Ana Balona de Oliveira on Colossal Youth

Rooms of Colossal Bones – Pedro Costa’s Trilogy
(26 June, 2008) By Ana Balona de Oliveira (full article at Mute)

excerpts:

"It is not surprising James Quandt titled an essay on the director’s work ‘Still Lives: The Films of Pedro Costa’ [at Artforum]. Some of the shots of Bones, In Vanda’s Room and Colossal Youth, most frequently those of poorly lit and impoverished interiors, resemble painterly still lives: dark shacks into which scarce rays of sunlight enter just to illuminate a half empty bottle of wine, a smashed piece of old furniture, unexpected red flowers, but also the back of a neck, an old, beaten up hand, the longing of an immigrant labourer’s eye for his Cape Verdean forgotten youth and lost love. The phrase ‘still lives’ gains here, therefore, a double meaning – not only does it refer to the painterly, shadowy objects that accompany the quietly empty despair of Fontaínhas’ inhabitants, but also to these ghostly characters’ lives themselves, filmed in the resistant stillness of their hopeless bodies."

"Showing an understanding of the Portuguese lineage of film-makers to which Costa very independently pertains (albeit limited to no more than two of its most notorious names), Quandt correctly approximates the director to Manoel de Oliveira and João César Monteiro’s ‘propensity for the long take and tableaux structure, a fondness for haunted, life-battered faces and desolate landscapes, and a Dostoyevskian sense of life as hell’ (Quandt, ‘Still Lives’, in Cinematheque Ontario). Here one could surely add the films of Paulo Rocha, José Álvaro Morais and Teresa Vilaverde."

She equates the formal contemplation of the filming style to the contemplative lives of its subjects. There is an intent to depict people's genuine life at the pace of real life events.
I don't know the films of Morais, anybody has an idea? I've seen Villaverde's Transe, which is definitely CCC, in my mind. Rocha seems a bit surrealist or burlesque, which uses a paced rhythm and wordlessness for a parabolic message rather than going for actual naturalism. [Sorry I thought of Glauber Rocha, I don't know Paulo's films]

"Costa’s films are not documentaries, except for Where Does Your Hidden Smile Lie?, despite the fact that the director has increasingly chosen to work with non-professional actors, available light and an ever less intrusive occupation of the filming location by an ever more reduced crew and inconspicuous recording device. The films are long and composed of densely concentrated, non-moving shots which do not connect within a structure of linear narrative fluidity. The viewer of Bones, In Vanda’s Room and Colossal Youth is challenged by this choice of intermingling past and present moments that are susceptible to being narratively perceived only by means of a very close attention to details, such as Ventura wearing builders’ clothes and a head bandage in some of the scenes, and a retiree’s black suit in others. These details might guide the viewer along a non-linear path of extremely long, steady shoots, where only the textures of an immutable present seem to matter and no obvious explanations about before and after are given. This inevitably creates the ‘vertical’ tension inherent to the almost total absence of ‘horizontal’ tracking shots.

Focussing on Bones, Shigehiko Hasumi discusses the notion of ‘a vertical power that breaks the viewer free from the story’s linear cause and effect’. He continues, ‘the present moment is made visually absolute. While not abandoning the time flow of the film, this “absolutification” of the present moment is a bare, unadorned directorial technique that creates a raw filmic continuity for fiction, which otherwise would be subordinated to narrative flow and human psychology. Only rarely in film is the ultimate state of fiction thus so simply integrated with the ultimate state of documentary’, Shigehiko Hasumi, ‘Adventure: An Essay on Pedro Costa’ (2005), in Rouge Pedro Costa, Collosal Youth, 2004"

At a screening in Paris, Jean-Marie Straub was there with his friend Costa and said there was no flashback, that we had to read the film in a linear way (Costa didn't confirm this though).
I like how Ana Balona explains how CCC narrative works through attention to visual details rather than relying on plot cues.
I'm not sure I understand the horizontal/vertical dialectic there. No horizontal tracking shots, OK, most are static shots. But how does it make it a "vertical" film? I can't put my finger on the meaning of this "vertical tension", however I wholeheartedly agree with this "absolutification of the present moment", "raw filmic continuity" !

