Almayer

Cine-clubs

2007-11-15T00:55:00.000-08:00

During the most active cinephile period, the French New Wave, a lot of cine-clubs had been formed. There, as I suppose, had been taking place projections, discussions, discussions and, well, discussions. This resulted in a massive cinematical social commitment: people watched cinema, thought about cinema, talked about cinema, breathed cinema...

This spirit is somehow lost... Are there still regular cinematic gatherings where the central task is not to merely watch, but also to think and discuss? To search meanings and possible new roads? To truly participate in a commited community?

Festivals have to a degree alienated this - they have turned cinema into an official event where only grand speeches and not thoughtful discussions can take place. The principle is that something has to be said, to fill the time schedule, but what and how is not a valid question.

So my concern is towards this: does anyone know of such active clubs? How do they operate? What are their program and syllabus? What are their aims and in what way do they try to achieve them?

Please, share any expirience! Also, any detailed knowledge or direction towards sources about such past clubs is welcome!

Film in space

2007-08-21T10:44:00.000-07:00

In his book “Theory of cinema elements”, Nedelcho Milev draws a mathematical example of character relationship in regard to Antonioni’s “Blow-Up”:

The attention cannot but be directed towards the geometrically precise plot composition of the cinematic work. In its structural denotation, the photographer is not only a personage, but also the “apex” of two love triangles, which, in symetry, constitute a firmly balanced square. I will outline them specifically:

O = The photographer
A = The female stranger
B = The body
D = The Artist
C = The artist’s wife

The imaginary-complex relations between the Photographer (O), the Body (B) and the Female stranger (A) constitute “the love triangle” AOB. The Body is not a character, literally speaking (a dynamic personage), but a pictorial RESULT (a static photo object). The relations between the Photographer (O) and the artist’s Wife (C) are analogical. The Artist (D) himself appears only for a moment, but is represented OBJECTLY (through his painting). Thus, the congruent triangle COD is constructed in the structure of the square. The Photographer (O) is in the center.

From here on, Mr. Milev takes this structure on farther artistic levels: the resemblance between the photograph and the painting; the discrepant artistic means through which a common conception is executed plastically – “their views on alienation as a determinant factor of interpersonal relationships in the modern world.”

40 years later, Anthony Minghella transfers this structure to a dimensional space. If in regard to “Blow-Up” one could use the laws of geometry to explain its cinematic structure, for “Breaking and entering” one needs to immerse into the postulates of stereometry in order to fully grasp its potential.

Mathematically speaking, let’s take the 2-dimensional diagram example of character relationship and see if it applies to “Breaking and entering”:

O = Will
A = Liv
B = Bea
C = Amira
D = Miro

By simplifying the structure, we conclude an equal diagram to that of Antonioni’s “Blow-Up.” Essentially, what differs is DISTANCE in space, non-intersection of spacial values, etc. In order to logically deduce this, which I now laid out as granted, let us assume that the diagram above can be applied narratively to the film (it’s the simpliest “plot summary” that one could extract). Thus, we have two “love triangles” that are congruent:

1) A = C (mothers) => AO = CO (not married);
2) B = D (children) => BO = DO (non-biological children);
3) AB = CD (biological mothers).

Simplistically speaking, the conclusion is true. That is because we derived it, by examining the narrative geometrically, in two dimensions:

I) Physical (biological parenthood, nature of the relationships – parallelism between the TWO sex scenes [that’ll be examined later]);
II) Law and mode of life (nature of the relationships; parenthood; the mother, working / “working” at home), which is something that is more or less imposed from the outside, or adjusted to it, but, essentially – dependant on it.

There are films that take these two dimensions and create fine conflicts that serve the progress of a narrative. True, two dimensions is already a conflict.
Not in this film, however, which is imagerily visible even from its very pure cinematic outlook (without the aid of the plot). To explain this, let’s look at two insightful observations that Roger Ebert provides in his review of the film:

To use a metaphor, these two mothers and children are opposing mirrored reflections of each other: blond/brunet, Swedish/Bosnian, upper-class/ working-class, girl/boy ... and Will finds himself caught between them. The symmetry is almost perfect. Which is in part why it all feels so planned, more like an architectural blueprint than a movie.

Observation 1: the two axes (AB-CD) are opposing reflections (rather than congruities as we assumed above);
Observation 2: the film is more of an architectural blueprint than a celluloid inert world.
In order to be truly responsible in our criticism, though, we need to develop these thoughts and expand them until their truthful entirety. Drawing a parallel to the discussion above, take Observation 2:

Mr. Ebert is correct in his linking Will’s profession to the construction of the film, since it is exactly Will who creates the various conflicts on different levels and, ultimately, pushes the film into the third dimension. Let’s look how this idea is executed in the very first shot of the film:

We see Will and Liv through the windshield of their car (thus leaving a “hermetic” space between them and us), separated by a reflection.
Then, Will asks “Shouldn’t there be a warning?” just as the shot progresses to it’s next “non-cloud” segment crowned with the advent of the connecting bridge:

