The testament that Godard has never written

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By Masao Adachi

Written in 2002. French version published in ‘Le Bus de la révolution passera bientôt près de chez toi’, edited by Nicole Brenez and Go Hirasawa (Editions Rouge Profond, 2012)

1. About the black screen, once more

To be honest, until I watched Ici et Ailleurs (Here and Elsewhere), my memory of Godard’s cinema was merged in my head with all the other films of the Nouvelle Vague. They were mixed up in a blurry silhouette that seemed to erupt from a magic lantern. But then again, for those who know Godard’s films, this blur of memories isn’t all that surprising.

And yet. While watching Ici et Ailleurs, my vague memories were going in all directions, and every image, every sound was mutating into a tidal wave, sweeping me away from all sides. Was I really watching Ici et Ailleurs, or was it my memory, in which I had buried all those memories and those intimacies, which was forced to open itself like an old book of magic spells with stuck-together pages? I was in the grip of a great confusion.

Suddenly, in the middle of this wave of sounds and images, I could not help noticing once more that my memories of Godard and his group were above all tied to their force as militants, their capacity to evoke the agonies of their contemporaries. Ici et Ailleurs manifests a spirit that we shared with comrades all over the world, mobilized as we were by the march towards the creation of a new world. The film recounts the shadows of the historical time and space as we lived it back then. It is an account that demonstrates the painful road travelled by those who marched without halt in the middle of those shadows, towards a confiscated goal.

It is often said that Godard continued on this road with several other films, but it is above all in Ici et Ailleurs that he tried, through his own desperation, to narrate the problems of a whole era. In his inability to let himself whither away because of this desperation, he has left us this ultimate letter, addressed to all those who will survive him, a sort of “testament”. Twenty-seven years after being made, not a single word has aged. On the contrary, I think that these are words that resonate in the most lively way possible in today’s world, in 2002. They reflect the effervescence of agitators who were very much alive in the spirit of the time. In addition, the sorrow and the irritation of a Godard who was constantly in search of a new life force for cinema has reminded me of this era, and the zeal that emerged from it.

I have also made a decisive discovery in Ici et Ailleurs.

Godard’s group, in the late 1960s and early 1970s, used the method of the tableau noir, or “black screen”, in a perfect example of this cinematographic language that he and others developed, and which as he said, proposed to “make possible the realization of our images and sounds, our cinema”. In other words, they wanted to express a message by way of silence. At that time, I criticized that method, wondering if it wasn’t simply some sort of flight towards aphasia. But this time, while watching this black screen, I told myself that Godard was giving us an alarm call, warning us of danger, a trap: “We are being seen so we don’t see anything.” I was unable to sense this other message at the time, this despair of an era during which Godard, with such dedication, explored ways to make himself understood by all.

I might be reproached for repeating the same things over and over again, but I really want to write Godard about this profound and new emotion that I felt while watching Ici et Ailleurs.

2. The possibilities of the struggle for the liberation of Palestine

There are several points that link Godard and myself. The most obvious concerns our common commitment to the struggle for the liberation of Palestine. Let us think, from our point of view, about what Godard and his friends were able to consider as possibilities to explore, and what has, in contrast, disappointed them, and then compare their positions with the actions and analyses that my comrades and myself conducted at the time. In other words, it is about asking, in the light of this commitment to the liberation of Palestine, of what this “despair of an era” contained in the black screen wants to tell us. We have to clarify the message that Godard tries to communicate, and the reasons that have pushed him to change the title from Jusqu’à la Victoire (Until Victory) to Ici et Ailleurs.

We can already discern an answer in the process of self-transformation undertaken by Godard and his comrades. They indeed clearly adapted themselves to the characteristics of the process of development of the struggle for the liberation of Palestine.

After 1968, the Palestine Liberation Organization (PLO) assumed the role of leadership of an ethnic movement. It passed from a political and peaceful activity to armed struggle. The PLO defined this “strategic defensive war” as the last stage of the resistance, and reinforced offensive armies against the Israeli occupier. When Godard travelled to Palestine in 1970, the organization was at the height of its activities and the Palestinians finally began to acquire an identity on an international level. The PLO imposed itself as the principal representative of the Palestinians. It is important to point out that the 1,500,000 refugees, who had been rejected by the bordering Arab countries, who lived in misery and suffering and were asking for the liberation of their homeland, had become the principal actors in the struggle, and that it was because of them that the “Palestinian government in exile” was formed. Since then, the forces of the Palestinian liberation have led numerous military operations across the occupied territories.

It was in this context that Godard, in collaboration with the PLO, decided to realize a documentary film about the reality of the struggle. Godard declared his position at the beginning of Ici et Ailleurs: “From February till July 1970, ‘we’ – ‘I’, ‘you’, ‘she’, ‘he’, go to the Middle-East, to the Palestinians, to make a film. And we have filmed things in this order and we have organised the film that way… saying: here is what was new in the Middle East. Five images and five sounds that had not been heard or seen on Arab soil. The people’s will + the armed struggle = the people’s war + the political work = the people’s education + the people’s logic = the popular war extended, until the victory of the Palestinian people.”

