Dionysos

There is nothing easier than living with the idea of ​​taking everything around you for granted. So, what if a person starts thinking about all of this? What if the automated processes start to falter, what if the everyday reproduction of our social (and production) relationships starts to stumble? Well, nothing, I'll light a cigarette. Or I'll watch TV - thanks to modernization, everyone can afford it (even those who can't afford LSD). Advertising dreams are also dreams, and it's easy to forget things when you have them. Then a person doesn't even notice that their house is just another box of laundry detergent... The traditionally Godard-like sociological/ethnographic view of the film's protagonists, determined by the environment in which they live (on a lower level, Parisian suburbs, on a higher level, capitalist social formation), is enriched by a revolutionary approach to the relationship between the author-artist and their work. Thanks to the unique incorporation of voice-overs into the film, the artist establishes new connections and questions between themselves and the viewer, making conventional approaches unthinkable. Or, reflexive film sociology, in which Jean-Luc Godard examines the subject captured by artistic representation as if it were of scientific interest, and through this process, himself as the creator of the work - the artist, immersed in his time, just like Marina Vlady. /// The creativity with form and mise-en-scène is then taken to perfection - consider the famous example with the detail of coffee foam symbolizing the transience of human consciousness or M. Vlady's morning awakening, when the flag of France is unfolded from her pillow and blanket - indicating that what the film showed us in the case of the Parisian housing estate definitely does not apply to it alone.

The film tells us something about cinema, but also about art as a whole. The classic thesis about a work of art is that its individual parts are interconnected, relying on each other to form a cohesive structure that can be more than the sum of its parts but should not be less than this sum (otherwise it is a bad work, a postmodern broken mirror with only shiny shards left). 31/75 Asylum proves to us how individual point fragments taken from something as uniform as a static landscape painting can also function as a whole in a completely different work - a square of winter snowscape transferred to the spring creates a pleasant reflection of light, now suddenly we have an idyll, etc. In addition, the black masks covering the whole for most of the time and separating individual points have the effect of making it even more impossible to find a definitive image of the entire landscape (not only spatially but also temporally fragmented) - the whole is thus determined only at the end, firstly when Kren reveals his film material to us, but mainly when the viewer himself composes the whole in his own imagination.

Flickering Windows or the flicker effect went for a walk in the park, and Austria obtained its second Kubelka, thus permanently establishing itself in the history of experimental (structural) film. Already in 2/60 48 Heads from the Szondi-Test, Kren pressed the film window below the threshold of perception and thus created something that is sometimes called a retinal collage - countless individually imperceptible human faces combine to form different faces, or rather invariant human faces, in the viewer's perception. However, in 3/60, we do not find new trees or the invariant of a tree, but we move from the whole to the parts - from the tree to its leaves. Indeed, by correctly aiming the camera and reducing the number of windows in the shot, the branches themselves can become their own miniature components, i.e., leaves, with their branched veins. Or rather, a film synecdoche. But in 3/60, the flicker effect is used completely and entirely - the viewer's retina finds its reflection in the film just as the branches of trees creating new images of leaf veins double the viewer's veins in the eye.

Peter Greenaway is very insightfully introduced first in the film because otherwise, this segment could effectively spoil the overall impression. The comparison to a children's PowerPoint presentation is absolutely accurate. I imagine that in the future, cheap museum tours or informational videos will be processed in such a way. It's better to quickly forget about it. Edgar Pêra – a quite playful and at times funny metaphor of the development of the film taking place in a single movie theater. In my opinion, it clearly stands against the trend of laziness, consumerism, and false dreams that cinema has embarked on after the invention of sound film and culminating in the emerging 3D technology. Jean-Luc Godard - the obvious visual and conceptual peak of the film ("save the best for last"), a work reminiscent of his other works (and directly referencing them several times), at times feeling like a sequence from Histoire(s) du cinéma performed in 3D. The possibility of seeing typical Godard intertitles in the format of the future will fill film lovers of the New Wave with more than one sentimental feeling. [Parallax 2014]

An explosion of primordial energy - animality, blood, a world without convention because it is without culture: the sinking of culture into a total mixture, in which things lose their shape and a bicycle lies on the table - explosion of the frenetic force of film, feverish unrestrained editing, sinking into the film. The return of the artist from the mid-20th century to this state through imitation of the creative process of a caveman, covering the walls and ceiling of his cave with drawings composed of simple lines? Ana as a Paleolithic Venus, unappealing and even terrifying to our modern conventions, but in the world of Freudian patria potestas before Oedipus, an embodiment of animal beauty? A bit like a sped-up Zwartjes.

