INA Pat 17

For my last article, I'm going to tell you about a 4-minute film called Rising Above, released in 2023, which is available on the French and German channel Arte's website until next year. This animated film was directed by Natálie Durchánková, a contemporary Czech filmmaker who studied animation at FAMU (Film and Television School of the Academy of Performing Arts) one of Europe's most prestigious film schools which was founded in 1946 in Prague. This institution produced the animated movie and the conception of the project which lasted almost a year, under the direction of animation filmmaker Michaela Pavlátová.

The filmmaker is known for the success of her first film, released in 2021 called Love, Dad, which addresses family themes, parent-child relationships and the impact of letters from the past. Rising Above is part of an evolving trend in hybrid filmmaking, mixing elements of live action, documentary and film to vividly depict the victim's harrowing experience and subsequent empowerment. It is the first-person account of a sexual assault and attempted murder, followed by the difficult road to resilience. It is exploring the emotional complexities of overcoming trauma with a unique animated approach that adds a poetic layer to the story.

The opening sequence plunges us into the story of an aggression told by the main character and we discover her face through the reflection of her phone screen. The drawing is all black, only the contours are white. Traumas are represented as dark, and the colors come out when there is hope and fighting spirit. That minimalist style maintains us focused on the narrative. The cineast decided to share with us the face of the monster who is the aggressor. I think this choice is made to allow the victim to not feel ashamed and so that we can see the only guilty of this horrendous aggression. Along with the character, we witness her relationship with her body, which is dispossessed and bruised. The broken mirror embodies this metaphor. This mirror also brings back sweet memories, when she spent time with her grandmother. It kept her alive during her recovery. She remembers the celtic figure Aeronwen who is said to be the goddess of war whose name means "carnage". She is a Welsh goddess of destiny who determines the winners and losers of battles. This memory helped her to survive.

Today, I’m going to talk about a 20-minute film named Sirens Voice released in 2023, which is available on the website of the french and German channel Arte until next year. This animated film was directed by Gianluigi Toccafondo, a contemporary filmmaker who sets painting in motion.

It was produced by Miyu Productions, a company specializing in animated films and the origins of film are French and Italian and 5on Productions which also supports innovative creations. It was supported by the CNC, National cinema center and the animated image and the South region of France. It was created in a residence for artists supervised by Ciclic that allows an artistic and technical follow-up of projects in development with work sessions and workshops.

In the show Court Circuit from Arte, we can see the artist doing his experimental animation technique, using paint on glass, he also describes how he creates a constant movement through his art. He draws his inspiration from the photographs he prints, then paints and photographs them to edit these plastic works and turn them into films.

The film takes place in the depths of the sea, where primitive algae gently undulate to the rhythm of the currents. At the surface of the water, an extraordinary event occurs: the appearance of a voice. This underwater setting and minimalist plot create a mysterious, spellbinding atmosphere, typical of Toccafondo's style.This voice, which seems to appear from nowhere, intrigues and captivates viewers, inviting them to reflect on the underwater world and the mysteries it holds.

The opening sequence plunges us into the coral reefs with a fast-paced rhythm that turns these marine elements into abstract works of art, transforming them into blobs of green, blue and red paint. A jellyfish, a starfish and a shark appear on screen, seemingly as one. From all these sea creatures, another emerges: a mermaid. It is said that this mythological creature was created to punish Hera, the wife of Zeus. In the film, the mermaid appears ghostly, sometimes without facial features. At other times, she wears red lipstick and her eyes are sharp as knives. We also see her pregnant and with her daughters. Themes of motherhood, loneliness and abandonment are present, but also the state of being a woman. The threatening sharks can be a metaphor of the patriarchy. The film was written for the filmmaker's mother. The cycle of life and death as a whole, learning and the passage to adulthood, metamorphosis, whether on land or in the sea, are also part of the film's themes.

What makes this film so powerful is the lack of dialogue or commentary, which reinforces its immersive, poetic atmosphere. The voice and vocals by the artist Valeria Sturba play a very important role, as it is through them that the characters express their emotions, be they horrific or angelic. Instruments are also present throughout the film, such as the transverse flute, tenor saxophone and bass clarinet played by Beppe Scardino.

Presented at several renowned festivals, including the Annecy International Animated Film Festival and Animafest Zagreb, Sirens Voice has been well received by critics for its unique aesthetic and innovative approach to animation. The combination of beautiful visuals and strong visual storytelling invites viewers into a deep, contemplative sensory experience.

The book

"Déjà View" is a unique work that combines the renowned talent of British photographer Martin Parr with the fascinating archives of The Anonymous Project. The project is a collection of amateur images, mainly slides, that capture intimate, everyday moments in the lives of people since the beginning of the 1950’s. By fusing these two perspectives, the book offers a poignant and often nostalgic look at popular culture and everyday life across the decades.

Martin Parr, known for his colorful, satirical approach to documentary photography, brings his expert eye to selecting and reinterpreting these anonymous snapshots. The result is a series of images that, while rooted in the past, resonate with contemporary relevance. The photographs highlight vacation scenes, family moments and moments of leisure, illustrating the constancy and universality of certain human experiences.

Martin Parr explained in an interview about the project : "Taking a good photograph of everyday life is very difficult. It's what I like to try and do, it's what motivates me to get out and about with my camera. There's no guarantee that you'll get a good image, but there's always a chance that you'll be pleasantly surprised (...). The book is pure, simple and direct. That's what I like about it."

From September 22 to December 22, 2022, Magnum Gallery presented an exhibition on the work Déjà View. The exhibition was also constructed in pairs and in such a way that each work by Martin Parr is associated with a corresponding image from The Anonymous Project collection.

Martin Paar

This book introduced me to Martin Paar's work, which I didn't know at all. He is a British photographer born in 1952. He has been a member of the Magnum Photos agency since 1994, which has enhanced his international reputation. Parr is particularly famous for his colorful and often humorous images, which depict scenes from everyday life, vacations and consumer culture, and that offers a satirical and incisive vision of contemporary society. His distinctive style is characterized by bold use of color, striking compositions and attention to incongruous or kitsch details. In addition to his personal projects, he has published numerous photography books and curated exhibitions, has received numerous awards and distinctions for his work. As a publisher, he has contributed to the promotion of contemporary documentary photography.

