myDylarama

Interview with Kamal Aljafari, director of Paradiso, XXXI, 108

Abla Kandalaft, Brasserie du Court team, Clotilde Couturier — 2023-02-01T21:14:54Z

“Nothing can be heard anymore; the roar of our plane absorbs every other sound. We are heading straight to the world's biggest display of soundproof fireworks, and soon we will drop our bombs.”

Palestinian filmmaker and artist Kamal Aljafari has built a solid reputation for his cutting-edge experimental filmmaking over the years, with work shown at the Berlinale, Locarno, Venice.... and here in Clermont-Ferrand! Aljafari's new film certainly doesn't disappoint. Its title is taken from a short story by Borges. The images are footage from an Israeli army propaganda video showing it conducting "tests" in the desert. Aljafari repurposes these to depict what seems to be a staged fight, or playacting, it's never quite clear, and intentionally so. It's an ambitious, uncanny film, very rich in symbolism, which manages to say so much about our own relation to on-screen violence.

Where and when does Paradiso, XXXI, 108 take place?

Paradiso, XXXI, 108 is taking place in Al-Naqab desert, in the south of Palestine.

From which material did you get the military pictures? Did you do editing?

The material is coming from films commissioned by the Israeli Army. They were didactic, educational propaganda films, where basically being in the army meant to look very entertaining and full of learning. The whole concept of the film is in the editing, which allowed me to subvert the material by changing the order of scenes and actions, by exasperating the iteration of mechanical activities through which these war games are questioned and seem senseless. But in some scenes the editing was kept as it is because it served the idea of the film. Also the narration in Hebrew was taken from the original material and, despite the fact that it is fictitious, it is a document that testifies to a certain state of mind.

What did you have in mind when making the soundtrack of the film?

First I was interested in the mechanical aspect of human beings, and, more specifically, of an apparatus of destruction, the army. The sound gives you the feeling of that and builds up the tension. Like the “Danse Macabre”, which is a music that already talks and reflects on human nature, as its title reveals. In a way this is what we see. While I used Haendel's “Sarabande” for delivering a kind of melancholy for all that is going wrong with humanity, which always pays the price for being at war and creating systems that are enforcing destruction. Surely this film is showing a specific place and a specific case, but I think it is a reflection on humanity itself and on its failure. Then there are some parts in the film where we are using Suleiman Gamil's music (“Pharaoh Funeral Process”, “Isis Looks for Osiris”) that in a certain way is the sound of this landscape. The sound of the flute is coming again and again, like the wind, it is almost what this landscape is telling: you cannot defeat me. This area of Palestine has been very affected both by using a large part of it as army bases for exercises and by creating settlements and, by doing so, changing the nature of the place. Where there is desert, in many places in the world, it has been used to exercise, to test bombs and finally destroy the landscape itself. In the material we never see the people: the enemy is always supposedly hiding behind the hills, or between ruins, but we never see it. Nevertheless the soldiers continue bombing and maneuvering and attacking again and again with their power forces. This whole thing that the enemy is not to be seen is also quite symbolic: it's the way the Palestinians, are perceived in many aspects of their life, as non-existing and temporary. Yet the “state” is set to look for them, in a way the material testify for this ideology, they are there and not there. They are not being recognized as human beings and the army attempts at the same time to fight them, which is in itself very contradictory and prone to failure.

Is there a sequel to Paradiso, XXXI, 108? Do you have further projects dealing with this issue?

The film was born out of another project we are still editing called A Fidai Film, and in that sense what we see in Paradiso, XXXI, 108 is just one aspect of a work of sabotage that I do to archival materials. A Fidai Film deals with the looting of archives, of a culture, of an entire country, and which is still going on. The film is a visual treatment of all of this. Working with archives allows me to study images and find patterns. In A Fidai Film there are a couple of sequences where we see exercises of the army from different times, and where they attack ruins, empty of humans. There is something very strange about using old and ancient structures to exercise an occupation. Making it in some ways symbolic for the whole story of Palestine, and not only in modern times.

What's your favourite short?

I would say Homage by Assassination by Elia Suleiman (1992). To me it is one of the best short films of all time. It is his first movie he made in New York.

What does the Festival mean to you?