To summarize, Godard here evokes the road of a war of the people. He declares his support for the armed struggle of the PLO, acknowledging that the liberation of Palestine had not been possible in a peaceful manner and that the Palestinians had no other choice than to engage in a long popular war against Israel, with an army in which equality between man and woman was considered necessary. Those were the principal themes, and they were as important for Godard as for the PLO. In substance, the method taken up by Godard can be summarized as follows: to use sound and image to paint a frontal portrait of the people in revolution.

When Godard was getting ready to finish the film, Black September happened, the month in which there was a real massacre of Palestinian fighters. At that time, Israel was not the only one fearing the victory of the Palestinians. Various Arab countries also thought there was a risk that too great an influence of the Palestinian conscience in their respective countries could take down their own regimes. Then the government of Jordan found itself confronted with such nationalist slogans as “Let us transform Amman into Hanoi!”, launched by the Palestinians. Fearing a coup d’état, it in turn started to engage in its own oppression of the Palestinian forces.

The violence of the coup inflicted on Palestine during this event certainly gave Godard’s group food for thought. Numerous collaborators were killed and the production of the film found itself in crisis. And that is not all. The extremely abrupt change of the conditions in which the Palestinian forces found themselves must have led Godard to completely rethink the form of the coproduction. The filmmaker was obliged to look for new possibilities to continue to work with the PLO.

We cannot exclude the idea that in order to revive the production of Jusqu’à la victoire, the group was considering taking up the events of Black September in the film. The importance of this drama demanded a reworking of the strategy for the liberation of the Palestinians. Meanwhile, the PLO evidently did not want to increase its hostility towards the Jordanian government or worsen the antagonisms at the heart of the Arab population, already brought to light during Black September. The PLO could not go along with Godard’s proposition, as it advocated a reinforcement of the nationalist movement and the popular war to resolve the internal conflicts within the whole of the Arab countries.

This information was given to us soon after we arrived in Palestine ourselves, where we were confronted with the same problem. So it seems to have been political issues that prevented the production of Jusqu’à la victoire from being finished.

3. Significant differences despite commonalities

In 1971, we started the production of a documentary film depicting the conditions of struggle for the liberation of Palestine, somewhat similar to what Godard’s team were doing. Then we had to face yet a new tragedy for the Palestinian camp: the battle of Jarash. (1) The royal Jordanian army, together with the Israeli army, launched a menacing attack, wiping out a whole Palestinian battalion on the mountains of Jordan, which was an outpost for the offensive against the territories occupied by Israel. In the middle of shooting the film, we witnessed the determination of the Palestinian forces who, far from willing to retreat, either militarily or politically, persisted on the road of armed struggle. Our film, Sekigun-PFLP: Sekai Senso Sengen (The Red Army / PFLP: Declaration of World War), reflects this situation. Realized in collaboration with the FPLP, it is a document that we later showed in Japan, as well as in certain Palestinian camps and in Europe.

Our engagement with Palestine consisted above all in experimenting with militant cinema in the context of the struggle for the liberation of Palestine, while at the same time supporting the struggle in Japan, in order to create a global solidarity in favour of armed struggle.

Fundamentally, Godard’s engagement had the same starting point as our own. We had in common a position and a will to change the old system that dominated the era in which we were living. That is what led us to voice our support for the transformation of the struggle in popular war, by and for the people. But the shift in the politics of the PLO created a gap between our points of view, and it eventually imposed a change of method in our respective cinematic approaches. Godard and I have each drawn our own conclusions, and these have led to different responses.

At the start, we shared with Godard a desire to experiment with the new possibilities of cinema. The events, however, led us to reconsider the fundamental question of our way of working on the resolution of the problems linked with the development of a cinematic activism, starting from zero. This question was crucial. We had to include in the global vision a common experience of the research of possibilities of the worldwide revolution, symbolized by the struggle for the liberation of Palestine.

This is why the differences that separate us have given birth to films underlining those differences, despite the proximity of our commitments. It is also about questioning to what extent our films, or rather the similarities and the differences between our approaches to cinematic activism, could be linked to the worldwide revolutionary movement. Our differences are not determined by our vision of the revolution, but rather concern our respective conceptions of the strategy that the movement of worldwide solidarity had to adopt.

This being said, the particularities and the contradictions that distinguish us are well and truly discernable in Ici et Ailleurs and Sekigun-PFLP. At the point when we were working on the production and distribution of our film and when I joined the international forces for Palestine, Godard and his group abandoned their film. After five years of tormented reflection, they decided to rework Jusqu’à la Victoire into Ici et Ailleurs.

