Almodóvar’s beautiful films counterbalance the dominant academicism. Not the story, not the script, not the dialogues determine his films, nor does the preciosity of the image. The power of the films lies in the acting, the physical interaction between the actors confronted with the camera and direction. The actors play in front of a camera that always gives them the freedom to complement, encourage, correct and ironise each other.

Soy libre transcends the merely biographical. Arnaud’s concrete life acquires a shimmering abstraction by becoming part of a history. In this sense, Soy libre is a classic story, a contemporary life chronicle reminiscent of the work of John Ford, whose films show that human resistance is largely determined by the social environment. A guide in a turbulent world, Arnaud seeks an answer to the question of what makes life worth living.

Tout va bien is again a film that is addressed to me as well. Contact has been restored. I wasn’t really expecting that anymore. I feared Godard had collapsed under May ’68, which functioned as a late adolescence and identity crisis for the generation of the 1950s. Tout va bien proves that Godard used all those years well, that he worked and subjected himself to an intense, painful reconstruction.

Where am I going to put my body? The question casts a shadow over the slowed-down, branched-off realities in Milestones. The bodies that no longer find a place in the service of the revolution or the ending of the war are now directing the revolution (or the war) at themselves and the bodies around them. The film’s leitmotif is to be found in the constant negotiation between the personal and the political. We see the characters searching for new forms of coexistence, alternative ways of raising their children, a new physicality, sexuality, love. The baby boomers have turned thirty, and for many of them a time has come in which the meaning of an individual life gains the upper hand over collective political projects.

D’Est – a film, a video installation. Between cinema and museum, between projection in time and distribution in space, between celluloid and electronic image. But also between two cultures, that of film and that of visual arts – between two ways of asking the question of the image: in film the question of the right image, in the museum the question of the impossible depiction.

The most disappointing thing about Welles – which is confirmed by Othello – is the lack of sensuality. No morbid or sentimental emotion whatsoever can be read from the screen. Jealousy and lust are cloaked in compositions, lighting and scenery; they are never made visible in the body. There is more eroticism in one shot by Straub or Bresson (surely not the most obvious ones in the field) than in an entire Welles film!

The dance is perceptibly preceded by a period of preparation. The dance itself, however perfect in the moment, is a culmination; it is there, gloriously in the now (only in the now). And the higher the technicity of the performance, the more intense our sense of the fragility of that performance, of its uniqueness. But if virtuosity feels inhuman, perfection feels fragile and melancholic. Anyhow, perfection is closure.

Neorealist films did not seem more realistic because of the masses, the common people, the everyday life. The bourgeois-novel individuals and their psychological analysis are redundant because stories no longer need to be made convincingly plausible. But the old relationship is not merely reversed; the documentary does not gain the upper hand at the expense of the narrative. Rossellini neither relies on the fantastic coincidences of surrealist aesthetics, nor does he leave everything to devices, as cinéma vérité later did. His gaze and that of the camera are combined. A new reality only comes into view through a new way of perceiving.

Renoir: documentarian of illusion, realist of light comedy. He distrusted creativity’s desire to rule but instead practised creativity that creates possibilities. Whoever wants to rule, must focus the field on one dominant point and neutralise all other solidarities and affinities. Similarly, whoever wants to rule the audience for the duration of a film: focus and concentrate all energy on one point! (Fear is the best strategy to do so.)

For me, film has long been first and foremost the bizarre art of showing and looking at bodies, the art of inventing hundreds of ways in which emotions and consciousness become bodily visible. Film is narration through bodies rather than images. Images are at the service of those bodies, are draped around those bodies, filled with bodies, carried by bodies. 

Watching and appreciating a film starting from its mise-en-scène is like adding a fourth dimension to plot and characters. Behind the characters their maker appears, behind the plot the process of the mise-en-scène appears.

Films like Bresson’s, which rely on the power of suggestion and are therefore extremely dependent on the spectator’s ability and willingness to react, which represent a tangle of connections, references and forces, cannot possibly be reduced to a linear, unambiguous and irreversible relationship of cause and effect. The freedom Bresson gives his spectators corresponds to his attitude as an artist towards reality. What he captures with the form of his films is only a surface in relief; decisive is what one does not see, and only in the silence and speechlessness behind what one hears does the actual drama of this film emerge in solitude.

Since September 2021, argos in Brussels has been showing a five-part exhibition of Alexander Kluge’s Minutenfilme [Minute-films]. The Minutenfilme often distil multilayered themes in summary form. Alexander Kluge: “You see, the rough simplicity of a murder ballad, this popular fairground narrative, easily leads you to high scholasticism with the question “How does God work?”, to which of course no one knows the answer. To reconnect this is my true passion. In this, I’m the executive body of Benjamin, Adorno, Horkheimer and a slew of other great minds.”

Perhaps this is what makes the festival so unique: the frenetic search for meaning so typical of the festival circuit, shirking real risks in programming, is largely avoided here. Is that just because of the “old” films? Not quite. Strange as it may sound, Il Cinema Ritrovato is a festival where films are not only programmed but also actually watched.

Film was an empty theatre, during the day, in which artificial light showed everything the sun outside could never show. It was the most blissful way of being: all alone in the presence of an intense illusion. Life watched more fascinating than life lived. The other so much more fascinating than the self, a substitute dream for the self.

