Archive for the ‘Berlin’ Category

THE ILLUSTRATED BERLINALE #2: Dušan Makavejev in the flesh

Wednesday, February 13th, 2008

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…being interviewed by Peter Cowie at the Berlinale Talent Campus…

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…being presented an award by Marc Siegel in the CHEAP Gossip Studio…

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…listening to a young filmmaker with his wife, Bojana Marijan

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…just thinking.

Excerpt from Marc Siegel’s speech announcing Makavejev’s award:

This Award recognizes the singular, but essential talent of hysterical collage, frenzied corporality, and ethical perversion. In other words, this Award acknowledges exceptional aesthetic nourishment in matters of sexuality and politics.

For CHEAP [dramatic pause] Dušan Makavejev [pause] is a model of joyful, political and aesthetic resistance.

Dušan Makavejev’s life and work are marked by a determination to employ whatever narrative and formal strategies he has at his disposal in a struggle for celluloid freedom and shimmery, liberatory desire. Moreover, he does so with humor and joy. For Dušan Makavejev recognizes joy, laughter, and erotic desire as political weapons, indeed as tools of resistance, whether one is struggling against pesky, sexless Commies and Capitalies, dour ideologues, or any other sort of institutional stupidity that plagues us all, we good-humored perverts. His movies are sweet with that dark brown taste of intelligent pleasure. They keep us going.

THE ILLUSTRATED BERLINALE #1: Casa BauBou (another little Berlinale)

Tuesday, February 12th, 2008

On Monday, experimental filmmaker Wilhelm Hein had a open-house brunch at his exhibition space, Casa BauBou. There was food and coffee and wine, crazy pictures on the wall and Andy Warhol’s Sleep playing in the corner. Hein is a real believer in blurring the lines between the cultural and the social, and the increasing commericalisation of the Berlinale seems to give him added impetus to hack into the concentration of talent and energy that the festival provides, and funnel it into the more lively and idiosyncratic nooks and crannies of Berlin. Like Casa BauBou.

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(Vassily Bourikas talking to Jerry Tartaglia.)

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(Wilhelm Hein.)

NOTES FROM THE BERLINALE #2: The Other Berlinales

Tuesday, February 12th, 2008

With a film festival on the scale of the Berlinale, it’s difficult to write as if it was one single festival at all; really, it’s more like a panoply of overlapping film festivals with their own curatorial (and commercial) agendas, and their own audiences. Many festival-goers like myself will endlessly festival-hop from one programme to the other, mixing and matching divergent films and events to the extent that any themes or contrasts an individual programmer may have had in mind tend to get lost in the shuffle, replaced instead by the individual festival-hopper’s own impulsive selections and critical impressions. We get to be our own curators, in other words (an idea that’s been explored in this blog from early on), and as a result there are even more irreconcilable Berlinales than there are distinct programmes.

So far, mine has been eclectic to the point of schizophrenia, crammed to the point of bulimia, rich to the point of obscenity…the superlatives could go on. It’s also founds its highlights in the hidden and lesser-known crevices of this mammoth festival.

After a few days floating down the main stream of the festival (the competition films and the attendant press conferences), I ran to the fringes of the festival, where the most revelatory surprises tend to be found—which, after the anemic predictability of the press community, became somewhat of a primal craving. The Director’s Lounge is about as fringe as you can get—not actually connected with the festival, this cosy cinema-bar-lounge has been presenting a programme of experimental cinema and video art for the duration of the Berlinale. I caught their opening night screenings and a programme of films by experimental filmmakers Thorsten Fleisch and Telemach Wiesinger a few days later.

As well as a set by a live jazz band (who also performed an improvised score to one of the films), the opening night presented a strong group of (mostly) new experimental shorts, ranging from 36 seconds to 17 minutes in length. Some were impressive elaborations of familiar avant-garde traditions (Allan Brown’s handpainted movie about chickens, Uncle Cluck (2007) or André Werner found footage symphony Flash (2008)) while others seemed a little less categorisable (Eytan Heller’s Love Sum Game (2006), where an actual game of tennis played over the Israeli-Palestinian wall). Filmmakers and projectionists Fleisch and Wiesinger presented a double bill of the former’s super 8 work and the latter’s 16mm films, and in one stunning choreographed projection, presented two films simultaenously which then merged and overlapped, the 16mm and 8mm images synergising into a bubbling unity. Apart from the formal strength and diversity of the film’s on show, the lounge-style screening environment was a significant way of recontextualising how we watch experimental cinema, which too often can get ghettoised in sterile museum-like atmospheres (even in some cinemas) that work against the kind of relaxed and even irreverent engagement that these films sometimes call for.

