Yes, the Cannes Film Festival for 2009 has come and gone. The winners were announced last night with Michael Haneke winning the Palme d'Or for The White Ribbon, the maverick Austrian director had previously won Best Director in 2005 for Hidden and Grand Prix in 2001 for The Piano Teacher, so it doesn't come as too much of a surprise to see that he'd take out the big one this time. However, I had placed my imaginary bets on Pedro Almodovar, as he as has ostensibly declared his desire for that prize (as one does).
The Grand Prix went to Jacques Audiard's A Prophet; Best Actress to Charlotte Gainsbourg for her performance in Lars von Trier's Antichrist, and Best Actor to Christoph Waltz in Quentin Tarantino's Inglourious Basterds. For the other winners, please check out the festival's website: (http://www.festival-cannes.com/en.html).
I think it would be excruciatingly fascinating to be a fly on the wall in the room where the Official Jury arrived at these decisions - to see the criteria that they'd adopted or didn't adopt. I know there has been debate on whether these ecclesiastical awards are necessary or not? If they meant anything? And if they, at all, contribute to the building of the cinematic canon? I think these awards and the festival fuel public interest in cinema, and in particular, contemporary world cinema; the fact that the event is such an international affair and spectacle. The festival, in its selections, attempts to push the boundaries and possibilities of the medium - or well, that is what I'd expect Isabelle Huppert to do. So overall, you could say that I do feel that they are contributing to and helping mold a cinematic canon.*
*With these last few posts, I have been attempting to really define, clarify and justify my personal understanding of the 'cinematic canon'; this topic is one of great interest to me and this course with Dr Melissa Hardie has challenged some of my preconceived notions about it, however, it still seems that even though I may have new ideas and approaches to it, I still am reverting back to my old viewpoints (possibly even with greater intensity).
The New York Times in 2004 published a list of movies that their film critics deemed "The Best 1,000 Movies Ever Made". Interestingly, this list coincided with the first edition of ABC's/Quintessence's 1001 Movies You Must See Before You Die. Why, at the turn of the century, has there been such an ardent desire tocatalogue films into these lists, and then the dissemination of them to the general public?
I'm glad that there's been some debate going on about what I wrote in my first entry on the cinematic canon. The fact that for many readers, the developing 'cinematic canon' is minuscule and insignificant when compared to the literary canon, and by even having the word 'canon' in the term, it substantially devalues the 'literary' counterpart.
There was also passionate opposition to the notion of the cinematic canon being composed of, or rather being informed by, annual award ceremonies such as the competitive international film festivals (Cannes, Venice, Berlin and others) and the Academy Awards / BAFTA / Cesar etc. Indeed, I do agree that these ceremonies are flawed (I mean, how could the daft Julia Roberts in Erin Brockovich win Best Actress Oscar over Ellen Burstyn in Requiem for a Dream, or even Björk in Dancer in the Dark, whom wasn't even nominated, in 2000? [I'm sorry if there are any J.Ro lovers out there, but this one always gets me.]{And no disrespect what-so-ever to director Steven Soderbergh, whose Sex, Lies, and Videotape was an instigator for the rise of American Independent Cinema in the late '80s.}) as they are judged by an exclusive group of 'experts'; in the year in which the film was released; amidst a detrimental whirlwind of media speculation, buzz and obsession. But what I do believe is that these ceremonies (and their respective awards) capture the spirit of judging a work of art (film) from an objective and collective point of view; they record history; they tell future cinephiles what certain cinematic aesthetics/politics were valued in certain years, decades, generations, countries and cultures. Naturally, nothing can compare with the test of time, but what kind of criteria are we suppose to adopt when time is not an option at all?
Moreover, these ceremonies can do something functional which no 'literary canon' can do (unless of course, it's a modern literary canon) - they can inspire and motivate filmmakers (directors, screenwriters, actors, actresses, editors, art directors, costume designers, score composers etc) to strive for the 'best'; to adhere to the respective ceremonies' tastes and win awards, which in turn will provide the filmmaker with industry respect, recognition, and financial and artistic freedom - all of which when he or she is still alive.
I know, I know - I must come off like such a "fountainhead", but I have the utmost respect and admiration for the Oscars, Cannes, Venice and Berlin. And from watching films these 'friends' have recommended, I have been able to better develop my appreciation for cinema.
I do apologise for turning this, what was initially meant to be a loving announcement that the Cannes Film Festival for this year [13 - 24 May, 2009] has begun this week, into an anti-Julia Roberts rant.
Anyhow... so...
... yes, the festival has begun, and check out this video of the official jury, headed by Isabelle Huppert, in a media conference discussing how they will approach 'judging' the films of The Official Selection. (http://www.festival-cannes.com/en/mediaPlayer/9721.html) Also, please have a look at this trailer for a film called Precious, directed by Lee Daniels, which was featured in the Un Certain Regard section. (http://www.traileraddict.com/trailer/precious/trailer)
But before I close, I just want to express my gratitude and joy that Dancer in the Dark, by Lars von Trier, won the Palme d'Or and Björk the Prix d'interprétation féminine at Cannes in 2000. The film dissects time-honoured conventions of the musical and melodrama genres to a devastating effect, and Björk, like von Trier, who is equally loathed for her eccentricity, brings an emotional vocabulary to her performance.