I have always heard about this festival and I am very happy that my film was selected in your program. What I really love about the Clermont-Ferrand short film festival is the idea of having a place that focuses on and supports short films, which to me manage to deliver the most experimental ideas in cinema. This is both because of their length, which most of the time makes them the most difficult to produce and support, but also gives them the freedom to be independent.

Sensitive and important well-stitched short: Salar Pashtoonyar on Hills and Moutains

Abla Kandalaft, Clotilde Couturier — 2023-02-01T20:35:24Z

Shooting on location in Taliban-controlled Afghanistan, director Salar Pashtoonyar uses a thought-provoking yet powerfully humane hybrid of documentary and fiction to delve deep into the experience of a woman forced to the edge of her society.

This is the second short Salar has had in competition at the Clermont-Ferrand Film Festival. Bad Omen, which was in competition last year, showcased his ability to write three dimensional and complex female characters. In Hills And Mountains, yet again, his sensitive, intelligent and compassionate look at his female protagonists shines to the fore, in a original and well-stitched short, which mixes genres and formats in the hope of preserving these images for future generations.
Read Salar's interview about Bad Omen here.

In Koha wa Tapaha, we hear the voice of the main character as she tells her story, but we don't see her. What was your intent behind this choice?

There are two reasons. One was a creative choice and the second out of a solution to an obstacle imposed on us. Creatively, this choice was made to make her story every Afghan's story by overlaying her voice with the visuals of civilians. After the Soviet invasion in the late 70s, half of Afghanistan's pre-war population was lost to death, injuries and displacement. One way or the other, directly or indirectly, everyone we see in this film has been affected by that war. Secondly, when the Taliban retook Kabul, their very first ban was on women's participation in fiction cinema. They were barred from acting in films. For me, this meant overcoming one more obstacle in the world of filmmaking. To work around this ban, I decided we do not see her.

How did you work with Fereshta Afshar, the voice performer?

The actual collaboration was very different for both of us. We collaborated remotely. It was something neither of us had done in the past. Keeping segregation laws in mind, and to avoid trouble with the authorities, we never met during the making of this film. I sent her the narration script with notes for directions. She would then record the voice over and send me the files. I would listen and give her feedback. We went back and forth countless times before we both were satisfied with the final results. I had collaborated with Fereshta in my previous narrative short film Bad Omen, which also played at Clermont-Ferrand in 2021. She is by far the best acting talent in Afghanistan. For Koha wa Tapaha, I had made up my mind from the beginning that I will be working with her again in order to keep this film as authentic as possible and to keep Afghan cinema alive by collaborating with someone who was directly affected by the ban. It would have been a lot easier to cast someone outside Afghanistan but that would fail to bring the raw emotions that Fereshta delivered via her voice.

It's rather rare, for an Western audience, to see images of Afghanistan that aren't related to war. How did you choose the shots of the country you used in the film?

Afghanistan is always on my mind and in my heart. The exact reason I made this film was the fact that one night, I came to the realization that there was no active war in Afghanistan post the US withdrawal. It was the first time in my life that the armed conflict had ended back home. But, I am also aware of the history. Last time, an invading superpower “Soviet Union” was forced to withdraw; Afghanistan fell into a very bloody civil war in which Kabul, the capital was destroyed. I couldn't help but have a mix of negative and positive thoughts about the future. These thoughts made me realize how historically significant the current phase is. I rushed to visually document Kabul's residents, hills and mountains to preserve the current phase for future generations. I don't know what lies ahead for Afghans and the country, but at least these visuals will mean something to someone like me in the future. Choosing the shots was easy. Kabul and pretty much the entire of Afghanistan is shaped like a poetic painting. When you stand in the middle of it, you're surrounded by the hills and mountains.

How would you like the audience to react to your film?

I find myself morally obligated to inform and educate the audience about Afghans, and Afghanistan through my films. I like to give the audience glimpses into the unseen and unknown Afghanistan, this is why I base my films around the events that have been taking place in Afghanistan post-1970s. Unfortunately, back home has been the battlefield for the world's superpower forever. If you say the word Afghanistan or read the word Afghanistan, the first thought that comes to mind is most likely war, but there was and still is more to Afghanistan and its people. Our stories have been told with a narrow gaze. Filmmaking allows me to preserve our stories in an artistic form while at the same time, I am able to inform the broader audience of what Afghanistan was like before these wars or why we are in the current state. We all have our own biases shaped by the information we are exposed to. I can't control how the audience will or will not react to my film, but I do know that they will have a new perspective and better understanding of Afghanistan after watching my film.