It is perhaps not pertinent to compare the results, but as we finished our film and engaged with an activist movement, we couldn’t help wondering why Jusqu’à la Victoire was not completed in collaboration with the PLO and why a hiatus of five years separated this first draft from Ici et Ailleurs. Could Godard and his group have refused to finish the film for uniquely political reasons, because of a difference of opinion with the PLO? Or perhaps the independent financial resources dried up, making the continuation of the shooting impossible? Until I finally watched Ici et Ailleurs, I thought all these reasons were possible.

Today, I don’t think I was completely wrong, but I have to admit that I wasn’t completely right either. Actually, during the period when the production drew to a halt, Godard and his comrades did not question the spatial and temporal void that separated Palestine and France. They had instead given priority to a reflexion on the transformation of existence at the heart of our societies. Later, they reformulated their reflection in regards to their commitment to Palestine, which was failing. They acknowledged the weakness of their subjectivity and integrated this in a new structure that constitutes the principal message of Ici et Ailleurs.

Godard said it himself: “And then we came back home. I came back, you came back. In fact we haven’t recovered yet. We finally came back. She, he, you, I. I came back to France. It wasn’t working out. And then days passed, months passed. It’s not going well anywhere. Nowhere. I can’t do anything. In France, you soon don’t know what to do with the film. Very quickly, as they say, the contradictions explode and you with them.” He rather openly confesses being torn between France and Palestine, suffering after having stopped the production of the film.

This means that the disputes concerning the content of the film and the lack of funding were not the only reasons. What then were the other motives? I think that the filmmakers were asking themselves how to build a bridge to the new stage of the struggle: going beyond their belonging to society, even though they were socially and politically divided.

If this is the case, one has to ask in which way the team and Godard himself proceeded to sublimate their desire, so far away from Palestine. Did they maybe take some distance, during some time, from their involvement with Palestine? In truth, this was not at all the case. In fact, Ici et Ailleurs reveals itself as an experimentation with new methods susceptible of responding to and coping with a new context for the struggle. These are valid not only in regards to the commitment to Palestine. Ici et Ailleurs also constitutes a tipping point, after which Godard began a change in his cinematographic methods.

4. The desire to pass the border again

What stimulated Godard to take up the project again? At what point, while being so far removed from Palestine, did he pick up the abandoned Jusqu’à la Victoire film, to deconstruct it and recompose it in the form of Ici et Ailleurs?

From the remaining material, Godard chose five images and five sounds: “The people’s will + the armed struggle = the people’s war + the political work = the people’s education + the people’s logic = the popular war extended.” He has not been able to alter them. In Ici et Ailleurs, the authors become attached to “elsewhere” (Lebanon, Syria, Jordan). The words of this language, in spite of the events that have struck Palestine, do not change. “Here”, that is to say in France, such words are considered non-existent.

Godard says it himself in the film: “Probably, in attempting to add hope to dreams, we have made adding errors,” “It’s true that we never listened to silence in silence. We wanted to crow victory right away. And what’s more, in their place. If we wanted to make the revolution in their place, it’s maybe because at that time, we didn’t really want to make it where we were, and preferred to make it where we weren’t.”

Godard continually poses the question of knowing what is keeping them at a distance from this “elsewhere”, these scenes of struggle in the Arab and Palestinian liberation, in which he and his team had invested in the past. The films from the US and the Soviet Union were what plundered the images and sounds. It is capitalism that seizes the time of life and relations between humans. It is Godard and his friends themselves who are alienated and buried “here”, under the numerous “zeros”, the coefficient of capitalism in France.

Godard and his friends wanted, once again, to go beyond the “zeros” and once more face the battlefield of Palestine and other places, from “here” to “elsewhere”, from “elsewhere” to “here”. But what pushed them to take this turn? This is only my hypothesis, but I am certain it has to do with what happened during the Olympic Games in Munich in September, 1972. After the massacre of Palestinians during Black September, after the “massacre of Mount Jerash” inflicted on the Palestinian guerrillas, it was during the Olympic Games in Munich, just after the battle of Lydda in May 1972, that members of the Palestinian guerillas broke into the athletes’ village. They occupied the village, taking Israelis hostage in order to demand the release of Palestinian prisoners of war. Television stations interrupted their broadcasts of the games and relentlessly filmed the village where the guerillas barricaded themselves in with the hostages. It was a moment of tension that Godard described as follows: “In Munich, the force of imperialism was exerted through television. Two billion spectators wanted a program.”

While watching these broadcasts, Godard undoubtedly thought of a way to counter the powerful imperialist message of television. If I am able to formulate such a supposition, it is because we had exactly the same experience. In February 1972, when we were in Japan, working on Sekigun-PFLP, the Japanese Red Army had taken hostages and entrenched themselves in a chalet in Asama.(2) This event was baptized the “Battle of Asama”. Television unceasingly turned its cameras on the event. The authorities distilled a message that impelled spectators to expect “the great scene of the arrest of the guerrillas and the liberation of the hostages”. The whole of Japan was nailed to their seats. This message was more powerful than any sound or word.

