HAND MOVIE (1966)

 {1966, 6mins, 16mm, b&w, USA}

Hand Movie (1966) was American dancer/choreographer/filmmaker et writer Yvonne Rainer's first foray into filmmaking, it came into being as the result of her confinement to a hospital bed when she was seriously ill et recovering from major surgery. Hand Movie is an extraordinary et unique experimental dance film, it presented a way for Rainer to perform when her body was incapable. the film consists simply of two continuous medium close-up shots of Rainer's disembodied right hand, held upright, presumably against the blank wall of her hospital room.

Rainer proceeds to move her individual fingers independently, her middle finger acting as a soloist of sorts, flexing/contracting/bending them up/down, rotating her arm to reveal the palm, her fingers rub/twitch/flick/contort/slide et criss-cross underneath et over-the-top of each other, then open out. Rainer constantly changes the angle/position of her hand, rotating her wrist to reveal palm-up/palm-down, side/profile, presenting the audioviewer with different viewpoints et perspectives of her wrist/hand/thumb/fingers exploring variations of movements et gestures.

it is quite remarkable how supple et flexible Rainer's fingers are et the amount of control she demonstrates over them, Hand Movie is a deceptively simple performance, yet it is only when you attempt it yourself that you can appreciate the skill et practice it must have taken to choreograph et perform. the film can be read as an exploration or demonstration of the hand's mechanics.

"How to use the performer as a medium rather than persona?
Is a 'ballet mechanique' the only solution?" {Yvonne Rainer}

Rainer creatively used Hand Movie as a way to continue et extend the minimalist/functional choreography she had firmly established with works like the seminal Trio A (1966), where she was reducing dance to the bare essentials, focusing on simple, repetitive, everyday movements, giving them new significance et possibilities. in many ways Hand Movie perfectly represents et illustrates Rainer's ideas of demystifying dance et rejecting any form of persona or narrative which she formulated/declared in her "No Manifesto" in 1965.

the film is completely silent, that is, without any room ambience or musical accompaniment, this allows the audioviewer to focus completely on Rainer's mesmerizing et beautiful hand/finger movements/gestures et variations.

No Manifesto (1965)

No to spectacle.
No to virtuosity.
No to transformations and magic and make-believe.
No to the glamour and transcendency of the star image.
No to the heroic.
No to the anti-heroic.
No to trash imagery.
No to involvement of performer or spectator.
No to style.
No to camp.
No to seduction of spectator by the wiles of the performer.
No to eccentricity.
No to moving or being moved.

Hand Movie was photographed by fellow dancer William Davis. it is in fact made up of two takes, or precisely two complete rolls of 16mm film that last approximately 3 minutes each. the film/performance does not have an end proper, that is, it does not resolve, which adheres to Rainer's manifesto, instead she consciously includes the film burning-out to a white screen as the camera negative runs out. like everyday life we gets a sense that Rainer's hand performance will be repeated endlessly with subtle variations over time.

you can watch Hand Movie below:

RAYA MARTIN "TRACK PROJECTIONS" (2007)

this is a film i greatly admire, Track Projections (2007), by independent Filipino filmmaker, Raya Martin.

 {2007, 6mins, hi-8, colour, Philippines} 

it is hard to put into words the emotional/sensory experience one has while viewing Raya Martin's beautiful short Track Projections, but i feel compelled to at least attempt to share my impressions/observations as a form of appreciation for his work.

Track Projections is an abstract poetic film, dreamlike, a meditative train journey through a wintry countryside et into a city at dusk. it is simultaneously an exploration of seeing/observing et a study of the medium that records what is seen/observed, of video itself. Martin presents us with a new way of seeing the world, he gives us a unique perspective of our surroundings.

 

  

Martin subtly transforms et renders the everyday landscapes et objects into abstract shapes, colors, textures, weaving rapidly, they blur et merge, smear into each other then break apart, sometimes we get fleeting glimpses of familiar images, the chimney of a house, a corrugated fence, iron railway structure, graffiti on a wall, cars in the street, pavement stones, pop into focus momentarily, then vanish again into the stream-of-consciousness.

we are also made aware of the materiality et structure of the images that have been captured on analog video tape. Martin creatively includes the imperfections et defects; stretchmarks, drop-outs, static, tracking glitches, he incorporates them into the film rhythmically, as another texture, but he is also making us aware of the videos construction et fragility.

the limitations of the camera itself are also used innovatively, Martin is using a hi-8 consumer camera that has a built in auto-iris, the camera struggles to expose high contrast images, between strong highlights et deep shadows causing the iris to open et close continuously. Martin uses this restriction creatively, he renders the pulsing dilations et contractions of the iris as a rhythm, a heartbeat, but it also has a blinking quality, like a sleepy eye, slowly opening et closing, the intervals getting longer, slower, heavier, before finally remaining closed.