"Besides the paused rhythm, there is an excruciating silence, cut only by the characters’ words and the apparently unpremeditated mechanical and human sounds penetrating the neighbourhoods and rooms where action slowly unfolds. No other soundtrack is heard. Furthermore, actors spend many hours rehearsing each scene and line with the director to reach an outcome of nude simplicity and precision with an almost emotionally inexpressive declamatory effect.

Dennis Lim wrote that ‘[In Vanda’s Room] feels at times like a documentary but is actually the result of long conversations and multiple takes. Ms. Duarte [Vanda] and her friends, who sit around, talk, prepare heroin fixes, smoke and shoot up, are not documentary subjects so much as actors playing themselves’ (Dennis Lim, ‘Director’s Quest for Truth Among the Downtrodden’, in NYT). In this context, Straub, who also works with non-professional actors, said what Costa could perhaps have said about his own work: ‘some people have the impression – because we reject verisimilitude and TV-style cinema … – that there is no psychology in our films. But that’s not true. All this is psychology. There is no psychology in terms of the performance of the actor because there is a dramatic abstraction that goes deeper than so-called verisimilitude. But it’s there, in between the shots, in the very montage and in the way the shots are linked to each other, it is extremely subtle psychology’ (Jean-Marie Straub, in Pedro Costa, Où gît votre sourire enfoui?/ Onde jaz o teu sorriso? / Where Does Your Hidden Smile Lie?, 2001)."

What Costa says about the presence of an underlying/implicit subtle psychology within the characters is very interesting. He admits not to go for the versimilitude of a documentary, so the essence of CCC is not necessarily "absolute realism", but an asymptotic approach to the Real. And unlike TV or melodrama, this tentative mimetism of reality is not obtained through dramatisation (synthetic caricature of emotions) but by decomposition of life-like moments, in their context, with awkward timing, uncomfortable silences... instead of a perfect theatrical timing that pumps up the audience on cue.

"In Colossal Youth, some of this vertically mute tension is slightly released only when Ventura plays a Cape Verdean record and we listen in to its warmly melancholic musical murmur. As Straub put it, there is no ‘musical soup’ to help sustain the lack of idea and form."

Absence of soundtrack, emphasis on real-life ambient sounds, of course.

Tsai's Visages: When Salome faced the Dharma

Today in Paris, Taiwan director Tsai Ming-Liang described his new film Face [Visages, 臉] commissioned by France’s Louvre Museum, as one that is going to be crazy. This is because Tsai wants to take notions of Buddhism into, and clash them, with the free-spiritedness of Western art as exemplified by those exhibited in the Louvre.

Tsai Ming-liang stressed that the film will be very special, "because there is such a strange combination: the refreshingly beautiful Laetitia [Casta], * French Nouvelle Vague director Truffaut’s leading actor [Jean-Pierre] Léaud, as well as his last actress Fanny Ardent, a non-French speaking director, and my own alter ego ‘little-Kang’ (Lee Kang-sheng); all wrapped by the Louvre, the film shall be a gift. "

Tsai Ming-liang’s own Buddhist beliefs have a special importance on the film’s theme, particularly the notion of Three Dharma Seals [三法印] “impermanence [諸行無常], impersonality [諸法無我] and unsatisfactoriness [涅盤寂靜],” states of which the film shall attempt to portray. These concepts came to Tsai after three years of visiting the Louvre. He hopes to show “how everything is illusory, just as cinema is illusory, but what is important is how the face of illusions exist, and must be endured.”

