In 2006 regisseert Michael Mann zijn negende film. Miami Vice, een duister fresco over het leven van twee undercoveragenten, geeft in gewelddadig detail de gevolgen weer van de mondialisering van de criminaliteit en de collusie tussen politiek en economie, of zelfs het opgaan van het ene in het andere. Mann is op dat moment op het toppunt van zijn artistieke kunnen en bekleedt een bevoorrechte positie in Hollywood: als gerespecteerd figuur in het “milieu” en vaste waarde binnen de industrie demonstreert hij eens te meer zijn vermogen om de logica van de blockbuster (en dat is hoe Miami Vice wordt aangeprezen) om te buigen tot een persoonlijk universum, zodat we soms zelfs de indruk krijgen dat het hier om een grootschalige verduistering van fondsen gaat (de film kostte meer dan 150 miljoen dollar) ten voordele van een radicaal werk dat geen enkele toegeving doet aan de vormelijke en stilistische ambities van zijn maker.

Farocki’s scope was broad. There was a lot of ground covered and many issues explored in the trajectory from early 16-millimeter films like Die Worte des Vorsitzenden [The Words of the Chairman] (1967), which protests the shah of Iran’s official visit to Berlin, to his last multiscreen sculptural installation, Parallel I–IV (2012–14), which examines the development of the virtual world of video games and their relationship to space. Indeed, surveying Farocki’s oeuvre serves as a revealing case study of the history of experimental filmmaking in Europe in the past half-century.

I think of myself as someone who has an instinctual understanding of what it is to be a minority person. That is someone whose existence is highly marginal in the society and understands it in the gut but will not be dominated by it. Therefore, I refuse all of those labels, such as Black Woman Filmmaker, because I believe in my work as something that can be looked at without labels.

In order to get at how I think about making a movie at a low budget, I have to be able to give you the theory, the narrative theory, that supports my reasons for making movies. If any of you have seen my work, you know I’m only interested in telling stories, and most of those stories are fairly contemporary. And to some degree they are ahistorical, meaning, though I think that is going to change, that the focus of the work is entirely narrative in orientation.

A year later, when the Germans had lost the war and the concentration camps were liberated, the Allies photographed and filmed the camps, the survivors, and the traces that pointed to the millions murdered. It was above all the images of piles of shoes, glasses, false teeth, the mountains of shorn hair that have made such a profound impression. Perhaps we need images, so that something that is hardly imaginable can register: photographic images as the impressions of the actual at a distance.

I try to use a term operational images. This goes back to Roland Barthes in Mythologies, where he says that a non-metaphoric language, an operational language, would be the one that a woodpecker uses: it’s speaking with a tree and not about a tree.

I would like to define the intricate relationship between my cinematographic language and the prevalent political language. The prevalent political language aims at determining a harmony of concrete interests. It is a uniform language that emphasizes the difference between what is similar and what is different within a very precise geographical and economical area. On the other hand, my cultural action, and not cultural language, aims at liberating spaces where everyone can be moved, can rediscover the real nature of things, marvel at the world, think about it and immerse oneself in the world of childhood. Finally, politics excludes the imaginary, unless it can be used for ideological or partisan ends. But my films’ cultural world is made up of both reality and the imagination, both of which are vital to the creation of my films. It is like a child’s quest for identity: he or she needs these two levels – reality and dream – to approach life in a balanced and non-schizophrenic way.

“Yes, from a filmmaker’s point of view, we wanted to look for images other than those brought back by television crews every time there’s a political event in the occupied territories (manifestations, strikes, riots, etc.). We actually believe that these images make us forget the essence: the sense of the struggle of these people. The informative television images are images of ‘effects’, and we are looking for images of ‘causes’.”

“[Fertile Memory] is the result of several years of work. I made several reports in the occupied territories, but I also have to say that the film was beyond me. The Palestinian question is basically an issue of oppression: an oppression that dominates the world. I said to myself that I would be able to give the Palestinian question a new dimension by talking about the most oppressed. I thought that women would help bring out all the contradictions.”

The source that irrigates Fertile Memory springs from two poles that constitute the foundations and permanence of the Palestinian soul: usurped land and women. Few films show daily life in the physical and temporal reality (32 years for Mrs Farah Hatoum) of the Israeli occupation. And if these films exist, their lack of credibility is such that at best, we make do with imagining the thoughts behind the gestures and gazes – the deepest dimension of which only the prism of culture will render.

It is Khleifi’s achievement to have embodied certain aspects of Palestinian women’s lives in film. He is careful to let the strengths of Farah and Sahar emerge slowly, even if at a pace that risks losing the film the larger audience it deserves. He deliberately disappoints the expectations engendered in us by the commercial film (plot, suspense, drama), in favor of a representational idiom more innovative and – because of its congruence with its anomalous and eccentric material – more authentic.

Votre film est donc avant tout une réflexion sur Je destin d’une culture nationale ?

Bien entendu. La trame policière de l’histoire ne m’a servi que de prétexte. Par ailleurs, La momie est un film que j’ai senti, et donc construit, à plusieurs niveaux.

On 16 December 1969, The Mummy was shown for the first time to the audience of the Cairo Film Club, which included many intellectuals. In the dark, Shadi Abdel Salam waited for the reaction of his family and friends to this new work of art. All were moved by the film’s sober technique and by its theme, which was deeply touching for Egyptians: a sacred theme presented in a new form – the language of film – and accompanied by the sincerity that’s in harmony with this people.

A biographical chronicle of Egyptian screenwriter, costume and set designer, and filmmaker Shadi Abdel Salam (1930-1986) narrated by means of a collection of excerpted interviews.

“I am from both Upper Egypt and Alexandria … the son of conservative families from Minya and Alexandria. My father was a lawyer, a man of the law … My name is Shādī Muhammad Mahmūd ‘Abd al-Salām.”

Drawings sketched by Shadi Abdel Salam in preparation for his film Al-mummia [The Mummy] (1969), also known as The Night of Counting the Years.

Méditerranée slaagt in een radicale benadering van de mythische functie die door het Griekse werkwoord mueîn, “de ogen en de mond sluiten”, wordt aangeduid en die uitzicht geeft op drie simultane vlakken: dromena: de dingen van handeling – legomena: de gezegde dingen – deiknumena: de getoonde dingen.

In een gesprek omschreef Kramer de film als “zijn laatste”. “Alles moest erin zitten”, zo geloofde hij. “Alle wezens. De volledige volheid van gevoelens.” Gedeeltelijk gebaseerd op het leven in een commune in Vermont gebruikte Kramer een palet van de vier natuurelementen – “vuur-water-lucht-aarde-mensen” – als leidraad. Daarmee volgde hij een brede groep mensen die uit de jaren zestig waren aangespoeld en verweesd de nieuwe wereld tegemoetzagen. Allen delen ze een geschiedenis van radicalisme en het besef van politieke schipbreuk. Zo kan Milestones in 2019 als het begin van het einde en als het begin van het nieuwe gelezen worden: de dood van de welvaartstaat en het begin van de linkse levenspolitiek, de moeizame weg van King naar Clinton.