FILMOSOPHY OF THE DARDENNES

The Belgian filmmaking brothers Jean-Pierre and Luc Dardenne have bled their documentary foundations into a mesmerically pure fiction style. Their films absorb us in a recognisable world, that nevertheless shows us ordinary things in a new way, makes us look again at what we thought we understood. Their four most recent films — The Promise (1996), Rosetta (1999), The Son (2002), and The Child (2005) — almost entirely reject some key conventions of fiction filmmaking (shot-reverse-shot, point-of-view shots, establishing shots, etc.) in favour of a close and empathetic form of film-thinking. These films use images to think about (and for) theircharacters — thinkings which steer the emotions of the filmgoer.

Perhaps most significant about these four films is their movement away from ‘classical’ filmmaking forms, especially as regards point-of-view images and the traditional shot-reverse-shot. In 'The Son' the father tries to see into an office where details important to him are being discussed — the film aligns itself with him, squeezes a look at what he sees (half a desk, a hand, a pen), but without shifting to a point-of-view shot that denotes his actual seeing point, his ‘actual’ thinking. What we get is a thinking of his half-knowledge, through an obscured, fractured, half information image. What this means is that the four films do not break into their stories to try to replace their characters; they do not remove them from the film (by replacing them with a ‘view-point’). Importantly, we might say that the films do not presume to become their characters.

At the very beginning of 'The Son' the film, the moving sound-image, emerges from behind the father (moving up from darkness to reveal the back and then the neck and head of the father). We feel that the film derives itself from him, has lived with him, will live with him. The film thinks this close affinity, thinks (through framing and movement) this empathetic emotion. The film clings close to the father, tracing his neck and back and profile more than his face or locale. There is almost no space, no measurable distance between filmgoer/film and father. The film thinks an intense bond, creating a pure relationship between character and filmgoer. We begin to feel what he feels: tension, half-knowledge, anticipation. The film’s thinking doesn’t create an identification so much as an allegiance, a being-with. Through this closeness the films also enact a questioning thinking. The films watch Igor and Rosetta and Olivier and Bruno think, watch them make decisions, almost hears them decide. All of the films at some point ‘hold’ on each of them, studying their faces, questioning them, asking them ‘what are you going to do?’. The responsibility and conscience in both 'The Promise' and 'The Child'; the betrayal and enduring affection of the boy in Rosetta; the closing of distance between man and boy in The Son — each is unexpected for the protagonist. These are people who are unprepared for the humanity that won’t let them go.

In the cinema of Jean-Pierre and Luc Dardenne the characters are accompanied, are followed and watched, by another consciousness, a new-consciousness, a filmind. This thinking is at one and the same time subjective and objective (it acts like another character, yet can occupy multiple spaces and shift from one time to another), in films that absorb the physical through (and into) the metaphysical. The ‘filmosophical’ thinking of these films is distinguished by their refusal to even attempt to ‘become’ the characters. The Dardennes resist these conventions of classical fiction filmmaking, and in doing so the films think with humbleness and respect. One person’s actions are never completely understandable; we can never become them to understand them, we must learn from what they do. Ethics resolves into a question of action: what do we do?

Each of the four films presents us with a filmind that is asking that for us, of a person, from a point of view we can never have: an omniscient, invisible, free mode of thinking.

Daniel Frampton is a London-based writer and filmmaker, and the founding editor of the salon-journal Film-Philosophy. This text is an extract taken from his recent book, Filmosophy (Wallflower Press, 2006).

They say it's the last song. They don't know us, you see. It's only the last song if we let it be.

Lars Von Trier's films have always provoked discussions. Critics call his work either pretentious or a masterpiece.

I manage to see Dancer in the Dark again. I still think of it as groundbreaking.

