director goes on to further explore the volatile boundary between reality and fiction and the object-mirror image relationship that they share with each other – using both the film within the film and its making-of. As it turns out in Panahi’s The Mirror (1997), reality deviates as significantly from fiction as it resembles it (The mystic kid seems, in actuality, far from being mystical and is more interested in KFC and comics).
Weerasethakul prefers to be called a conceptual artist rather than a film director (He cites Andy Warhol as a major inspiration). This tendency of his is most manifest in Mysterious Object at Noon, wherein he is content is merely triggering a chain of events and persevering to see what evolves. There is no manipulation of the mise en scène, the plasticity of the image is never harnessed and the camera is employed at a purely functional level. Weerasethakul does not even polish the gathered fragments and simply joins them, leaving all the interpretation to us. Shot in digital, cinéma vérité style, using handheld, and no predetermined script, Mysterious Object at Noon oozes with documentary realism. Like he does in most of his films, Weerasethakul keeps exposing the tools of his trade in an attempt to disillusion us from the belief of watching an alternate reality and to reinforce the fact that this movie indeed takes place in our world. At one point in the film, the director himself enters the frame to adjust the lighting for the film within the film he is shooting. As a result, he lets us see both the creation and the creator – the image and the process behind its construction – much like he does with his script and its authors in Mysterious Object at Noon. However, Weerasethakul’s self-reflexive moves do not end here.
The film’s title should, appropriately, be cleaved into “Mysterious Object” and “At Noon”. Weerasethakul, after presenting us the major part of film dealing with the “mysterious object”, adds an epilogue titled “At Noon” shot in the director’s hometown of Panyi, whose quiet nighttime images we are already acquainted with thanks to the director’s earlier film Thirdworld (1998). This one is a completely freewheeling, heavenly segment in which we witness a group of boys playing soccer in the afternoon, kicking the ball into a nearby pond and taking a bath in the process of retrieving it. This is followed by vignettes of people having lunch and a bunch of younger kids, before being called by their mother for lunch, tying an empty tin can to a dog’s neck and watching the poor animal go berserk due to the noise the can produces. They say that the essence of life lies in boredom. Likewise, Weerasethakul seems to be of the opinion that the most interesting things in life arise out of these dead times in the afternoon (one needs to just look at the director’s next film for proof). And like these kids who seem conjure up fascinating things from the most commonplace of objects, Weerasethakul, too, realizes a movie completely out of the “dead time” of his characters’ lives, creating something magical that only cinema could have brought to life. In a way, Mysterious Object at Noon is an elegy for the stretches of time we've lost in planning ahead, the times we've cast off in the pursuit of “higher” goals and the dead times we've killed in order to move into lifeless ones.
Wednesday, March 12, 2008
Maximalism of screen liberty
A solid survey of recent Argentine films, which starts for me with Lisandro Alonso's La libertad, the film that actually launched a whole new way of making post-narrative films. My Cinema Scope colleague Mark Peranson (...) has noted that La libertad was also one of the first films of its era to break down the division between documentary and fiction. This, more than any other single thing, is what distinguishes the new world cinema, whether it's by Raya Martin, Jim Finn, Pedro Costa or Albert Serra (and others). Alonso didn't start what gets commonly called "New Argentine Cinema" (there were at least two previous "new" periods), but he radicalized it, and offered a new way.As far as I know (...) La libertad has never screened in Los Angeles. Not a surprise perhaps (it took a while before Alonso's next, Los muertos, made it to Los Angeles). But this means that the most seminal film of the most important film movement of the past seven years hasn't played in the would-be film capital of the world. But its context in Guadalajara is even more important, since La libertad is placed alongside other key films like Martel's La cienaga and Carri's Los rubios as a way of defining what a national film movement actually looks like. The irony is that there's nothing absolutely Argentine about La libertad. Its freedom is a freedom from nationality, time-space, narrative laws, camera laws and the expectations that audiences instinctively impose on themselves. But pay attention to the actual translation of the Spanish title: "Liberty"--a harder, more profound word than "freedom," a word pointing to a greater leap, a commitment to an ideal, an identifier for an equation that even describes its opposition--oppression. Liberty is harder-won. Liberty is that thing that the films that really matter aspire to. This one just has the balls to take it as its own name.
