Explore by #Experimental
Le quattro volte
Online streaming at the Solothurner Filmtage 2021
Il carbone scalda l’uomo, che pascola le capre, che si riparano sotto gli alberi, che fanno il carbone. Il film è del 2010, ma allo stesso tempo è senza tempo, perché ci immerge nel ciclo della vita procurandoci un’esperienza ormai rara, ma pur sempre vera, almeno quanto lo è la nostra carne. Le quattro volte – in cui nascere e morire: umani, animali, vegetali, minerali – è anche uno studio etnografico su di un equilibrio arcano tra uomo e natura, come lo si può ancora (per quanto?) scoprire in un paesino calabrese nel massiccio del Pollino. Ma al tenore chiaramente documentario si sovrappone un discorso tutto cinematografico, che esalta la telecamera, il racconto visivo, fino a farci riscoprire i suoni del paesaggio – con un attento lavoro di sound design. Nella lentezza ipnotica dei cicli naturali pure si sviluppano delle linee drammaturgiche. Per quattro volte, appunto: gli ultimi giorni di un anziano pastore, i primi giorni di un capretto bianco, gli ultimi giorni di un pino maestoso, i primi giorni del carbone appena creato. Quattro storie individuali intervallate da momenti corali, ovvero cerimonie religiose e pagane: il tutto come fosse completamente astratto dai nostri tempi. Per questo si potrebbe criticare il film di ricercare anacronisticamente la poesia di un tempo inesistente. No, ai miei occhi è solo lo sforzo rigoroso di avvicinarsi all’essenza naturale dell’uomo, al tempo della natura stessa. In questo il film di Michelangelo Frammartino è pienamente riuscito: un’esperienza unica che solo il grande schermo può rendere così efficace.
Le quattro volte | Film | Michelangelo Frammartino | IT 2010 | 88’ | Cinémathèque suisse Lausanne, Solothurner Filmtage 2021
Love Poem
Does filming oneself and one’s own partner acting as non-professional actors equal documentary filming? Does exhibiting the process of fiction-making, or the making-of of fiction, equal non-fiction cinema? What if the non-professional acting finally gets an influence of your daily non-acting? Is reality also the result of our exercises in fictionalising reality? If two non-professional actors say that they stop acting when the camera continues to record, did they “really” stop acting? Is any exhibited making-of of a film, even the making-of of the making-of of the film, potentially fictional? Would the fictionality of the making-of be more real than the reality of the fiction which the making-of refers to? What if a dying man or a two year-old child participate in an explicitly staged fiction? Can they be prepared enough, manipulated enough, in order to not bring some non-fictional reality into fiction? If the explicitly staged fiction displays the drama of a non-professional actress being manipulated by the rules of acting, does this mean that the non-professional actress is less manipulated, in reality, because she accepts being manipulated in order to express through her acting how bad it would be to be a manipulated non-professional actress? Does a meta-cinematic reflection rise when we realise that the ethical questions discussed in the drama coincide with the classical ethical questions of documentary filmmaking, like the question of filming and, in a way, seeking for suffering? If the pact between the non-professional actors would be to perform their own real life, would the non-scripted moments of improvisation go beyond the limit of their acting domain and show an effective non-fiction? Which should be the position of the spectator when, the explicit ambiguity between fiction and non-fiction notwithstanding, the highly credible dialogues make us suspend our disbeliefs? Should we resist the suspension of disbelief only because the realistic dialogue of a couple stops at once with the couple revealing their acting? When the non-professional actors, a couple themselves, start then to behave as if in their acting performances, should their previous dialogues be taken as even more credible or even more staged?
All these questions arose in me during the viewing of Xiaozhen Wang’s two-hours long Love Poem. Even if the film is not devoid of genuinely dramatic moments, which we experience when we surrender to the cinematic suspension of disbelief, its main filmic experience coincides with our own intellectual inquiry on fiction and non-fiction. The climax of the interlocking layers of fiction and non-fiction comes in the last scene of the film, where the filmmaker takes the initiative to stop the camera, but this scene will confirm the impossibility of attempting to disentangle fiction and non-fiction. Then music will appear. Yes, Love Poem is mainly intellectual cinema, and I cannot but immediately add: so what? For in speaking of “intellectual cinema”, I already feel the pressure, today, of having to defend its legitimate existence against the anti-intellectualism that seems to loom among film scholars and cinephiles… Cinema has told, tells, and will always tell the story of the reflection on its own dispositive and fundamental issues.