Eventually, he turns around and “there’s a distance” again: the clouds:

From this shot on, the film unveils as a reminiscence, until the “mystery” (Ms. Penn characterises the film as a psychological thriller and she does have a point, for it is chiefly thrillers, suspence and mystery films that make use of this technique the most) is settled in the end.
This opening shot is masterfully organised in three segments that could, in fact, qualify the three acts of the film:
1) Clouds – Bridge, separating – Distance;
2) Clarity – Attempt to fill the distance, everyone on their own;
3) Clouds – Distance – Looking towards each other – Living with the distance.
Notice how the space within the frame is organised: we could see and sense the three dimensions sharply. And we can easily call it an architecture plan, but we’d then deprive it of something substantial – the sound. To use a voice over is not uncommon, but to exploit it as a montage means and a way through which to devise volume and depth is extraordinary if fulfilled appropriately.
Remember the two “counsellor” scenes:

and

If you rewatch them, you’ll notice how the transition to and from these scenes is created by a disintegration between image and sound: the sound starts earlier and pours into the image (prepares it), then the image is interrupted but the sound continues, making the “cut” smooth.
Thus, while the inside-frame space and the montage is organised architecturally, the sound adds another characteristic: symphony, i.e. the film is not only an architectural, but rather an architectural-symphonic work. Greirson spoke of the symphonic film in regard to how montage can be used to form meaning on its own, the construction of a film around and of visual material – “Baraka”, “Man With a Movie Camera”, the Qatsi trilogy and, of course, “Berlin: Symphony of a Big City.” Here, I think, this montage is inserted in the frame – the visual construction – and the common function of montage is undertaken by the sound.
There is something else, worth noting in the scenes above, that becomes thematic in the visual execution of the film: the three-point oriantated space. Three means integrity, completeness, but also depth. We need three points to constitute a plane. Here how it is used throughout the film to achieve definiteness:

In the opening shot what causes uneasiness is the lack of the third. Two means 2-dimensional, non-definiteness, lack of depth. That’s why in the recurrency of the opening shot in the end:

they had to step out of the car and find depth in the space around.
That’s why, also, Will searched for the completeness of “three” outside. But that relationships cannot be expressed through the means of geometry. They are different planes:
1) Point O (Will) and line AB (Liv-Bea) = plane a;
2) Point O (Will) and line CD (Amira-Miro) = plane b.
Two planes always intersect in a line. Here the only common quantity is Will (O). He needs another “point” to form that line – that’s why, in the end, he feels there are those two sides of him [dark and light]. That “point” is inner, the intersection line is the double personality of Will. But to live on, he must “choose” a plane – reconcile the two halves – as happens in the end.

What draws Will back to plane a is Liv. There’s a great visual representation of this in a scene:

Will and Liv are standing face-to-face, separated by a mirror. They are integrated through their reflections in the mirror. Will is halfly in plane a / the plane of Liv’s “family”.

He talks about closeness and how when once Liv bit him, he truly felt that they were close. Liv bites him…

…and goes back, offering her entire reflection in the plane: she’s there fully and she wants to feel him close. Will doesn’t come close and remains half-reflected.

Then Liv goes away – out of their plane.With a few words so much is said.

Talking about the two sex scenes, there’s a nice parallel between them:

Sex scene 1 [Will-Liv]:
He wants to talk – She doen’t want to talk => She says “Come here”

Sex scene 1 [Will-Amira]:
She wants to talk – He doesn’t want to talk => He says “Come here”

One could conclude it’s an “opposing reflection.” Just as the other formal oppositions Mr. Ebert laid out. So Will is trying to find the same thing but in an opposing context. With Liv, what separates them is sound. With Amira – space (they’re always on different levels: one knowing what the other doesn’t know and vice versa). The interesting thing is that the solution is in the third:
· Bea is exceptionally sensitive to sound;
· Miro is exceptionally capable of overcoming space.
The filling of that distance has always been there and it was their (the two) mistake of not noticing it on time.

Throughout the film, the two intersecting relationships have always been like that:

In the end, this is worked out into:Here how it is executed:Miro steps outside and we see Will behind.Will enters the space outside – plane b.

Amira shows out of the corner and they line into: Amira – Miro – Will. That’s natural, the binding is Miro. Will now understands what he had overlooked.

He steps inside and we see Bea in the front.

Montage cut and we see she is actually between the two – she’s the one who can fill the distance.

A nihilist provocation

2007-08-20T15:17:00.000-07:00

Can you clearly state the difference between “documentary” and “fiction” in film? What shapes a film into either a “documentary” or “fiction”?
Imagine a fiction film, that is to say, comprised of a narrative, characters, climaxes, etc. A world, indeed, but an imaginary world – it doesn’t exist in the reality that we physically inhabit and consider…real, but is made up, most probably, out of it. However, things get vague when the correlations are substituted:

THE FILM : OUR REALITY = FICTION (1)
THE FILM : ITS [THE FILM’S] REALITY = DOCUMENTARY (2)

The film reel is a document. It preserves an, otherwise, temporal experience – the film viewing (as planned by the filmmaker: similarity to music and theatre, opposition to literature and painting). It’s a constant: THE FILM or THE DOCUMENT. The two variables that form two different fractions are the two REALITIES. But how exactly are they in a correlation to THE FILM?