We can assume that what had awakened Godard and the others, torn between here, Europe, and there, Palestine, and what led them to take up the challenge to make Ici et Ailleurs, may have been the continuous broadcast of “the scene of pitched battle between the Palestinian guerrillas and the special forces” that unfolded in Munich. This hypothesis seems acceptable to me. Godard’s comment in Ici et Ailleurs is extremely radical: “Take advantage of the fact the world is watching to say: ‘show this image from time to time’. If they refuse, take advantage of a worldwide TV audience to say: ‘You refuse to show this image’. At each final, for example. Ok, we’ll kill the hostages and be killed afterwards. And for them as for us, it’s silly to die for an image. And we’re a little scared”

These words, full of bitterness, are spoken as a counterpoint to the moment when we see the group searching for a way to show Jusqu’à la Victoire on television, with the authors carrying out a critical analysis of their own counter-information film: “Looking back, the things that are described in these images are not all that different than those we can see in whatever American or Soviet films.”

What takes place is a singular process of sublimation that allows for a reversal of the field of possibilities. Let us reconsider Godard’s words: : “If we wanted to make the revolution in their place, it’s maybe because at that time, we didn’t really want to make it where we were, and preferred to make it where we weren’t.” Godard thus reconsiders his counter-information film in order to definitively conclude the impossibility of its succeeding.

We can guess the meaning of the other message brought about by the black screen. The black screen of the Godard cinema, combined with another crucial term, the “memory” of the filmmaker, suggests a smothered howl stemming from the author’s soul. The “memory” that transcends time is both a past and a future. It accompanies us towards a conscience of the present. It is most probably in this way that Godard wanted to cross the border between here and elsewhere. It is not about going “forwards” or “backwards”. It is not about being “here” or “elsewhere”. The border depends on the positioning of “forwards=backwards” and “here=elsewhere”. Do Godard and his comrades mean to imply that the equal sign (=) allows for the infinite accumulation of “zeros” that links Soviet and American films?

What is really happening? I try once again to take time for an inner reflection in front of this black screen. I don’t know how much time I will be able to concentrate. I have to say that while hearing the news about Palestine and seeing Ariel Sharon urging the butchers to continue their indiscriminate murder of Palestinians, the interior of my mind already colours whiter and whiter with anger.

Thinking about it, the ultimate, heartbreaking message that Godard has sent us in Ici et Ailleurs does not reside in the black screen, but in a screen made of the purest white.

(1) Referred to as Gaza Camp, Jerash is home to Palestinian refugees who fled the Gaza Strip after the 1967 Arab-Israeli war.
(2) During nine days, the Japanese population could follow live television broadcasts of the spectacular progress of this hostage-taking, which turned popular opinion against the leftist movements.

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Translated by Stoffel Debuysere, with help from Mari Shields (Please contact me if you can improve the translations).

In the context of the research project “Figures of Dissent (Cinema of Politics, Politics of Cinema)”
KASK / School of Arts

The Fire Next Time

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The Fire Next Time
Afterlives of the militant image

3-4 April 2014. KASKcinema, KIOSK & Minard, Gent, Belgium

“The impossible is the least that one can demand.”
– James Baldwin

There was a time when cinema was believed to make a difference, to be able to act as a weapon in struggle, to operate as a realm of discord. The so-called ‘militant cinema’ was not only considered as a tool to bear witness but also to intervene in the various political upheavals and liberation movements that shook the world in the 1960s and ‘70s. What remains of this unassailable alliance between cinema and politics? After the flames had died down, all that seemed to be left was a wreckage of broken promises and shattered horizons. Today it feels like we have been living through a long period of disappointment and disorientation, while the sense of something lacking or failing is spreading steadily. An overwhelming melancholy seems to have taken hold of our lives, as if we can only experience our time as the ‘end times’, when the confidence in politics is as brittle as our trust in images. Perhaps that is why, for those who came after, there is a growing tendency to look back at an era when there was still something to fight for, and images were still something to fight with. Can a re-imagining of old utopian futures shed a new light on our perceived dead-end present, in view of unexpected horizons? Can an understanding of past dreams and illusions lead to reinvigorated notions of responsibility, commitment and resistance? Can a dialogue with the period in question help us to find the very principles and narratives capable of remedying its impasses? And how can this questioning help us to think about how cinema, unsure of its own politics, can be ‘political’ today? In light of a potential rebirth of politics, would it still be possible for the art of cinema to appeal to the art of the impossible?

