Kieślowski’s Pain

A still from "Krzysztof Kieslowski, Trzy kolory" 

directed by Natalia Koryncka-Gruz

Hard to believe that it has already been 30 years since Kieślowski’s passing.

I think of him as one of the most innovative storytellers in film history. His uniqueness comes, in part, from the goals he sets for his stories. Most films try to answer questions such as: Who did it? What will happen? Why did something happen? His approach—and that of his co-writer, Krzysztof Piesiewicz—seems different. The anecdote is secondary to the question the anecdote is trying to explore.

So when we become engaged in his stories on screen, we are actually participating in his—and Piesiewicz’s—pondering about how the world and human relationships work.

The characters in the Three Colors trilogy, for example, are not simply them. They are us, transported into situations that perhaps we haven’t lived through (yet?), but which nevertheless touch something vital to our existence. The widow in Blue copes with loss. The model and the judge in Red negotiate between empathy and cynicism. The hairdresser in White yearns for his lost self-worth. In The Double Life of Véronique, Kieślowski dissects the mysterious—perhaps metaphysical—connections between people.

There is an extensive interview with Kieślowski, recorded while he was shooting White. It is called Krzysztof Kieślowski: Trzy kolory, directed by Natalia Koryncka-Gruz, and is available on TVP VOD.

Only after hearing a few of his remarks there did it hit me that his films weren’t simply artistic or intellectual exercises. They seem to have been deeply painful explorations of his own personality and of the way he saw himself in the world.

Although I think I remember being jolted, while watching some of his films years ago, by the realization that it was his pain speaking to me through the screen. I had long forgotten that feeling, until watching—or perhaps rewatching—this documentary a few days ago.

I remember a few thoughts from his interview there. My repeating them here may not be verbatim; it’s rather what reached me from the screen and stayed with me after I finished watching the documentary:

Kieślowski says that, for him, the most important thing in storytelling is tone.

That what happens in the stomach is the most important. He means, I think, our emotions—the visceral response to what we experience.

That what matters most is what we don’t share, don’t speak about, what we are ashamed of.

That for him storytelling is an attempt to get to know oneself in the most naked, sensitive, probing way.

That it is terribly important to be able to say, “Yes, I’m weak, but I need to say this.”

That he is losing patience—with everything (that's a very telling admission).

That what matters are the opportunities to say something that people are too shy to tell each other.

That what is needed is simply trust in reality itself.

On the same platform, there is another excellent documentary about Kieślowski as a young boy, when he followed his tuberculosis-stricken father through various sanatoria in Poland, eventually reaching Sokołowsko, now so closely associated with Kieślowski.  The documentary, despite struggling with a shortage of archival material, is also fantastic.

Thinking Camera

 

Thinking Camera YT channel

 About a month ago we launched a You Tube channel 

 https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCNM4icv-da8a9ikMntyUZ3Q/videos

and its corresponding FB page: 

https://www.facebook.com/ThinkingCamera/

The sites will deal with the blend of film techniques, philosophy on screen and screen philosophy, my own work, musings about the work of others and general amazement of "how did we get here".   Yes, that's after Brian Eno and the Talking Heads (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5IsSpAOD6K8 )  However I mean it a communal, global, civilisational fashion.

Anyway, the upcoming episodes of Thinking Camera (to which you are invited to subscribe and spread the word) will, among other elements, relate to two quotes that are currently on my mind. 

The first one comes from Stanley Kubrick:  "Either you care or you don't", the second was spoken by a huge movie star (I think it could have been Nicole Kidman talking about Kubrick): "You know what is gold in filmmaking? Time is gold". 

Careful when following the masters

High Life
a movie by Claire Denise

In short, don’t.  If you do go to see this flick, brace yourself.   It is amazing how a filmmaker wants to refresh or out do the seminal Kubrick’s flick with not much new to offer.  This movie is painful to watch since many ideas are lifted from either Kubrick or Tarkovsky and are just a pale hick-ups of them.    