(1) Is the fraction correct or should the numerator and the denominator change their positions? I say “no” and here’s an argument: the more OUR REALITY is expanded, the less are we prone to perceive film as fiction. If we have had experiences on different levels and in different dimensions, if we have thought – which is the main expanding force for trying to grasp the richness of realities, - failed and tried to think again outside OUR REALITY, which is impossible, of course, then it’s much more likely to perceive a fiction film as less fictional. Juxtaposed to OUR REALITY it will always remain FICTION, but the degree is lessened.
(2) Now, thinking for a while, one could say we ended up in a contradiction here: how can you expand the film’s reality since it is already fixed into the document of THE FILM itself? The characters cannot go or think through different experiences than the ones determined by the hermetic datum of the recorded reel. Just as, when we talk about fraction (1), we take not reality in general, but the snapshot of our momentary reality and thus, at one point or another, the degrees of our perceiving the same film as fiction may differ. Here, we take the cinematic reality, visibly perpetuated : nothing can be added - the acting, the narrative, the set, the music, the dialogue, the gestures – nothing that can be seen or heard can be reduced or added up. What expands, though, and what ultimately makes a piece of cinematic art truly everlasting is the potential, the hidden space (Pedro Costa said in a lecture that cinema is more about what is hidden than about what is shown) – the possibility for enrichness that is fulfilled or, at least, exists within the visible reel. To fulfill these possibilities would mean that the spectator needs to enter. But then, if what expands THE FILM REALITY is OUR REALITY, the fraction is no longer valid and should be trippled, thus fictionalising THE FILM REALITY – for what we contribute to THE FILM REALITY is FICTION correlated to THE FILM. So, if, when the reel starts rolling and the film starts existing on its own, without a viewer, if then the film has been engraved with endless possibilities of expanding ITS REALITY, it could grow out of the limits of the filmic document. Those possibilities needn’t be fulfilled, otherwise, as we noticed, the result is FICTION. When in the reality of the filmic document underlies the vastness of a “subsoil” reality of possibilities, the film itself can no longer envelop that space, thus lessening the degree of documentarity. Nevertheless, the result remains for the correlation is preserved. Ideally, in an all-out film that hides nothing, the fraction should equall “1”. Just as, commonly speaking, documentaries are supposed to strive for “1:1” representation.

Now imagine a documentary film that captures the process, circumstances, reactions, consequences of, say, a natural disaster. Through montage the phenomenon is thought into FICTION. It’s no longer the document it tries to be, but a fictionalisation of it – it has been subjectivised. It aims at OUR REALITY, by trying to preserve IT as a document, but turns into FICTION. Let’s say, then, that the director decides not to use montage – to film the whole reel in a single shot. Has he avoided montage? I say “no” and here’s an argument: he still needs the inside-montage of the frame space in order to create cinema – how it’s been cropped, what has been omitted and, eventually, documentalised. Shooting through “the eye” of the camera is already creating FICTION.

Therefore, it seems to me, that the “ideal” (the closest we can achieve) DOCUMENTARY should not be seeked only in the documentary sphere, but also in the field of fiction. We need FICTION in order to have a complete DOCUMENTARY and we deffinetely do not need the spectator. THE REALITY of the documentary film is always a FICTION of OUR REALITY. If, by using a single shot, the director has filmed OUR REALITY as truthfully as possible (minimally using the possibilities of manipulation through inside-montage and camera movement), what he has done, in fact, is deprive THE FILM REALITY of it’s possibilities for expanding. Thus, whenever the fraction is formed (the reel is rolling), the result will be as closely to DOCUMENTARY as you can get. But, only because THE FILM REALITY is, in fact, a FICTION of OUR REALITY (for it can never be cinematically or artistically entirely grasped). If we suppose that the cinema could film OUR REALITY, then THE FILM REALITY would be as rich as the universe. In a documentary, THE FILM REALITY is the snapshot that has been taken of OUR REALITY and which eventually became FICTION. The more rigid THE FILM REALITY is, the purer the DOCUMENTARY is.

A DOCUMENTARY is a chronicle, a cinematic report, a filmed journey, a story of OUR REALITY told in moving images, but it is also the most plausible historical or biographical picture. A true DOCUMENTARY is born when THE FILM is correlated to ITS REALITY.

A FILM only becomes a DOCUMENTARY on its own, when the viewer is excluded.

Проект

2007-08-04T05:34:00.000-07:00

На този сайт започнах проект по един вид кинообучение. За мен и, надявам си, други киноентусиасти също.

Тук изложих накратко защо и как ще протича всичко. Вече са готови първите две части от проекта, а над другите продължавам да работя. Ще обновявам с нови постове колкото се мога по-често.

Този блог ще остане предимно за неща, писани на английски. И посветени на чужди продукции.