What's your favourite short?

My favourite short film is an animation called Father and Daughter by Michaël Dudok de Wit. It's a very straight forward simple story about a girl who grows up, but within her, there is always a deep longing for her missing father. It's a very powerful emotionally moving film.

What does the Festival mean to you?

Clermont-Ferrand International Short Film Festival is an undisputed King of short film festivals. The programming, networking, opportunities and all-around environment are second to none. I look forward to being there in person soon.

Leo Blandino on Bitume at the Brasserie

Clotilde Couturier — 2023-01-30T18:50:16Z

On his way to England for an urgent transport, Merlin, an exhausted 50-years-old driver, begins to hear haunting voices from the back of his locked truck. An impressive mix of grit and poetry drives the miserable, heart-wrenching fate of migrant workers home. By encasing this in a more esoteric depiction of loneliness against the harsh lines of its looming background of trucks and highways, Leo avoids pathos and allows his film to resonate for a long time.

How did you happen to think of making a film about truck drivers?

I wrote the script with Thimothée Meyrieux-Drevet who shared his research on drivers and the evolution of their working conditions. I was immediately interested by the topic. So then we had to figure out how to talk about it and come up with a cinematic idea. For that, I was primarily inspired by the world of highways and industrial areas. They're paradoxical places that are neither natural areas nor inhabited ones, where machines reign supreme. Trucks are almost like the animals of a mechanical biotope for the area. And drivers are solitary humans who pass each other, like sailors on the sea. That's what I found fascinating about their job: over the course of their life, they drive more than they walk.

How did you meet Christophe Kourotchkine?

Choosing Christophe was both simple and instinctive. We didn't cast for the role. The production team organized a meeting with him to go over the script. The moment I saw how he moved, talked, watched, I had no doubts about him for the part.

Were you more interested by the feeling of insignificance or by the question of breaking off relations with one's family?

Aren't those two issues linked? Doesn't the feeling of insignificance depend on the relationship we have with others and with our environment? More than the question of breaking off, I think it's the question of our “link” to the world and to others that spurred me.

Were you particularly interested in the subject of “undocumented” immigrants? Do you see yourself making other films on the topic?

I don't know where that comes from, but it's something that comes up often when I write. For example in my earlier film, Z.A.R (2021), a science-fiction film that talks about climatic migrations. Honestly, it's unconscious on my part. I'm not particularly active politically, but I am ashamed. I'm ashamed of knowing and of adapting so easily to the situation sometimes, and to a certain degree, as a European of a certain social class, of taking advantage of the situation. So, since I'm ashamed, I display my shame wherever I find myself, which in this case means a heated apartment in a French city where you can order food that's often cooked and/or delivered by migrant workers (who are sometimes undocumented), in precarious situations, who've lived through things that my mind and body could perhaps not even imagine.

What's your favorite short?

With no hesitation, I have to say William Laboury's Hotaru… It's a science-fiction film that's edited together using mainly archival images. For me, it's both a narrative and formal wonder. It's one of my favorite films, regardless of format. I've seen it at least ten times. I've never met the director, however, so I haven't told him yet. If that happened, I'd probably buy him a pint of beer out of friendship. I was also very impressed with Amour(s) by Mathilde Chavanne, which I saw at Clermont-Ferrand in 2020. But I was able to tell her. And I did buy her a pint.

What does the Festival mean to you?

I've heard about the Festival since I was fourteen. Later on, I went often as an audience member, but this is the first time that I'll be presenting my film in competition. So obviously, it's a bit symbolic for me. It's also a Festival where you can see a lot of films, very different ones from all over the world, and then go and argue with like-minded film-buffs in a bar about your favorite ones and least favorite ones. Which, along with eating truffade, is one of my favorite activities in Clermont-Ferrand. That way of appreciating films is not necessarily universal, but for me, the critical disagreement the Festival encourages is what makes up the entire vitality of cinema. I sincerely hope people will viscerally loathe my film and passionately argue with other people who might have loved it.