My strong negative reaction is fueled by two factors: first, in the last few months I haven't been able to shake off the memories of the ending of "2001. A Space Odyssey".   It hunts my consciousness, it knocks to be remembered, to be embraced and understood.  When I think of film moments that are important, the mega-singularity (can I say that?) shown in the ending of "2001" tops the list.  Claire Denise tries to go in the same direction at the end of her film.   In her doing it's clumsy and cheap.

Then there is a dog.  Probably "stolen" from Tarkovsky's "Nostalgia".  I understand that the poetics of "High Life" require the dogs to be "down to earth", but still, the first thing that comes to mind is the Tarkovsky's parallel.  If one goes there is should somehow be visually or emotionally addressed, countered, exposed.  I say that because the dog in Tarkovsky's church is another moment in my list of "best film moments ever".

And then there is a space ship design. Really?

Too bad so many great actors (actually the entire cast is really good) participate in a project that, if done in film school, should give a boost to a director's career, but as a work of a mature and otherwise good storyteller is boring and disappointing.

Having said all that I realized that the need to pay homage to the greatest is sometimes stronger than a filmmaker's sense of clarity and self-preservation.  Some time ago in Los Angeles I tried to reproduce a bus scene scene from "Double Life of Veronique" in which the Polish Veronique "meets" the French one.  I remember a polite smile on the face of a really accomplished filmmaker who was my mentor at that time.  He was gracious enough not to expand on his reaction.  

Rhythms

"Roma" by Alfonso Cuaron

"Roma"'s brilliance comes also from its rhythms.   They express themselves in small and big scales.  They connect social and political with personal.  "Roma" says that there is balance between various layers of our existence that there is something larger than a single layer of our perception of the world, that "so above as below,"  or "everything is everything."

We tell each other stories usually favoring one aspect of reality over others, "Roma" gets it all  enveloped in one giant sigh of wonder over our dramas, defeats and victories.  A true masterpiece.

If you seek reviews of "Roma" note how ridiculous and wrong is the one by Richard Brody in the New Yorker.  It is a perfect (although unintended) caricature of a socially concerned liberal intellectual blinded by political correctness. 

Consequences

"Cold War", directed by Pawel Pawlikowski

"Cold War" is audacious.  The storytelling there doesn't focus on the process, motivations, plot points, foreshadowing and all the other classical stuff.  Instead it jumps from consequence to consequence.   By doing so it sucks the viewer into the drama and makes the relationship it tells non banal and non predictable.  It restores the sense of mystery into the process of telling a story.   It had to happen as a reaction to a more and more oppressive Aristotelian or Hollywood dictum.   

Listen to a whisper

Excellent HBO documentary on Steven Spielberg.   Turns out he values not knowing prior how a scene would look like.  Panic is his cherished MO.  Only then he comes up with good ideas.  Interesting, that his process is emotional and visceral - not over thought.  Although clearly an overall strategy has to be applied, his approach to a scene is instinctual. 

In Jews - what you don’t see is generally scarier than what you do see (there is very little of the shark in the film.)

His camera movements (which to him is the directing) are always more than giving the viewer a sense of space.     They always reveal something additional.

I remember from an older interview with Spielberg his amazement that “they” keep hiring him.  Then his guess that “they do, because he knows where to put the camera”.  That’s what it takes - the ability to select the best camera spot!

Also: there is a page with quotes from famous people.  Below there are a few among those by Spielberg that impressed me the most:

• “You have many years ahead of you to create the dreams that we can’t even imagine dreaming.  You have done more for the collective unconscious of this planet than you will ever know.”

• “Our one goal is to give the world a taste of peace, friendship, and understanding through the visual arts, the art of celebration of life.”

• “All of us every single year, we’re a different person. I don’t think we’re the same person all our lives.