Martin significantly rotates his continually moving/train-tracking images, reorienting the horizontal nature of the landscape/horizon so that it becomes vertical. in doing so he makes the images flow upwards, as if they are streaming out of a film projector. the abstracted landscape made up of vertical lines, shapes, forms et textures appear more like scratches, bleach et paint marks, evoking the direct, hand painted/collage films of Len Lye et later Stan Brakhage.

the film is left silent, Martin has consciously chosen to go without any sound or musical accompaniment, this also evokes the films of Stan Brakhage, who boldly omitted any form of soundtrack to his films. they allow the images to speak for themselves, it is a purely visual experience {which is not to say one does not imagine sound}. it also significantly takes us back to the beginning of cinema before the invention of sound.

one of the final images in Track Projections reveals a child on a train, staring out the window, transfixed by the ever-changing landscape. one begins to think perhaps the film has all taken place in his mind, this wondrous vision of the passing landscape that we have been experiencing is being filtered through his youthful et innocent eyes. Track Projections is a delightful commingling of reality et imagination.


great news, you can watch Track Projections below:

SAUTE MA VILLE (1968)

next up is Saute ma Ville (1968), Belgian filmmaker Chantal Akerman's brilliant first short.

{1968, 13mins, 35mm, b&w, Belgium}

greatly inspired by Jean-Luc Godard et the joyful verve of French New Wave cinema, Akerman set about independently funding et making her first film, Saute ma Ville {Blow Up My Town} when she was only 18 years old. the result is an anarchistic, absurd, tragicomic, et exuberantly satirical film, it critiques the emptiness et unfulfilled domestic life of a young woman {a theme she will return to in her masterpiece Jeanne Dielman (1975)}.

the title of the film aptly expresses youthful angst, wanting to rebel, to destroy, to "blow up" the place you are forced to live in, nearly everyone can identify with that. Akerman enthusiastically attempts to live out this fantasy, Saute ma Ville is her film, her declaration to society as an 18 year old woman living in Brussels in 1968, that things need to change.

Akerman sets up the film in true Godardian fashion with a large title announcing RECIT {a small story, or personal account}, she then establishes the films location, a high rise apartment building {representative of mass cramped modern living}, we are quickly introduced to the young protagonist, Akerman herself, who rushes into the building carrying flowers, checks her mail, then frantically makes her way to her apartment, as if late for something. all the while on the soundtrack we hear her voice zestfully humming a tune, which uniquely plays out as the opening 'theme' music. once home she literally locks herself in the kitchen et begins to make herself dinner.

"Scotch!" a harsh voice repeats tauntingly as the main character begins to make dinner. this word is at first quite cryptic, just another crazy sound, but it is in fact a very significant word, the only word in fact that is spoken in the entire film. this is her inner-voice, jeering at her, to get on with it. Scotch significantly means; put an end to, smash, destroy, et we could go as far as blow up, et of course it also means cello-tape.

the main character then matter-of-factly begins to tape around the door frame, sealing it, scotching herself into the kitchen, a gesture that signifies she is in the process of putting an end to her own life, she is obeying her inner voice. but Akerman puts a brilliant comic touch to this disquieting sequence, as she tapes the door frame, she repeatedly pauses et takes large bites from an apple, the loud crunching sounds add to the absurdity of the situation.

Akerman discerningly portrays the act of suicide as just another banal ritual, like having to make dinner or polish shoes. her character indifferently goes about her preparations for suicide while making dinner et mopping the floor. it is reminiscent of Godard's treatment of torture in Le Petit Soldat (1963), he de-dramatizes it to shows torture as a banal everyday process for the torturers. here Akerman elicits humor from the absurdness of her characters awkward preparations to asphyxiate herself in her kitchen, as well as blow up her apartment for good measure, after having just cleaned it!

Saute ma Ville is a very 'performative' film, it is a solo performance, et significantly, Akerman places herself in the lead role, this is something she will subsequently do throughout her career, effectively affording her films a level of authenticity et keen sense of self-examination.

the film is staged critically in one location, a cramped kitchen, which acts as a kind of 'domestic theatre'. the camera takes an observational approach, it regards et follows the main character as she performs her domestic chores within the tight space. there is often an ungainliness to Akerman's performance, a clumsiness, mixed with her constant horsing around, gives the film a slapstick nature, reminiscent of Chaplin et Tati, which only adds to the absurd et tragicomic tone of the film.