A. O. Scott of The New York Times: Lars von Trier's musical, shot in raw, jumpy digital video, is a fascinating exercise in brutality, mitigated by the otherworldy charisma (and the music) of the Icelandic pop star Bjork. As Selma, a Czech immigrant factory worker going blind in the early 1960's in Washington State (the film was shot in Sweden), Bjork seems to be inventing a whole new style of film acting, and her performance is miraculous. von Trier, continuing his campaign to rescue the art of film from complacency and convention, follows Selma's utter annihilation with sadistic relish. "Dancer in the Dark" is both stupefyingly bad and utterly overpowering; it can elicit, sometimes within a single scene, a gasp of rapture and a spasm of revulsion. Come to the theater prepared, with a handkerchief in one hand and a rotten tomato in the other.

A Resilient Octogenarian

Adela wants nothing more than a meal with her children and family. But as the widow goes about her day preparing and shopping—often stopping to help out her fellow slum-dwellers—the interminable wait for the celebration starts to seem futile. In a stylistic break from today’s characteristically energetic, fast-moving Filipino cinema, Alix trains his camera on veteran Filipino actress Linda in long takes, with profound and moving results. The film is a tribute both to the quiet dignity and indomitable spirit of its titular character, and to the actress whose compelling, poignant performance inflects every scene.

In the monthly exhibition ContemporAsian, MoMA showcases films that get little exposure outside of their home countries or on the international festival circuit, but which engage the various styles, histories, and changes in Asian cinema. The films in the series include recent independent films and little-seen classics. From September’s opening feature, a stylistically flamboyant series of surreal urban vignettes of social and racial strife offset by characters who break into song Stevie Wonder—style (Blind Pig Who Wants to Fly, 2008, Indonesia), to October’s intimate portrait of a resilient octogenarian, featuring venerated actress Anita Linda in a tour de force performance (Adela, 2008, Philippines), the films showcased encompass a variety of styles and themes.

Adela - Screening Schedules:

Wednesday, October 14, 2009, 7:00 p.m., Theater 2, T2
Thursday, October 15, 2009, 4:00 p.m., Theater 2, T2
Friday, October 16, 2009, 7:00 p.m., Theater 2, T2
Saturday, October 17, 2009, 7:30 p.m., Theater 2, T2
Sunday, October 18, 2009, 5:00 p.m., Theater 2, T2
Monday, October 19, 2009, 4:30 p.m., Theater 1, T1

A Lake of talents

A salute to one of the best thespians in Philippine Cinema.

I always treasure my working experience with the great Anita Linda. I did Tambolista, Manila and Adela with this screen legend. Her stories in between takes with her working relationship with some of Philippine cinema's masters - Gerry de Leon, Lamberto Avellana, Lino Brocka, Ishmael Bernal makes me want to stop shooting and just listen to her anecdotes.

I'm happy that now she's in her best fighting form and still sharing her craft. That's what she loves best.

Hope to work with you again soon with Circa.

UFO

More than 10 UFOs were sighted in Las Piñas at around 7pm Saturday night of August 28, 2000. Three children first spotted two unusual reddish-metallic-glares traversing across and above the partly cloudy skies, from their Mabolo St. residence, Verdant Acres, Pamplona, Las Piñas City. As the objects were racing towards the east where the moon was setting, another two came, followed by three more – appearing from above the western horizon. This unusual sight could not be mere airoplanes, according to 11 year old Nica Canarias, as two of them were seen heading towards the moon. Nica, the eldest of the siblings, and among the early witnesses, immediately summoned the 9-year old Adrian Israel, a close neighbor whom the kids knew well as a UFO experiencer, whose father Antonio (Tony), incidentally had taken video footage of UFOs in Las Piñas on September 3, 2000.

Adrian confirmed that these objects were similar to those of 4 years ago, and rushed back to his house to prompt his elder brothers, who then told their father, Tony, who took his video camera after observing the unique sight. He was joined by other neighbors observing the objects as they moved erratically, jerking, floating and jumping in several directions. From 7:30 to 8:15pm, Tony was taking video footage of 5 UFOs as each traversed the horizon at time intervals of c. 8 min per object, one following the other. Israel, thanks to his 2000 sighting, was now more composed in aiming his Sharp digital video camera with 200x magnification through the partly-cloudy skies of Las Piñas, which were indeed enhancing the points of reference and approximate heights of the objects. PAGASA, the Philippine observatory agency, would be unable to denounce these as festival balloons, being visible at c. 30,000 to 40,000 feet in Israel's estimation. Alas! After four years, they’re back... said Israel.