• “Sometimes a dream almost whispers… it never shouts. Very hard to hear. So you have to, every day of your lives, be ready to hear what whispers in your ear. ”

truth versus glitzy

  "American Beauty" written by Alan Ball, directed by Sam Mendes

Watched again, 15 years later, the film has made the same impression on me as it did the first time.  And the impressions have been huge.   Almost a perfect masterpiece.  The confusions (in both viewings) came from the video parts, which were taking me out of the flow of the film.  

Down deep, the film seems to be a pretty much a loose connection of haiku like epiphanies circling around not beauty, not values, not culture - but rather around transformation, overcoming, transcending.  It is not the development of the plot (although there is one) that drives the experience of watching the film.  It is rather, the emotional impact of most of the scenes.   As if the brilliance of the execution sidetracked the underlying intellectual efforts to convey meaning through the story. 

Every major character in the story is on a wild inner ride.  Everyone except Ricky, the kid next door, who is the only smart one, or the only fully realized from the start.  And it is probably through Ricky’s weed that Lester finally breaks through his inner walls.  Ricky’s presence seems to carry the “official” meaning of the film - the beauty in the mundane - as in the plastic bag.   While the idea is noble, the execution seems problematic.  The plastic bag is videotaped in a pedestrian way while the everyday life which is supposed to be criticized gets dazzling directorial and cinematographic treatment.   This contrast is something I wonder about.  From a logical point of view the stylistic choices for showing both realities are correct, but their juxtaposition rises questions.  

Genius in cinema

In a documentary "Student Andriej Tarkovsky" which follows Tarkovsky's notes from his time in WGIK he, among other things, muses on what makes a genius.   Genius represents quality without which we can't do, says Tarkovsky.   On the other hand if a writer or an artist (his oeuvre that is) is not absolutely necessary he is not a genius. 

These ruminations sound weird when uttered by somebody who hasn't done anything yet, particularly when its pretty clear the subject is on his mind most likely because he's set to explore it personally.  In another documentary "Rerberg and Tarkowski, the other side of Stalker", Rerberg recalls Tarkowsky intimating he thinks of himself as a genius.  It is already after "Andrej Rublow" and "The Mirror", so his reported claim  could have some factual support, still such self analysis sounds weird coming from the guy whose philosophical and artistic concerns seemed boldly transcending the pettiness of human nature. 

Then in a yet another documentary: "Directedy by Tarkovsky" I found a quote from his book "Sculpting in time".  The quote is so powerful that it instantaneously validates self absorption of its author. 

Here it is:

"Time cannot vanish without a trace for it is a subjective, spiritual category."

When Tarkovsky in his book talks about time in film it is not that shots and their arrangement represent time - it is that within a shot time is mold-able, it is time within a shot that is the basic building element.   And as such is flexible, could be elongated or shortened.  Could also, be a subject of other manipulations, found in Tarkovsky's films. 

Explosions in consciousness

A festival triumph of "Fire at sea" 

by Gianfranco Rosi

Indeed an amazing achievement.  Simple yet sophisticated.  Relevant and moving.

Rosi said that his filmmaking is based on giving "less and less", on removing the obvious and (paraphrasing) on not hitting the viewer over the head.  He contrasts this method with that of Michael Moore.  The "less and less" method actually elongates the working of the film.   It allows the story to engrave itself in the viewer's mind.  At least in this viewer's mind:

I experienced several well.... explosions related to that film.

First the strongest and the most surprising  happened half way through the screening.  There is a moment when finally the underlying POV of the director leaped out of the screen and colored everything before and after.   The revelation that the two levels of the narrative are after all actually intermingled was only possible because at first the filmmaker played with viewers saying "the locals and the refugees are not connected".   The effectiveness of this directorial maneuver worked because he assumed (unfortunately quite right) that we entered the cinema with a low level of consciousness, understanding, empathy and care.

Other explosions of rage, sadness and helplessness keep happening every time my consciousness returns to the subject of the film.