A film about Misael, who cuts trees and shapes them into logs for sale. A film, really, about what Misael does--searching for his trees, wandering, taking a shit, finding, chopping, shaving, napping, stacking, moving them to a distribution point, returning to his base camp labeled "Los errantes," finding an armadillo for dinner, killing it, cutting it up, building a fire for the grill, grilling it, stacking the loose brush from his woodcutting, burning the brush, finishing the grilling, eating the armadillo (the hard shell forms a dish, as the dead tail wags back and forth), looking into the camera as lightning approaches. Active progressive verbs for an active progressive film that moves forward at every moment, considers every moment precious and immediate and the one thing right now--right. now.---that matters and nothing else. There are few films that encompass a world, a state of existence so purely and totally. Many have noted that Alonso's film is one of those ultimate affirmations of Andre Bazin's ideal cinema, the emphatic assertion of the real on screen. It allows the eye to pay absolute attention to what Misael is doing, because what he's doing not only is what counts, but what defines him. So in that sense, you have the essence of character. But there's the matching factor that almost nothing is even close to being "acted." Certainly not "written." La libertad is arranged and choreographed, an attentive contemplation on a human in nature. The big lie, by the way, is that this is ''minimalism." (The same way we hear Apichatpong Weerasethakul described as ''minimalist.") No--this is maximalism, a cinema containing everything needed for its own value and purpose, and that has the effect of growing in the mind, either as the viewer recalls it, or sees it again.
Robert Koehler
Monday, March 19, 2007
Focus on China Doc
This special focus presented at Directors Lounge 2007 in Berlin (08-18 February 2007) comprises of several long and short videos and illustrates the singularity and the richness of independent Chinese documentary in a concise manner taking from an artistic and cinematic point of view.
For a certain time now, Chinese independent documentary has been noticeably flourishing. It is even interesting to observe how fast and how much it has produced and how it will evolve. With the self-development of alternative structures, festivals and platforms in Mainland China, it surely presents a potential to expand and at least to alter the cinematic landscape and the film industry in general.
The rise of new technologies and the use of the DV format has enabled directors to make and show works much more easily. This has favoured the expansion of the documentary genre. DV has also generated a closer and more direct relationship with the real. Exploration of the urban environment and the city activity, depiction of daily life and observation of the consequences of the rapid changes in China, but also the affirmation of people living on the fringes of mainstream society, the common people, the individual, the personal and subjective are some of the topics that can be found in those films and generally in independent productions from China today.
However this selection of films does not represent all the variety of what it is being produced nor all the possibilities that documentary genre can offer. Not only do these films share a common spirit of independence and the will of self-engagement, they also assert a personal view and a self-implication in their own work and a strong complicity with the characters being filmed. More than just using documentary genre as a simple record of a documentation for purely anthropological, social, political, ethnological purposes, they affirm a certain way of filmmaking, loose, improvised or on the contrary structured, planned, sometimes even a combination of both and propose through an artistic vision an observation of the world around them, another look.The camera immerses us in a particular atmosphere and a well-defined environment, captures the flowing of the movements, follows some singular characters in their intimacy or personal living without necessarily interfering and suggests various sentiments and considerations towards what is being filmed.