The Anonymous project

The Anonymous Project is a unique initiative founded by filmmaker Lee Shulman in 2017, which aims to preserve and celebrate vernacular photography, primarily in the form of amateur slides from the 1950s to 1980s. These images, often found at garage sales, flea markets or on the Internet, capture everyday moments of anonymous families and individuals, offering an authentic, unfiltered glimpse into life at the time. The project highlights the beauty of ordinary moments and the richness of personal stories hidden in these forgotten photos. Their collection can be found on their website. There are categories that highlight the regularity of family photo albums (example: the "my best friend" category includes all photos with pets).

With a growing collection of thousands of slides, The Anonymous Project creates exhibitions, books and films that enable the public to rediscover and appreciate these fragments of the past. By reassembling these images, the project reinvents collective memories and offers a nostalgic perspective on the lifestyles, traditions and intimate moments of a bygone era. The Anonymous Project thus celebrates amateur photography as an art form in its own right, valuing the importance of these visual memories in our understanding of social and cultural history.

From September 22 to December 22, 2022, Magnum Gallery presented an exhibition on the work Déjà View. The exhibition was also constructed in pairs and in such a way that each work by Martin Parr is associated with a corresponding image from The Anonymous Project collection.

Recently I had a really bad day. Who has not. After I ate pasta, I had only one idea: I wanted to watch Little miss sunshine. Looking at the film, it was the same as I remember. I cried at the same time and I thought “Steve Carell is really one of the best drama actors” then I cried when the whole family is pushing the van all together and again at the end of the movie. Watching it again validated my analysis of the film: this van is just like life, some times we are not enough to push it. That is why we need our loved ones, to help us pushing it when we can not ourself. Of course, anyone of them is perfect, Paul Dano’s character: Dwayne will never achieve his dream, Frank just wants to die, Richard is losing has no job and Sheryl tries to be the best supportive wife and the best mother at the same time but it is impossible. But at least, the family is together and the most wonderful thing is that they can be ridiculous together. At the center of it all there is Olive, the real sunshine with her hopeless smile. It is a movie about hope and love. So, it is what I can say about the film when I try to criticize it. This film is one of my comfort films. A comfort film is a movie you go to when you really need some joy. It can be any kind of movie or any movie at all. I know that in my comfort films there is Texas Chainsaw Massacre, the two Paddington’s movies, the two Gremlins’ movies or the other movie I talked about in my articles: Conan the Barbarian and Pirates of the Caribbean. A comfort movie can even be a guilty pleasure, to me it is Batman and Robin from Joel Schumacher, I love the kitsch of the movie. Watching comfort films I experience different types of feelings: I want to find the emotions I have experienced during my first viewing, or I want to experiment my thesis on a movie, or I just want to have fun, or I just want to cry… Then, when I watch it again, I experience many feelings but at the end I always end up better than I was. But I still have a question: why do I go back to these films over and over, again and again?

              Because I could not answer on my own, I have ended up on Google Scholar, searching for research papers on the matter. I had not a single result that interested me: they were all about the comfort of glasses when you look at a movie. Funny, but not what I wanted.

              That is why I have simply googled “Comfort film research”. Guess what? I have found something! I have first found an article from the North Harford High School saying that: [1]“Psychologists have suggested that those who are especially prone to illness such as anxiety or depression find comfort in rewatching a film, rather than processing new information while watching something new.”. It means that our brain is venomous and likes what he knows. Then, I continued my research, because I thought it was a little bit to easy. That is when I found Sohni Kaur’s thesis entitled The comfort watch: psychology and media theory perspectives on nostalgia and film[2]. According to Kaur the reason we go back to the same film is anxiety and depression but also nostalgia. Nostalgia comes from the Latin nostos – homecoming – and algos – pain –, it literally means a pain a person lives when they can not go home. But films seem to be a pharmakon (the remedy and the poison) to nostalgia. Indeed, it is the remedy because a film is an image fixed on a support but it is also a poison because a film is a linear media, then if you want to watch it again you must watch it from the beginning. You can not always go back to the memory because you need something to watch it. In psychology, there can not be nostalgia if there is no memory even if a memory can exist without nostalgia. Nostalgia lives through a memory; it is the feeling to go back to the memory you once lived. Then, when we are sad, we might feel a little bit nostalgic and it is why we watch for the umpteenth time the same movie. Kaur says “Now, media is not only the trigger for nostalgia, but the place where it manifests (Kalinina, 2016). Media is a prime habitat for nostalgia to manifest as it “mediate[s] collective and individual experiences” (Kalinina, 2016, p. 12)”. We are rarely alone in a movie theater and each person in the audience is going to live a different experience while the movie is the same. When I talk about nostalgia, the first that comes to my mind is Edgar Wright’s Last night in Soho (2022) in which a woman goes back to the sixties and is being haunted by another girl from that time.  I am afraid of nostalgia because I feel that it is like wanting something that we can never have back. But perhaps nostalgia is a copying mechanism to get out of the sadness that we are in? Derida says about cinema that it is the art of ghost. We all get nostalgic just seeing a dead actor on screen. Like when I see a movie with Belmondo, I experience pain because I will never be able to tell him how much he gives to me. In Steven Spielberg’s The Fabelmans the mother tells her son that a movie is “a dream that you never forget”. Then it is nostalgic at its core. Cinema is a nostalgic art, trying to put back into the present a past that has been filmed to be shown in the future. Time is fleeting with cinema as it makes us all a little bit more nostalgic.

              I might stop asking myself why I go back to this film. It is just that I need it to feel when I cannot. After all, perhaps nostalgia can help me pushing my van? That is why comfort movies and comfort art are so important, it what makes us human. If we fail or have a bad, I know that this nostalgic candy will still be the same and will make me feel as I need. And you? What is your comfort films list? Don’t be shy to share it!         

[1] Rewatch and relax; Psychology behind comfort films ; Madison Fetherston ; April 27, 2021 ; https://cryofthehawk.org/entertainment/2021/04/27/rewatch-and-relax-psychology-behind-comfort-films/

This is the fourth and last article of a series dedicated to the Australian new wave films of the 1970s. We are going to deal with a relatively unknown heist movie directed by an important director of the new wave: Bruce Beresford. Beresford signed a contract with the South Australian Film Corporation to make a couple of films in two years. This one is a violent, brutal and full of tension tense movie which takes place in a cash in transit company, whose owner is the victim of an anonymous letter announcing the forthcoming robbery of a 20 million dollar convoy. The story deals loosely with two real-life events, the 1970 Sydney Armoured Car Robbery and a 1970 incident involving money stolen from Metropolitan Security Services' offices by bandits impersonating policemen.