When sound is reborn in silence

2007-01-09T00:29:00.000-08:00

The other night something happened. I was planning on finishing my notes on Victor Erice's The Spirit of the Beehive for the Contemplative Cinema Blogathon after I finally had the chance of viewing Eric Khoo's Be With Me. But until the end credits I no longer felt or thought the same - feelings of mixed sadness, ambition and determination were weaving into galoping thoughts on what is essential and how we often mistake vanity for something of prime importance. And the film took me over, gradually and subconsciously, until the morning...when I knew it was this film I wanted to write about. Here's what followed...

..~:~..

In a day, a young girl loses her hearing. A few years later, she's no longer able to see with her left eye. By the age of 14, the same happens with her right eye. Thus, deaf and blind, Fate builds a physical wall between the girl and the visual and aural side of world.

A husband loses his wife. In time, life whirls his son away and the two are separated by an unspoken distance of memory and unfulfilled redemption. Thus, alive but only physically, Fate builds a wall between the husband and the reconciled world.

A man has never had the richness of life. His unrequited love suffocates him with its inability to say itself out loud. He finds refuge in the never-rejecting lap of food. Thus, having nothing to lose, Fate builds an unwritten wall between the man and what he only cannot lose.

A girl finds love unordinary but true. By the time she realises that, it has already become unhappy. Thus, with a lonesome feeling that needs a mate, Fate builds a silent wall between the girl and what she desires to explain.

Be with me is a tale of four stories, only one of which is real. But they are all possible and they all have happened and will happen again.

Love, Hope and Destiny are the pivots around which the filmic experience is created, yet they all seem to find cause and reason in the theme of communication, or rather the lack of it. Unspoken words, unwritten letters and unanswered messages intensify into an unbearable silence of scattered moves and gestures. The only person who "listens and hears" constantly throughout the film is the one who can't - Theresa Chan, whose autobiography of a life in darkness and silence has inspired the script. She manages to compensate her loss - sight and sound - by using Block language [print-on-palm], but also by speaking a foreign language she never heard resonating in her mouth (she learnt English in America, where she was granted a scholarship to study). Furthermore, she passes on her experience by teaching disabled children and even more - she never stops exploring and questioning, and communicating. Theresa Chan isn't disabled. On the contrary, she has found the ultimate path towards relating to other people - writing. The words that we're shown and allowed to hear rattling away on the typewriter retain in our mind and we understand that even more vividly in the end of the film when she types the last letters in complete silence. Even the tender piano music that accompanies the stories almost ceaselessly is mute. This screaming silence when we're left only with the image, but inside our head the music and the clatter deafen us, comprises a desparate warning and reminder that we might be even deafer if we do not realise how rich we are. Thus, through the absence and memory of music an extremely luscious atmosphere is created, one of deafening sounds. If we consider contemplative cinema as literally musicless, then Be with me is not contemplative - Khoo uses melodramatic piano pieces that provoke emotions. But there's something more. He makes us remember them, the beauty of their sensetivity - because sensual music is the one which stays with us the most. He shows us a world abundant of noises - stark, prolonged and elusive. And in the end he takes that away with the power of his frame - for a second we're deprived of everything aural and left with the memory of it - still bright in our ears. And this is much more powerful than if he used a constant soundtrack or none at all. And that's why, I'm wondering if music isn't a vital part of contemplative cinema. Or at least the notion of it that lives in the silent passages of film. Those moments when one is either bored to death or fascinated hopelessly.

By disquilifying the film for Oscar foreign-language nomination, the committee made an interesting but, alas, wrong point. They judged a film that tried and succeeded, in my opinion, to rise above nationality and language and place an importance on communication in principle. If Theresa was deaf and blind, then all other characters were mute - but by their own will or lack of it. The inability to find the right pace of the dialogue results in horrible consequences. In fact, the film consisted of so much dialogue: the speech of the touching palms, the new alphabet of Internet and mobile phones - ringing tones, and the signs of food! All characters spoke one of those languages and created a universal dialogue that needs no translation. And English - this was the foreign language a person learnt to speak without having heard and write without having seen.

Theresa's character is the thread that unites and generalizes the other three stories. She's the role model but also the hope: the last words of her autobiography that we see her typing transcend the message of the film - its welcoming and encouraging invitation to be with it, reaching out a hand of hope that might help us overcome destiny.

The theme of finding hope inside loss haunts the widowed-man segment, which, for me, became an example of the notion of refusing to reconcile with the death of a beloved one. The very tone of passive existence, pure existence in the biological and natural sense (the recurring significance of food) speaks of resignation, which substitutes desperation. It's an impulsive reflex of survival without the conscious necessity of it. Blurring death and life, the man sinks in blank everyday-ness. One could even go further and call it unfaithfulness - betraying the sacredness of marriage and its oath ("til Death do us part").

When separation is unwanted and against the will, it becomes aggressive. Such is the case in the other segment "So in Love". The mute communication in the first part ("Meant to be") opposes the flow of one-sided wordness here. Similarly, in the third part ("Finding Love") communication is never established - the unwritten letter, which is forced out of its path when finally created.