Freeform

Miles Ahead, directed by Don Cheadle

I found this movie totally captivating. It is a bold and successful attempt to enter psyche and creativity outside of a linear, cause and effect, “let’s examine the evolution of talent” approach. Watching it I felt that the makers capitalized on many cinematographic techniques but pushed them further. For example blending of scenery and morphing it to reflect the inner state of a hero has been done before but here it’s done with power, sometimes with fury, which almost allows to forget the trick and be immersed in the inner life of the hero.

The way scenes are shot (or is it the result of some inspired editing?) uncover feelings rather than present action, which is a result of the former. And that’s how the storytelling should happen, shouldn’t it? The film seems fresh also on a structural level. The hook of the story turns our attention into a state of being that does not easily fall into a Joseph Campbell formula. Although there are obligatory car chases and gun swaying and shooting. Still they all feel like rather insignificant nods to the market requirements while the film breaths its own way forward anyway.

The drive and the anguish of the main character is so palpable and the directing so inspired that I don’t even mind the tired and a bit boring script devise of “a reporter enters the life of the hero and we get to know it through his eyes.” Every time I see something like that it screams “we don’t know how to tell the story so let’s bring in a front character who will do it for us”. Please! This clumsiness is however quickly forgiven partly due to the great acting and mostly because of the overall directing and cinematographic riffing.

After the encounter with such a splendid “bio picture” one should be thinking twice before telling the story of a real person just surfing through his or her life events.

If we start telling stories focusing on things that are outside of the aristotelian schtick, would

When birds spoke

Henryk Schonker in "The Touch of an Angel" 

by Marek Tomasz Pawłowski

I watched this amazing documentary around the time I saw another Holocaust-themed film, the Oscar winner "Son on Saul". The comparison automatically sprung to mind: the feature with its frames soaked in attempts to recreate and authenticate many a time took me outside of its goal: I was seeing staging on screen and couldn't get it out of my mind. On the other hand the documentary did not hide its kitchen, things would start as the recollection and then move to their recreation. At which point I was hooked without reservation.

It's either the techniques of both storytellers or the cleverness of the initial deflecting of "it's not real" reaction. Or the combination of both.  An example of that "start with the talk and move to its recreation" is also in the scene that, breaking through the screen and further through the limitations of "now and here"  totally floored me.

In the scene Henryk Schönker recalls a 1938 Auschwitz conversation with a young mentally challenged boy as they both stand by a river bank.  The boy points to the other side of the river,  toward Auschwitz, and says "I see a lot of your people burned there, but you will survive". 

Henryk is perplexed and asks where did he get that from. The boy points to the birds flying above and says "the birds told me so".

The camera behind

Son of Saul, written by Laszlo Nemes and Clara Royer
directed by Laszlo Nemes

I dreaded seeing this film. Every trip to Auschwitz leaves me sick for days.  The subject is almost too much to be touched with a camera.  Regardless of the level of the craft employed.  

One day however I was taken to see this film.  The reaction noted below might be an extension of the just mentioned attitude.  When something is so much outside of one's ability to process and comprehend one can attempt to seek refuge in criticism of the aesthetics. 

Here is mine:

Son of Saul, with the exception of one dantean night sequence brining in your face with full harrowing force the Bosch like imaginary, has kept me confused. For surprisingly long gaps I felt out of the narrative. I wasn’t clear if I was supposed to feel with the hero or just watch his horror.

The immediate reason I think comes from too often placing the camera behind the hero’s back. Why don’t I see the face of the hero, I wondered many times. Then I learned that the main part was given to a rock musician/poet and a theologian.   Nothing wrong with basing a film on a non-professional actor but it carries certain limitations (unless one is David Bowie) and “Son of Saul” might be an example of them. To be fair, the musician playing the lead is doing fine as much as he can. But clearly when the task is too much (and the challenges of that role are huge), the director uses a substitutive camera technique, which when overdone, throws the experience of kilter.

Two Electras?

Persona by Ingmar Bergman, 

the first appearance of Electra (Liv Ullmann)

The second appearance of Electra

(Bibi Anderson?)