Forum Expanded is the ostensibly more legitimate and official alternative to the Lounge, and thanks to curators such as Stefanie Schulte Strathaus it has consistently been the home of the most daring and exceptional programming in the festival. This year was perhaps a little underwhelming in comparison to 2007, which featured Marc Siegel’s epic Underground/Overseas programme, but still full of various gems. The programme of shorts from the vaults of the Whitney Museum, mostly New American Cinema works from the 60s and 70s, was a real treat, featuring lesser-known films (at least to me) from Jonas Mekas and Paul Sharits, and fascinating films from hitherto undiscovered artists (at least to me) such as Richard Serra and Larry Gottheim. The Jack Smith programme, presented by dedicated preserver and promulgator of Smith’s work Jerry Tartaglia, was, while equally rare a privilege, a little less impressive. Presenting a compilation of raw footage either shot by or featuring performances by Smith, and a previously unseen super 8 film by Smith, Sinbad in Baghdad, this presentation was presumably thrilling for someone familiar with a lot of his work (which last year’s near-complete Smith retrospective at the Forum made possible for more than a few)—but for a complete Smith novice like myself, it was perhaps not the best entry point into the work of a nonetheless clearly unique filmmaker.

The most exceptional new discovery for me in Forum Expanded (and F.E. is all about new discoveries) was Dušan Makavejev’s W.R. Mysteries of the Organism (1971), pictured above. I probably would have skipped this film, which seemed at first glance to be a zany and lightweight Sixties-with-a-capital-S celebration of free love, if not for Vassily Bourikas, a Berlin-based filmmaker and curator whose passionate recommendations should never be taken lightly. After catching Makavejev’s public interview in the Berlinale Talent Campus (and, thanks to Vassily, actually having a coffee with the legendary Yugoslavian), I finally saw the film today. While there is an element of celebratory 60s free love rhetoric in the film, its collagist approach, mixing documentary, fantasy and narration, and its gift for dancing between an engaged passion and a more distanced critical perspective—well, put simply, it’s a lot more multi-faceted than a MAKE LOVE, NOT WAR slogan (speaking of slogans, the one featured in the film, KILL FOR PEACE, is pretty classic…)

Vassily can elaborate a lot better than I can on the importance of making possible the discovery and re-discovery of films like this possible, and the political implications both of their widespread marginalisation and suppression, and the attempt to counter those processes. But suffice to say, it’s what makes a festival (or should we say festival-constellation?) like the Berlinale(s) worth writing about, and almost makes you forgive all the other shit that goes on here.

NOTES FROM THE BERLINALE #1: There Will Be Fucking Circuses

Saturday, February 9th, 2008

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My last post may have given the impression that my perspective on the Berlinale leans a little towards the uncritically enthralled side of things. Honestly, I’m well aware of the unsavoury side of this, and all other major film festivals: the commercialism, the pervasive marketing, the typically safe and unchallenging array of films selected for competition, the celebrity worship and the associated press feeding frenzy (with members of the public picking up their leftovers, vying for autographs at the hotel backdoor, some not even knowing who they’re waiting for). Or put another way, the orgiastic (occasionally cannibalistic) media-festival-business-celebrity love-in that makes the film industry what it is. It goes something like this: The press selling festivals selling films selling stars selling products selling festivals. Everybody wins.

At the same time, the cynicism and disdain with which I view most of this carry-on doesn’t mean I can entirely resist its allure. Like the dynamic and ultra-modern skyscrapers of Potsdamer Platz, where most of the festival takes place, the scale and accomplishment of a lot of this bullshit is occasionally thrilling: a certain dazzling heartlessness, maybe. The first day of the festival presented a good case in point: prior to the opening gala screening of Martin Scorsese’s Rolling Stones concert movie, Shine A Light, the filmmaker and the band gave a press conference at the Hyatt Hotel. The questions asked by the attending journalists, and the answers given, really aren’t worth mentioning. That’s not because they were boring, inane, or redundant—some of them weren’t—but just because they were of no particular consequence. It didn’t matter what was said. The cameras, microphones, notebooks and laptops, and the hacks attached to them, we’re going to report what they said anyway (even if in the case of Keith Richards, it didn’t always make sense). Really, the pleasure of this event on a personal level was simply to see these guys in the flesh, particularly the filmmaker (for mixed reasons that I’ve written about before). The function of it on a business level was to sell a film, sell a film festival, sell newspapers and magazines, and hell, why not sell those old guys on stage while we’re at it. I was happy to be there, but I was also unsatisfied.