In casting Laetitia therefore, Tsai Ming-liang was most interested in her unique face, "I can feel intimate, as the audience can feel intimate with the face". But also, due to the language barrier, Laetitia has spoken of how she viewed Tsai Ming-Liang’s appearance "one looking like a Buddha, but a Buddha that is a bit crazy."

After Hong Kong actress Maggie Cheung declined the original offer to star, Tsai Ming-liang immediately began looking for a replacement, maintaining the requirement of creating a film around its starring role; which would make it easier to market, the most part of his struggle until the emergence of Laetitia. So much that Tsai excitedly remarked “because of her, she entirely changed my traditionalist conception of Salome.”

As a former model, Laetitia brings to cinema the aura gained from her previous casting as the prestigious Marianne bust. Tsai gets very excited when reflecting on the relationship between films, models and the way people generally think of actors; citing the French director [Robert] Bresson’s meditations on film actors as models.

Tsai is also aware that Laetitia’s own background in fashion, will affect his take on Salome, becoming almost a Salome of fashion. Laetitia’s background will seem like a previous life, an echo from a lifestyle of fashion and designers that Tsai is willing to welcome to the film, “that world is too big, but it does stimulate in me many new ideas, I think it will be fun.”

Laetitia recognised in Tsai Ming-liang's film the hallmarks of a true auteurist, including so much of that which is free and poetic, "I am not afraid of his past but instead find it useful," but unlike other directors sharing in the hope that their roles be taken to like good students, “we worked together on my performance in order to enhance the narrative”, adding further that “he is a foreign director without biases, I really began to feel like a true actress.”

Laetitia is also very excited to be performing with Lee Kang-sheng, "because they do not know what might happen”. In reply, Lee Kang-sheng spoke of Laetitia as refreshing and distinct, seemingly both intimate and accessible as well as aloof like a noble; providing the role with an abundant potential for subtlety, "we believe that the it will be a very happy collaboration.”

Tsai Ming-liang also spoke about his casting of Léaud; since Léaud offered himself as a solid and ever-present face of Truffaut’s films from the age of fourteen, the impact of this method then, influenced Tsai to choose the same film-making path, “to me, he has my total respect, he is like an idol, a god.”

"Through my contact with him however, he became human, he would age; even in facing the myriad harshness of reality, for example, becoming obsolete, finding little work and experiencing ill health, Truffaut would, if he was still alive, certainly agree with how I shot him today, he would shoot him just as he is now.” Tsai reassured Léaud that their collaboration as director and actor “will be planting the seeds of the fruit of eternal love.”

Original Chinese text at UDN.com, posted by Tsai Ming-Liang at his blog: Director Tsai's Diary, this translation by Edwin Mak. Image: Tsai Ming-Liang.

* The author uses the first name of Laetitia rather than her surname, my translation keeps to that usage henceforth.

CCC gimmick exceptions

Edwin Mak : "Continuing on the theme of the negative, and objectionable ethics, may I ask you and anyone else for your examples and why? What is it about your examples, delimited by your own tastes, indicate an objectionable usage of minimalism/contemplative technique?"

Let's open a new discussion here for a question asked by Edwin Mak in a recent post (Atkinson on minimalism) about the pros and cons of stylistics techniques and mise-en-scene characteristic or not of the CCC trend. (My apologize for taking so long to put up this new post)


We seem to disagree on whether a particular film is part of CCC or not. We don't consider the same elements of film language as being "disqualifying", or as an evidence of a true/strict "contemplative" film. So let's see what everyone think are the cardinal sins found in a film that you consider "exploitation" or "over-the-top" or "betraying" or "objectionable" or simply "anti-contemplation".

Atkinson doesn't like Colossal Youth and thinks it's a hack job that discredits the purity of "Minimalism". And I disagree of course because I admire this film. So is it just a matter of taste difference that move us to approve or reject such or such film, whether we call them "Minimalist" or "Contemplative"?
Well taste aside, We can break down the mise-en-scene in technical terms and assess the whole intention of the auteur. In other words, does Costa seeks "minimalism" (or Brechtian?) or does he go for "contemplation" (whatever that means to him)?