In Persona, Bergman uses two shots of Elisabeth Vogler acting on stage. The first comes early on when Alma is told about her new patient.  The second appears at the end when Alma, alone, leaves the house on an island.

I’ve been conducting a Bergman films analysis class several times already. This fall one student upon looking closely at the two shots proposed that in the second shot it is Alma (Bibi Anderson) and not Elisabeth (Liv Ullmann).

Such an interpretation would make perfect sense out of the film’s ending which puzzled many for years. Is it possible that Bergman planted such an “key” to understand his film and never revealed it? Is it possible that nobody (nobody!) noticed it since the release of Persona in 1966?

Of course the idea that Alma and Elisabeth are one is banal by now, and some have said that it could be all happening inside the Alma’s psyche, but never have I found the proof of it in the actual “double casting of Electra”.

Check it out for yourself comparing the screenshots above.   

When quality destroys

She’s Funny That Way, 

directed by Peter Bodanovich

It would be too easy to utter smart ass remarks about a movie that doesn’t work.  I try to stay away from such comments. However at times in a lame flick fascinating things happen.

I admit, I watched this movie while distracted. Had to take a few calls and return a few text messages so I was out of the cinema hall a few times. Every time I was back in front of the screen the movie felt weird. I though I just wasn’t focused enough since it was the Maestro Bogdanovich directing.

As the film progressed the excuses for my subjective “not getting it” were getting weaker and weaker, but I was telling myself “come on, this is just a light, screwball New York comedy, relax and enjoy. After all you are a big fan of mistaken identities plots and that is sort of that”.

Then at the end of the film came a few black and white shots from an old movie. It was supposed to justify and reveal the origin of a running gag.

From the first second of seeing this quote I felt awakened, energized and intrigued. The framing, the lighting the lenses, the composition, the intensity of the actors were right on. (In the Bogdanovich film a few actors were also great.)

The black and white quote was like an explosion of quality on screen. It produced a wave that went backward making it painfully clear that everything prior was lame. At home I researched the quote: it came from a flick by Earnst Lubitsch!

The only question is how could such a learned film scholar and a brilliant director in the past allowed for this self defeating blow proofing his lack of form. The “Squirrels to the nuts” (the earlier title of the film) would have been just a passable “shall we switch the channel, ah, let’s wait maybe it will get better” movie. Instead by the contrast with the quote it turned out into a disappointment that rubs its faults into its wounds.

Sometimes putting a truly great element into the work (quote or no quote) can seriously undermine it as a whole. Almost like a twisted “kill your darlings” application.

On many levels, it is a humbling and cautionary case.

Rebellious

Imagine

written and directed by Andrzej Jakimowski

Following on an excellent film by Jakimowski I checked out a few of his interviews: in one he says:

“Ian is a rebel. 
 In what he does there is a doze of irresponsibility” 

Right on. Can rebels be responsible anyway? This irresponsible push toward the others, in “Imagine” exemplified by Ian, the push that’s dangerous yet can yield great rewards is the quintessential cinema texture. “Imagine” can be seen as reworking on an episode from “Andrej Rublow”, when the boy talks the group into following him to cast a bell. The action is a success but only afterwards it’s revealed that the boy bluffed his way through the process. He didn’t know. Yet, he knew. The same is with Ian in “Imagine”.

"Imagination has to meander sometimes, has to take risks, 

has to reach out beyond the comfort zone.

Only then a breakthrough is possible. 

That’s what the movie is about."   

“In the movie there are a few disorienting Eva scenes, 

because Ian sometimes provokes Eva to give her courage. 

 That does not mean he creates fiction though. (..) 

He confuses things a bit, but is after the truth. 

 One has to be a visionary. If we don’t have the imagination 

the world remains to us a shapeless mass.” 