What else do I expect, you might ask? Within the confines of a set-up like this, nothing whatsoever (“the medium is the message” in press conferences as most other places, no matter how talented the individuals involved are). But what do I want? Well, simple things. Dialogue. Discussion. Debate. Discourse. Questions and answers that are not simply interesting, amusing or lively (and not always utterly safe), but actually matter.

There has been one or two press conferences where the facade rippled and some of those things actually occurred.

Yesterday Paul Thomas Anderson, Daniel Day-Lewis and Paul Dano got the conferential treatment for the flawed but impressive There Will Be Blood. Unlike Scorsese and Jagger, none of them had the smooth and controlled sheen of someone so used to media attention, and so used to using it, that they’re almost indifferent to its gaze (Scorsese is, I think, more savvy in this respect than one might think). Rather, each had their own distinct kind of discomfort: Day-Lewis, as the private and introspective actor dedicated to his craft, Anderson as the still quite young and ambitious auteur, Dano simply because it’s his first really prominent role. Dano is still young enough to be polite and unassuming, answering questions as graciously as he can, but for the other two, beneath their manners you could see their weariness as they try to answer inadequate, uninteresting or unreasonable questions; you could see people who’d rather be having a real conversation with someone. Occasionally the manners subsided, and a request for Day-Lewis to comment (again) on Heath Ledger’s death prompted the actor to say he didn’t want to fuel “a fire that’s already out of control” and contribute further to a “fucking circus”.

The comment was, of course, widely reported along with rehashed details of Ledger’s death, and details of the new film Day-Lewis is starring in.

NOTES TOWARDS ESCAPE

Wednesday, February 6th, 2008

They are a way to go out there into that new geography each time, they are a means to leave, to break off, to escape, to change the air…. Movies are the means by which one packs one’s bag and walks away from everything that the room and habit and society and family represent.

The chapter on Robert Kramer in my graduate thesis ends with the above quote from his 1997 essay “Snap Shots”. For me, it suggests Kramer’s awareness of the personal reasons and impulses that always underlie filmmaking, however politically or ethically engaged it attempts to be. Moreover, it acknowledges the underlying escapist impulses that inform a filmmaker, even if, at the same time, and especially for someone like Kramer, filmmaking is very much a vehicle for engaging with reality.

I’ve often felt ambivalent about that escapist impulse, especially because I know it’s part of what drives my own filmmaking and film-watching. My friend and filmmaker/critic Max le Cain—never one to feel guilty about watching a film—had a sensible point of view on the issue which somewhat quelled my doubts: most things in life can be argued as “escapist”; the question is what you’re escaping from and what you’re escaping into.

So what am I escaping from?

Well, for one thing, I’m escaping from that fucking thesis (or “The Filmmaker-Activist and the Collective: Robert Kramer and Jean-Luc Godard” as it’s officially known). It’s very close to finished, if only because the deadline is in a couple of weeks, and it’s been a satisfying, research-heavy exploration that has been invaluable in refining my thinking and ambitions around political filmmaking (more on that in the future)—even if, sadly, limits on time and words forced me to drop Guy Debord from the bill along the way. But it’s also been draining and exhausting and, well, I’m kind of sick of it.

I’m also escaping from my graduate film, which is scheduled to shoot in late March (more on that soon too). I think escape is the best thing I could do for this project, however, because while I’ve been working on practical issues relating to the film, I haven’t really had a chance to just sit and live through the idea of the film. I don’t mean act it out; I mean let it play out in your head, let it sink in so you understand it in your skin. I haven’t been able to that because in the last few months I’ve barely had the chance to just sit down at all.

I’m escaping from Dublin. I’m escaping from the endlessly dull farce of Irish politics and all the other gossipy tragedy-porno that circulates in the Irish media. I’m escaping from my incessant ruminating and procrastinating on the dire state of the world, my complicity in it and what I could or should do about it (probably more on that at some point too).

And what am I escaping to?