Anecdotic, descriptive, poetic, allegorical or symbolic, the image delivers a powerful visual significance by substituting the narration by autonomous image sequences in order to allow the image to speak for itself. Thus, in Outside, the succession of different anecdotic and suggestive images, taken from close-ups or from far away, which moreover makes a distortion of perspective, reveals their full significance with the preceding and the following image but also within the image itself. The juxtaposition of little incidents, of dailylife events gives away a subjective approach as well as an accurate and perceptive look on the surroundings, on the world passing by. Rather similar in the contemplative manner, but more picturesque, is The People of Yangtze River. Its composition of the image, its plays of light and shade, its vivid colours offer a poetic study of the association of people and its environment, of human activities and the calmness of the natural space, sketching with a particular emotion a portrait of the daily life of the common people in a timeless landscape. Using the camera as a portrayal of a defined social group of people, the migratory workers, but without adding any interviews, is an approach that Carriage adopted. Its realistic black and white cinematography and hand-held camera seem to be rather related in somehow to realist photography and direct cinema and reflect the will to record images. On the other hand, Paigu centers on an individual and rather touching portrayal of a single man and describes endearingly his personal and private life. Divulging his intimate feelings and affairs, the film brings out a narrative structure close to a fiction’s. The complicity between the filmmaker and his character is discernible. This strong connivance and familiar relationship between the filmmaker and his characters are also perceptible in Dream Walking. Blurring the line between documentary, experimental, improvised film and performance, and yet, the film is very well-framed, most of the time composed by static shots and close-ups. This makes a balance between the chaotic movements and actions of what it is being filmed and the static images of the steady camera which does not impose itself. Entirely dedicated to the artistic achievement, the assertion of the body and of the nudity expresses the questionnings and the derision of a society in full upheaval. Unifying image and ideology, Beyond Sound proceeds the image in its visual and allegorical language in order to provide sharp points and a relevant position regarding to the current state of China.
Marina Foxley.
This special programme was made by the collaboration of Marina Foxley and Zhu Rikun (Fanhall Studio, Beijing) and was made possible thanks to the great support of Fragments (Nantes) and Directors Lounge (Berlin).
Tuesday, January 30, 2007
Tiexi Qu - Chinese Indie Doc (1)
West of the Tracks (Tiexi Qu) 2003, 9 hours in 3 parts, by Wang Bing
Awarded at Yamagata International Documentary Festival, the Festival 3 Continents.....
The Tiexi district is a gigantic industrial complex in Shenyang in China's north-east. It was established during the Japanese occupation in the 20s and transformed into a highly populated industrial area. From the Nineties, the Tiexi Qu district which received support from the State before gradually dismantles to become a forgotten zone where the factories are closing down one by one and where the working class area must be demolished, thus, dislodging its inhabitants.
This long documentary takes us away to this now decaying area and is divided into three parts entitled “Rust”, “Remnants” and “Rails”. They are independent of each other and were shot in DV between 1999 and 2001. Wang Bing stayed over there during these years while living near these workers and inhabitants.
In the three films, the camera does not imposed itself and Wang Bing does not use interviews nor the voice over; he rarely directly intrudes himself.
The camera is thus present and absent at the same time because it keeps a certain distance and seems to be forgotten by the people who are being filmed.
Sometimes they tell a story describing a period of their life or show their worries, questionings and anguish concerning their dubious future.
Each part constitutes a film to itself and develops a well defined subject in a specific and different place.
In the first part, entitled Rust, Wang Bing sticks to the every day life of the last workers of the last factories and in particular of the copper foundries and the last blast furnaces. The second part, Remnants follows the inhabitants of the working area, the Rainbow Row, while in the third part, Tracks, Wang Bing accompanies the employees of the railways company which ensures the transport of the raw materials and of the manufactured goods out of Shenyang.
Each part is also conceived and structured differently.
Thus, if the first part offers a linear approach by showing the daily life of several workers in these factories, the second is more detached in a sense that it displays several stories which could almost become a fiction, finally, the third returns even more closely and more psychologically in the people's personal life and centers on the Old Du and his son.
Each one borrows a singular story, and yet, the stories are intersected in the real time, so that the same time or the same period of time can be found in another part but at a different place. That was possible, technically, thanks to the result of the work of the editing, and, physically and in real time, thanks to the rail network which, thus, enabled him to move more easily.
This conception to undertake a cubist form of time results also from the choice of a slow but never long pace. The seasons ravel in front of our eyes but they are elastic since some seem to stretch themselves such as winter whereas others are curtailed such as spring or are simply hardly seen, even almost non-existent such as the warmer seasons. However the years are passing away and we go from one year to another knowing that we had already seen the year that has just disappeared and will see it again later in another part.
Tiexi Qu : West of tracks is a monumental film and whose three parts are equally well made, each one with their unique strength.