Do those who push things forward know the outcome?  Do they know the destination of the journeys they push others to take?  How strong is certainty in the power of conviction?  Where does the innovation come from?  How is any progress possible?  The film does not address these questions openly. It wisely stays within an intimate, personal zone, yet the challenges of advances in understanding (and creating!) the world versus "blind leading the blind" are clearly behind this subtle tale of gaining love and knowledge.  

“What’s good in cinema is outside the frame. 

A movie is good when it triggers imagination. 

This is the rule followed by Hitchcock, 

Chaplin and also the makers of horrors.”

From a formal point of view, Jakimowski is consistent in creating the screen feeling of us versus the unknown external.  What I like in this approach is the negation of the hubristic assumption that we can put the camera and capture "the truth".  We can't.  Yet,  with sensitivity and boldness and rebelliousness we can embark on the search of what's out there.  As a result sometimes we can glimpse into the way things are.  At least some of us.  

Perceptiveness of the past

Stanislaw Elsner-Zaluski as Marek Siemek

Stephan Boden as Friedrich Schiller

from the upcoming documentary

"Department of Historical Necessity"

I just returned from Jena and Bonn where we were shooting scenes for the Marek Siemek documentary. 

The project is going forward despite budgetary hard squeezes.  Still, we managed to orchestrate a meeting between Siemek and Schiller.  Above are the two snapshots from this encounter.  

What seemed significant in directing this meeting was to have Schiller be the one who notices somebody out of his time and space, not the other way around.  As if the past not only influences but  is also able to read and perceive the reality of now. 

Needless to say it isn't going to be a normal documentary flick, although there will be classical elements there as well.

Unscripted expands a scene

The Men Who Wasn't there

by the Cohen Brothers

Early on in “The Man Who Wasn’t There” script there is a scene with Doris and Ed “entertaining” Dave and his wife Ann (the picture above).  After the set up it continues in the following way: 

DAVE 

Japs had us pinned down in Buna for something like six weeks. Well, I gotta tell ya, I thought *we* had it tough, but, Jesus, we had supply. *They* were eating grubs, nuts, thistles. When we finally up and bust off the beach we found Arnie Bragg, kid missing on recon; the Japs had *eaten* the sonofabitch, if you'll pardon the, uh... And this was a scrawny, pimply kid too, nothin' to write home about. I mean, I never would've, ya know, so what do I say, honey? When I don't like dinner, what do I say?

Ann smiles wanly.

DAVE 

...I say, Jesus, honey, Arnie 

Bragg--*again*?! 

He roars with laughter.

Ed gives an acknowledging smile.

DAVE 

...Arnie Bragg--*again*?!

He dries his eyes with the corner of a napkin.

In the film, as directed, it is Doris’ scene.  On the screen it is her who with laud laughter approvingly comments Dave’s jokes.  There is no question she is for him.  In this moment and most likely in every other way possible. Clearly they must be lovers.  Moreover through her reactions (and the way they are framed, shot and timed of course) the scene becomes the Doris’s scene. 

It is a great example how the unscripted reaction can significantly expand a scene. 

A clean shirt for dirt digging

"Aftermath" (Pokłosie)

written and directed by Władyslaw Pasikowski

I have some general comments on the issue of realism in moviemaking. The comments spring from a recent media discussion around “The Aftermath” (Pokłosie).  If you plan to see this film (and you should) read this post only afterwards since it contains spoilers. 

THE BACKGROUND  

“The Aftermath” set in the present day, follows two brothers as they discover that during the Second World War their father led other villagers to burn 20 local Jewish families.  The brotherly search corresponds with the growing anger from the locals who want to keep the past secret. 

The reception of the film in some Polish media to a large degree unfortunately mirrors the plot: the locals don’t want the truth to be revealed.  The critics, either being dumb or playing dumb, among many accusations fire up the charges that one of the brothers (the one visiting the village) constantly washes his only shirt and does so even knowing that in a few hours will be digging the mud at night.  Furthermore they find if impossible that the other brother could by himself assemble many heavy Jewish tombstones on his field.  Finally, the climactic crucifixion of that brother committed by his neighbors as the revenge for his discovery made one of the critics “laugh”, due to its, I guess, unrealism and the lack of logic (if the antisemitic villagers kill the brother as the punishment for him uncovering their dirty past they should not kill him in the manner that refers to the suffering of Jesus Christ)

THE COMMENTS 

What are movies?  Are they the 1:1 depiction of reality?  Are they platforms on which storytellers show what they think about the reality via its selection, manipulation and re-arrangements of its elements?  