New films from around the world. Interesting conversations with strangers. A city that’s culturally diverse and rich, and also has great bars and really cool streets. Excellent kebabs. The relaxed, stripped down world of hostels. The opportunity to write about interesting things in an easy-going, whatever-takes-my-fancy kind of way, without editorial or academic pressures. The chance to be passive in the best sense of the word; passive like Antonioni characters or any of the other wanderers Deleuze identifies as so prevalent in post-war cinema (rather than the active but perceptually narrow Hollywood heroes); the chance, in other words, to not have to do anything except soak the world up.

Watch this space for more escapist fantasy…

(Photo of You are the Star, mural by Thomas Suriya.)

DIFFERENT FESTIVALS

Monday, February 4th, 2008

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It’s festival time again. I’m off to the Berlin International Film Festival this week, and will be back in Dublin just in time for our own little cinema festival. Berlin, of course, promises to be an overwhelming feast of riches—but for once, I’m able to express genuine optimism about Dublin’s film festival, if only because new festival director Grainne Humphreys has had the ambition and daring to hold a four-programme Jonas Mekas retrospective, with the man himself in attendance.

Anyway, this is just a preliminary note to say I hope to start blogging fairly regularly during this extended festival binge. Whether this blogging will consist of rambling diaristic tidbits or lengthy critiques, well, only time will tell…

LIST OF OMISSIONS

Monday, December 31st, 2007

“(…And then there are all the lost films.)”

— the final line of Nicole Brenez’s essay, “Forms 1960-2004: ‘The Critical Faculty Invents Fresh Forms’” in ed. Michael Temple & Michael Witt, The French Cinema Book (BFI, 2004)

The thing that has weighed most on my mind about this blog, since I started writing in it exactly six months ago, is all the cultural events I never got around to writing about. It’s not that I have something brilliant and insightful to say about each and every piece of art I encounter (although I know most critical insights I have had came through writing)—but I have this instinctive feeling I can’t shake: this feeling that writing about art really matters. Not just on a personal level, as a way of working through the experience and helping others work through it; but on a broader level, as part of an ongoing description of and engagement with a cultural scene.

For me, this scene is naturally Dublin, but writing about art I see abroad is just as essential as a way of bringing new perspectives and ideas to bear on my local culture, and my own thinking—and though the art in which I’m actively involved in is film, writing about all kinds of art is even more essential. The segregation of the arts is tiresomely and damagingly prevalent these days, especially when it comes to cinema. It not only creates false double standards for the criticism of different arts (compare the way in which book reviews and film reviews are handled in the Irish Times) but figures a stagnant containment of each form from each other, preventing the insights and perspectives of different forms to infiltrating each and expanding one’s view as either a critic or an artist. And anyway, saying you only like film is no better than being one of those jerks who only likes one kind of music. On top of all this, there’s the baser argument that in our present world, art that’s written about exists “more” (that is has more of a life) than art that isn’t written about.

So, it’s about making links rather than erecting boundaries, and describing and engaging critically with culture in a way that seeks to keep it alive, and make it better. However, despite my ongoing commitment to that endeavour, my ongoing commitment to many other endeavours has meant that I never wrote about the following plays, films, dance shows, exhibitions and gigs. I’m sorry I didn’t, because it would have been worth it, especially in a country where there is very little consistent coverage of art in the media (and even less worth reading), and as a consequent very little engagement, especially across different mediums. I don’t know if we even have any serious blogs dealing with art at all in this country, despite it being the perfect format for such an enterprise. (If you know any and you’re out there, please say hello.)

So here, for posterity, and in the hope that I might someday return to them, is everything that’s been left unsaid:

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BERLIN (June)
Fucking Different New York (various, 2007), the International
• “The Masterpieces of French Painting from The Metropolitan Museum of Art: 1800-1920″, Neue Nationalgalerie

ITALY (September-October)
Dillinger e Morto (Marco Ferreri, 1969)
Medea (Tonino de Bernardi, 2007)
Capricci (Carmelo Bene, 1969)
Stefano Junior (Maurizio Ponzi, 1969)
L’Eau Froide (Olivier Assayas, 1994)
Corpus Callosum (Michael Snow, 2002)
Once Upon a Time (Corinna Schnitt, 2006)
De Sortie (Thomas Salvador, 2005)
You Made Me Love You (Mirando Pennell, 2006)
Pyramids/Skunk (John Smith, 2007)
Twist (Alexia Walther, 2006)

