Robert Eggers seems to be emerging as a director of painstaking miniatures. I love this. His attention to and evolution of the details found in early film are wonderful — I find myself thinking that Guy Maddin would admire this film immensely. I think some films should be miniatures, I think art should support the miniature, and I hope Eggers and his people get to make a lot more films like this.
WARREN ELLIS LTD Articles.
Via Experimental Cinema:
The first film in the style of “trash”, filmed in the USSR.
Throughout the film trilogy the main character goes through a series of temptations that destroy his soul and bring, eventually, to the madhouse. In a General sense, allegorically the film shows the tragic path of the Russian lumpen-intellectual, lost between past and present, not finding the strength to accept and comprehend it fell down on the unexpected change that occurred in our country twenty years ago. In a global sense – a tragic cycle of Russian history.
This is a film that’s getting some rewatches lately. There’s a write-up on Arts Of Slow Cinema:
The visual could indeed only be a photograph and you would still get a sense of the film. Like a photo album with sound. I read on Wikipedia that someone called the film an “ambient movie”. I never thought about calling films ambient. I always connect the term to sound, but now I see the point. It is, if I briefly consider the slow films I’m aware of, a fitting term for Slow Cinema as a whole.
In that it’s a highly photographic film of short films, it can be filed near 24 FRAMES. Don’t let the slowness fool you, though. The second piece is funny. The third piece is eerily heartbreaking. The fourth, banal and then weird. And so on.
The director, Benedek Fliegauf, also made the excellent DEALER.
This is a documentary by Ingmar Bergman about the island of Faro. It is, frankly, as miserable as you can imagine.
It’s like a compressed version of the decades-long British “Up” documentary skein – footage from different eras repeating staging, schoolkids interviewed on a bus found years later so we can see how their dreams died. An island slowly being choked off by neglect. Bergman lived and worked on Faro on and off for forty-odd years. Articles about Faro tend to cast it as an enchanted island. Apparently very few people on Faro saw it that way. But there is a sequence in the middle, where dozens of people come together to thatch a barn in a traditional style, that does approach magic. One of the old men overseeing it explains how the local reeds are used to waterproof the structure, showing how the rain runs down the fold of the reed. Of course, during that whole piece, there is this exchange too:
Marker discusses cinema with technical confidence and a lucid, inclusive conception of its nature and relationship to the other arts. In his review of Henry V, he positions cinema as the inheritor and destiny of both theatre and painting, come to ‘finish their conquests, and fulfil their prophesies’.
…The preamble to his essay on Jiri Trnka’s Prince Bayaya pushes aside the false opposition of painting or cinema with a vision of cinema as the art of time and movement…
Marker locates the nature of cinema in the perpetual conflict or exchange between space and time. These two dimensions are reconciled in his notion of a temporal grammar of film shots, where long shots correspond to the past and close-ups to the present. His analysis of Dreyer’s film, renowned for its use of extreme close-ups of the human face to carry the drama, goes beyond conventional psychological readings to correlate the close-ups (along with the minimal, austere decor and costumes) to a tangible experience of historical events made to seem eternally present…
Finally got to see SHIN GODZILLA, made last year by writer/director Hideaki Anno, whose name you may know from NEON GENESIS EVANGELION. It is recognisably Anno from the top – the staring, dead animal eyes of the creature at the top of the movie could really only be his touch. SHIN GODZILLA, known elsewhere as GODZILLA RESURGENCE, updates the original by adding the bureaucratic nightmare of the Fukushima reactor disaster to its core theme. And it works brilliantly, imagining the response to the emergence of Godzilla as paralysed by procedure and politics, much as the response to Fukushima was.
It’s an extraordinary illustration of what you can make when you toss all the tired filmic conventions of saying it emotionally and learning and hugs and the hero’s journey and making sure everyone’s crying and just telling the story you want to tell without diluting or breaking it. SHIN GODZILLA is a peculiarly pure experience.
(originally written 2 May 2017, recovered from morning.computer)
People do not talk about this film enough. Is it too resistant to analysis because it is so much? Does it overwhelm the viewer, or drain the viewer? Does it defeat a close reading because it says everything? It’s a novel on the screen. I bought it on digital the day it was available. This blu-ray has a bunch of extra stuff. But I mostly wanted it on the shelf, like a favourite novel, there to dip into or spend an evening with. Trying to study its pieces and then getting swept away in its orchestral storm.
This film apparently came out a couple of days ago. This clip is amazing. It appears to be a scene where Holly Herndon & Mat Dryhurst’s SPAWN AI goes full nihilist speculative-realism. Of additional interest — and it does explain some of these scene’s lines – it appears to be based on “a science fiction poem written by Swedish Nobel laureate Harry Martinson in 1956.” I would like to watch this film, I think.