Are we supposed to look for the world on the screen as we know if or to treat the screen as a tool to say something about the subject being presented there?

What is the reality on screen?  Is it something that is meant to conform our way of seeing the world outside of us and inside of us?  Or something to show us the unknown aspect of our perception?  

What’s the purpose of us seeking the magic of moving images?  To conform?  To amuse?  To buckle?  To stimulate?  To sedate?  

So what’s about “improbable” moving of heavy matzevahs accomplished by one person, about the crucifixion of “the traitor” by the Christian community or about washing a white shirt just before digging for the grave?   Let’s focus on the white shirt as an example of a connection between storytelling and our sense of reality. 

If we are to tell a story about something that resembles a dark, almost ritualistic journey to self-discovery would it not be appropriate (or at least artistically possible) to have a hero behave as if he subconsciously was expecting or anticipating the significance of his actions?  For example through constant washing of his only white shirt, as if getting ready for some important discovery, as if knowing that the upcoming events are so “holy” that he needs to be in his best to face them.  

At one point watching the film I indeed wondered “why does he wash his white shirt” instead of borrowing something to wear from his brother.   The questions kept lingering in my mind until the hero (in his white shirt) digging in the mud and dirtying himself came face to face with the shattering and “dirtying” truth.  The “white shirt” realism in this case is a subject to directorial manipulation.  Preparing “this is plausible” or “this is not plausible” reaction to a given scene is therefore an important tool in designing the overall emotional ride of the story.  I think the trick is to do it in such a way that the white shirt washing must be timed in such a way as not to slow down the storytelling and yet to plant a question in a viewer mind.  That question will find its answer and conclusion when the hero reaches the destination of his journey.  Such a read assumes that there was something within the subconsciousness of visiting brother that corresponded with his final finding.   

Analysis of the climatic crucifixion in “The Aftermath” would take more time since it is more daring and complex narrative maneuver.  The “realism” of this scene was a subject of media debates where some attacked the scene by saying that recently there were no cases of murders by crucifixion (this was spoken be proud right wing critics accusing the film of lies) while others would dig out the fact that indeed a few years ago there was a case of such a murder (the motives were unrelated to racial hate).   

Listening to those debates makes my stomach turn.  Let me just say that I found “the crucifixion scene” properly chilling and provocative.     

Watching “Amour”

"Amour"
written and directed by Michael Haneke

             When empathy is impossible 

            and any attempt of it 

            would be only obscene. 

First two disclaimers: 

Reading the script I missed a few things.  Of course Georges enters the apartment together with Anne when she returns from the hospital.  Yet he still does not know how to help her.

The way the film is photographed is simply breathtaking.  Darius Khondji is a true maestro and his work needs to be studied in depth.

The hint of how the author chooses to tell the story is contained in Anne’s dialogue.  When she still can, she states:

ANNE

But imagination and reality 

have little in common (...)

and a few lines later:

I can't be bothered

to think about being you.

Haneke directs without “in your face” foreshadowing.  It is a welcoming relief since many masters rely on telling us what will happen and bask in their ability to do it subtly.  In the Hanek’s hand events are told with respect.   Their impenetrability and dignity seem to be the primary concern of the storyteller.  The same goes with to the characters who are treated with maturity, which means they are allowed their independence and are not puppets in the hands of a storyteller.  Correspondingly, the narrating camera does not know in advance what will happen. 