Unlike neorealism or La Nouvelle Vague, CCC is not a conscious trend where like-minded auteurs gather around the same idea, mutually influenced by a common style. CCC auteurs come from all over the world and from different cultural background, but there is definitely some shared identity in their filmmaking language. And these new traits are all the more distinct and unique when compared to traditional filmmaking (which is still the overwhelming norm in mainstream cinema, and has always been). So I'm taking this into account to figure what are the "unspoken rules" of this emerging trend. When films look similar they "work" almost the same way (which serves as a tentative definition on the blog description) and when they do "contemplation" differently it highlights their exceptions (for instance the usage of speech, music, professional actors, CGI or classical narrative device).

That's how I define a "strict model" of hardcore CCC auteurs (Tsai, Bartas, Weerasethakul, Reygadas, Alonso, Tarr, Dumont...) with a nebula around them gradually less and less "contemplative" because they take more and more exceptions to the original purity of this self-defined trend, by slightly adding more narrative music (Kaurismaki, Wong Kar-wai, Lynch), more narrative editing (Wong Kar-wai, Gus Van Sant, Lynch, Martel), more plot-driven dialogue (Jia, Wong Kar-wai, HHH, Ceylan, Hong Sang-soo, Angelopoulos, Dardennes, Lynch), more stylized performance (Kaurismaki, Andersson, Barney), more special effects (Suleiman, Andersson, Lynch)... while remaining a lot more "contemplative" than the mainstream fare.

To me a true CCC film doesn't require any of this. It could be as bare as a single shot with non-actors filmed running errands without beginning nor end, without even a proper "message" or a point to the storytelling, without complicated staging, . They don't have to be all as ascetic as that. But it all comes down to the amount of narrative construction they add and how "distracting" it gets from a "contemplative perspective".

The state of contemplation (which is the focal point of this trend by definition) implies a liberty of the viewer to witness events taking place before his/her eyes, without being spoon-fed digested hints and codes, without attention-grabber framing, without walk-through montage. the contemplative viewer is sitting at the window, looking out into the world, a world offered for contemplation, for consideration, for reflection. And even if the meanings in CCC are implicit nonetheless (because the auteur meant to make THIS film and not ANY film), the range of interpretation and the level of participation is left at the viewer's discretion. Inasmuch as every viewer may watch a different film, project their own interpretation, imagine their own untold backstory to the characters. that's what make CCC films original.

Of course, the point is not to strive toward an alleged "purity" of this trend. But I can see how certain gimmicks can become distraction, interferences, perversions (Atkinson calls that exploitation) of how this new family of films tends to mark its difference. If a device tends to decrease the difference with the mainstream norm, then it does become "objectionable" (to use Edwin's word) in my book. Not objectionable in the sense that they are "excommunicated" (because auteurs never pledged to be part of this unspoken trend!) but objectionable to the meaning we give to the stricter model of CCC (which is what I defined above, and also evoked by these notions: wordlessness, plotlessness, slowness, alienation).

So when I see a film using reaction shots and narrative cues, or flashback techniques, I know that it is still operating within the known territory of mainstream cinema to some extent. Therefore it is a weaker representative of a stand alone trend (since true CCC doesn't require the usual narrative conventions to tell a story through atmosphere and visuals). It's as simple as that, either they resort to devices familiar to the audience, or they venture in uncharted territory, where narration doesn't earn its credibility from overstated cues and plot set up.

Well that's just to introduce the topic, you may add your own take in the comments below.

“RR” (Benning, USA)

As with Ten Skies and 13 Lakes before it, James Benning’s new film RR forms great ideas and unexpectedly voluptuous beauty out of modest and strict means, content, and style. Composed entirely of 16mm still shots of train tracks, each shot roughly beginning a beat or two before a train enters the frame and lasting until roughly a beat or two after after the train has left, RR is both more rigid and concrete than the undulating abstraction of Ten Skies, as well as more directly grounded in reality and the cinema.