In the framework of the research project ‘Figures of Dissent’ (KASK/HoGent) and the EU project ‘The Uses of Art’ (confederation L’Internationale), in conjunction with ‘L’œil se noie’, an exhibition of work by Eric Baudelaire and Mathieu Kleyebe Abonnenc (KIOSK, 05/04 – 15/06/2014) and the Courtisane Festival (02-06/2014). With the support of the research groups S:PAM & PEPPER (UGent), art centre Vooruit, BAM institute for visual, audiovisual and media art, Eye on Palestine, Embassies of France & Mexico.

All events are free admission, except where indicated.

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THURSDAY 3 APRIL
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10:00 KASKcinema // Talk-screening

Militant Cinema: from Third Worldism to Neoliberal Sensible Politics
Irmgard Emmelhainz

Jean-Luc Godard’s Ici et ailleurs (1969-1974) as well as Chris Marker’s Le fond de l’air est rouge (1977) crystallize the histories of militant engagement and political filmmaking in the 1960s, a time in which Marxism was a vehicle for cultural as well as actual revolution here and elsewhere. From both films, lessons about this era of militantism can be drawn. Moreover, they announce a turn in the 1970s and 1980s toward minority politics (tied to de-colonization struggles) and humanitarization –which implies an ethical, as opposed to political relationship to the elsewhere, as well as the utopia of globalization. Bearing this in mind, Irmgard Emmelhainz will discuss the changes in the meaning of ‘politicization’ and political work from the 1960s from what is known today as ‘Sensible Politics’: a form of politicization active at the level of encoding unstable political acts in medial forms. Taking up Jean-Luc Godard’s plea for texts and poetry (inspired by Aristotle’s and Hannah Arendt’s understanding of political action as speech), in his film Notre musique, she will argue that most of the current politicized images are compensatory devices to the ravages caused by neoliberal reforms implemented worldwide in the past two decades.

Irmgard Emmelhainz is an independent writer and researcher based in Mexico City. In 2012, she published a collection of essays about art, culture, cinema and geopolitics: Alotropías en la trinchera evanescente: estética y geopolítica en la era de la guerra total (BUAP). Her work about cinema, the Palestine Question, art, culture and neoliberalism has been translated to French, English, Arabic, Turkish, Hebrew and Serbian. She is currently co-editing an issue dedicated to Mexico City of Scapegoat Journal, and teaching a course at the Esmeralda National School of Engraving and Painting in Mexico City.

Screening:
Jean-Luc Godard & Anne-Marie Miéville
Ici et ailleurs (Here and Elsewhere)

FR, 1976, 16mm, color, French & Arabic with English subtitles, 53’

A film of the in-between, of the AND. Between then (1970) and now (1976), between here (Paris) and there (Palestine), between what is shown and what is seen, between sound and image. In 1970 Jean-Luc Godard and Jean-Pierre Gorin travelled to the Middle East to shoot a film about the Palestinian liberation struggle, a film that was initially titled Jusqu’à la victoire. A few weeks after returning to France, the Amman massacres took place. After that, it took Godard more than five years to find a form for the images and sounds he had captured, five years to come to terms with a sense of loss and failure, with the death of so many of those he had filmed, with the demise of so many revolutionary dreams. The only way for Godard to escape from the irresolvable contradictions between cinema and politics and the souring dilemmas of the militant filmmaker, was to radically turn cinema in on itself, in a meditation on the power and powerlessness of the image. A labor of mourning, of which we haven’t seen the end yet.

Hito Steyerl
November

DE, 2004, video, color, English spoken, 25’

“My best friend when I was 17, was a girl called Andrea Wolf. She died in 1998, when she was shot as a Kurdish terrorist in Eastern Anatolia… This project tackles the question of what is nowadays called terrorism and used to be called internationalism once. It deals with the gestures and postures it can create, and their relationship to figures of popular culture, namely cinema. Its point of departure is a feminist martial arts film Andrea Wolf and I made together when we were 17 years old. Now this fictional martial arts flick has suddenly become a document. November is not a documentary about Andrea Wolf. It is not a film about the situation in Kurdistan. It deals with the gestures of liberation after the end of history, as reflected through popular culture and travelling images. This project is a film about the era of November, when revolution seems to be over and only its gestures keep circulating.” (HS)

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13:30 KASKcinema // Talk-screening

Landscape/Media – an Investigation into the Revolutionary Horizon, Reloaded
Sabu Kohso & Go Hirasawa

The development of ‘Landscape Cinema’ and ‘Landscape Theory’ took place during the short period between the late ‘60s and early ‘70s in Japan, while the ‘60s movements were declining and the militant line of guerrilla warfare was rising. It embodied a collective effort to grasp a new horizon of revolutionary struggle and the possible location of its agency in the form of film productions and critical discourses. Initiated by an enigmatic film, AKA: Serial Killer (1969), the cinema/theory sought to confront ‘landscape’ as the main terrain for the power operation, seen by the gaze of a migrant worker. Then Red Army/PFLP – Declaration of World War (1971) was produced, embodying the second stage of the development in which tactical uses of reportage were juxtaposed over the everyday landscape of Palestine guerrillas. Although the film was produced in collaboration with Japan Red Army, it involves multiple messages including critical reflections on a broad orientation of Japan’s radical left. Screening the latter film, Hirasawa and Kohso seek to decode the problematic complexity of the cinema/movement, that tackles the mechanism of capture by landscape/media and the resistance therein, in order to approach the apocalyptic feature of planetary crises today.