 

her exuberant spontaneity mixed with the films slightly unpolished quality give Saute ma Ville its youthful charm. this is something Akerman would dispense with in her subsequent films, establishing a more formal et rigid aesthetic.

throughout the film the main character grows more et more unstrung, her movements et gestures become frantic, her behaviour more erratic. something has clearly snapped, the overwhelming thought of a lifetime of domestic servitude is too much for her.

in one such sequence Akerman deftly turns the daily ritual of polishing her shoes into a devastating feminist critique. she begins to polish her shoe, then her sock et finally her leg, absent-mindedly at first et then gleefully with broad manic scrubbing gestures. the main character is like a child who refuses to stay within the lines of a colouring-in drawing, she refuses to adhere to societies outmoded routines any longer. Akerman's performance in this sequence et much of the films themes et attitudes evoke feminist performance et body art of the late 1960s-70s.

it is impossible to talk about Saute ma Ville without addressing its highly effective soundtrack. Akerman uniquely dubbed most of the film with her own voice, utilizing any et every sound that pops into her head; humming, murmuring, babbling et other child-like sound effects.

Akerman's child-like wordless singing, produces a unique form of 'sound' music, there is even a 'theme' tune of sorts. humorously at times her voice gets overexcited et falters, sounding almost out breath, other times it becomes bored, et takes on a more agitated tone. the sounds are usually synchronised with the drama, relating to what the main character is doing. it reflects her unstable personality, at times it is innocent et whimsical but then it becomes irritated et taunting, signally the characters growing agitation.

in many ways Akerman's use of her dubbed voice allows her to represent the solitude et loneliness of the main character, humming is usually done when you are alone, or you're excited about something, or when performing menial tasks as a way to distract yourself.

the mirror has a strong symbolic role in the Saute ma Ville, as a device that enables self-awareness, et as a symbol of 'beautification', the mirror is where women make themselves beautiful et 'presentable' before they go out into society. Akerman is critiquing the role of the mirror in women's lives, she makes its indifferent reflection complicit, a witness to her characters actions et subsequent suicide.

there are three important moments in the film that occur in the mirror, the first, Akerman's character sitting on the floor, abruptly catches sight of herself in the mirror, there is a moment of uncertainty, she is asking herself if she is really going to go through with it, then resigned to the fact, she breaks the gaze et proceeds to tape up the windows frames.

the second time is when she is dancing about hysterically, rubbing lotion on her face et laughing deliriously, Akerman once again catches sight of herself in the mirror, but this time she makes direct eye contact with the camera, with the audience, it is as if she is saying, you could stop this. she slaps herself, then disgusted by her reflection, she angrily writes something on the mirror {which we cannot make out}.

thirdly when she ignores the mirror, breaking the spell, she goes over to the stove, sets a piece of paper on fire, then turns the gas on, a voice on the soundtrack disturbingly makes the sound of gas hissing as it leaks into the room, this is mixed with the crackling of burning paper.

the film ends with a long shot filmed in the mirror, as a reflection, slumped over the gas stove, flowers grasped in her hand, a symbol of beauty et innocence. we wait with her, forced to watch her in the mirror, waiting for the inevitable ... bang! all goes black, interestingly rather than an explosion, Akerman chooses to unleash a hail of gunfire on the town, a possible reference to Godard's Masculin Feminin (1964) which also used gunfire sound effects metaphorically/politically.

the films 'explosive' suicidal ending also evokes Godard's Pierrot le Fou (1965), a film Akerman has cited as being the reason she became a filmmaker, so in many ways the ending is an homage, but comically, one that happens "off" camera. after the gunfire subsides, the films closing credits are cheerfully read aloud by Akerman, this is effectively her final nod to Godard, a reference to his opening credits in Le Mépris (1963).

******

you can watch Saute Ma Ville below, it is in two parts however.

A LETTER TO UNCLE BOONMEE (2009)

next is a recent short i greatly admire, A Letter to Uncle Boonmee (2009), directed by Thai filmmaker Apichatpong Weerasethakul.

{2009, 18mins, 16mm, colour, Thailand}

one of the first things you experience in A Letter to Uncle Boonmee, is the long meditative tracking shots. Weerasethakul's camera conscientiously guides us through a series of abandoned houses, the rooms left untouched, he gives the audioviewer ample time to concentrate on the household details et simultaneously process the disembodied voices that take turns reading aloud the titular letter, which forms the films narration. Weerasethakul's poignant juxtaposition between the plainly-spoken voices et the moving camera evoke the mesmerizing films of Alain Resnais et Marguerite Duras {Night and Fog, Hiroshima Mon Amour, India Song}, who were both outstanding practitioners et innovators of opposing et combining disembodied voices over long "descriptive" tracking shots.

Weerasethakul's cinematic treatment et representation of actual historical events is also reminiscent of Resnais et Duras. Letter could be described as being more conceptual than factual {although facts are stated}, it is self-reflexive, yet dreamlike, it is a reenactment, a reincarnation, it is a study of time, place et remembrance.