IRELAND (July-December)
John and Jane (Ashim Ahluwalia, 2005), Galway Film Fleadh
Saphir (photography and two-screen projection), Zineb Sedira, Temple Bar Gallery
This Dancing Life, choreographed by Sara Rudner (Irish Modern Dance Theatre), St Michael and John’s Church
• [EM] (jazz trio), with panel discussion: “Regeneration Berlin: jazz in a changing city”, the Sugar Club
• Seomra Spraoi’s weekly film screenings.
The Undertaking (Cathal Black, 2007), Stranger Than Fiction festival
Mosney (Nicky Gogan & Paul Rowley, 2007), Stranger Than Fiction festival
Iraq in Fragments (James Longley, 2007), Stranger Than Fiction festival
Kicking a Dead Horse (Sam Shepard), the Abbey Theatre
• Chekhov’sUncle Vanya, directed by Robin Lefevre, the Gate Theatre
• “Documentary in the 21st Century” National Film School Conference, DLIADT
• Pamelia Kurstin (theremin player), the Ark, DEAF
Featherhead (dance/music collaboration with Gyohei Zatsu, Itaru Oki and Trevor Knight), DEAF
• Jenny Lindfors, Crawdaddy
• Ben Kritikos and the Happy Gang, Bewleys Cafe Theatre
I Can’t Make it Without You, choreographed by Liz Roche (Rex Levitates), Project Arts Centre

(Still image from Guy Debord’s Hurlements en favor de Sade [1952].)

3 WEEKS IN BERLIN pt. 5: CODA

Saturday, November 10th, 2007

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I went to this party in Berlin that a guy called Doug Fender was having.

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It was happening in the basement of an apartment building in Kreuzberg, in a space called the “Boom Boom Theatre”.

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It had a kitchen, a garden and a big room with a piano.

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There was food, wine, dancing…

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…singing, joking, talking…

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…Or maybe it wasn’t a party.

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Maybe it was a show.

THAT MORNING…

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I slept on a bridge.

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On a mattress.

THE GOOD CURATOR: an interview with Marc Siegel

Monday, November 5th, 2007

As an appendix to my series of posts on Berlin, I wanted to dredge up this interview I did with Marc Siegel at the Berlinale in February. Siegel, a teacher at the Free University in Berlin, was curating a remarkable programme entitled “Underground/Overseas” as part of the Berlinale’s Forum Expanded section. The programme brought together and traced the links between several strands of underground cinema from the 1960s: principally, the Zanzibar collective in Paris and, in New York, the work of Jack Smith and the films that came out of Andy Warhol’s Factory. Siegel, as a member of the artist’s collective CHEAP, was also involved in turning the Arsenal Kino’s usually desolate foyer into a bar/bookshop/screening-room/hangout entitled the “Gossip Studio”.

My week and a half at the Berlinale was mostly taken up with the Talent Campus and Talent Press, so unfortunately I was only able to catch one film in Siegel’s series, Phillippe Garrel’s astonishing (and astonishingly well attended) 1969 film Le Lit de la Vierge. But I did manage to grab Siegel for a half an hour in the Gossip Studio and ask him a few questions. Coming from Ireland, a much more timid and muted culture when it comes to curation, I was intrigued by the breadth, eclecticism and imaginative juxtaposition involved in Siegel’s series—and equally, the fact that Berlin provided a cultural climate where such an undertaking was not only viable but well-received.

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How did you first get involved with the Arsenal Kino?

I’m not exactly sure. I got to know the people here and I think I knew some teachers who had done series here in conjunction with their seminars and so I just talked to them about doing that.

Is that a common thing, for individuals outside of the Arsenal to come in and curate programmes?

Yeah, the Arsenal is very open to that. They do have very limited finances so with most film series that I would programme in conjunction with my classes, I don’t have any money from the university to fund that, and I don’t have any outside money to fund that, so we’re dependent either on the films they have in their own archive, of which there are many—I think about 8,000 titles in the Freunde der Deutschen Kinamethek archive—or films that are in distribution in Germany or in other archives here in Germany that would not be too expensive for them to get. Because they can’t take too many big financial risks.

But when it came to “Underground/Overseas”, I had the concept, I applied for a grant from the City of Berlin, from their cultural funding agency, and talked to the Arsenal in advance and had letters of support from them. And then I brought in all the money for the films, to pay myself, to pay to invite guests here to travel and all that.

I take it your program was initially separate from the festival?