Wang Bing succeeds in erasing the duration of this (or these) floating film(s) and in restructuring the time by several manners also :
- the fact of dividing the film into three independent parts (with 3 subtitles evoking the notion of time), each one focusing on a specific theme
- adopting a cinematic and narrative structure which is suitable for each part (the two longer parts that last over three hours are divided into two parts and the last part is centered on a character)
- the insertion of the travelings along the railways which gives a certain pace to the film (as time is motion)
- the real filmed like a fiction, the gap between fiction and documentary has become more blur.
The nine hours which summarize not only two years lived in Tiexi, but, which also wrap up several human lives, and more generally, a whole past full of History, become necessary and finally inevitable in order to seize, through this slow process of dismantlement and decay, the repercussions from the economic changes in China, but also the decline and the end of an era of the Chinese History.
Related:
Wednesday, January 24, 2007
Tentative genealogy
The list of films on the chronology page is getting very large, assembling more "contemplative" work than I imagined. Yet I don't think these represent the entire artfilm niche. We are still talking about the slower and most minimalistic end of the non-mainstream spectrum.
Now I needed to refine this disparate family in the hope to find sub-groups with more coherent characteristics. I know some people can't stand labels and typologies. But it helped me to put in order the various speculations of our blogathon with clarity, and made me reconsider the auteurs I originaly wanted to associate.
This schematical chart (updated here) maps the territories of "Contemplative Cinema" through its evolutive generations and sorted horizontaly on the dramaturgy axis (from reality to fantasy). I don't know if my repartition is accurate (correction/addition welcome), but at least it materializes the distinction I make between the older generation (Transcendental Style and Modernity) and today's auteurs who shifted away from the tradition of literary narrative structure (dialog, plot arc, demonstration), towards less plot, less words, less fiction.
The horizontal spectrum of dramatic structure (B to F), between documentary (A : zero fiction, the Lumière tradition) and fantasy (G : zero reality, the Méliès tradition), is gradualy modified by the accumulation/deprivation of filmic language elements in vertical columns (see top of the chart) :
- I : Diegetic universe (Real world unless it is Sci-Fi or dreams), which is divided by ...
- II : Versimilitude (attempt of recreating credible situations unless it is stylized for abstraction or caricature purpose), which is divided by ...
- III : Dialogue (Silence, laconical or speechy), which is divided by ...
- IV : Protagonist (real people, or fictitious character), which is divided by ...
- V : Direction (either Life creates the action or the auteur does)
For instance, the mainstream tradition would be part of the E column, and certain classic genre verge on the F column when dramatization is excessive. So what I'm saying is that the "contemplative" precursors remained true to the classic tradition, in comforming (more or less) with the dramatic structure of a scripted dialogs inherited from literature and theatre.
The innovation developped by the recent generations was to (re)conquer the territories towards less dramatization, less escapism (bigger-than-life), less words, less sophisticated acting, and more non-actors, more silence, more real-life uneventfulness.
This allow me to split the list of today's "contemplative" filmmakers between the true mnimalists (B, C, D) and the dramatic/stylized narrators (E, F, G).
So in my opinion the likes of Wong Kar-wai, Kiarostami, Kaurismaki, Sokurov rely on words and basic dramatic structures to install their narration, while the most contemplative auteurs today depart from the tradition and really explore new territories requiring the invention of a new visual language : the likes of Bela Tarr, Tsai and Costa. Not to mention silent documentaries.
I hope my schemas looks clear and will foster discussions. Any reactions?
[EDIT] updated map (11-26-2007)
Sunday, January 14, 2007
Over There : documenting contemplation
After a while, mundane noises announce a presence we'll never see. As we imagine her making coffee in the kitchen, eating fruits, walking around, typing on her laptop, Akerman invites us to share a slice of her dailylife and witness her self-imposed seclusion. Thus the camera isn't Akerman's own eye, but a supervisor planted next to her. It rolls, nonchalant, as she stays off-screen doing other things.
Her voiceover commentary will come later to incorporate her developping ideas. She talks about triviality (food, traveling, mood, work, family memories) in a diary fashion. It could be an essay film in-progress, observing itself being made. From the notes, to denial, to idle shooting, to making of, to meta-documentary, to film. All in one.