The film opens by to a tense and bloody heist and then we follow cash-in-transit agents building another heist against their own company. The film's originality lies in the fact that the robbery is concocted by the very people who are normally paid to prevent the hold-ups. And what would happen if the courtiers and the gangsters formed an alliance?

The movie is very much anti spectacular apart from the rare moments of extreme and frontal violence. There is an editing of absolute precision. It has a slow rhythm until the final explosion of blood and brutal violence. Money Movers also has a strong documentary value. The film was based on the 1972 novel The Money Movers by Devon Minchin, founder of Australia's largest armoured car/security company: the Metropolitan Security Services. The newspaper Le Monde reported that the prevention of Banditry services had privately screened this movie for their inspectors, which was then presented as a case study in their training courses.

This movie holds a social comment, very much like Paul Schrader did with his movie Blue Collar (where three workers of an automobile plant rob the union's cash office to settle their debts). We find out that these low-paid employees can pretend to be perfect thieves, but they will always be losers in the end.

Money Movers was released in Australia in early 1979 but failed badly at the Box Office. This is why it was not distributed in France until 1986, before having a modest video career. The French director and critic Nicolas Boukhrief must have seen it before making Le Convoyeur in 2004, which also takes place in a cash-in-transit company (called Vigilante), victim of three violent robberies in one year.

“Ishtar shall rise again!”

Warren Beatty and Dustin Hoffman trying to tame their blind camel

After Mikey and Nicky, it took Elaine May a decade to be allowed to make another movie, and it only happened because she was backed by the successful movie star, producer, and director Warren Beatty. She had worked with him on the screenplays of Heaven Can Wait (1978) and Reds (1981). Dustin Hoffman also knew Elaine May, as she had worked as a script doctor on Tootsie (1982). Consequently, Columbia – owned at the time by Coca Cola – agreed to finance May’s new project about a duo of untalented singers (Dustin Hoffman and Warren Beatty) who go to Morocco, convinced that they will find success there when a mysterious woman (Isabelle Adjani) involves them in a geopolitical spiral.

Lyle Rogers (Warren Beatty) and Chuck Clarke (Dustin Hoffman) with their agent

The movie was to be a comedy starring two Oscar-winning serious actors. May cast against type, giving Hoffman the part of the womanizer and Beatty the role of the socially awkward singer. May was inspired by “Road” movies from the forties featuring Bob Hope and Bing Crosby, where they embarked on comedic adventures in foreign lands. Once again, May gave the audience a killer opening scene, for which she is the best in the game. The first twenty minutes of Ishtar are incredibly funny (one can only wish it maintained this brilliance throughout), showing the duo as Simon and Garfunkel-esque aspirating songwriters trying to find inspiration in New York. This hilarious part is enhanced by absurdly great songs written by Paul Williams for the film.

Studios thought Ishtar would be an epic picture; instead they got a movie about two losers going to the Middle East and ending up battling against the CIA and USA’s imperialism to put a left-wing government in power, all set to deceptive songs for the audience. Needless to say, May’s humor was not widely understood. Shooting in the Sahara was a difficult operation. Ishtar became synonymous with fiasco in the ‘80s and was known as one of the greatest bombs in Hollywood history. Overall, Columbia lost $60 million (which may raise even more respect for May).

Hoffman, Adjani, and Beatty on set in Morocco

Starting to become a cult classic, Ishtar is often compared to Michael Cimino’s Heaven’s Gate (1980) but it has still not been reappraised by critics. The VHS edition went out of print, and there has been no DVD edition. “Ishtar shall rise again!” is what Dustin Hoffman shouted when coming onstage at the AFI Life Achievement Award to honor Warren Beatty’s career, reclaiming the film’s legacy thirty-two years later.

Both because studios would not give her investments and because she felt done with Hollywood, May focused on other works. She turned to Broadway stages with The Waverly Gallery, for which she won a Tony Award, appeared as an actress in Woody Allen’s Crisis in Six Scenes (2016), and gave occasional hilarious speeches at events honoring Mike Nichols, for whom she continued to co-write screenplays.

Eventually, in 2022, May received an Honorary Academy Award. At 92, Elaine May is said to have a project for a new movie called Crackpot starring Dakota Johnson. Let’s hope it gets made.

In this last article, I will present two films that reuse home movies to analyse family dynamics: Annie Ernaux’s The Super 8 Years and Merrilee Bennett’s A Song of Air. 

In The Super 8 Years (2022), the writer Annie Ernaux looks back at the footage shot by her ex-husband Philippe Ernaux. They can be described as banal family films, showing the families’ daily life. They are unaware that it is the last decade of their marriage. You can see Annie Ernaux raising her kids, going on trips, and smiling awkwardly at the camera. It’s the 1970s, Super 8 cameras find their way into most French homes.

Frames from the film

 But she sees this footage as political testimony: “In re-viewing our Super 8 films, shot between 1972 and 1981, it occurred to me that they comprised not only a family archive but a testimony to the pastimes, lifestyle and aspirations of a social class in the decade after 1968. I wanted to incorporate these silent images into a story which combined the intimate with the social and with history, to convey the taste and colour of those years.” 

It helps her interrogate her own daily life in hindsight, for instance how she behaved as a consumer at the time. She underlines how her house is full of objects signifying her upper middle class status. The film also deals with her situation as a woman, navigating her ideals of equality and shared house chores, and her reality. Indeed, this sociological self-reflection reveals her husband’s hypocrisy: he is a leftist man, with feminist views, but his praxis doesn’t catch up to his beliefs.

It reveals how a family shows itself through home movies: you only film the happy moments, the birthdays, the family visits. You do not want to inscribe on film the harder moments, the fights, the growing distance between spouses. We can retrospectively look for the signs of an upcoming divorce in the images, but we only understand thanks to Annie Ernaux’s commentary. 