Sabu Kohso is a writer and translator. Living in New York since 1980, he has published several books in Japan and Korea about urban space, radical politics, and the philosophy of anarchism, and has translated books by theorists such as David Graeber, John Holloway, Kojin Karatani and Arata Isozaki. After the Fukushima nuclear disaster, he co-edited the website jfissures.org, and has written several articles on the problematic of post-nuclear disaster society in English.

Go Hirasawa is a researcher at Meiji-Gakuin University working on underground and experimental films and avant-garde art movements in 1960s and ’70s Japan. His publications include Cultural Theories: 1968 (Japan, 2010), Koji Wakamatsu: Cinéaste de la Révolte (France, 2010), and Masao Adachi: Le bus de la révolution passera bientot près de chez toi ( France, 2012). He has organized several film programs on Japanese Underground Cinema.

Screening:
Masao Adachi & Koji Wakamatsu
Sekigun-PFLP: Sekai Senso Sengen (The Red Army / PFLP: Declaration of World War)

JP/ Palestine, 1971, 16mm to video, color, Japanese & Arabic with English subtitles, 69’

Masao Adachi and Koji Wakamatsu visited Beirut on the way back from the Cannes Film Festival in 1971. In collaboration with the Japan Red Army fighters and the PFLP, they produced the film there, involving styles ranging from manifesto, newsreel, critical reflection (of the Japanese left) to reportage (of everyday activities of the Arab guerrillas). A fusion of ‘Tactical Media’ and ‘Landscape Cinema’ inherited from AKA: Serial Killer (1969), the film was considered an epitome of cinematic engagement in revolutionary practice, along with the works of the Dziga Vertov Group (Jean-Luc Godard/Jean-Pierre Gorin) and Latin American directors including Fernando Solanas and Octavio Getino. In order to break out of the conventional distribution system, Red Bus Screening Troops were organized to travel across Japan. The English and French subtitled versions were produced so that they could be shown across the globe, including in Palestine.

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16:00 KASKcinema // Talk-screening

Destroy Yourselves as Our Bosses
Evan Calder Williams & Victoria Brooks

The connected talks of Evan Calder Williams and Victoria Brooks develop a feminist history of, and approach to, militant cinema from 1973 to 1983. In particular, they focus on critiques, both filmed and written, of how even allegedly radical movements reproduced a hierarchy of “legitimate” concerns that consistently framed the issues and modes of struggle posed by women as secondary to the cause at hand. This sidelining and its proprietary relation to politics has a history inextricable from labor movements themselves, but it becomes particularly visible with how practices of cinema directly engaged in social struggles negotiate what is literally foregrounded, drawn forth, or edited out. The first talk focuses on the Italian situation in the mid-’70s, considering “free newsreel” projects and experimental documentaries and reading their recurrent focus on the factory and piazza through the fierce critique articulated by Italian communist feminism in those same years. The second talk deals with films focused on women’s relation to factory and mining struggles in Ontario. These films, including those by Sophie Bissonnette, Joyce Wieland, and Sandra Lahire, developed a complex vision of histories and voices continually pushed to the side of movements fighting for access to basic necessities of survival.

Victoria Brooks is a curator and producer based in Troy, NY. Prior to joining EMPAC (Experimental Media & Performing Arts Centre) in 2013 as curator of time-based visual art, Brooks was a London-based independent curator, co-founding the itinerant curatorial platform The Island, co-curating Serpentine Galleryʼs artist-cinema program, and producing Canary Wharf Screen for Art on the Underground. Together with Evan Calder Williams, she is currently organizing Third Run, a new yearly film journal and colloquium series to be launched in fall 2014.

Evan Calder Williams is a writer, theorist, and artist. He has a doctoral degree from the Literature Department at University of California Santa Cruz, where he wrote a dissertation entitled The Fog of Class War: Cinema, Circulation, and Refusal in Italy’s Creeping’70s. He is the 2013-2014 Fellow at the Center for Transformative Media at Parsons, where is developing a theory of sabotage. He is the author of two books, Combined and Uneven Apocalypse and Roman Letters, has written for Film Quarterly, Mute, La Furia Umana, Viewpoint, and The New Inquiry, and writes the blog Socialism and/or Barbarism.