Shortage of food imposes a leap to the shops. Not the israeli salads! they made her sick... This upset stomach could be a psychosomatic symptom due to her resistance to go out, or a subconscious incompatibility. Everything seems to approve her self-imprisonment. Her vocal introspection shares with us the irony of these coincidences.
All the while the digital camera peeks views of the buildings across the narrow street of her only landscape, over-framed by the curtains. Her neighbors become the involuntary protagonists. Through recurring shots of extensive length, we get to familiarize with some of them appearing now and then at the windows. There is an old retired couple up there, watering the plants every day. Noises of cars driving in and out. An old lady smoking on a tiny balcony. Children shouting nearby. A group of people in the street.
And the montage cuts from this window to that balcony, like if skipping channel on a TV. They are like small silent films, from a surveillance camera. The almost-real-time contemplation translates the apprehension of dailylife rhythm in this quarter. We are there. We live there.
The film is making itself in the camera magazine, overcoming her initial reticence. The intuition of the filmmaker succeeds where her intellect backpedalled.
In February 2005, Chantal Akerman is asked to make a documentary on Israel. Taking position, shaping a vision is complicated. She's afraid to picture this difficult nation too lightly, to give an uneducated judgment of the conflict, to oversimplify politics at work. Not belonging to Israel is also a worry. She doesn't feel at home and she can't identify her peers either. These are the dilemmas Akerman contemplates hampered by the inhibition of her neurotic denial. Although reluctant to confront a caricatural banality of long-lived clichés, she installs a camera in her rented appartment nonetheless and lets it capture life through the windows.
The reflexion about the conception thus becomes part of the documentary itself, like a very personal meta-film, which turns out to be a creative justification on the impossibility to produce satisfying images. The limitations of cinema, as a regard, in descriptive explanations. What Akerman can't bring herself to say, the strict formality of her montage reveals it. This contemplative aesthetic takes a long pause to ponder, through the physicality of wait and silences (in place of intellectualized polemics), over the state of being in Israel, the resentment of exil, the uprooting of dispora. The ambivalent Jewish fate.
The cinematic space and the auteur's scope, in a symbiotic analogy, are both divided in four constructs layered in depth: Inside, Frontier, Outside, Away.
Her spontaneous, neurotic seclusion, takes a political dimension in the context of her own double exil. She's first exiled from motherland, Israel, because her family lives in Europe, and she's exiled again, as a foreigner, once in Tel Aviv because she can't pretend to be Israeli. A feeling of being elsewhere, always out of place.
She's a child of the second generation. Her mother bears the wounds of the death camps in her flesh, Chantal does in her subconscious. She says if she had been raised in Israel she would have ran around with the other kids in the street, but in Bruxelles, going out was forbidden and she watched the kids from her window. In this film, again, she assumes the childhood conditioning and watches from behind closed windows.
INSIDE (Exil) : Bunker-appartment, safe hideout, passive observation, centrality, immobility. She is in Tel Aviv, but the closed doors make her appartment an alien territory, away from Israel, which only shows out of the windows. A microcosm in truncated details, out of context. All screens pulled down on the windows create a camera obscura, the reality from outside filters in through the gaps. We're in Plato's myth of the cave : the silhouettes at the windows are the only reality she knows of Israel.
FRONTIER (Curtain) : Initial distanciation from her environment, ambiguity conceal/reveal, overframing. The large bay-window filling the screen, replaces the cinema screen, stands for a TV screen to display movies or the News. Relating her experience to the theatre audience.
OUTSIDE (Street) : Homeland, heartland, motherland, Tel Aviv, Israel. The first layer is the invisible street down below that emits a muffled ambient noise (sound without visual). The second layer across the void, is the facade of the building, replicating/mirroring her "inside", only as seen from outside, behind their walls and curtains (partial visual without sound). Each window is a TV screen to contemplate, with its own "soap opera" with recurrant characters.
AWAY (The world) : Ideal hope. Immense, global, invisible macrocosm, out of reach, impossible to grasp. Represented by 3 elements. The planes in the sky, going to another exil. The sea, open on all sides, the polar opposite of her cealed bunker. The phone line connecting to friendly voices, breaking the exil, folding space, canceling the distances.