A similar process happens watching Merrilee Bennett’s A Song of Air (1987). She explores her relationship with her father by editing the home movies he shot during her childhood and teenage years. She had a very strict upbringing. She describes her father in the voiceover of her film as a domestic tyrant, using his religious beliefs to inflict harm to his six kids. But the home movies do not show this at all. They are staged, with mandatory smiles and controlled gestures. Merrilee Bennett could not bear having to play the part of a happy child. She deconstructs the facade in her film using simple editing techniques. She slows down the footage progressively, until a frame by frame effect, spying on her own face, looking for signs of discomfort.

This 26-minute film gets heartbreaking at the end, when she explains how she ran away from her home to escape her father, but can’t help loving him and missing him since his passing. It shows how ambiguous home movies can get. They can be the only traces left of someone, but what do they reveal, and what do they conceal of that person? 

Traditions in transition: cinematic perspectives on the modernization of post-war societies (4/4)

Before concluding this four-part series, I want to examine how Lee Chang-dong’s "Peppermint Candy" (1999) portrays post-war South Korea’s transition from a military dictatorship to democracy. The film not only encapsulates the essence of societal transformation but also serves as a poignant reminder of history's lasting impact on individual lives.

As usual, you can find my previous articles HERE. 

Part 3. Peppermint Candy (박하사탕, Lee Chang-dong, 1999)

Peppermint Candy's Trailer

Directed by Lee Chang-dong, an influential auteur of Korea’s New Wave of cinema, Peppermint Candy (1999) reflects on South Korea’s turbulent journey to democratization and modernity in the decades after the Korean War. Through its non-linear structure and powerful performances, Lee Chang-dong's film delves deep into themes of lost innocence, the impact of political and social change, and the haunting effects of guilt and regret. By revealing Yong-ho’s life in reverse, Lee Chang-dong juxtaposes personal memories with historical events, emphasizing the interplay between individual trauma and collective memory. In this way, he also effectively highlights how past experiences shape present identities. 

The film begins with the suicide of the protagonist, Kim Yong-ho, who throws himself in front of an oncoming train. This haunting act serves as the catalyst for a reflective journey into the events that led to his untimely death. We see him in the 1990s as a broken middle-aged man, jobless due to the economic crisis and struggling with the consequences of his actions. His relationships deteriorate, including his failed marriage. Further back, he is depicted as a corrupt police officer and a disillusioned soldier witnessing the violent suppression of the “Gwangju Uprising”, also known as the “Gwangju Democratization Movement”. A tragic and pivotal incident in South Korean history that took place from May 18 to 27, 1980. 

Peppermint Candy, Lee Chang-dong, 1999

Triggered by widespread discontent with the authoritarian regime of Chun Doo-Hwan, thousands of students and civilians in the city of Gwangju protested against martial law and demanded democratic reforms. The military’s brutal response led to the death of hundreds of protesters and left a deep scar on the national consciousness. To this day, the Gwangju uprising remains a significant historical event, reflecting the nation’s turbulent journey towards democratization and the enduring impact of state violence on collective memory. 

Peppermint Candy, Lee Chang-dong, 1999

Peppermint Candy critiques political oppression and the abuse of power by depicting this military and police brutality. Its protagonist, Kim Yong-ho, is profoundly affected by the 1980 events. In a heart-wrenching scene, he accidently kills a high school girl during the chaos of the uprising, a moment that haunts him throughout the film. The title “Peppermint Candy” serves as a powerful symbol of innocence and nostalgia, contrasting sharply with Yong-ho’s despair. Initially, we see him as an idealistic young man with dreams and aspirations. However, as he becomes embroiled in the corrupt and violent system, his innocence is gradually stripped away, leaving him a hollow shell of his former self. Ultimately, Lee Chang-dong paints a harrowing portrait of a man haunted by his actions and struggling to reconcile the past with the present. Yong-ho’s identity crisis mirrors the broader societal identity crisis during South Korea’s transition. 

Thank you for accompanying me on this journey. Your support has been truly invaluable.

A subjective collection of film score composers (4/4): Ryuichi Sakamoto's 'yellow magic' cinematic journey

I'm coming to the end of this collection. My wish was to finish with the Japanese composer Ryuichi Sakamoto, who died last year. The three films I have decided to cover in this final article are linked by a particular focus on the body and sexuality, so that will be my common thread. Interested in music from an early age, Sakamoto began making electronic music with synthesizers at the Tokyo University of Arts and Music. He founded his first group, Yellow Magic Orchestra, in 1978 with Haruomi Hosono and Yukihiro Takahashi. Following in the footsteps of the German electronic group Kraftwerk, they became internationally famous with the release of their album in the early 1980s. It was during this decade that he began his solo career, composing for the cinema.

Promotional photograph of the band and album covers of YMO's first album (1978) and Sakamoto's first album (1980)

Merry Christmas Mr Lawrence is the film that introduced me to Sakamoto's work. In fact, it was one of the first times I realised the power of a film soundtrack. Indeed, it was unforgettable: emotional, eloquent and effective all at once. Directed in 1983 by the sulphurous Nagisa Oshima, it deals with a British prison camp in Java run by Japanese soldiers. The two main roles, Jack Celliers and Captain Yonoi, are played by David Bowie and Ryuichi Sakamoto respectively. As you can see, the cast is already musical. But it's worth noting the presence of Japanese humorist Takeshi Kitano. For each of them, Oshima creates a counterpoint to their personas: David Bowie's character only sings once, but he is punished for it - Bowie didn't even record anything for the film. Ryuichi Sakamoto says almost nothing, but his silent mannerism and ostentatious make-up are reminiscent of traditional Japanese theatre. As for Kitano, he plays Sergeant Hara, who is both violent and friendly.

Called ‘Forbidden Colors’, the film's theme comes in a song and in two orchestral versions: a piano one and an electronic one, the two essences of Sakamoto's work. The name of the theme is significant since it deals with Sakamoto's character, Captain Yonoi, and his repressed homosexuality. His attraction to Jack Celliers is very visual. Bowie has platinum hair and blue eyes, while Sakamoto has black hair and brown eyes. Celliers responds to Japanese repression in the camp by offering Yonoi a flower, who stares at him completely taken aback. Later he kisses Yonoi's cheek, causing him to faint. Yet these "forbidden colours" are kept silent, and Celliers will pay for it.

I prefer not to go any further and leave you with some images that I hope you find as beautiful as intriguing.

