Everything we are experiencing in the world is the past. At least, that is one of the theses in Patricio Guzmán’s latest documentary, Nostalgia for the Light. Early on, we are informed that, because of minute, millisecond delays in our perceptive abilities, the present is a fleeting idea, and not something to be tangibly experienced.

With audiences questioning the reality of the world they’re living in (and maybe even more interestingly, the one that they’re experiencing onscreen) Guzmán launches into a well-balanced film about the noble quest of the astronomer, the emotional and political ramifications of dictatorial leadership, nostalgia, memory, and the importance of memory and the past.

The Atacama Desert (the driest place on the planet) is the subject of Guzmán’s philosophical musings. His subject begins with astronomy, transitions into a political examination of the need for catharsis in post-Pinochet Chile, and ends up blending the two in a grandiose amalgamation about memory and its vitality.

The film thrives during its personal examinations of political prisoners and victims of the atrocities committed by the Chilean military and government. We are introduced to an architect who can remember the exact dimensions of the political concentration camp that he lived in, a daughter whose parents were executed by the government, and a group of women tirelessly hunting for the remains of their loved ones. These women comprise the core of the film. Their task seems nearly impossible, but their need for catharsis in the form of human remains is understandable and affecting. An astronomer considers and compares their respective tasks. Why is the scientific research and study of the past venerated while the quest of these women to preserve their personal memories of the people they love deemed tantamount to insanity? The past isn’t something to be ignored, but something to live with.

While there’s great value in attaching the deeply personal, specific troubles of the political victims with the all-encompassing questions of the astronomers, the film slightly derails when it drifts too far from the Chilean struggle. The comparison adds a degree of universality that may have already been achieved with the personal stories. This brings up Nostalgia’s greatest weakness - its need to over-explain what’s going on onscreen. Rather than letting the audience feel the emotional power of the images, Guzmán forces talking heads to explain exactly what we’ve already intuited. In this case, it feels as if Guzmán is playing it on the safe side, not wanting any of his message (which is obviously near and dear to his heart) to fall by the wayside. A little more trust in himself as a director and the audience as an interpreter would strengthen the film. That being said, Nostalgia for the Light gives audiences much to reflect on - exactly what it sets out to do from the start.

The Killing of a Chinese Bookie. Stunning film. It’s a shame audiences today don’t seem to have the capacity to sit and watch something like this. Cassavetes’ visual style is stunning to watch. Highly recommended.

I hadn’t gone down the Neorealist route in a long time, and I have to say I was satisfied with Germany, Year Zero. There’s something about how Rossellini puts together simple images. His craft is one of subtlety and depth. Never had I seen a film that dealt so poetically with the German struggle after the war. It explores the guilt, regret, humiliation, and poverty that came along with losing WWII. Filmed on location in a war-ravaged Berlin, this one is definitely worth a look. It’s interesting to see after having watched Rome: Open City and Paisan. The three were intended to be a trilogy, and they succeed very well in that capacity.

Finally got around to watching my first Douglas Sirk film. I have to say I was swept into it. You have to give the film a little bit of slack and suspend some snickers at first in order to engage yourself in the sweeping story and the staunch social critique. Can’t wait to dig in to more Sirk.

I decided that I finally want to finish out my Preston Sturges box-set with The Great Moment and Christmas in July. Both are excellent Sturges fair (screwball comedy, boisterous acting, plenty of heart, plenty of people falling over). I highly reccommend both films, but my money says The Great Moment is better watched after having seen several of his other films (Try Sullivan’s Travels or Hail the Conquering Hero).

Haven’t posted in a while, but I thought I’d quick post about the few films I’ve seen in the past few weeks. First off: Irma Vep. Continuing with the Assayas-themed watching, I popped this one in. It’s a fun little movie. It doesn’t tackle anything too groundbreaking or meaningful, but is exciting enough to hold attention until the end. Gives you just enough to chew on. Not overbearing in any way, I recommend this to anyone, especially fans of the New Wave.

Finished up the first season of Twin Peaks and I’ve moved onto the second one! I have to say I love it more with each episode. Lynch has this odd way of setting his characters up so that they fall into these bizarrely beautiful nightmares. Can’t wait to watch more of it.

Just watched this yesterday. Honest relationships, brilliant directing. I didn’t fully connect with it, but maybe that’s because I haven’t lost a parent. Definitely worth a look - streaming on Netflix.

Read my review below!

Le Quattro Volte, the latest effort from Italian filmmaker Michelangelo Frammartino, is a film of quiet ambition and subtle execution. With this lovingly composed film, Frammartino slowly develops his ideas and asks audiences to consider large concepts through small events.

Le Quattro Volte (translated to “the four stages”) is divided up into four different segments. The first chronicles the lives (or perhaps the singular life) of an elderly goatherd, a newborn goat, a mighty tree, and the ashes and dust as a result of the tree’s burning. Each segment is given equal weight and equal treatment, positing that the life of the old man is no more or less important than the life of the goat, the tree, or the resultant ash. Each life (or stage of life) is equally beautiful and profound; giving audiences something to ponder long after the curtain has closed

These four segments clearly defined, but numerous visual clues communicate a belief in an overall connectedness of these differing life forms. Immediately after the old man’s body and coffin are slowly slid into the crematorium oven, the film shows the birth of the young goat. The old man and his death have been abandoned, reborn in the life of the animal. Similarly, the focus shifts from the goat to the tree upon the tragic passing of the newborn bleater. Finally, we directly see the ash pour from the ground as the mighty oak has been chopped and burned. This “circle-of-life” attitude may seem clumsy or trite on paper, but the film treats the material with such tact that the concept achieves a fresh beauty for audiences to silently consider.

All four stages of the film occur in an archaic, rural Italian village mired in tradition and slowly accepting modernity. The inhabitants of the town (the humans and the animals) move together in packs and processions. There’s a sense of community throughout, pointing to the circular nature of life. The subjects of each stage treat the subjects of the other stages with a certain respect. The elderly man cares for the goats, the goats seek shelter in the wilderness, the people of the town celebrate the life of the tree, and the ash stands in as the final link between the four.

The film meanders and wanders throughout these four different segments; all told artfully and poetically. The camera rarely moves, allowing the action to unfold and providing greater understanding of the naturalistic subject matter. Rather than brashly dictating, it assumes a status of quiet observation. Each shot is compositionally beautiful and is given due time to unfold and mature.

The film’s greatest strength is its decidedly slow pace. Not only is each shot given time to blossom, but each idea is presented with an allowance of time for digestion.

The film’s thematic content slowly builds and enhances – never shocking or deceiving. It’s a refreshing break to see something so obviously designed for internal contemplation and consideration.

Le Quattro Volte may not be for everyone. The complete omission of understandable spoken word, the static camera, and the unconventional subject matter may elicit complaints of boredom or restlessness. It is in those frustrated states that the film does its best work. Quiet contemplation is necessary throughout, and those willing to engage with the film’s slow pace and austere beauty will be amply rewarded.