Yeah, my series was conceived independently of the Berlinale. But when I submitted the application, I spoke with Stefanie Schulte Strathaus from the Arsenal about the program. She wrote a letter of support and said it sounds like the kind of thing that the Forum Expanded would be interested in. And it worked out conveniently because I was doing it also in conjunction with a seminar and I needed to have the series sometime during the semester. The funding meant it had to be in 2007 so that meant the only time I could do it was January and February. And in February the Arsenal is busy with the Forum….so yeah, then we came to the decision, “let’s have the high points, the really unique works, in the Forum.” Which was actually kind of difficult because it was a series where every single film was so unique–I mean people maybe say that about every series they do—but in this case it was dealing with experimental work, dealing with work that in just about every case has never shown in Germany before so it was difficult to say which is rarer than the rare. But we did make a kind of selection that the selection committee here at the Forum looked at.

What was the attendance of the series like overall?

Well, there were quite a lot of films or programmes – I think I had just about 25 programmes within a month, so it was a lot of film viewing. Audiences varied from maybe a 100 for the opening night to maybe 30 at the worst. I think probably an average was like 40 people maybe.

You were saying being part of the Berlinale helped with the audience numbers to an extent. I was amazed with the turnout at Garrel’s Le Lit de la Vierge for example.

Well, I think there is a lot of interest in Garrel, in particular these early films because they haven’t shown very often and they have a kind of cult status. I made that clear in my series by highlighting the connection with Nico, who Garrel married, because of the Warhol connection. But we actually had shown a sneak preview of Le Lit de la Vierge earlier—it was advertised as a Garrel evening but people didn’t know which film would show and there we had maybe 60 people, which was not bad—but the cinema I think seats just about 200 or 230. Then it was completely over-sold-out for the festival.

But I didn’t know what to expect and actually, I was really thrilled that there were so many people. For all of the screenings in my series—the Jack Smith, the Warhol, the Garrel and Jackie Raynal’s film, Deux Fois (1968)—they were almost all sold out. And that was so exciting. I didn’t know what to expect because at the Berlin Film Festival, usually people come to see new films. Or if they’re gonna see old films it’s films in the retrospective. But one of the nice things that I find with the Forum Expanded is that it’s open to a variety of different works: different kinds of works, not just experimental work but installation, works of varying lengths—you can have a 30minute film, a 45 minute film or like a 7 hour film; things that won’t normally fit into a festival so easily and then also older works, particularly if there’s a strong thematic link. So it ended up working really quite well and hopefully the attention it’s received will show people here that there is a place for these newly discovered or rediscovered or less known, classic experimental films.

Do you have a sense of what kind of people make up the audience for this kind of series? Is it mostly people directly involved in the arts?

Definitely it’s a lot of those people but I don’t think it’s just those people. I know with my series, there was a large variety of people. A lot of students coming because they’ve heard about Warhol, they don’t get a chance to see these early films very often. For Warhol and Smith you get a big gay crowd also—from people who know that these are really important predecessors to current queer cinema, or just legendary figures who dealt with sexual diversity and gender diversity in their work. Also different generations of people: there are people who are interested in this ‘68 or ’60s scene who came, younger people but also people from that time period who wanted to kind of revisit work that they saw 40 years ago. It was quite a diverse crowd.

Tell us about CHEAP, the artist’s collective that your involved in.

We work together mostly in performance: we’ve done shows in nightclubs, for a long time we did a monthly night in a club, and we work with lots of different people. We’ve worked with Wilhelm Hein, an experimental filmmaker here in Germany, where he would project his films at this club, films from his archives, and his girlfriend Annetta Frick projected slides of her photos. I chose videos and then we all dressed up in crazy ways, played music and had performances.

It seems like there’s a lot of cultural cross-fertilisation that goes on around here.

Yeah…I mean I wish there was more of it. I do think that the CHEAP constellation is somewhat unique, our group of people and the kind of crossover events we’re involved in. I know there’s B_Books here, who have a book table in the Gossip Studio and they’re also another kind of collective. They have their bookstore, which is their base, and they have a press, but they also do a lot of video production and conference organising and stuff. So they do a lot of different things and all the individuals there are involved at the same time in some kind of academic way or art school teaching way as well as art production. But I don’t know how many academics there are who do this sort of crossover thing; I think unfortunately there are too few.

Coming from Ireland, I’m really amazed by the richness of cultural activity going on here, and the degree to which people are engaged with it. I’ve been trying to figure out what it is that makes this possible.