Merry Christmas Mr Lawrence, Nagisa Oshima (1983)

Afterwards, Sakamoto did two scores for Bernardo Bertolucci’s The Last Emperor and The Sheltering Sky.

The Last Emperor is a historical epic about the destiny of Puyi, the last Chinese emperor, from his coronation at the age of 2 to his imprisonment by the Chinese Communist Party. Adapted from Puyi's autobiography, the film won nine Oscars, including Best Original Score - a first for an Asian composer. By the way, Ryuichi Sakamoto plays a quiet (again) and treacherous Masahiko Amakasu Sakamoto's theme combines traditional Chinese music with the Western form of the symphony. Melancholic and epic, it always comes at decisive moments in Puyi's life. For example, when his influential mother is expelled from the Forbidden City. Or when he discovers that everyone is playing the masquerade and that China is no longer an empire. Each time, the theme emerges with a visual élan: Puyi tries to move faster than his destiny, he's always running but everything slips through his fingers.

Yet, it's impossible to ignore the way Bertolucci films bodies. Bodies in pleasure: sexual development also plays an important part in the film, as Puyi is shown becoming carnally attached to his mother over several years and then marrying two women. Bodies in pain, and therefore bodies that go against their fate... It is perhaps no coincidence that the film ends with Puyi sitting on the throne he sat on at the age of 2. The first time, young Puyi couldn't stand to be still, attracted by the immense veil of gold. The last time, Puyi finally became gold.

The Last Emperor, Bernardo Bertolucci (1987)

The Sheltering Sky, adapted from the eponymous novel by Paul Bowles, was directed in 1990. It tells the story of Kit and Port, a couple in crisis who go to North Africa with the intention of saving their marriage. There, they actually feel the need to escape the idea of being a couple by abandoning themselves to other lovers, the better to find it again.

In fact, the film begins as a kind of drama, focusing on Port's point of view, and slowly becomes Kit's odyssey. She didn't want to go on this journey, but she is forced to. And she finds her way to her own individuality, through death and various sensual experiences. At the beginning of the film, we hear Port say: "A tourist is someone who thinks of going home the moment they arrive. A traveller might not come back at all.”, which clearly sums up the film.

The Sheltering Sky, Bernardo Bertolucci (1990)

The author actually appears two times in the film and plays the role of a guide for Kit. You can see him in the same café, at the beginning and at the end, in a similar shot. It's a visual way of conveying the idea of the cyclical and circular movement of life. Kit arrived in this place and comes back completely changed. He asks her ‘Are you lost?’, and she replies serenely ‘Yes’.

The author Paul Bowles, at the beginning and at the end of the film

Winner of the Golden Globes for best soundtrack, Sakamoto's composition ranges from delicate and lyrical to melancholic and even dramatic. It can be heard during the opening sequence and at the very end, and can therefore be seen as a kind of musical translation of the film.

Last but not least, I would like to mention that Sakamoto worked with a lot of other directors, such as Brian de Palma, Alejandro Gonzalez Inarritu, Victor Schlöndorff, Pedro Almodovar, Takeshi Miike, Luca Guadagnino, Alice Winocour and Hirokazu Kore-eda. By visiting this very personal collection, I hope you will have discover or rediscover movies through their music spectrum.

Thank you for having following me!

Playlist

In the second half of the 20th century, a significant new phenomenon emerged through the avant-garde movements, shifting the focus from the art product to the artist's personality, actions, and performances. In performance art, the artist uses their body as the medium, performing actions that become the artwork itself. Due to the ephemeral nature of these acts, photographs, films, or videos are often used as documentation for a wider audience.

The works of Joseph Beuys, one of the leading figures of this movement, were closely tied to his political activism. According to Beuys, what he called "his actions" or "social sculptures" had the power to change society, even though they were drawn from his personal experiences.

Beuys' most famous action, I Like America and America Likes Me, created in 1974 at the René Block Gallery in New York, combines his political anxieties with his personal history. To understand the context, one must recount the myth. In 1943, during World War II, while serving as a pilot for the Luftwaffe, Beuys crashed in Crimea. The legend says that severely injured, he was rescued by a tribe of nomads who healed him with animal fat, felt, and honey. Although this story is likely fictional, it marks the beginning of Beuys' personal mythology. These materials—fat, felt, honey—became recurring elements in his works, appearing in his sculptures, paintings, and performances.

I Like America and America Likes Me (1974) is perhaps his most famous performance. Wrapped in felt, Beuys was transported to the United States without ever touching American soil due to his opposition to the Vietnam War. He spent three days in a gallery, enclosed with a wild coyote. Beuys, holding a staff and performing a series of shamanistic gestures while staring intently at the coyote, shared the space with the animal. The coyote sometimes urinated on a large stack of Wall Street Journals. After three days, the animal, which initially displayed aggressive behavior, became almost sociable. According to Native American beliefs, the coyote was a powerful deity, while European settlers viewed it as a pest. For Beuys, it symbolized the harm caused by white men, and his performance took on the function of a ritual healing process.

Additionally, the title can be interpreted as a critique of American artistic hegemony and U.S. military involvement in Vietnam, which Beuys firmly opposed. However, I Like America and America Likes Me can also be seen as ironic, as Beuys barely touched American soil: after the performance, the ambulance took him directly to the airport. This performance is often seen as an attempt at reconciliation between peoples and a reflection on the geopolitical tensions of the time.

Grandpa Walrus

Cartoons are a colorful medium that creators like to use to depict their vision of our modern world. Therefore this series of articles will be dedicated to animated TV, internet shows and movies of this last year which humorously describes our contemporary society. Today a short film that explores different ways of grieving. Children find death to be a brutal and incomprehensible experience. “Grandpa Walrus” explores the imagination of children who struggle to cope with a tragic event: the death of their grandfather.