Let me then draw a parallel with Johanna's post on Je, Tu, Il...Elle and extract a joint similarity - broken communication. The inability of words and feelings to coincide and people to truly be with each other.

Bela Tarr II

2006-10-28T01:03:00.001-07:00

Bela Tarr Interview

Bela Tarr

2006-10-28T01:03:00.000-07:00

Prologue - Bela Tarr (Visions of Europe)

What is contemplative cinema?

2006-10-19T11:29:00.000-07:00

The following posts are pre-notes to the 8th-of-January-2007 Contemplative cinema blog-a-thon over at Screenville:

the kind that rejects conventional narration to develop almost essentially through minimalistic visual language and atmosphere, without the help of music, dialogue, melodrama, action-montage, and star system.

In the process, I'll reject part of the initial definition, broaden and categorise it, hoping to appropriately justify myself. These will be only directions (most necessary to me) towards assimilating contemplative cinema.

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When faced with innovation and the unknown, people feel the urge and necessity to define. It is in our nature to seek order in the chaos of life, and particularly - art: the "visual" projection of philosophy (a science of everything human). Being a social phenomenon, art, as well as philosophy, derive from the past, present or [concepts of the] future. Where then should we look for the thereby named contemplative cinema? We could trace its essence back to WWII, the demagogy of which now evokes a visual spirit of maximum objectivity and sincerety (how many of the contemporary "contemplative" directors have been directly affected by the propaganda idealism of the past century?). Or, we could relate it to the current "trend" of alienation and lonesome living death (how many of the directors are successors of and living among these nests of remoteness?). Also, we could find a connection between its culturally unsaturated monotony and the notion of the future as a universalised world.

To choose, we need to know what we are choosing. What is contemplative cinema? Being aware of its nature, we'd be able to find its most probable origin (which could just as well be a result of the interaction between the mentioned processes). Yet again, when we conclude on the meaning of contemplative cinema, there's the danger of proceeding from a false - or incomplete - assumption: that this kind of cinema is truly contemplative. Using a word as a definition suggests trapping the actual phenomenon, restricting it. How to operate then? There're two ways: 1) explore the "behaviour" of this cinema and in the end find a better term or confirm the present one; 2) take the word as a basis from which to make deductions and prove its pertinence. I'd rather go with the second...

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Contemplation is a process that demands concentration and is based on or seeks interest. However, contemplation is an outside process. The viewer can never be a part of the observed phenomenon - he might partially be absorbed, but never entirely - the viewer must remain outside, he mustn't be involved into the sentimentality of the inner vision, he must think before reacting. Physically, cinema is the most contemplative of arts. You don't see where it arises from - as in live music, you can't touch and feel it - as in painting, sculpture, etc. Why? Because you can't touch light. Cinema is a light illusion. Therefore, cinema is contemplative physically because physically it leaves the viewer outside itself. However, there're devices by means of which the viewer can be engrossed into cinema mentally. You can reach conditions in which you're unable to distinguish film from reality or - you simply don't want to. So, it is important to note that the contemplative cinema discussed here, and that's the best and broadest definition I've reached so far, is the cinema before which the viewer is [intended to be] an outside observant physically and mentally.

As an observant process, contemplation is possible because of the five human senses: sight, hearing, touch, smell, taste. But, practically, during the contemplation we use no more than three - sight, hearing, smell. Now, back to cinema, which are the senses we rely on as viewers? Definetely sight and hearing. Smell has been integrated in the viewing experience but is still uncommon. What's more, it is not part of a film, but part of a distribution campaign. So, since contemplative cinema consists of numerous filmic observant moments and is cinema in its purest state of perception, shouldn't we define its various forms in accordance to that perception? What I propose is a categorisation in terms of human perception and how it is used and altered through a particular film [director] and not in terms of narration:

Visual contemplative cinema=[VCC]=cinema that relies on the image and might use music as an accompaniment or diegetic noise. Here sound is a secondary cinematic device and carries no significance to the [concept of the] plot. //Remember Pen-Ek Ratanaruang's Last Life in the Universe

Visical [Visual+Musical] contemplative cinema=[VMCC]=cinema that carries out its message by using the philosophy of image and sound. Here, the movement of the camera - the visual music - stops when music sounds - the aural music (Angelopoulos). Sound and image are inextricably bound together to form a harmonious movement of the imagery.

As stated earlier, contemplation demands interest or is performed to seek interest. However, interest/fascination suggests emotion, which leads to the viewer reacting before thinking. How do you then control fascination and yet use it purposefully? Purely VCC doesn't exploit sound and that's why is usually condemned extremely boring. It lacks the emotional feeling of interest in the process of contemplation. VMCC, however, drags the viewer closely to itself by using sound. Sound is the warmth that the silent image lacks. It occupies our second "spare" sense - hearing - and attacks the mind on two fronts. Why isn't music emotional in VMCC? Because it is an extension of the image. It is the acoustic movement that replaces the visual movement when the camera stops to rest. Here's an example of what I mean:

As soon as the song - Young Man's Theme by Eleni Karaindrou - starts, the camera freezes in this position and breathes through the musical notes. Angelopoulos, The Weeping Meadow.