Love Poem | Film | Xiaozhen Wang | CHN-Hong Kong-SAR 2020 | 114’ | Visions du Réel 2020, Burning Lights
Europa - «Based on a True Story»
This is probably the most radical film I saw at the Solothurner Filmtage. The documentarist perspective of a Swiss film production, which is often the Swiss one on a foreign country, is completely overturned in Kivu Ruhorahoza’s Europa – «Based on a True Story». Not only is Kivu a Rwandese filmmaker but his focus is London and, through London, Europe.
He tried to tell an essayistic love story with a film, A Tree Has Fallen, but the difficulties suffered in London due to the British conservative anti-migration agenda finally involve both his characters and himself as filmmaker. The fictional tale expands on parallel documentary images of the rallies in London. Here the political identities are often blurred in a common reduction of language and ideas. An intense and intelligent text is squeezed onto an elusive voice-over layer, the narrative lines of fiction and documentary fragment and compose each other. There are enough of these elements to put us at a certain distance, the distance of an intellectual reception, which echoes the distance of Kivu’s migration back to Rwanda (where he tried to complete the “European” film).
In its strengths and weaknesses, Europa – «Based on a True Story» shows an incredible justness, insofar as it expresses the urgency of dialogue through the dismantling power of exclusion and separation.
Europa – «Based on a True Story» | Film | Kivu Ruhorahoza | UK-RWA-CH 2019 | 93’ | Solothurner Filmtage 2020
Gottlos Abendland
Rien que l’Europe tout entière, son histoire — jusqu’à ses sources mythologiques —, son présent, sa variété, ses défis : voilà le sujet de l’essai filmique de Felix Tissi. Élément de restriction de la focale : Europe, la déesse grecque, parle en voix off avec Dieu de sa situation, ses plaisirs, ses malaises, elle se plaint de son absence, ou de sa présence trop multiforme. Une belle idée, sur le papier ; mais nous avons l’impression que le thème religieux de l’Europe est plus une occasion saisie qu’un véritable sujet d’approfondissement. Aussi parce que plusieurs chapitres se suivent dans la structure de Gottlos Abendland, touchant d’autres thèmes comme la migration, l’exploitation des ressources, la bureaucratie, les grandes différences de coutumes, etc. Une liste réfléchie, certainement bien choisie, mais qui pour chaque chapitre ne réussit qu’à effleurer le début d’un approfondissement, exactement comme pour la relation « occasionnelle » d’Europe à Dieu. Gottlos Abendland est un film plein d’occasions, comme un livre réduit à sa table de matière et à sa préface. Oui, « occasion » et « occident » partagent la même racine, mais puisque le trait caractéristique de l’Europe est certainement sa complexité, Felix Tissi lui fait-il justice avec son approche panoramique ?
« Panorama », voilà une autre invention européenne, qui après l’encyclopédisme a su se développer jusqu’à ce qu’on appelle aujourd’hui « globalisation ». Mais l’obsession si européenne pour le global, pour le catalogue, pour l’inventaire, une fois résumée dans le temps d’un long-métrage, s’apparente plus au délire qu’à l’analyse ou à l’originalité. Par contre, du côté des images — dont un panorama ne peut se passer —, le voyage filmique que nous faisons avec Gottlos Abendland est riche et impressionnant. Pierre Reicher à la caméra sera le dépositaire de mes principales louanges pour une œuvre qui aurait pu dire, exprimer davantage en accordant la centralité aux images plutôt qu’aux mots de la voix off. On aurait peut-être perdu le fil quelquefois, en l’absence d’informations, et on se serait peut-être posé plus de questions que l’on aurait reçu de réponses — et n’est-ce pas là justement une des essences de l’Europe ? La piste sonore signée par Fred Frith est également assez suggestive : elle semble rester toujours sur une tonalité de mystère, ce qui finalement sert à contrebalancer le registre déclaratif et démonstratif du contenu verbal du film.
Gottlos Abendland nous promène un peu partout sans vouloir défendre une véritable thèse, préférant une approche critique très généraliste. Le chemin filmique vaudra le parcours, peut-être plus pour ce que chacun de nous peut cogiter par soi-même, particulièrement en réaction à la piste visuelle. En ce qui concerne le « gottlos » du titre (un adverbe ?) il restera un choix peu crédible, bien que notre Europe demeure dans les faits encore bien sécularisée — et j’ajouterai : Dieu merci !
Gottlos Abendland | Film | Felix Tissi | CH 2019 | 71' | Solothurner Filmtage 2020
Screenings in Swiss cinema theatres