I actually think economics play a big role: the existence of a lot of major granting agencies, federal agencies, local agencies, that support cultural projects from individuals. There’s that; there’s also a really lively press, and a really lively cultural, political and intellectual scene in general. Compared to the States, I think there is a broader acceptance of an intellectual culture here. Like in the US, there is no place for intellectuals who are not institutionally affiliated.

I was also surprised when I came here that people, like yourself, who organise film series are commonly called curators rather than film programmers.

It’s funny, yeah. I’ve heard that used for years, even in the States, in reference to film programmers. It’s something I felt really uncomfortable with….

But you are comparing and contrasting and making parallels, not just doing a retrospective of a period or a person. It’s almost like montage in a sense.

Right, in that sense it’s creative. But it’s also academic. I felt like this series, at the same time as being a creative juxtaposition of works, was also an academic project, and I worried that it would be too academic, because I know that part of what motivated me was a scholarly question of historical connections: I was really interested in trying to trace these connections. Maybe you could say the motivation behind the series was academic but then, the practical realisation of the series was creative because when you sit there in the cinema, all the academic context stuff can easily fall away and what you’re left with is just the films and the questions they provoke: “How do these films fit together in the program? How do they connect with the films you saw maybe last week from this series?” So those are maybe more aesthetic, formal concerns that arise as you go along.

I mean, I was really excited about this series and for me it was the most involved, extensive, maybe daring series that I’ve done. The others have been more traditional arthouse programming: I did something on Hong Kong New Wave, something on Polish New Wave from the 50s, the Taiwanese New Wave… So it was more national cinemas or particular movements or periods in film history, or individuals: I did something on Carmelo Bene, the Italian director. Whereas this was the first time where I really went in there and said, “I’m really gonna yank something out of this national cinema context and I’m going to compare it with this other thing”. I think that’s an important thing to do, particularly with experimental films. And there is more of that kind of programming here at the Arsenal, I’m not unique in that sense.

Do you try to program films based on some idea of their contemporary relevance? Like there’s a reason that these films should be seen at this particular time?

Yeah, definitely. And with everything I do, I try to think about what is its relevance today. I don’t want to just pick a subject because I think it’s historically important—or rather, I feel like something is historically important in as much as it speaks to us today and in that sense, it’s important in programming to try to have some idea of how this work can speak to people now. Because there’s lots of really important films out there and tons of forgotten filmmakers but there’s only a certain amount of money to put this stuff together and time and space on a programme so I think you really need to choose from the past carefully, and make it speak to them.

You were saying that you often link in your curating to what you teach on your course? How did that work in this case?

Well, this last term we’ve been looking at the three focal points for my film series: Jack Smith, Andy Warhol and Zanzibar. The basic structure would be: we read a text, see a film and discuss it—the seminar would be about discussing it. That’s something that I would do in all my seminars. What was weird with this one was just that I had so many films and usually force all my students to see every single film that I program but in this case, since I had, as I said, 25 programs over a month I couldn’t expect my students to come to every single program.

Did you source many films here in Germany?

There was just one short film that I used from Berlin. Everything else came from elsewhere: mostly from Lux in England, from Paris, other places in France or from the United States.

What was the process like of getting hold of some of the more obscure films?

Well, with the Jack Smith stuff, I already knew Jerry Tartaglia who was responsible for having restoring and preserving Smith’s work. So I just contacted him, got in touch with him a long time ago about the possibility of showing the work,and he brought it with him personally for these screenings. For the Warhol stuff, I had already programmed Warhol for another series and I knew that the Warhol stuff was all at the Museum of Modern Art, so I just contacted them.

The difficult thing was tracking down a lot of these French films and since I was looking at not just the Zanzibar films but stuff from a kind of broader French underground scene in the 60s, I had to just start sending out questions, you know, sending a note to the Cinémathèque Française and asking, “Do you have these prints?” They would give me leads, so for example there was this really fascinating filmmaker Etienne O’Leary who was very close to Pierre Clementi, the actor and experimental filmmaker, in Paris. I got sent from the Cinémathèque Française to the Cinémathèque Québécoise, because Etienne O’Leary is originally from Quebec, and apparently his films are there. So after a number of attempts to contact someone in Quebec, we found out that they have his films….but they’re not releasing them because they’re too precious. They suggested I contact Etienne O’Leary’s brother in France, who has a Beta copy of them, and that’s what we screened.