The film was shot in the 60s but not completed until 1984, which coincides with H. Frampton's death. The entire film takes place between two camera perspectives: that of A) J. Wieland and B) H. Frampton. These two are both the subject and the creators, the subject-substance of the film. Thanks to their mutual effort to film each other during their own filmmaking/cinematography work, an image of themselves and the image of the city of Ontario gradually emerged. This fact is characteristic: all the other film cameras in all other films progress in a similar manner, despite the absence of such an obvious splitting that I witness here. Each camera primarily records itself and only secondarily the world/what it wants to depict because it always destroys the world and shapes it according to its own nature (referring to both the technical aspect and the artistic intentions of the director and cameraman, etc.). A and B in Ontario is a material demonstration of this.

Marker, as a member of the revolutionary filmmaker group SLON, created an agitprop documentary that aimed to show workers as a class the value of the strike as such (this was made easier by the fact that the specific strike depicted in the film was largely unsuccessful...). The film aimed to strengthen solidarity and build a collective class consciousness based on the understanding of the incompatibility between capitalists and the working class: "The real result of that strike was not a 3 or 4% rise but the education of young workers, discovering the true identity of their struggle." Marker allows the actors of the strike to speak for themselves, choosing moments when the workers and union members reach similar conclusions. I have two comments on this: 1) The idea that behind the workers' nominal desires (for wage improvement/maintaining current bonuses/fear of layoffs, etc.) lies the "true" desire for overall social change can be seen as either the authors' naivety or as an understanding that this hidden "truth" of the workers' struggle does not exist until it is brought to light through ideological struggle. 2) Marker was undoubtedly skillful, and thus his films never descend to mediocrity; however, even in this film, it does have limitations that can be observed in most of the then "revolutionary" French productions: constant talking, blah blah blah, talking (although Marker does allow the workers, who speak honestly and simply, to have their voices heard, which may not have been so distant from the target audience of the same social class). The cherry on top is the spontaneous student films during/after May 1968, where the viewer only witnesses youthful intellectual chatter, which only another convinced, left-wing student or intellectual is willing and capable of understanding...

Sartre's cliché that hell is other people is fully valid - hell is indeed not a place, just as death has no topos: it is in music, words, looks, and the objective of the camera. And death is in the soul instead of the "sun in the soul," the sun of beauty, the Brazilian sun, the sun of the Tropic of Capricorn, the state of Minas Gerais. There is something mythological about the theme, in which a family of decaying former aristocracy or high bourgeoisie closes itself in its isolated, nostalgically wallpapered Petri dish and is observed from the outside with an artistic microscope, just as it is threatened from the outside by the draft of modernity. The biggest contribution of this film lies in two things: firstly, this draft does not represent any simplified agitational symbol, but a character equally hysterical and in its defiant energy almost equally feeble-minded, which means that senseless conjectures, accusations, jealousies, envies, illusions, and chimeras do not sound out, as if there were a simple way out in the right direction. Therefore, secondly, the film is at its strongest when it leaves that external appearance and dives inside its Petri dish - death as a depth permeates the whole mise-en-scène, framing, and a dramatically sweet neo-romantic musical underscore.

Together with the subsequent film Mamma Roma and his very first prose book "Ragazzi di vita" (1955), it is about Pasolini's contradictory view of the life of the Roman lumpenproletariat. By contradictory, I don't mean formally, but as life itself is contradictory (and as his life and work were too). The characters are both sincere and treacherous, their laziness is undeniable, and they rob others and each other, but they can also be generous like few "decent" people, and so on and so forth. It is as if they have preserved something childish within themselves (friendship, the desire for eternal holidays), which, while maintaining it into adulthood, proves incompatible with our society (at least with the "honorable" part). The characters suffer for it, it can be said partly rightfully so, but that does not mean that their lives are not too dearly redeemed. Pasolini lingers in these works over the fact that the victims of these people are greater than their sins.

The text of the drama is read for oneself, before any introduction on the stage: it is not the actor who brings the text to life, but the reader - the empty space of the stage is the world. Space itself, text itself. Love itself. And yet, through this formal emptiness, it is given to us - the audience, to its lovers. The content of ourselves comes with a delay, with even greater force, only to then recede like a wave on the Atlantic coast, momentarily giving way to some prefabricated obsessive motifs of the Durassian universe, one of which is precisely the end of love, departure, flowing, and dissolving. Cut, blackness, extreme film emptiness. Silence. And in that moment, the viewer can once again begin their merging with the text and image, like that shot in which the sky, sea, and beach merge into one.