No headless woman

I saw Lucrecia Martel's La Mujer Sin Cabeza and was blown away by its simple power. Martel's story borders on the mysterious yet its power lies in its simplicity and her skillful attention to imagery and sound.

She is one of the few filmmakers who values the aural experience to complement the tensions of the narrative.

Here is an excerpt of her interview from theauteurs:

DANIEL KASMAN: Perhaps more than any other film in recent memory, it is hard to separate your movie into what was written in a script and what was visualized and created aurally in the final product. Did this film exist more as a written story about this woman, or did you envision it cinematically and formally? When you come to a scene in the movie, are you envisioning what you have written down or conceptualizing an audio/visual expression first and foremost?

MARTEL: What happens to me is that before I start out to write, I already know how the film is going to sound. To me, what really matters is sound. In a way, images are what I strictly need to frame the sound.

PHELPS: [Portuguese director] Pedro Costa says something similar to that, as well as of course Robert Bresson. I kept thinking of Bresson—despite obviously some differences—in his concentration on faces, and holding faces, and letting the whole world exist outside of the frame—on the outskirts of the frame sometimes—and almost swirl around the main character. There’s a stable anchor, a head or a face in the foreground, in the middle of the frame, but there are whole scenes that happen, and they are happening in the background! Could you talk about why you hold onto the back of people’s heads in a way; it’s almost like the audience is kept from the people’s thoughts…

MARTEL: What I find really fascinating about cinema is how it allows you to get very close to people but not actually know anything that’s going on inside of them. I find this very sexy, in a way—being so close but not know what’s going on.

A lot people think that shooting this style of film turns out to be cheaper, because you are just following one person around. Actually it’s not at all, because you still have to pay all kinds of actors off the camera; it’s not cheaper at all! Actors who are not at the center of attention want to be paid more, so in the end you are paying a fortune!

PHELPS: Would it be alright if we talked about a specific scene that occurs mostly in the background?

MARTEL: For example, the scene where Vero [played by María Onetto] walks into the [hospital] bathroom and hides, it is an example of a scene where everything that’s going around is around her, it is not on her. Actually, in that scene, I had to film some people in the action, but the voices are other people’s voices, so I had to pay double! This is because sound is so important to me; and for the voices in that scene I needed a different texture than the ones the actual actresses had, I wanted for the overall sound I wanted to convey what I had in mind, so that’s why I had to use other people.

KASMAN: How do you work with your sound designer? How hands-on are you in finding the sounds, creating the sounds, and placing the sounds in your film?

MARTEL: I’m very hands-on. I used the same mixer I used with my earlier film, La Ciénaga (2001); the sound director is the same guy for all my films, and he also records the direct sound. We work very well together, but having said that it is not like we understand each other immediately. We actually talk a lot, do a lot of tests, and experiment on a lot of things. He is very open to trying new things. We actually go out inside the city and record a huge amount of material that we can use as archival records.

Actually, it [the focus on sound] must run in the family, as one of my brothers who works in this area [in which the movie was filmed] and knows a lot about it went to see The Headless Woman, said “actually I liked the sound of the film, but when the actress is close to a window, there’s a bird and that’s not a bird from the area.” And what was amazing was that I knew that too! I was really excited to put a bird sound that was not from the actual location in the film.

For Alexis by Apichatpong Weerasethakul

For Alexis from Kick the Machine on Vimeo.

To whom nothing ever happens.

In photo: Director Vittorio De Sica (fist raised) and screenwriter Cesare Zavattini (left), on the set of The Bicycle Thief (1948).

Andre Bazin on Cesare Zavatinni profounding the purest form of neorealism: "The dream of Zavatinni is just to make a ninety-minute film of the life of a man to whom nothing ever happens."

Cesare Zavatinni (1902-89) was a journalist and novelist before becoming a screenwriter and the central theoretician of neorealism. Andre Bazin is a respected French critic.