In VMCC music is no less important than the image itself and is just as crucial to the evaluation of the film. It's not a [emotionally] manipulative device as usual, but - movement. We can even say that music is the movement in these slow-paced films. It is the missing element towards synchrony. Why doesn't music function emotionally in VMCC? Well, for one thing because it's opposed to the stillness, rookery of the camera and thus keeps the viewer in an extreme moment of concentration - being fascinated by the harmony between sound/vision and provoked by the uncompromisingly poor of hints and details cinematic frames.

In the end, concerning narrativity, which films are more prone to being plot-driven? Those with or without music? Kar-wai, Angelopoulos - both notorious for their splendid concemplative cinematography as well as heart-felt compositions (note the fact that their soundtracks are almost entirely composed, no voice, no song in the traditional sense) ... Pen-ek Ratanaruang, Hou Hsiao-hsien, Tsai Ming-liang - no deeply tangible narration, no music, no dialogue... It seems that music is a natural link between the plot and its visualisation. Lack of music is usually accompanied by lack of plot - it makes the film seem dry and incomprehensibly torn. And challenging, very, very challenging...

Theo Angelopoulos III

2006-10-17T13:41:00.000-07:00

Prof. Andrew Horton on Angelopoulos - Part II

"And he's really saying the opposite: Slow Down. Let's watch."

Theo Angelopoulos II

2006-10-17T13:32:00.000-07:00

Prof. Andrew Horton on Angelopoulos - Part I

"It's as if the present has the past in it and he's telling you that in one visual shot."

Theo Angelopoulos

2006-10-17T13:17:00.000-07:00

"I think that shots have a - I don't know. It's as if they were human beings; as if they could breathe. And if you try to intervene, you disrupt their breathing. That would be a violation, and I don't like that. So, to sum it up, I can't do anything else. I am almost doomed to do long single shots."

2006-09-12T02:47:00.000-07:00

Ed Wood

Music Video by Tim Burton and Tony Basil

2006-08-12T01:58:00.000-07:00

Remembering our Audrey Hepburn

4 May 1929 - 20 January 1993

The Art Commercials 2...

2006-06-12T21:35:00.000-07:00

По време на снимките на Kagemusha (1980), Акира Куросава и Франсис Форд Копола (изпълнителен продуцент) обединяват усилия (и авторитет) и увековечават няколко рекламни клипа на японското уиски Suntory (използвано като вдъхновение и сюжетна линия по-късно от София Копола).

via GreenCine Daily

В края на кариерата си, Орсън Уелс си снима в няколко реклами, една от които за френско шампанско. Необичайно е състоянието на американския режисьор - преплитащ думите, имайки предвид продукта, странно защо ли...
(Сравнение: обичайното състояние на гласа на Уелс в анимирана реклама на грах)

The Art Commercials...

2006-06-09T08:58:00.001-07:00

Рядко имена като Райнер Вернер Фасбиндер и Жан-Люк Годар се свързват със смилателния механизъм на телевизионния екран, но пионерите, изградили тези имена често изненадват. През целия си живот Фасбиндер остава верен, както на киното, така и на телевизията, за която мечтае да снима поне веднъж годишно. От друга страна, 1988 е годината на "телевизионния Годар":

*сегмент в сериала на Дейвид Линч "Каубойят и Французинът";
*25-минутният "Силата на Словото", създаден специално за най-влиятелната френска телекомуникационна компания France Telecom, но така и неизлъчен и останал без разпространение.

По това време (около '86, '87) Годар снима няколко реклами за дънките "Closed" на Marithe-Francois Girbaud, отхвърлени, но запазени и до днес. Спазвайки правилата на рекламната дейност (поне 10-то кратно излъчване на името на продукта, почти подсъзнателното внушаване логото на продукта и т.н.), режисьорът не изменя на стила си, давайки повод за бурна критика, но и поздравления, с което неизменно гложди мисълта...
Как би изглеждал светът на съвременната реклама, ако не бе отхвърлил, а киното прелъстило Годар?

Дънковите реклами на Годар при Rashomon

Айзенщайн

2006-04-11T00:51:00.000-07:00

Страхотно оформен сайт с рисунки от детските години на Сергей Айзенщайн:

Eisenstein's Early Drawings

"Ерудить"