Screening:
Sophie Bissonnette, Martin Duckworth, Joyce Rock
A Wives Tale

CA, 1980, 16mm to video, color, English & French with English subtitles, 73’

A film about the women who supported the 1978 miners strike against Inco, the multinational which owned the nickel mines in Sudbury, Ontario. “As the women became increasingly involved in the strike, they questioned more and more their traditional supportive role. This provoked many heated discussions among the women and obviously not without upsetting husband, family, union — and company… This situation forced us as filmmakers to find a cinematic approach that could capture this reality. It is difficult (impossible) to take ‘pretty pictures’ under these conditions: kitchens are small and don’t well suit the movements of a film crew; children scream and cry in the microphone, making it hard to hear…we often packed up our equipment and decided not to shoot because we felt it would be a betrayal of the trust we had established with the women. You may perhaps be disappointed not to witness a family feud…So we shot a film that doesn’t in fact show ‘everything.’ hoping that what is not obvious comes from between the lines, between each frame of the film.”

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20:30 MINARD // Cinema-event

Möglichkeitsraum (The Blast of the Possible)
Angela Melitopoulos & Bettina Knaup

The Blast of the Possible is a project containing the creation of a temporary performance and lecture platform, a space for exhibiting video and film archive materials belonging to the history of activist media since the 1960s. The design of the platform is based on the idea of an extended postproduction studio in that all functions of montage are spatially presented. This theatrical archive space recalls the archaic function of theatre being a switching panel for different modes of language flows that foster potentials of experimentation, learning and the relation and agency between language-modes. The imaginary developing from an index of the databases and from the materiality of the archival documents will be transformed and preformed through the live energy of performance and speech. ‘Language,’ as Walter Benjamin states, ‘is mediating the immediacy of all mental communication, and if one chooses to call this immediacy magic, then the primary problem of language is its magic.’ Angela Melitopoulos & Bettina Knaup propose to concatenate different languages modes and work on their boundaries with performances that mind the gap between memory and matter. The exhibition becomes a place in that we sense the time quality of mediated images, their historical context, their possible figures and pathologies, their spatial order and their construction and segmentation, their open or closed logic of montage. Through these interventions we can re-read documents and documentation, the construction of representation and identity, the imaginary of the past and the potentialities of becoming.

Angela Melitopoulos studied fine arts with Nam June Paik at the Academy of Arts in Düsseldorf. She has been working with electronic media since 1986 and has created experimental single-channel tapes, video installations, video-essays and documentaries, her work of art often based on research and collaboration with other knowledge spheres like sociology, politics and theory. She has recently been appointed professor in the Media School of the Royal Art Academy in Copenhagen.

Bettina Knaup is a cultural producer with a background in political science, theatre, film, TV studies and gender studies. She has been involved in developing or managing a range of interdisciplinary and transnational cultural projects operating at the interface of arts, politics and knowledge production, including the open space of the International Women’s University (Hanover) and the trans-disciplinary Performing Arts Laboratory, IN TRANSIT (Berlin).

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22:00 MINARD // Cinema-event

When we act or undergo, we must always be worthy of what happens to us
Ayreen Anastas & Rene Gabri

The militant cinema and image, taken in a more strict sense, have historically tended to push toward the real and toward the truth and toward the overcoming of capitalism, colonialism, and sometimes patriarchy among other things. They have worked to uncover, to lay bare, to expose, to clarify and at times to destroy existing regimes of order and/or truth. Occasionally, there have also been engaged comrades who have chosen the path of militancy as an arena to also investigate the truth claims of the image itself and its production. Of questioning the regimes of images themselves whether as spectacle or as contested fables or fictions. The utopic in the latter camp assumed cinema must be destroyed in the struggle. The more skeptical of this group, (in the philosophical sense not the everyday sense) returned to the cinema as a place of diagnosing the limits and failures of movements, as well as the images movements produced. This film is not about this history and the antinomies of these various modes of militancy in cinema, here reduced to a kind of caricature (quite common in historical accounts). It attempts instead to loiter around the shards and remnants of the processes, struggles and gestures that were produced in these varied forms of militancy in the hopes of discovering the latent forces and insights they may retain for contemporary struggles.

Ayreen Anastas & Rene Gabri work together. Ayreen writes in fragments, and makes films and videos. She is interested in philosophy, literature, the political and the everyday. Rene is interested in the complex mechanisms that constitute the world. He works within the folds of cultural practice, social thought and politics. Ayreen and Rene’s collaborative projects have evolved a great deal through their frequent contributions to the programme at 16Beaver, an artist community that functions as a social and collaborative space in downtown Manhattan, where the group hosts panel discussions, film series, reading groups and more. Ayreen and Rene’s Radioactive Discussion series was a physical counterpart to their fictional Homeland Security Cultural Bureau project. Other collaborations include: Camp Campaign, Artist talk, Radio Active, United We Stand, What Everybody Knows, Eden Resonating, 7X77, Case Sensitive America and more.