* * *
Sous le ciel lumineux de son pays natal (2001/Franssou Prenant/France)
A companion film to Akerman's documentary would be a similar work by Franssou Prenant who tells her return to Beyrout in Lebbanon (on the other side of the Israeli border). She interviews her friends, off-screen, who stayed there and recall her memories from before the war, her impressions of the changes, against a handheld reportage through the streets.
Post cross-posted from Screenville by HarryTuttle
Wednesday, December 13, 2006
Thoughts From an (Experimental?) Documentary Film
The discussion of BAFs (boring art films...although the internets offer more suggestions for the acronym) -- specifically how these subtle creatures invite the audience to participate and empathize -- and Marina's dissemination (just below) on acting as a contemplative engagement of its own accord.
Last night, quite by mistake, I walked into a film (in a class in a school I don't attend, no less) that challenged a lot of what I thought I knew about non-narrative film, and proved to me yet again that in life there are no real mistakes. The film, Koyaanisqatsi, can be described many ways; I do not think that for our purposes here the film itself serves much use: that's debatable, anyway, as the Glass score undermines the integrity of the "contemplative cinema" definition as outlined on this site. It did, however, raise a couple of questions in my mind that appear germane and, I hope, may be of some use despite their broad scope.
Note: You may read the entire thing (linked through the post title) if you wish...but I must warn you that it's an odd article. I'll just post the most relevant bits and go from there:
The film got me thinking about conceptual conflicts in non-narrative film, specifically music and expectation. These two major considerations challenge the supposed "open-ended" qualities of a non-narrative film like Koyaanisqatsi.
Whether the score acts as a driving force to the film's visual composition or as a counterpoint to the visual workings, the score instructs the viewer in ways less open-ended than the visual text. Tensions resulting from internal and external rhythms, reliefs provided by harmonies and dynamics of tone and pitch all provide rich and complex texts of their own.
While this may seem like a passé reiteration for a study of "contemplative cinema," the fact remains that films like Koyaanisqatsi have been and still are considered to be non-narrative film despite their heavy reliance upon a medium that engulfs an entire realm of scholarship and technique all its own.
The second major factor I see as inherent in the non-narrative experience remains the consistent human expectation of story-telling in art forms. Because it is a natural and fundamental human process to relate through narrative, when we are approached by and engaged with an art form that purports to (or that scholars identify as) being non-judgmental and solely experiential, an audience will inevitably -- collectively or individually -- try to arrange the film as a narrative to make sense of it. In and of itself, this process feels right, but it also trends toward a deeper aspect of human narrative expectations; i.e., because the director has selected material and arranged it in a certain way, the audience will not be satisfied with a narrative structure that is arrived at solely through experience, but seek to determine the author's intent, the author's point of view and what the author is trying to say.
The very act of experiential non-narrative viewing, in this sense, has the ability then (in my mind) to negate the wishes and efforts of the director to create a freely interpreted form as the audience seeks to find the narrative through the film's various elements -- regarding both what's used, and what is not.
When talking about film without acting and without a written story, it could be easy to get lost in the various discrepancies between the aspects of non-narrative that takes the high road of challenging storytelling and the (less responsible?) experimental. Not that that sort of irresponsibility applies to this particular film per se...it's a documentary, after all. But I would like to voice a few questions concerning directorial responsibility in storytelling in general:
1.) If contemplative cinema invites participation, empathy and engagement with a film, and a film's storytelling capabilities actually strengthen and expand from that quality, what does that say about human expectations regarding narrative? What does it signify of the storyteller who has taken the responsibility to provide a story that includes room for expansion, depth and maneuverability within or navigation of that story?
2.) Perhaps more importantly, what does it mean for the future of filmmaking as an experiential, interactive process? What challenges do filmmakers face in terms of telling a story in this manner -- not just technically, but also concerning what the filmmaker wants to convey versus what the audience interprets from a given work? What examples are there, if any, of films in which the director's desired results for a film's reception greatly differed with an audience's interpretation -- to his or her delight?
I'm not sure that these questions can be answered to any degree of satisfaction; but, I'll put this up in hopes of generating some sort of discussion. Later, I'll give a preview of my thoughts on Chantal Akerman and Jim Jarmusch to try to get feedback on a potential entry.