2006-03-16T08:00:00.000-08:00

Опровергавайки всеобщата песимистичност и неангажираност, БНТ инициира изпълнението мечтата на всеки български филмов деец - субсидията. В България реализирането на кино проекти отдавна е "мъртва" инвестиция, затова дори една крачка към съживяването й се оказва безценна. Отплатата не закъснява.
В сферата на "чистата" култура единственото значимо възнаграждение за вложени средства е стойностният резултат. Такава е именно и последната лента, излязла изпод ръцете на Андрей Слабаков - "Наемателят" - първа част от 6-сериината поредица "Ерудить" със сценаристи Маргарита Кулинска, Борислав Огнянов (създатели на творческото обединение "Сценарна работилница") и Борислав Петров. Непоправим индивидуалист, пиперлив скандализатор и мачо, Андрей Слабаков обича провокациите, отправени към разлагащото се българско кино - черно-белият "Вагнер", предстоящият дебют на авторския жанр "личен документален филм" "Баща ми", който ще говори с гласа на напътстващия Петър Слабаков. Странен изглежда тогава изборът на режисьора да "пренапише" едноименната Хичкокова история.
Годината е 1928. Мястото - София. В "интелектуалното" ежедневие на столичния ерудит Венцеслав Бенковски (Христо Гърбов) се врязва карнобатската му /неканена/ племенница Тодорка (Ернестина Шинова). Допълнителното усложнение идва от убийството на млада блондинка, осуетило опита й да влезне в седмото изкуство. За Тодорка това води до две предзнаменования - срещата с водещия разследването (Тончо Токмакчиев) и образа му на търсения съпруг и сблъсъка с киното като единствена възможна бъдеща професия. След изясняването на факта, че жертви на убийствата са руси кандидат-актриси и изрусяването на Тодорка, за Венцеслав залавянето на престъпника става въпрос на живот и смърт.
Определен като ретро-криминална комедия, "Наемателят" силно клони към сатирата. Ако погледнем със социалното око на Кракауер, изпъква хапливата закачка, че предизвикателството този път не е в сценария, а в приложимостта му. Героят не е общността, нито индивида, главната роля е поверена на българското кино или по-точно на киното ни, все още неизиграло главната си роля. Смятано за лековато и неспособно ("русо"), то бива удушено още преди да се докаже и единственото доказателство за съществуването му са предсмъртните му гърчове. Документирани и достояние на зрителите (, които "нищо няма да разберат"). А виновникът? Както винаги, той остава зад кадър. Жанровата форма на филма позволява ироничното изграждане на образите, което от своя страна прави прозрачен за публиката убиеца - или поне кръга на извършителите. Преките сравнения с каймака на световното кино са показателни. Когато Слабаков предупреждава, че целта на филма е да забавлява, т.е. да разсмива, той не споменава, че този смях може да се окаже твърде горчив. Подходът към кинематографията - цветен с черно-бели фрагменти - позволява на грешките да блеснат още по-ярко. Явно на родното ни кино е трудно да се отърве от телевизионната си визия. Може "по телевизията да няма филми" (А.С.), но във филмите има телевизия. Тъжно, но най-внушителните сцени са черно-белите. Съвременната българска филмова техника е на ниво заснемане на блестящи предвоенни "мимове". Иронията е в това, че епохата на филма (края на 20-те) напълно отговаря на това ни състояние. За щастие, поне театралният дух е напуснал кинематографичното платно - пътят от телевизионното до филмовото е по-кратък.
Тандемът съпруг-съпруга (Слабаков-Шинова) отнова действа безотказно, както и останалата част от актьорите. Биографичната препратка е в "аристократичния" иконом - Слабаков признава, че когато е пиян става "учтив като английски лорд" - тук пиянството е любов. Най-запомнящата се роля обаче е няколкоминутната поява на Йорданка Христова. Дори "безцветна" и "няма", пак успява да изпъкне с динамичната тоналност на експресивната си палитра.
В атмосферата на екрана пък се долява повече от черната ирония на братята Коен, отколкото традиционния ни социалистически "невъзмутим хумур".
Дори не нарочно, актуалността и по-свободната интерпретация превръщат "Наемателят" в безжалостна филмова сатира, а Слабаков утвърждава репутацията си на бунтар и в българското кино.

"Мълчаливото кино"