Grandpa Walrus or Pépé le morse is an animated short film directed by Lucrèce Andreae which was awarded best animated short at the 2018 César awards. The movie starts with a panorama of the cold and grey beach. Twelve-years-old Lucas, our narrator, explains the expression “grandpa walrus”: “One of my friends told me that in Russia, there are some kind of huge guys who spend their lives tanning, even when it’s cold. They are called walruses! I think that Grandpa was a walrus. And now he is dead”. Olivia who is the mother, Granny, the twins Jade and Mélissa, and Lucas who is carrying his baby brother Marcus are out in the middle of October on a cold and windy beach to pay a last tribute to their grandpa. The atmosphere is not at all ceremonious. The twins are talking about boys, the grandmother falls on the ground in devotion every two steps and Olivia is just trying to get through this nonsense. Finally arriving on the beach the family is faced with the horrifying vision of tons of cigarette butts spread on the sand forming the silhouette of the grandfather’s body. Then each of the characters split upon the immense beach mourning their grandfather in different ways. The young character’s imaginations come to life. Lucas is facing a frightful vision of a humanoid walrus smoking a cigarette. The twins live a near death experience when they get attacked by plants and little Marius is running away in the oceans.

It’s a deeply poetic animated film which explores dark themes such as death and mourning through visions that are both beautiful and nightmarish. Nevertheless, the characters remain very realistic. They shout, insult each other and argue. Although they are experiencing the same tragic event, they don’t understand each other. While Lucas and the grandma seem to have the same admiration for the patriarch, Olivia remains  resentful toward a man who for her was selfish and who died a pathetic death just like he lived a pathetic life.

On this large beach, the characters are reduced to their littleness. Lucrèce Andreae's film is a story that is both personal and universal. For the film, she drew inspiration from her personal life. In an interview, she said that the idea for her film came from a friend that lives in Saint Petersburg. She told her the story of the “walruses”: men who spent their lives sunbathing whether it’s winter or summer. For the beach, she was inspired by the Atlantic coast where she spent time with her parents. Finally, the small eclectic group was more or less a depiction of her family.

Death is a universal subject. Lucrèce Andreae also used international references to make this poetic animated short film. She chose to set the movie on a beach in reference to Shoji Ueda’s photos. The beach setting is something universal. For Lucrèce Andreae Shoji’s photos are both poetic and absurd.  These two adjectives can also be used to qualify her film. The vulgar and grotesque characters of Italian cinema were a source of inspiration for the characters of this animated short film. Moreover, the fantastic visions in a realistic setting are a clear reference to Hayao Myasaki's Japanese animated movies.

© Shoji Ueda

Spirited away, Hayao Myazaki, 2001

In the film statement of intent, the director writes her motivation for making this film. These words can also serve as a conclusion to this series of articles: “As Charlie Chaplin once said: “ Life is a tragedy in close up, but it is a comedy in wide shot ” and I am convinced that you just need a little distance from things so you can laugh at anything”. 

The director's aesthetic idea is in keeping with the technique he chooses to realize it. Bullivant seems to opt for a single technique and a single idea of realization, which will be the same throughout the video. If the rendering of the video appears relatively simple in the sense that it's driven by a single idea, its execution is particularly meticulous and calculated. Bison's staging is both scrupulous and technically daring. We can take the example of one of his most popular music videos: the impressive Wasting my young years, for London Grammar (2013). In order to convey the depth of the music, the filmmaking duo wanted to be able to capture actors in a falling motion, and thus freeze them. At the same time, they appear to be frozen in space and time, while giving a nostalgic feeling of fear, of falling, of losing oneself and one's memories. To achieve this, the director duo are building a machine system consisting of a circular structure, in which a hundred pinholes attached to photograms are arranged. Each character jumps and falls into the center of the circle. The system will capture a precise moment in the fall, all around the character. When editing, they assembled all the images captured by the pinholes to give the impression of a floating, circular movement, so the characters seems to be floating in the air, often blurry and shuddery, giving the sensation of nostalgia and flimsy.

Let's look back at Bison's first clips, from which we can discern certain motifs and ideas that recur throughout the duo's career, and throughout Dave Bullivant’s work, the director who continued a solo career when Bison split up. 

In 2012, Bison directed Ulysses for Om UNIT. The video is entirely realized in animated graphics, inspired by old-school special effects, a style that goes hand in hand with the electro music it accompanies. In this video we follow the path of a cube with luminous edges, through the kingdom of the pyramids. 

Bison then directed the music video for We've Only Just Begun for Michael Woods. This one is made of live-action shots. Gymnasts perform a dance choreography, edited to the rhythm of the music. We've only just begun, like most of his future videos, is set in a very simple DCS (Decor-Costume-Situation) context. The set consists of an empty, monochrome room. All the gymnasts are dressed the same, in black. They are dancing. Their clothes are actually LED lights that capture their movements. The slow motion allows the beams of light to linger in the image, truly becoming one with it. In both clips, the visual aesthetic is oriented around the movement of light. The light beams emanating from the cubic or human bodies convey, above all, an idea of movement. Before being geometric or organic, these bodies embody a rhythmic form. This a priori very simple idea is the one that will build Bison's career, and Dave Bullivant's in particular. Indeed, I can say that Bullivant's entire body of work revolves around a very specific model of music video: conceptual music videos. Conceptual music videos put forward a singular music-visual idea. This aesthetic concept dominates the entire clip. In this case, the idea is to make visible and palpable movement and rhythm through light.

Bison's experimental forms seem genuinely in tune with a certain idea of the essence of music video art. 

Music videos are an audiovisual art form that can afford to experiment with bold aesthetic ideas, as Bison does with the concept of movement. And this is thanks to its very short format and its musicality. By musicality, I mean that music video is not an art of image, but first and foremost an art of sound: the image serves the music. Yet musical movement is a priori an abstraction, an essence drawn from the real, the impalpable, the elusive. If Bison works above all on the movement of this abstraction, he seeks to make it visible. This is achieved through light, but also through the texture of materials and bodies.

We can take, for example, the dreamlike music video I know it's you (GAPS, 2014). A woman dances the Serpentine, a Western choreography popular in the 1980s, in which a dancer performs sweeping, graceful movements while holding a large veil in her hands. In the clip, the woman's face is partially covered in white paint to match her veil. The paint makes the texture of her skin palpable, while the veil covers her body to undulate to the rhythm of the melody. Eventually, the veil takes over the entire frame: the woman's body gradually fades away, becoming only the texture and matrix of movement. In fact, Bison works almost systematically with textured elements, so that movement takes on its full meaning, density and texture. After the veil, he uses the element of water covering the performer's body in Hold my girl (Geroges Ezra, 2018), or flames and smoke to surround Birdie's body in Words (2016).