Since its inception, film has had two separate functions – one of documentation and one of narrative. Naturally, the two can coalesce and exist as one, if not always. But remember the first time you were given a photograph camera and couldn’t stop taking spontaneous pictures? Or when you bought a videophone and just recorded everything and anything? Though, the irony of it is that documentaries, the genre of film aimed at documenting ‘real’ subjects, are often full of narratives, and this transparent narrativising of ‘real life’ is sometimes necessary for viewers to comprehend the subject matter. Similarly, narrative films are not composed entirely of artifice nor of fiction that escapes all senses of realism – there includes an aspect of documentation. The act of narrativising can be considered an innate human instinct. So therefore, it is very challenging to watch a film that vehemently subscribes to document without the added narrative.
In the prologue of Man with a Movie Camera (Chelovek s kino-apparatom) (1929), the ‘author-supervisor’ Dziga Vertov advises audiences that his film is “an experiment in cinematic communication of real events without the aid of intertitles, without the aid of scenario/story, without the aid of theatre. This work aims at creating a truly international language of cinema based on its absolute separation from the language of theatre and literature.” Vertov provides a more elaborate annotation of these intentions in Kino-Eye, in the section ‘WE: Variant of a Manifesto’ as he proclaims that “the old films, based on the romance, theatrical films and the like, [are] leprous.” Vertov explains that this is because these films involve ‘Synthesis’, “the mixing of the arts,” and such “should come at the summit of each art’s achievement and not before.” Vertov goes on to declare that he wants to search for film’s own material, meter, and rhythm; indeed, such intentions for the development of the medium’s technical capabilities are very virtuous and admirable. However, the question that now remains is ‘Does he succeed in creating this new language?’ and, if so, ‘Is it worth the trade-off of narrative?’ Yes, Vertov does succeed and it is very much worth the trade-off. Man with a Movie Cameracan be considered seminal and pioneering by all means; the camera ‘techniques’, ‘experiments’ and ‘exercises’ that Vertov uses are remarkable because of their spontaneous, natural mise-en-scène and also their contribution to the language of cinema.One example is the fast-forwarded moving clouds (a denotation for the passage of time) which is now a cinematic technique/motif/convention used prominently by modern filmmakers, most notably Gus Van Sant and Sofia Coppola. The experimental camera angles, shots, and edits (split screen, jump cuts, superimposition, juxtaposition, slow and fast motion) have created images that possess a poetic, ‘natural’ mise-en-scène reminiscent of photographs – revealing how this non-narrative film can be read as a series of moving photographs. At the time of its release in 1929, these radical and progressive images must have bedazzled viewers as they transformed everyday public icons and figures such as building fronts, streets,crowds, and bridges into sublime, alien abstract spectacles. For example, seeing the bridge from a nether point of view; though, this image mightn’t be foreign to certain audience members who happen to pass the infrastructure daily. Equally, the film must have surprised viewers by providing the private world in an unpolished light for public spectacle – examples include the woman washing, dressing, cleaning and even giving birth. Moreover, we also get to see the bourgeoning industrial world in action as Vertov catalogues the rapid developments of the modernity period; again, such would have been alien to audience members had they not worked in those industries. Vertov also attempts to capture society in all its varying facets yet also primarilyfocusing on the working class proletariat lifestyle – we are shown the bars that these people congregate in, their political offices, and religious institutions. Singularly, Vertov has challenged the aesthetic-politics of what is an appropriate film subject – the images, or rather scenes, which he captures are so evocative that within them must lie an ocean of narrative.Another issue that this film inspects is the idea of being filmed unaware versus being filmed when aware. Vertov seems to capture both the performative nature of humans when scrutinised as well as the intuitive habitual behaviours of humans when left to their own devices. These two separate notions of 'acting'/'performing'/'being' on screen tie in very closely to the film's foremost issue of documentation versus narrative. Even though narrative, in a conventional sense, has been sacrificed for the sake of broadening film aesthetics and technicalities here, there still exists in Man with a Movie Camera a sense of storytelling, of aiming to capture Moscow in the 1920s as it was; therefore, it becomes the job of these new, radical, pioneering camera techniques/tricks to imbue meaning into the images - demonstrating how every and any subject that is captured on film will have attached to it a narrative sensibility, be it intentional or unintentional.
In celebration of Vertov's Man with a Movie Camera, I thought I'd post up another list of ten 'important' films that affected me and made me reconsider the possibilities of the medium of cinema. I know this entry must seem very self-indulgent (and conspicuous), but I thought "why not?"
Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf?, Mike Nichols, 1966. Klute, Alan J. Pakula, 1971. Chinatown, Roman Polanski, 1974. Reds, Warren Beatty, 1981. Secrets and Lies, Mike Leigh, 1996. Happy Together, Wong Kar Wai, 1997. Far from Heaven, Todd Haynes, 2002. Adaptation, Spike Jonze, 2002. The Magdalene Sisters, Peter Mullan, 2002. Elephant, Gus Van Sant, 2003.