Criticus, filmtheoreticus en filmmaker Jean-Louis Comolli overleed op 19 mei 2022 op tachtigjarige leeftijd in zijn woonplaats Parijs. Van 1965 tot 1973 was hij redacteur van Cahiers du Cinéma en zijn internationale reputatie binnen de filmstudies berust voornamelijk op een handvol teksten – “Détour par le direct”, “Cinéma/idéologie/critique”, “Technique et idéologie” – die hij schreef toen hij en mederedacteur Jean Narboni het tijdschrift in de nasleep van mei ’68 in marxistisch-leninistische richting stuurden. In Frankrijk staat hij intussen ook bekend om het corpus films dat hij na zijn vertrek bij de Cahiers maakte: meer dan veertig titels met zowel fictiefilms als (in overwegende mate) documentaires, gemaakt voor zowel cinema als televisie.

Toen ik eind vorig jaar Melissa Andersons dunne boekje over Inland Empire las, was ik overdonderd. Nadat ik de 104 pagina’s had geïnhaleerd, voelde ik meteen dat ik over het boek wilde schrijven maar wist ik ook dat ik het nooit zou kunnen recenseren, aangezien het is verschenen in een reeks waaraan ik zelf ook een bijdrage leverde – de Decadent Editions van Fireflies Press, tien boeken over tien films, één voor elk jaar van de jaren 2000. Gelukkig krijg ik nu mijn kans, bevrijd van elke schijn van objectieve beoordeling.

Serge Daney is the force of a surprising opening gambit. In the form of a question, or the negation of obviousness, as a rhyme of ideas or right away with a brutal argumentation that stalemates you, “if... then”. The strategy of the brusque but also panicky outburst. The ground is not prepared, the argument not introduced. He parachutes the reader straight into the war zone. Bullets whizz around his ears, mines surround him. But the author says: I will lead you through it!

I discover this interview at the age of twenty-one, on my way from classic, mainly American (not to say Hollywoodian) cinephilia to modern and political cinema (this discovery comes after that of Europe ’51, but also of the militant films made around May ’68). It doesn’t matter if Rossellini is exaggerating, if his observation lacks nuance: his merit is that he crystallises a question about what exactly one can expect from art in general and from cinema in particular. He has come to a decision.

De woorden vallen in de stroom van een ruimere zin, een ruimer punt. Ze staan tussen haakjes. Is dat waarom – bij mijn weten – niemand ze ooit heeft geciteerd? Ze zijn gewijd aan Alfred Hitchcocks Marnie (1964) en komen uit Raymond Bellours belangrijke tekst “Énoncer” uit 1977, die later werd opgenomen in de bundeling L’Analyse du film. Ik las ze voor het eerst (...) toen ik achttien was. En ik bleef de woorden daarna meer dan twee decennia lang citeren – in klaslokalen, in artikels, op conferenties: ... die onwerkelijke film die we film noemen ...

De titel van de tekst “Straschek 1963 – 74 West-Berlijn”, die hier voor het eerst in een Nederlandse vertaling verschijnt, is even eenvoudig als informatief: het is een subjectieve, zelfreflexieve inkijk in Günter Peter Strascheks elf jaar in West-Berlijn. Straschek: “Ik heb lesgeven nooit leuk gevonden, ik heb er nooit veel aan gehad. Zeker niet op een hogeschool voor beeldende kunsten, die door de staat gerunde broeinesten van irrationaliteit waar docenten en studenten elkaar met hun pretentieuze ideeën de loef proberen af te steken.”

Writing about Ophüls or Ozu on a corner of the kitchen table... surrounded by the smell of everyday life. Cooking, “making food” – thus protecting herself from the torment of writing. An attitude that is difficult for me to understand, my own approach to writing being quite different. (The same goes for my approach of cooking.) It remains a mystery to me that these beautiful texts originated between simmering boeuf bourguignon and caramel flan, still to be prepared. 

De Amerikaanse filmregisseur Gus Van Sant maakte vorig jaar zijn eerste theaterproductie, Trouble, een musical over Andy Warhol. Bij de première van het stuk in De Singel in Antwerpen sprak Sabzian met Van Sant over vier van zijn films die samen een periode van vormelijk experiment betekenen binnen zijn oeuvre: Gerry (2002), Elephant (2003), Last Days (2005) en Paranoid Park (2007). Gus Van Sant: “Het afbakenen is het belangrijkste kenmerk van een scène. Wanneer je een storyboard gebruikt, pas je de locaties en de acteurs aan aan het storyboard, dat al vastligt wanneer de personages in beeld komen. Dat is de belangrijkste reden waarom ik zonder storyboard ben gaan werken, omdat de personages dan beter in de scène zitten. Ze kunnen dingen laten gebeuren binnen een tijdsbestek en dat lukt niet wanneer je met losse shots werkt.”

Sabzian publiceert de komende maanden de eerste Nederlandstalige vertalingen van enkele teksten van Fernand Deligny over de notie van het camereren. Deligny’s filmproducties en audiovisuele experimenten gingen samen met geschreven reflecties over de camera. Zijn schriftuur wordt gekenmerkt door vormelijke wildheid en raadselachtigheid, vol woordspelingen, provocaties en boutades. Hij schreef verschillende teksten over camereren, een werkwoord dat zich onderscheidt van wat we doorgaans filmen noemen. Via dit neologisme opende hij een uniek perspectief op de camera. Deligny: “‘Filmen’ lijkt me een merkwaardig werkwoord. Als het op het schrijven van een boek aankomt, zeg je niet ‘boeken’. En peindre heet niet tableauter. Hieruit blijkt dat, wat film betreft, het eindproduct de overhand neemt en een werkwoord wordt.”