2,700 cabins, 16 decks, 21 restaurants, 4 swimming pools, 10 Jacuzzis, 1 casino, 1 ice rink, 3 theaters, 1 zip line. Welcome to the Harmony of the Seas, one of the world's largest cruise ships. In “All Inclusive”, a 10-minute film, Swiss director Corina Schwingruber Ilić immerses us in the huge cruise ship’s life, where almost 8,000 people stay for a ten-day vacation.

Lounging by the pool, Zumba classes, all-night parties, dinner at the restaurant... The various shots give us an insight into what vacations are like for the people who decide to embark on them. More than a visit to this boat in the middle of the immensity of the sea, the director points out the mass tourism, the society of the spectacle and the ecological aberration of this enterprise.

Throughout the film, there's no commentary. Only the images speak, and they do so very well. Corina Schwingruber Ilić has chosen to use long fixed shots, perhaps twenty or so, giving us time to observe the scenes of life on the ocean liner over time, so that we can gain a deep understanding of the atmosphere that reigns within this micro-society. Visually, the film is highly aesthetic and exudes a certain smoothness. The image is slightly overexposed, giving it a superficial and perhaps cold appearance - in contrast to the images of festivities and leisure. The shots are filmed in such a way as to create a highly aesthetic symmetry, reminiscent of the impersonality of the place. This image is perfectly representative of the film's aesthetic, but above all of the reality of cruise travel.

What's also striking about this short film is the alternation between intense group moments, and the moments of solitude that some may find during a nap or at night when everyone is back in their cabins. This alternation is reinforced by the sound: silent sequences where the sound of the sea hovers is superimposed on noisy moments at the pool during rush hour, or during the many parties with music. Sociability and the group effect seem to be at the heart of Harmony of the Seas habitants, because how can you be an individual among 7,000 people in such a well-organized and delimited place? In an article about the film published in February 2024, Mediapart rightly wrote: “Superimposing scenes where hundreds of people stay to the point of disgust, it manages to engender a feeling of suffocation that contrasts with the immensity of the space traversed”.

“All Inclusive” is stunning in its simplicity and honesty, and gives us a “real” look at the “all- you-can-eat”, consumer and entertainment society, and the backgrounds of such an organization (life the night shift employees work to ensure that everything is perfect when guests wake up). We can see that people are having a great time, and we understand it in a way, but the outside and critical view imposes a rather depressing and negative reflection on us. I can only recommend it.

The film is available at this link : https://www.facebook.com/watch/?v=306841030512948

With "Civil War," Garland explores the complexities of human nature and societal upheaval, presenting a dystopian vision that resonates with contemporary issues. This blog delves into the thematic essence, cinematic techniques, and overall impact of "Civil War," making it a must-watch for fans of speculative fiction.

Thematic Exploration

"Civil War" delves deep into the fabric of societal fractures and the human condition. Set in a not-so-distant future, the film portrays an American society on the brink of collapse, divided by ideological and political conflict. Garland's narrative is a chilling exploration of what happens when a society loses its cohesion and descends into chaos. The title itself is a stark reminder of the ever-present threat of internal conflict within nations, making it highly relevant in today's polarized world.

One of the central themes of "Civil War" is the fragility of democracy and the ease with which civil liberties can be crushed. Garland uses his characters to depict various facets of this theme. Throughout their journey within the states, the main characters (war reporters) introduce us to this new fractured society where the loss of trust in institutions leads to extreme violence. This thematic depth is what sets Garland's work apart, offering viewers not just a story, but a mirror to our own society.

Cinematic Techniques

The visual storytelling in “Civil War” is very striking and intense, with a meticulous attention to detail that enhances its dystopian atmosphere. The scenes of violence are shockingly realistic, brutal and traumatic - for my part. This film depicts the daily life of war journalists. Above all, it highlights the dualism of this profession: whether you're prepared to risk your life for a good photo or not.The cinematography by Rob Hardy, plays a crucial role in immersing the audience in this dystopian world. Hardy's use of long, unbroken shots creates a sense of continuity and realism, making the unfolding chaos feel both inevitable and inescapable. 

The sound design also deserves special mention; the ambient sounds by Ben Salisbury and Geoff Barrow add layers of tension and unease, making the film an auditory experience as much as a visual one. It also confuses the viewer and makes the scenes all the more shocking.

Character Development

Garland's characters are complex and multi-dimensional, reflecting the gray areas of morality that the film seeks to explore. The protagonist (Kristen Dunst - LeeSmith), portrayed with nuanced intensity by an as-yet-undisclosed lead actor, embodies the struggle for survival and integrity in a world where the lines between right and wrong are increasingly blurred. Supporting characters (Wagner Moura -  Joel / Cailee Speany - Jessie / Stephen McKinley Henderson - Sammy)  add depth to the narrative, each representing different responses to the societal collapse—some succumb to fear and hatred, while others strive to find a semblance of humanity and hope.

The interactions between characters are where Garland's script truly shines. Dialogue is sparse but impactful, often leaving much unsaid, which adds to the tension and the viewers' engagement.

Impact and Conclusion

"Civil War" is not just a film; it is a commentary on the state of our world. Garland's cautionary tale challenges viewers to reflect on their own beliefs and the direction in which our society is heading.

In conclusion, "Civil War" by Alex Garland is a compelling and thought-provoking film that deserves attention and discussion. Its exploration of societal collapse is really interesting. As we navigate through increasingly turbulent times, Garland's film serves as a poignant reminder of the importance of unity, empathy, and vigilance. 

Trigger warning : the character with the pink glasses is the worst of all,  in my opinion.

During my last article, I have tried to show how the production’s story is entwined with the film’s story. I have left you asking a question: what is the purpose of the adventure?

              The movie was created around set pieces. A set piece is a big scene that costs a lot of money and around which the movie is written. It is not unusual in the industry, the Mission Impossible saga was written that way. In the case of Pirates of the Caribbean the set pieces are all the action scenes. Then, all the set pieces are the key moments of a pirate movie: a sword fight, a city under attack, a fight between two boats and a fight around a treasure. But Verbinsky takes a lot of pleasure in making them ridiculous, While Jack's boat is shot with canon fire, they shoot back with forks and other utensils as if the movie was what is left of a pirate movie: there is nothing left to eat only the utensils to do so. Then, because pirates are only about action, the rest of the film shows how they act as they want. Pirates are like artists putting their dream on the big screen.