Interview with Trinidad Plass, Titouan Tillier and Isaac Wenzek, co-directors of Ressources humaines

Clotilde Couturier — 2023-01-29T18:57:13Z

Very amusing and highly inventive animation around the themes of recycling and reincarnation!

What was the starting point for the inspiration of the film? Are you particularly fond of certain objects?

We based the film around the theme “recycle what is not of use” and we thought that for once, it would be interesting if the material to be recycled were humans. This led us to the following question: If given the choice, what would we like to be recycled into? The set is mostly composed of real responses to this question by family and friends. We are particularly proud of the recycling machine that doesn't seem to hurt one bit!

How did you all agree on the object chosen by the character for his ‘recycling'?

Andy's character tries to do things right, and like many people, he is afraid of messing up his administrative procedures. This is why the chair is a reassuring object for him, because with this choice, he is sure to fulfill his role. This chair is exactly like his life: reasonable. A bit too much perhaps.

What material did you use to give shape to your characters? And which techniques did you employ?

Our puppets have a metal structure, covered in foam and carded wool. We had been wanting to try this technique that we discovered in Emma de Swaef's films for a long time. Not being familiar with her technical approach, our characters came to life thanks to a recipe that we improved little by little throughout the creation of our film. In addition to this discovery, we had the challenge of carrying out a handheld sequence shot, which wasn't exactly a walk in the park.

Were you most inspired by the issue of recycling, of reincarnation, or of replaceability?

We enjoyed challenging the norms of our own society by creating a world where humans are the primary resource of production. From a situation that might seem absurd and shocking, we invite reflection on humankind and the space it currently occupies.

What's your favorite short?

Min Börda, de Niki Lindroth von Bahr, is a short that had an impact on all three of us with its way of discussing subjects dealing with the strangeness of everyday life as well as the absurdity of the human condition. In addition, we were inspired by the camera play, the awkwardness and the silence at the heart of the series The Office.

What does the Festival mean to you?

Each of us has had the occasion of participating in the festival as audience members and we were impressed and inspired by many shorts. After a few months in the dark and a few thousand photos, it is a real pleasure to know that our film will have an audience! This festival is a wonderful first step in the world of cinema, for the film and for us. Thank you!

Interview with Ezequiel Salinas and Ramiro Sonzini, co-directors of Mi Última Aventura (My Last Adventure)

Clotilde Couturier, Elise Loiseau — 2022-07-06T12:58:52Z

A poor young man decides to cease to be so, and along with his friend, he tries to flee with a bag full of money from his boss. The last night in his hometown is the two friend's review, in the form of a farewell, of the places, the emotion and the songs that marked their lives.

What was the starting point of the film?

The starting point was partly a preliminary work by Ezequiel Salinas, Adieu à la nuit, where a mysterious character rides his moped through the night. In this short film, there was a very special way of filming at night in the city of Córdoba (Argentina): The coloured light, the rain, and the movement of the moped produced a kind of trance, a moving sensation full of nostalgia, which we found very attractive. The other starting point was the stories we heard at various family reunions or with friends, with inhabitants of the town, which secretly account for a very special, contradictory and charming identity.

Mi Última Aventura deals with friendship, betrayal, and with the end of an era as well. Do these topics interest you specifically?

Friendship is a kind of bond that can take many different shapes. We wanted to develop a very intense bond, something similar to family bonds and also something along the lines of a romantic relationship. Often, friends are the family we make for ourselves as we gradually move through life, a family that forms according to the path we follow. And these bonds also include the possibility of neglect, misunderstanding or betrayal. What are the circumstances in which a betrayal can happen and how do we deal with it, how does it impact our bond and is it possible to maintain the bond after such an event, this was something we found fascinating to stage on screen.

I presume the work on the soundtrack was particularly important for this film. How do you hope it will resonate with the audience?

Yes, that would be fantastic. Not only because it was through the narration and the music that we tried to produce a specific atmosphere, an emotion that runs through our characters (the feeling of saying goodbye to a place that we loved and despised at the same time), but also because the lyrics of each song were meant to produce a resonance, an echo in the story that the characters were experiencing.

What were the biggest advantages of working on the film together, and the challenges that you faced?