Benning uses his landscapes, trains, and railroads as intrinsically American elements, from a visual standpoint. Calling to mind the romanticization of the West, the colonizing and expanding force of the railroads, Benning encourages a recognition of the historical might, impact, and influence of these engines across (and connecting) these spaces. At the same time, the film comes with a clear admission not only to the sheer breadth and size of the American landscape (and the nation itself), but also the tremendous amount of goods that these trains are hauling from one side to the other. What goods they contain, where they are going, and why, are all questions that are asked but unanswered by RR, and this evokes a kind of abstract bounty of consumption and material wealth that remains unrooted by any real production, desire, or consumption itself.

Benning’s soundtrack is a mixture of direct sound and additions, ranging from the chopper blades of a Huey helicopter over a shot Benning thought reminded him of Vietnam to far more direct references, such as a clip from Eisenhower’s famed speech referencing the military industrial complex and a reading from the Book of Revelations. Thus the film takes on explicitly political dimensions not to be found in something like Ten Skies, connecting the suggestions of the landscape and the movement of the trains and overtly linking them to their national, historical, and religious connotations.

RR is not just a work about trains (or their politics), and is as much a comment on the pleasures and form of cinema. This meta-cinematic aspect comes into play directly in the factor determining the length of each shot: the duration of the train’s movement, or sometimes the duration of the sound of the train’s movement. (As dry as the film may sound through my description, it is not without its humor, which comes most directly from two shots of particularly long trains that move so terribly slowly that when one eventually realizes after a number of minutes that the goliaths are slowing down and about to stop, one cannot help but laugh at the lumbering absurdity and our investment in watched that movement.) RR therefore indicates movement—activity—as the most interesting facet of each shot.

Yet, somewhat paradoxically, while movement determines duration, it does not justify the shot itself. This is an important distinction, as it shifts a great deal of each composition’s focus to the landscape itself, and the play of the train through that landscape. The landscape prefigures the train traveling through it, and thus while that journey is the temporal element in each shot (among other elements of interest: the texture, color, speed, and vector of each train), it is the relationship of that journey to the singular composition of land, rail, and frame that, in a sense, “determines” the content of the shot itself.

One of the many rich ways of looking at a film as deceptively simple as RR, then, is to see its actual subject—the trains—only as an abstract element that temporally structures our gaze at the shot, and due to its on-screen motion gives a temporal rhythm to this landscape, to the duration of the shot, to the rhythm of the film as a whole. Looked at this way, one could even see RR strictly as a landscape film, whose rhythm, length, and beauty Benning to a large degree gives up to the power and movement of American railroads.

***

Cross-posted at The Auteurs.

Atkinson on minimalism

Michael Atkinson's introduction to his piece on The Forsaken Land (2005/Vimukthi Jayasundara) DVD, on the IFC blog (9-16-2008) :

Ah, minimalism, the miserable hairshirt pajamas so many critics still love to put on in the semi-privacy of their vocations, ostensibly separating them from the herd of passive filmgoers like enlightened monks separated from the peasantry -- or, at least, so it may seem to the mainstream, who have been trained from the cradle to desire only distraction, and for whom a movie that deliberately fails to deliver narrative excitement is akin to water torture. Honestly, both are fair and comprehensible positions, and if you can decry the ignorant impatience of the many viewers intolerant of the new movie by Jia Zhangke or Pedro Costa or Tsai Ming-liang, you could also legitimately wonder when and where art film asecticism steps over the border into pretentious tedium. (Just because it's not a terribly commercial gambit doesn't mean it can't be overexploited by filmmakers -- take Costa's "Colossal Youth," please.)

Everyone has to draw their own line, naturally, even if, let's face it, minimalist art film, done insightfully, rewards attentive viewing with transformative experience in ways cluttered, noisy, manipulative narrative films can't.