Letter poetically recreates, or in some ways reincarnates the unsettling memory of abandonment et occupation, perhaps the current inhabitants of these houses are the children or relatives of the original families who were violently forced to flee, it is unknown. but for the sake of the film Weerasethakul has made them flee once again, et he reinstates a group of young soldiers to re-occupy the village.

the slow moving camera takes on a real presence, it haunts the interiors of the various houses, gazing upon the personal belongings as it drifts by. the voices fill the rooms as they read a letter written by Weerasethakul, addressed to his uncle Boonmee. with each new, tonally different voice, comes a fresh perspective on the letters content, it also produces a Brechtian 'alienation effect'. through repetition, we are made aware that these disembodied voices {presumably locals he has cast form Nabua} are being auditioned as his stand-ins, et simultaneously the house interiors too are being examined et explored in detail for their possible resemblance et suitability for the film we are in turn watching. Weerasethakul self-reflexively uses the filmmaking process to make up the film proper.

halfway into the film Weerasethakul's voice interrupts the letter reading, in an attempt to explain himself and his intentions, the images shift to exteriors, opening the film up to the surrounding houses et village, reflecting the candid et self-reflexive nature of the dialogue we are hearing. but then he has trouble explaining himself et tellingly the images correspondingly become more constricted, dim, et finally completely opaque. then out of the darkness a voice asks how to pronounce "view"? the camera responds to the voice by revealing an open window which affords a vantage of the neighbouring houses et smoke coming out of a mysterious pod shaped apparatus*

at one stage in the film, we experience a disorienting effect as the lens of the film camera is changed, the mattebox is then closed to reveal a dusky view of the village. Weerasethakul is continually reminding the audioviewer that they are watching a film, a constructed document that he takes full responsibility for.

Weerasethakul creatively uses the available daylight to render the houses naturally through the numerous open windows, he allows the rooms to remain murky et atmospheric, using the play of light et shadow to help illustrate the contents of the letter that is being read aloud, et also to communicate the difficulties he faces as a filmmaker in representing the past atrocities that were committed almost 50 years ago to the villagers of Nabua.

the arrival of the wind symbolically introduces us to the young soldiers who are occupying the village. the wind may be the result of stirring up the past or perhaps it means to uncover it, bringing it out into the open air. the presence of the wind lends a sense of restlessness et unease to the images. the soldiers represent the only 'real' physical presence in the film. Weerasethakul shows the soldiers eating, digging with hoes, lying about in the houses, passing the time, trying to keep cool with fans, these scenes capture a sense of detachment et indifference.

a voice continues to read the letter, this time shifting to outline the historical facts about the Nabua villagers who originally lived there. as we are told about how the local farmers were tortured et forced to flee by the governments army, the camera poignantly tracks past a wall containing family photographs, these portraits stand in for et commemorate the memory of all the villagers who disappeared into the jungle.

the film ends in a kind of twilight, the ambience is very dim, the camera slowly drifts past the various trees populating the jungle, these images are representative of where the surviving villagers were forced to flee into, et became their new home. these haunting images are made more unsettling by the constant whir of an electric fan on the soundtrack, evoking the soldiers who lie about idly in the 'abandoned' houses. curiosuly, we also catch a brief glimpse of a shadowy figure {monkey-man**} lurking amongst the trees only to lose sight of it.

Letter to Uncle Boonmee has a dreamlike quality, it feels as though we are floating through Weerasethakul's subconscious as he is reflecting on the film project, how he is going to express visually et aurally the ideas et facts, et how to remain respectful to et honour the memories of the villages of Nabua. Weerasethakul acknowledges these critical questions et makes them an integral part of his film, which produces the effective self-reflexive quality. Letter recalls his first feature Mysterious Objects at Noon (2000), which also contained the directors presence, critically making the audioviewer aware of the filmmaking process.  

Weerasethakul creatively incorporates the letter as a device in which he can explore both personal et historical ideas. through the making of the film he reconnects with his own past, with his uncle Boonmee, et at the same time reveals to the world, a dark period in Thailand's history that had been covered up. Letter attempts to acknowledge the atrocities that were committed in Nabua et thoughtfully commemorates the displaced villagers who lost their lives et homes.

****

it is important to note here that A Letter to Uncle Boonmee is part of the multi-platform "Primitive" project which focuses on the concept of remembrance and extinction set in the northeast of Thailand. also part of this initiative was Weerasethakul's short film Phantoms of Nabua (2009),  shot in the same village et at the same time as Letter.

Weerasethakul subsequently developed Uncle Boonmee into the feature film titled, Uncle Boonmee Who Can Remember His Past Lives (2010), which impressively et deservedly won the Palm d'Or at the Cannes films festival. i strongly recommend you see it if you can, along with Weerasethakul's earlier films!

* this pod/spaceship of sorts, is from Weerasethakul's Primative (2009) short film, which was the founding part of the "Primitive" project.


** we are introduced to the 'monkey-people' in greater detail et to dramatic effect in the feature film Uncle Boonmee Who Can Remember His Past Lives (2010).