We believe that the biggest advantage is that for every decision we make there are always at least two points of view. Maybe the work process is slower this way, but we always have the opportunity to discuss and reconsider the decisions we make. I think the main challenge is to always find interesting scenes to shoot with the limited means we have at our disposal.

Is there a particular short film that has made a strong impression on you?

Despite the fact that there are lots of short films that we find interesting, to make Mi última aventura we were influenced more by feature length films: Millenium Mambo and Goodbye South Goodbye by Hou Hsiao-Hsien, Collateral by Michael Mann and I vitelloni by Federico Fellini.

What's your definition of a good film?

We believe that it is impossible to define what makes a good film, but we also believe that the raison d'être of cinema is to help us understand human life. Without people, cinema makes no sense.

Interview with Lauriane Lagarde, director of Un corps brûlant [A Free Run]

Brasserie du Court team, Clotilde Couturier — 2022-02-18T12:07:17Z

Lina and Inès do not know each other. Yet they have one thing in common: parkour. From roof to roof, from wall to barrier, the two teenagers observe each other from a distance, like, try to get closer. But, because they don't want to be seen, they are constantly interrupted.

What interested you about the subject of romantic encounters and are you planning on making other films on the same theme?

I was extremely desirous of making a physical film where bodies would be put to the test. This encounter has nothing natural about it. More than the personalities of these two girls, beyond the words, beyond the language that separates them, are their bodies that are attracted to each other, that yearn for each other and are dying to be close. In the end, the whole film works as an image of what we might feel when we « fall » in love. In terms of sensations, I wanted the film to go from one extreme to another. From the cold of ice cubes, the fridge, ice creams to the heat of bodies that sweat, bleed, move around and circle each other. It is as though the bodies express that which these girls cannot say to each other. On the thematic of romantic encounters, I am actually writing a new work of fiction about a woman who refuses to be taken in again by love. And in particular, I am directing at the moment a documentary (Des Amours, produced by the 48° Rugissants production company) about that which fades away and that which remains at the end of a relationship. The film begins with the break-up of a couple and follows each of the ex-lovers in their subsequent life.

How much did the subject of sexual freedom and the dangers menacing that freedom count for this film?

That is all the film talks about. All the characters are in some stage of the discovery of their sexuality. Their bodies are filled with urges, desires, that they find difficult to understand and to control. This is what Lina is going through, even more violently so as the attraction she feels does not correspond to heterosexual norms. As her body expresses itself naturally and powerfully, we get the impression she is fully conscious of what is playing out. Which is not the case. Nowadays, asserting your sexuality seems simple. We live in an era where, luckily, there has been definite progress in the acknowledgement of the multitude of ways of being and loving. But is still a long way to go to reach the point where all sexual orientations will be considered natural. In the meantime, asserting oneself as lesbian, gay or bisexual is still much more than a simple formality. It requires knowledge of oneself and a crazy amount of courage. And the risks you face sometimes weigh heavily on how you act. For this reason also, in the film, obstacles are evoked as images or as sensations (for example, her isolation when she is in her home), as if they were hanging over the heads of the characters.

Why did you want to construct this encounter around a challenge or battle?

More than a challenge, I would call it a mating ritual. Except in this instance, it is not the “males” who are going all out on their mating display in order to seduce the “females”, but the girls who decide their own rules. Flirting becomes a game, mutually consented and freed from all power struggles. I wanted their physical exchanges to be practically a dialogue. As if they were expressing themselves through the movements of their bodies.

From the beginning did you intend it to be parkour or did that come later?

The parkour was there from the beginning. I often watched videos of the traceurs and traceuses who flew over obstacles with suppleness and an ultra-fluid grace. They give the impression that the obstacles are not there. They “erase” them. I wanted to transpose that idea into the film. Except that in this instance the two girls continually jump obstacles to get to each other. They reclaim the surrounding space by tracing their own path to desire. As if, through their movements they are marking out a bigger and bigger domain in which they could freely express themselves. And in order to better demonstrate this mechanism, I gave the space an unreal aspect by ridding it of its usual inhabitants (mostly masculine). Leaving room for these girls to fully express themselves.

Is there a particular short film that has made a strong impression on you?