The only thing that we got for free in a sense was one of the films I showed at the beginning, Maria Menken’s film Wrestlers (1964), which is something that the Freunde der Deutschen Kinamethek has in their archive—but everything else I had to pay for, and that’s why a series like this is so unusual. But because I had this grant—I had a grant of 25,000 euro to pay for the whole series, and that includes paying me for coming up with it, for doing introductions, paying for translations of subtitling… We showed some in French and we had someone give a spoken, simultaneous translation, so we had to pay to generate that translation. And then to invite guests to come, to pay them a slight honorare for participating in a panel discussion or giving an introduction, and their travel costs, hotel, and then rental costs, transport… It was a lot. And I hope we’re still within the budget, I haven’t had a chance to really clarify that…

A lot of these films were screened for the first time, right?

Yes, a lot of them were. Luckily, the Zanzibar films are almost all going to be brought out on DVD by Re:Voir in Paris and so people will be able to see those, but for example, I showed a film by Taylor Meade, a Warhol actor who also made films in Paris and who was an influential figure in the Parisian scene: his films aren’t gonna be put on DVD. I can’t imagine them being put on DVD anytime soon. Or Etienne O’Leary’s work. Certain things have come out on DVD but as people know in the experimental film scene, you can’t count on that. Also, with the Warhol films, the Warhol Foundation is also just incredibly greedy and they thrive on the rarity of these works, so they’ve been very cautious about allowing any kind of DVD release of these early Warhol films.

I think it’s great that Re:Voir’s bringing this stuff out on DVD, but I do think it’s a shame if people just know these films through DVD, because, like we saw with Le Lit de la Vierge: it’s now out on DVD and I’m sure it’s a great, high quality DVD, but it’s this gorgeous, spacious black and white 35mm cinemascope film and, it’s a tired statement but it’s just such a different experience to see that film on screen. Of course it’s not going to be screened as often as people will pop a DVD in, so there’s that—but I would just hate for us to lose that experience of watching it on screen. You get a completely different relationship to the film, to the images, to the story, to the mood…

Film blogger Zach Campbell argued a while ago that wider availability isn’t always a good thing, that we need certain “Holy Grails” in cinema, such as Bèla Tarr’s Sátántangó (1994) films that you may only get the chance to see once in a lifetime. Would you agree with that?

Well, I wouldn’t want to enforce that kind of rarity. I mean I love the “special event” quality of seeing something like Sátántangó or these Warhol or Jack Smith films—the fact that they are only available to see in the cinema, that it’s a rare occasion, and you have to go or you miss it. It totally frustrates me that friends of mine—who should know better—will stand outside the Jack Smith programme and say, “Oh well do you have that on DVD? ‘Cause I don’t really have time…” It’s like, “NO, it’s not on DVD, you’re not gonna see it if you don’t go in.” And this assumption that everything’s available I find really frustrating. I think it would be a better world if everything was available both as DVD and as film and people were able to recognise that they’re different experiences—but I don’t think like capitalism would allow that. As for the idea of enforced obscurity…that doesn’t interest me all.

Yet wasn’t Jackie Raynal [pictured above] saying in her introduction to
Le Lit de la Vierge that Garrel and the other Zanzibar filmmakers didn’t have any interest in getting their work shown?

Well, I think their not having an interest in it doesn’t mean that they necessarily didn’t want it shown. I think it says something more about what they thought about filmmaking; that they had an interest in filmmaking but were not career-minded in thinking of the necessity of screening it, of marketing it in any way; that this was filmmaking as a way of living, as a way of life, and not filmmaking as a way of making a career, making money.

But for instance Andy Warhol took all of his ’60s films out of circulation in the early 70s, and they were unavailable except for bootleg prints—and that seemed to be a specific commercial ploy on his part to make them obscure. Which is different from what, as far as I know, the Zanzibar filmmakers did. They were not at all intentionally trying to make their stuff obscure: they were just that excited about the moment of filmmaking, being able to make these films and not really concerned about being businessmen, or women.

PERFORM AND CONSUME (3 weeks in Berlin pt. 4)

Thursday, October 25th, 2007

At the Schaubuehne, Henrik Ibsen’s NORA, directed by Thomas Ostermeier:

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At the Komische Oper, Mozart’s THE ABDUCTION FROM THE SERAGLIO, directed by Calixto Bieito:

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