2006-02-23T01:04:00.000-08:00

Едно петолиние - пътят между две тайни - тази на Япония и тази на Венеция. Огърлица от кадри, приютили ритмичния такт на своя пикселов танц. Всяка за себе си - с любов под ръка и смърт в пазвата.
Именно това е бримката, обединила две от най-болезнено наситените "мълчаливи" ленти - "Смърт във Венеция" и "Мемоарите на една гейша".
Всичко започва с музиката - от буйно-нежното пиано до разкъсващия вой на цигулката, от екстремната мания на черно-белите клавиши до деликатната стегнатост на триструнния шамисен*, от Малер до Уилямс. В нея с отчаяна сила е вплетен погледът, събрал в себе си невъзможността - неприкосновеността на забранената любов и затворът на догматичната съдба. А погледът - отсъствие на плът - е целият желание. Оттук и трескавата сдържаност на кинематографията - погледът на киното. Рядко се наблюдава абсолютен унисон между звук и визия, за да бъдем точни - никога, но това, което "Мемоарите" постига се доближава застрашително близо. Мраморната прозрачност на привидно беззащитната китка, потъналият в електрична напрегнатост танц, чиито всеки кадър е Пулицърова фотография, вълноломният валс на "капринената" река и, разбира се, прецизните до болка финални надписи, чиито вибрационен такт дълго ще отеква във филмовите анали. Впечатляващо, с лекотата на богата палитра, са смесени и чувствените стилове на футуризма и импресионизма. Студеният, "ритуален" валс е огрян от безизворната Рембрандова светлина, а от идеализираната външност на гейшите дъхат божествените пропорции на античната и ренесансова скулптура. Настроението - протяжно и носталгично - говори с гласа на Кар Вай ("В настроение за любов", "2046"), а детайлната пищност на визията напомня филми като "Герой", "Летящи кинжали" и "Тигър и дракон".
При наличието на цяла плеяда от артистични кодове всичко сочи към очевидната истина - "Мемоарите на една гейша" е учебник по универсалност. Прескачаща от синьо помрачение към топла нюансираност, от екзотично мълчание към упътващо настъвление, от капковидна накъсаност на звуковете към неделима симфоничност на музиката, лентата протяга длани към твърде широк, може би, кръг от хора.
Не случаен е и двойният финал - безжалостното, перфектно съчетало глас-кадър[дух-тяло] крешендо и успокояващо приветливата, следваща го каватина. Филмът спокойно може да свърши още на първия, но се губи приложимостта - другата половина публика, предпочитаща склонното към забрава, но приятно щастие пред реалистичното, белязващо страдание. Любопитна подробност е фактът , че първите гейши са били мъже - подправка към универсалния дух.
Това търсене на богата гама зрители, но чрез иноваторски методи, е до известна степен търсене на комерсиалност (в буквалния смисъл на думата). И ето абсурдът - именно тази нова и некомерсиализирана "комерсиалност" води до отхвърлянето й от масовия "кинаджия", т.е. до статута й на некомерс. Изглежда предубедеността у съвременната публика не мисли да изгасва, а напротив - разгаря със себе си и арогантността. Защото в крайна сметка погледът, с който ще подходим към филма, определя и ракурса, в който той ще ни се разкрие. Дали ще е чисто забавление, изпълнено с "компаньонки"(да не забравяме, че пампозност е второто име на китайската и японска култура - кич, красота - а тук тя има много маски) или неизчерпаемо платно, по чието лице са изписани артисти (от японското "гей" - изкуство, и "ша" - човек) зависи от нас.
______________
*японска, класическа, триструнна китара

~ името ~

2006-01-25T02:39:00.000-08:00

Кацнала на сетния ръб на света, на крачка от края на морето, странноприемница "Алмайер" оставаше и тази вечер мракът да смълчи малко по малко цветовете на стените й: и на цялата земя, и на всемерния океан. Изглеждаше - там, така самотна - като забравена. Сякаш шествие странноприемници от всякакъв вид и възраст бе минало един ден оттам, следвайки брега на морето, и от всичките се бе откъснала една, от умора, и оставяйки спътничките си да се изнижат край нея, бе решила да спре на това загатнато възвишение, предавайки се на собствената си слабост, прекланяйки глава и зачаквайки края. Такава беше странноприемница "Алмайер". Притежаваше онази красота, на която само победените са спасобни. И кристалността на слабите неща. И самотата - съвършена - на онова, което се е изгубило.

(Книга първа, "Океан, море", Алесандро Барико)

На перваза на прозореца на Бартълбум този път седяха двамина. Обичайното дете. И Бартълбум. С увиснали в празното крака. С увиснал - над морето - поглед.
-Слушай, Дуд...
Дуд, така се казваше детето.
-Понеже си все тук...
-Ммммм.
-Ти може би го знаеш.
-Кое?
-Къде са му очите, на морето?
-...
-Защото има очи, нали?
-Да.
-И къде са, мътните ги взели?
-Корабите.
-Корабите, какво?
-Корабите са очите на морето.
Зяпва, Бартълбум. Това пък съвсем не му е хрумвало.
-Но кораби има със стотици...
-Неговите очи са стотици. Да не искате да я кара с някакви си две.
Наистина. При всичката работа, която има. И каквото е голямо. Има здрав смисъл във всичко това.
-Да, но тогава, извинявай...
-Ммммм.
-Ами корабокрушенията? Бурите, тайфуните и разните му такива неща... Защо му е притрябвало да поглъща тези кораби, ако те са му очите?
Дуд чак е поизгубил търпение, когато се обръща към Бартълбум и казва
-А вие...вие никога ли не си затваряте очите?
Исусе. Има отговор за всичко, това дете.
Мисли, Бартълбум. Мисли и премисля и размишлява и разсъждава. После изведнъж скача долу от перваза. Откъм стаята, разбира се. Трябва да имаш крила, за да скочиш от другата страна.
-Пласон...трябва да намеря Пласон...да му кажа...ама че работа, то не било толкова трудно, стига да помисли малко човек...
Търси трескаво вълнената шапка. Не я намира. Разбираемо:на главата му е. Махва с ръка. Хуква вън от стаята.
-Ще се видим, Дуд.
-Ще се видим.
Детето остава да седи така, с вперени в морето очи. Постоява известно време. После се оглежда хубаво да няма никой наоколо и изведнъж скача долу от перваза. Откъм плажа, разбира се.

(Книга първа, "Океан, море", Алесандро Барико)