The first short film by François Ozon, Une robe d'été, made a deep impression on me. When I watched it I remember my body reacting strongly. As if my senses were wide awake. That dose of intense pleasure is something I rarely feel at the cinema. Each character allowed themselves to orgasm without holding back, without jealousy, with a relaxed attitude. But the sexual freedom of the three in the film is captivating to see, the film in its entirety goes further than that. It is always outmaneuvering the reactions we might expect from these characters. The film constantly surprises us by manipulating the stereotypes. What remains with you after watching it is the apparent simplicity, even though its structure is complex, it is a multilayered elaboration with many levels.

What's your definition of a good film?

I will continue with my previous answer by saying that what makes a good film for me is the way the story is told with a mosaic of tiny details that seem insignificant. As they are collected together these details function like clues, pebbles marking the paths of the characters. Their presence surprises us and we notice they elicit such and such a reaction. They enable us to perceive the fractures and vulnerabilities of the characters, and how they must overcome them. That is the point when emotions can well up and flood into us. And personally, that is what I look for in cinema.

Interview with Émilie Pigeard, co-director of Babičino Seksualno Življenje [Granny's Sexual Life]

Brasserie du Court team, Clotilde Couturier — 2022-02-05T11:00:33Z

Four old women reflect on their memories when they were young and how different the relationships between men and women were back then. Their voices merge into one single voice, that of the grandmother Vera, who tells her story in proper detail. A trip into grandmother's youth and the memories of her intimate life illustrate the status of Slovenian women in the first half of the 20th century.

How did the idea of asking old women to speak about their sex life come to you and Urška? How did you manage to handle this sensitive topic with them?

The idea for the film comes from a Slovenian book entitled Fire, Ass and Snakes Are Not Toys which transcribes the testimonies of women about their sexuality since the middle of the 20th century. Urška used certain passages from these women and put them together to tell a story: that of little Vera who represents the voices of all these women.

Has Vera seen your film and if so, how did she react to it?

Vera is a fictional character that we completely invented. She represents a perpetual cycle that evokes these women's memories. At the very beginning of the film, Vera is a witness to the sexual abuse suffered by her mother and at the end of the film, she herself becomes a victim.

Was there a particular event or time that made you realize that animation was indeed your own way to tell stories?

I started doing animation during my studies at the Arts Décoratifs of Paris. At the very beginning, I wanted to become an illustrator but when I discovered that I could set my drawings in motion and bring them to life with sound and music, I discovered a new passion! I find the medium of animation to be very powerful in evoking memories. I am not a great technician, but I try to animate through my emotions and feelings.

What would you like the audience to get from your short essentially?

I would like these women's testimony to be heard as much as possible through the film we made. Some women's stories and situations are still not heard enough, and I think it is important to continue to give a voice to this issue.

Is there a particular short film that has made a strong impression on you?

I recently discovered The Demons of Dorothy by Alexis Langlois on Arte. I particularly liked how it was all shot in gloss and glitter.

What's your definition of a good film?

For me, a good film is above all a film that moves me through its subject and the way it is addressed. I also think that a film is good when I believe in the actors' play and the director's direction. I have also added the “bô film” label at the end of the credits, when it meets all these criteria!

Interview with Dania Reymond-Boughenou, director of Constellation de la Rouguière [Constellation]

Brasserie du Court team, Clotilde Couturier — 2022-02-05T10:59:24Z

Residents of La Rouguière talk about their life in this unique district of Marseille which welcomed returnees from Algeria in 1962. As they testify, they summon the memories of a memory haunted by history and by loss of loved ones.

Where did your desire to make a film about the Rouguière neighborhood in Marseille come from?

That part of Marseille comes out of a very specific context: 1962 when Algeria gained its freedom. At that moment, the repatriates from the war became la Rouguière's first inhabitants. Several waves of immigration followed, including many Algerian immigrant laborers. Since I'm both mixed-race and from Marseille, I wanted to dig into the memory of that History through the neighborhood.

How did you go about choosing the witnesses we see in the film?

I went out to meet the inhabitants and some wanted to talk about their arrival and their life in the neighborhood but they didn't want to be filmed. So we only hear them. The people we see are actors who took over from the inhabitants using their accounts. I also very quickly felt the need to fictionalize things in order to explore a deeper form of memory. So we worked on the transgenerational emotions and memories in a family-based workshop that we specially organized prior to the writing stage. The question of death and wounds was fleshed out through the workshop. The question of who was a witness also became more complex because the actors and I were also filled with a memory that we shared with the inhabitants of the housing estate: the memory of the Franco-Algerian War. Writing consisted in bringing together those different registers.