The last point needs to be elaborated upon: of course the film is designed, the shots thought out and the director chooses how to show an event according to its place in the whole story.  An example can be a bravado one shot elaborate opening with the camera floating through rooms, not unlike the best Kubrick moves.  Yet the next scene is filmed in one, wide shot hold for a very, very long time.  Clearly the bravado sets up the stage for the rather unconventional and demanding second shot.  From that moment on we are commanded to watch carefully and not to expect that the director will cater to the vulgarity of the dominating narrative paradigm.  

My previous concerns arising from reading stylistically various scenes turned out to be needless.   Haneke makes all kinds of scenes: the real, the imagined, the metaphorical into one rhythmical tapestry. The rhythm is the kind of this storytelling. 

Actually, if there is a stylistic pattern parallel to “foreshadowing” it is something I would call “after-shadowing”.   It is not a commentary, it is rather only so slight allowance to escape a modicum of accumulated steam.  Enough to create an emotional connection with that which happened previously but not enough to burry the narrative flow with a dreadful “meaning” or “explanation”.  The example of that would be a pigeon. Its meaning is so crystal clear that I am totally flabbergasted by the questions about its role.  It is however crucial that the pigeon comes after the big deed.  Placing this scene before would most likely make everything sentimental and corny.  

To me one of the most devastating scenes is when during breakfast Anne examines the photo album.   None of the scripted words convey the depth of this moment which is a heart breaking farewell to the past.  None shows the complexities of emotions that float through Georges as he witnesses his wife’s behavior.  The way the situation is staged and photographed allows for multiple interpretations of George’s annoyance at this moment.  

In my book this is brilliant directing. 

The noble futility

A woman is a woman 
by Jean Luc Godard

This film is serious.  Despite its intoxicating charm and lightness, despite its erotic infatuation with a wonderful actress, despite its tongue in cheek playfulness with the film tradition it seems to ponder the questions of what’s true, how we choose to act, how we construct our world.  

The way Godard stages and edits most of the scenes is all about exploring possibilities, about hesitation, about the drama and the elation of choosing one of the many opportunities that present themselves in front of each of our “next moves”.  

It’s as if he wanted to break through the annoying vulgarity of the “here and now” and to challenge the pressure of "what's next?".  The vulgarity comes in many shapes: physical and psychological and (probably) spiritual and ontological.  The last two are clearly my own calls.  

In a few telling moments Godard suggests the suspension of the physical laws or their vulgarity.  A girl in a split second of crossing  the door frame changes her cloths or - an egg thrown in the air stays there long enough for the character to come outside the door, exchange a few lines, return inside and only then to catch the egg in the frying pan.  The defiance of psychological vulgarity (or at least an attempt to make the point of its ugly existence) is the subject of Godard's repetitions, versions, contradictions that he uses in directing.  

He plays on the terror of the completed moment, on its fakery and vulgarity of a single action that is just one of the many possible and beautiful until its potential is broken by the unavoidable "next move ".  Every "next " once, executed, becomes trivial and faulty.   Every single one.  

The noise that many critics make about his “playing with conventions” seems superficial.  The musical convention for Godard is just a tool to explore what is, to explore the way a story can be told.  He’s way to clever to satisfy himself with just dancing around conventions and cleverly switching them. 

As I wrote the above, I thought that such a read could assume too much into his style, but then I watched his conversation with Dick Cavett. 

In that interview (I highly recommend it) Godard, about 25 years after "A woman is a woman”, makes some points that in my mind chime with the observations from this entry.  He says   (I am paraphrasing) that the speed and the distance are the two most important variables in seeing and taking in the world.  That means in translating our experiences into filmmaking.

Here are some other ideas from that interview: 

The image is always a result of the shock of two images.

Movies are the trains not the stations (responding to why he focuses so much on the space between the actors).  He wants to be a train. 

Space is the time you need to go to someone else. 

Most filmmakers don’t really need a movie.  They want to be in a business, because it’s an easy business to be in, but they don’t need a movie.  Godard on the other hand needs his films very badly.  He needs them to ponder whether a story can be told at all.