Abbas Kiarostami’s The Wind Will Carry Us opens with a panoramic shot of a car making its way along a dusty track winding through a bare landscape dotted with occasional trees. In the car a group of film-makers argue about directions to the village where they have arranged to make a film. They are looking for a turning that should be near a single tree. One of the film-makers quotes a line from a Sufi poem: ‘Near the tree is a wooded lane/Greener than the dreams of God… .’
In those few seconds of film are encapsulated several of the defining characteristics and concerns of the films of the Iranian director, whose death was announced earlier this month. Years after seeing his films, images from them still haunt my imagination. Continue reading “Abbas Kiarostami: his love of simple reality captured the spirit of his times”
Last week was Refugee Week, though you wouldn’t have known it in a country now obsessed with borders and controls and frighteningly comfortable with demonising outsiders. I only learnt about it from the estimable Passing Time blog. The day after the appalling referendum result we sat down to watch Fire at Sea, Gianfranco Rosi’s strange but compelling documentary which observes the impact of the refugee crisis on the island of Lampedusa with a calm and unembroidered stare. Continue reading “Fire at Sea: life goes on while a human catastrophe unfolds at sea”
School is out for the summer and five free-spirited teenage sisters head for the beach. Full of girlish exuberance, they splash in the sea with schoolboy friends. They swim, fight playfully, and clamber on the boys’ shoulders. We could be almost anywhere in the world, but this is a far-flung village on Turkey’s northern Black Sea coast, ‘a thousand kilometres from Istanbul’, and the teenage idyll is about to ‘turn to shit’, in the words of the youngest sister, Lale. Continue reading “Mustang: five free spirits corralled”
One of the pleasures of blogging comes with the responses you sometimes get from a person you have never met, who may live on the other side of the world, yet who has read and appreciated something you have written. One instance was last week, when Victor wrote from Brazil in appreciation of a post I had written some time ago about the Korean film Poetry.
As a token of his appreciation Victor recommended a Brazilian film of which I’d never heard, viewable on YouTube. Stories Only Exist When Remembered, a first feature directed by Julia Murat in 2011, proved to be an exquisite film, a meditation on memory, time and ageing in which few words are spoken but much is implied. Continue reading “Stories Only Exist When Remembered: a film of exquisite beauty”
In recent days I’ve made two journeys back into the dark heart of Auschwitz courtesy of a book and a film. But You Did Not Come Back is Marceline Loridan-Ivens’ moving memoir addressed to her father. Aged fifteen, she survived the death camp, but her father did not return. The acclaimed film Son of Saul was my second encounter with the horrors of Auschwitz. Despite the praise heaped upon László Nemes’s film, I have my reservations. Continue reading “Son of Saul: Auschwitz in unrelenting close-up”
We are all streams from one water.
A block of quartz three thousand years old is the opening image of Patricio Guzman’s The Pearl Button; trapped inside is a drop of water. It was found in Chile’s Atacama desert, the driest place on Earth. Guzman’s last film, Nostalgia for the Light, began there, too.
After aridity, water: whereas that film remained for the most part in that ‘condemned land’ where human remains are mummified and objects are frozen in time, water is the key to everything in The Pearl Button, and Guzman follows the water – ‘Chile’s longest border’ – two and a half thousand miles south to Western Patagonia where the mountains of the Andes sink into the water to re-emerge as thousands of islands. Continue reading “Patricio Guzman’s The Pearl Button: ‘We are all streams from one water’”
I went to see pianist Joanna MacGregor and saxophonist Andy Sheppard play their new live score for Sunrise, F.W. Murnau’s 1927 silent film, more for the jazz. I thought I might be slightly irritated and distracted by the flickering images above the musicians’ heads. I could not have been more mistaken: I was totally enthralled by Sunrise, and now understand why it is regarded as a cinematic masterpiece. Images from it have haunted my mind ever since the screening. Continue reading “Andy Sheppard and Joanna MacGregor: A Song of Two Humans”