How did you go about creating the silences and illustrations that accompany the testimonies?

Through my sense that we couldn't bring forth the memory of the neighborhood without taking into account the presence and history of the dead. We had to make room to listen to the invisible world.

How interested are you in the question of the wounds each person carries within them? Do you see yourself making other films that bring to light that aspect of our being?

I don't ask myself the question directly like that, but, perhaps naively, I believe in the restorative function of cinema. In any case, the cinematic issues I'm interested in often derive from a gulf in meaning. My next project also deals with a story of trauma. But I hope to make a genuine comedy one day!

What interested you about the scene with the ghost?

There are several in the film and what interested me was manifesting their presence, giving them a place, listening to them, watching them. Incidentally, ghosts in films are often political. A ghost is someone we do not wish to see. Why?

Is there a particular short film that has made a strong impression on you?
Je vous salue, Sarajevo (I Salute You, Sarajevo) by Jean-Luc Godard.

What's your definition of a good film?

I'd say that any means are good but that as an absolute, a good film allows us to cope with death while keeping our hope alive.

Interview with Yanis Belaid, Eliott Benard, Nicolas Mayeur, Étienne Moulin, Hadrien Pinot, Lisa Vicente, Philippine Singer, Alice Letailleur, co-directors of Les Larmes de la Seine [Seine's Tears]

Brasserie du Court team, Clotilde Couturier — 2022-02-05T10:58:11Z

17 October 1961, "Algerian workers" get down the streets to manifest against the mandatory curfew imposed by the Police prefecture.

Was the choice to focus on the demonstration of 17 October 1961 generally agreed upon, or was it the subject of discussion within the group?

As we were discussing what sort of film we were going to make, Yanis proposed the idea of a film on that event. What struck him was that most of us had no idea about the event, even though it's a piece of our country's history. It quickly became obvious that we were going to tell that story, our own way, to inform as many people as possible who didn't know about what had happened. Our discussions about the film immediately went off in the direction of the things we needed to put in place to tell the story (especially the technical side, because there's a real issue in staging a diverse crowd), and we didn't linger on the topic itself because we all had a common desire to broadcast the event to as many people as possible.

Why did you want to begin the film with framed-shots and cuts that give the impression of of archival images? Did you research how the events developed?

The first part of the film is meant to be convincing, and unbiased, and the dashboard camera was very handy because it immerses you in the demonstration and retraces the entire path of the Algerian workers. That also allowed us to work a lot on the sound, which immerses the viewer in our story so they relive and feel the intensity of what happened through the film. The film's process retraces the path that was really taken the night of the demonstration, showing the key points in the city of Paris, as much for their aesthetic value as for the image they send. We wanted to be as faithful as possible to the process of the events, the likeness of the surroundings, and the actions that were taken that night, so that was where we directed our research.

How did you achieve the colours in the film?

We based the film's colours on certain cinematic models, Amélie for example, so that the colours accentuate the atmosphere, which changes over the course of the film: warm colours evoke the end of the day at the beginning of the demonstration; nighttime on the Place Saint-Michel punctuated by the sirens of the police vans intensifies the danger of the actions taking place; the opposition of colour underwater that has the colours of the past and future collide with the second, more festive, part of the film that singles out our main character, and also the stadium with its projectors and bright colours that bring joy and melancholy.

Why did you want to include laughter and festivities?

By choosing to make a stylized film, we had already decided not to talk about things head on. In showing things factually in the first part, we wanted to surprise the viewer in the second with a disconnect between what they might be expecting and what we offered up: we tell the same story but in a parallel world that's meant to be festive and based on living together. The opposition between the violence of the demonstration and the joy and softness of the party, accompanied by Ibrahim Maalouf's sublime trumpet, allows us to lead the viewer towards possibly reevaluating the event.

Is there a particular short film that has made a strong impression on you?

As we were making our film, we discovered Bastien Dubois' Souvenir souvenir which deals with topics similar to our film. It was very interesting to see how he handled the subject and be able to discuss it with him.

What's your definition of a good film?