The film as a whole is a round trip. The characters begin their quest in Port Royal and end it there. But when you think about it, every character is trying to get back what they had: as a round trip they don’t want to move on. As if pirates were still successful in Hollywood. Barbossa’s crew does not go for treasure, they want to put it back. That is why they are seen as the antagonist.  They don’t accomplish what pirates want. I could list it all for two more pages. The purpose of the adventure is the same for every character: to go back to where they were. Jack wants his boat back, Elizabeth wants Port Royal to get peace again, Will wants for Elizabeth to come back and Barbossa wants to live again. They are all fighting against things that are not under their control. This is how Pirates of the Caribbean becomes a tragic tale using all the classic tropes such as the Keiros – doing the right thing at the right time –, for example, Elizabeth saying that she is a Turner to Barbossa.  Barbossa is crossed by the fatum – the Greek word for fate –, gold’s given to the Pearl’s crew as a curse. Then, all the pirates’ plot is transformed into a mix between the most classic of all: a Greek tragedy and a modern and fun type of story.

At its core, the film is an opposition between life and death represented by Jack and Barbossa’s opposition. Jack’s first appearance is on a boat that is sinking, shot going down while Barbossa’s first appearance is always on the edge of the shot going from the left to the right. The first time the audience is introduced to these characters, it is pointed out that Jack can die but not Barbossa. But the whole quest of Barbossa is to live again. The pirate’s purpose, which is to get as much gold as the world can bear, made him neither dead or alive. All Barbossa wants is to eat an apple to live life with his mouth full. Apples are always with Barbossa and when he dies he says “I feel… cold”. It encapsulates all the characters’ dilemma, all he wanted was to feel.

The adventure’s purpose to Barbossa is to feel something, to live. Apples are so important to him that the film creates something impossible when Barbossa drops an apple when he dies. If you look closely at the scene, it is impossible. This impossible apple means that you cannot have it all during your life. The only things that keep us going is desire: the desire to be the richest men alive, then the desire to feel. Jack plays with Barbossa’s desire when he talks to him on the Pearl and the apples are at the center of the shot. Jack is at the left and Barbossa is at the right. Therefore, Jack is alive and Barbossa is dead. The adventure has changed Jack because he lost all he had in a material way and Barbossa becomes something else. For better or for worse, once Barbossa started to taste adventure and moreover life, he could not stop and this greed killed him. He betrayed one of his friends to become a captain. Then if during the movie, Barbossa dies alone Jack makes friends along the way that will save his life. When Barbossa says “I feel… cold” in the treasure cave, it all happens as if the “cold” is a synonym for alone. Perhaps the film just validates the old saying “What matters the most is not the destination but the journey”. You will never know what awaits for you across the sea. If living is a kind of loop, the adventure changes you forever. It is never the same adventure. If the purpose is not the treasure itself that leads you to death you may prefer to get some friends along the way. It might save your life?

Pierre Borowczak

I'm interested in the relationship, in a broad sense, between text and image. In this case, I would like to highlight the importance of intertitles in contemporary cinema, by studying the case of Harun Farocki's Respite (2007).

The initial purpose of the intertitle was to provide additional written information to the image in silent films. In silent films, they were frequently used to transcribe dialogue. Although their use gradually disappeared with the advent of sound cinema, they are still used today, mainly to give spatial or temporal indications (e.g. "London, 1871" or "20 years later..."). And while intertitles were particularly unpopular with certain directors in the silent film era, who saw them as a useless device, believing that the image should stand on its own, the use of inserts has now become a strong artistic choice, often carrying a great deal of meaning.

In Respite, Harun Farocki exhumes the rushes from an unfinished film shot by the German-Jewish photographer Rudolf Breslaueur between March and May 1944 in the Westerbork regroupment and transit camp. He focuses on the rushes devoted to the transports to the East: these shots, filmed on 19 May 1944, show the departure of a convoy whose cars were destined for Auschwitz and Bergen-Belsen. These are the only filmed images of the departures for the death camps. Farocki refuses to colourise or add sound, and captures them with respect and accuracy. During the forty minutes of an entirely silent film, he confronts us with the images to raise questions that go right through us and move us: how do we situate ourselves in front of these images? And how do we simply look at them? What do they or don't they reveal? What are the virtues and limits of the visible?

The footage shot by Breslaueur is organized in an analytical montage that plays on the constant re-use of the same shots, but accompanied by variations in the intertitles that comment on them. These commentaries rethink the rushes in an attempt to translate the "off-screen" of the images from Westerbork: the conditions under which they were recorded (whether technical or political) and the point of view they offer. In this way, the filmmaker makes us see what the images "keep silent" about. Farocki's other desire is to offer a commentary that leaves plenty of room for the images, that recontextualizes them without inserting them into an oriented discourse, refusing to use them as icons. Tired of seeing these images endlessly reused in various contexts, sometimes at the cost of serious misunderstandings, Farocki attempts here to reassemble them in the order in which they were taken, to allow the viewer to think fully. For this is also the role played by the alternation between boxes and images: to provoke an encounter between our later knowledge of the Shoah and the archives.

Using slow motion and freeze frames, he brings to life the faces, the looks and the presence of people trapped in the Nazi machine and condemned to certain death. He brings out the humanity and individuality of the victims, their singularity among millions of dead. It creates a scene conducive to the return of ghosts and their survival. Finally, by reframing certain shots, the filmmaker goes in search of a detail, a punctum, waiting to be seen and which could, at last, make sense.

Farocki is telling us that if there is a trace, it can only be - like memory - incomplete, as if in tatters. This is why Respite invites us to think about lack, which is the only way for viewers to imagine what they cannot see. In this way, the film oscillates between two "tendencies": the investigation carried out would enable us to grasp something of the Catastrophe at the very heart of the images of Breslaueur, or, on the contrary, it would reveal that there is nothing to see, that the images have missed the event.

On the one hand, the "image-fetish", on the other, the "image of the tear". And it is precisely this oscillation that prompts the viewer to question his or her gaze, for it is perhaps precisely in the lack of the image that the event subsists, in its very absence of representation. This idea is taken up by the many blacks and boxes between the shots, these "non-images'' that become the place of in-betweenness and thought - where lack, loss and tearing open up not just to the abyss and nothingness, but to the promise of the invisible: the anamnesis of an event that is impossible to see.

If you want to see the movie :