Making a film is a power that opens up all possibilities. There are a million ways to tell stories, and just as many techniques and means for making them. For us, making a film means creating something that reflects us, talking about something that we hold dear: if the creator likes their own film, then it's a good film; everything else depends on how each person will perceive it.

Les larmes de la Seine | Trailer | 2021 from PÔLE 3D on Vimeo.

Interview with Vincent Le Port, director of La Marche de Paris à Brest [Walking from Paris to Brest]

Brasserie du Court team, Clotilde Couturier — 2022-02-02T11:38:22Z

In 1927, filmmaker Oskar Fischinger traveled for three weeks along the side roads between Munich and Berlin, filming frame by frame the people he met along the way and the places he passed through. In 2020, the director did a remake of this film during a month-long walk between Paris and Brest.

What led you to give this film an “old-fashioned” effect, bringing it closer to your inspiration Walking from Munich to Berlin by Oskar Fischinger, with this series of short shots interspersed with white cuts?

Before filming, I ran lots of tests in both analog and digital, in color and in black and white, and I finally opted for the Super 8 in black and white because for me it was the best way to communicate this mixture of ephemerality and epiphany. The Super 8 also allowed me to make this film feel timeless, as if we were in the present and in a memory at the same time, and as it's a film about time and memory while also being a tribute, it seemed appropriate. And then I wanted to shoot frame by frame in order to have a less passive relationship to what I was filming, in order to be able to make very short shots, in the range of three or four frames, but also to adapt the shooting rate to what I was filming or how I was feeling. The camera I found allowed me to do this, and it was a great pleasure to decide for myself the scrolling speed of the film. It undoubtedly came back to the idea of choosing my own path, going forward at my own pace, instead of following the beaten path. The film partly consists of in-camera editing, including the white cuts which were done by exposing the film to the open air after every shot. The editing initially consisted of removing whole blocks: I left with 5 reels (about 12 minutes) and I only kept half of what I'd shot. Then I focused on the overall rhythm of the film, made of accelerations and short moments of respite, in what turned out to be quite a musical approach. The idea was to maintain a balance between frustration (of not being able to see everything or see enough) and a form of letting go.

Why did you choose the route between Paris and Brest instead of another? Do you have a story or a particular encounter to share with us?

As I'm originally from Brittany, I've made the trip often, in train or by car, and I wanted to rediscover it by the backroads. Take the time to cross the plains and hills that we see from the train window, discover the villages whose names we only know from the signage on the sides of roads. So that the countryside is no longer an image that scrolls by behind a window, but to experience both physically and temporally what it is like to cross it. I also liked the idea that this route, Paris-Brest, is something that we can easily visualize on a map. We can easily imagine the distance and the time that it represents, and the fact that once we've arrived at the destination, it is no longer possible to continue on foot!

How did you come up with the soundtrack?

Once I had decided that unlike Oskar Finschinger's film, mine would not be a silent film, I quickly understood for a number of reasons that music was the only option to make it possible to see the images despite the frenetic aspect of the editing. Also, I wanted to give the feeling of a continuous flow rather than a journey made up of 30 distinct stages (hence also the choice of fixed shots). I looked for music that was somewhere between trance and elegy, a music that could also be seen as timeless, and I ended up choosing the track from Mind Over Mirrors that we hear in the film.

To what extent are you interested in the rural world, and do you plan on making any other films on that theme?

I don't know if it's really a theme, but from the moment when we decide to move away from the TGV line or the highway and walk on foot, we are necessarily filming the rural world. We mustn't forget that the majority of France is rural – not in terms of population but in area. When we walk, we realize this. In any case, there are towns in the film, traces of modernity, roads, tractors, power lines, cell phone towers, wind turbines, etc., but perhaps what we remember is what seems immutable to us or at least a little less fleeting than the rest, that which connects us to the past. And at the end of the day, what was there a century ago and will be there again a century from now is in what you call the “rural world”, the trees, the clouds, the leaves, the animals, the people…

Is there a particular short film that has made a strong impression on you?

First of all, Walking from Munich to Berlin by Oskar Fischinger, obviously! There were lots of others. To keep it short, I'll mention two recent films: Dans l'œil du chien by Laure Portier (relentless, shocking) and Le Gang des DS by Antoine Garrec (crazy, hilarious).

What's your definition of a good film?

Kodak.