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FRIDAY 4 APRIL
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10:00 KASKcinema // Talk-screening

Memories of upheaval and tropical insurrection
Olivier Hadouchi, Basia Lewandowska Cummings, Mathieu Kleyebe Abonnenc

At this stalled and disillusioned juncture in postcolonial history, at a time when many anticolonial utopias have withered into a morass of exhaustion, corruption, and authoritarianism, how can we rethink the past in order to reimagine a more usable future ? If the longing for revolution, the craving for the overcoming of the colonial past and the reclaiming of national identity that shaped the ‘cinemas of liberation’ of the 1960’s is not one that we can inhabit today, then it may be part of our task to set it aside and begin an effort of reimagining other futures for us to dream of. But how can we go beyond the nostalgia for past horizons that still (or once again) seems to occupy our contemporary scope of imagination ? Can an answer be found in the work of the contemporary artists and filmmakers who are attempting to reinvent and redirect the legacies of militant culture and ‘Third cinema’ ? How to position ourselves today in view of this large corpus of historical film works in a context that is radically different but at the same time dauntingly close ? A selection of formally and politically bold films from Latin-America will serve as the starting point for a discussion on the relation between our ‘dead-end’ present, and, on one hand, the old utopian futures that inspired it and, on the other, an imagined idiom of future futures that might reanimate this present and perhaps even engender in it unexpected horizons of transformative possibility.

Olivier Hadouchi is a critic, curator and film historian, based in Paris. He obtained a PhD at the University Sorbonne Nouvelle (Paris 3) on Cinema and Liberation struggles around Tricontinental’s constellation (1966-1975). He has written for various publications such as CinémAction, Third Text, Mondes du Cinéma, La Furia Umana and has curated film programs for Le BAL, Bétonsalon. le Cinématographe de Nantes and la HEAD (Genève).

Mathieu Kleyebe Abonnenc is an artist, curator and researcher interested in exploring the history of the colonial encounter and its effects on memory and identity. Amongst others, he is very concerned to engage with film history and the decolonisation of African states in the 1960s. Abonnenc recently took part in the Paris Triennial in the Palais de Tokyo and in group exhibitions in the Fondation d‘entreprise Ricard (Paris) and the ICA – Institute of Contemporary Art (Philadelphia, USA).

Basia Lewandowska Cummings is a writer, editor and film curator, based in London. She has contributed to frieze, The Wire, Contemporary &, and The Quietus and has curated film programmes for Bold Tendencies, Film Africa, the New York African Film Festival, and Gasworks gallery. In January 2014 she became writer-in-residence at Jerwood Visual Arts, London.

Screening:
Santiago Álvarez
Now !

CU, 1965, 35mm, b/w, sound, 5’

A montage film composed of stills dealing with the discrimination against blacks in the United States, rhythmically edited after Lena Horne’s song of the same name.

Ugo Ulive
Basta

VE, 1969, 16mm to video, b/w, Spanish with English subtitles, 14’

“Through the use of violent symbols (loosely associated with Artaud’s notion of cruelty), some of the consequences of the current social organization in Latin-America are exposed: the alienation, marginalization and reification of men, and the continuous presence of imperialism, considered as rape.” (UU)

Santiago Álvarez
79 Primaveras

CU, 1969, 35mm, b/w, sound, 24’

A tribute to Ho Chi Minh, the revered leader of the Viet Min independence movement who had defeated French Indochina and founded the Democratic Republic of Vietnam. The justly celebrated 12 minute sequence in which newsreel footage of soldiers is destroyed exemplifies Alvarez’s declaration that “my style is the style of hatred for Imperialism.”

Nicolás Guillén Landrián
Coffea Arábiga

CU, 1968, 16mm to video, b/w, Spanish with English subtitles, 18’

The Cuban Film Institute commanded Landrián to make a propaganda documentary to show how to sow coffee around Havana. The result is a didactic film, which at the same time managed to betray the official proposal. The great irreverence: the use in the soundtrack of a forbidden song by The Beatles, The fool on the hill, when Castro walks to a podium for a speech. The documentary was exhibited but banned as soon as the coffee plan collapsed.

Nicolás Guillén Landrián
Desde La Habana ¡1969! Recordar

CU, 1968, 16mm to video, b/w, Spanish with English subtitles, 18’

Steeped in verbal and visual repetitions, the film presents itself as a sort of chronicle of the salient and traumatic events of the 1960’s, but it also points out the oppressive effect of inescapable propaganda on daily existence. It was censured for being “inconsistent with the Cuban context.”

Humberto Solás
Simparelé

CU, 1974, 16mm to video, b/w, Spanish with English subtitles, 28’

Simparelé synthesizes the primary forms through which the Haitian people have expressed themselves in the centuries since the island’s colonization by the French and the massive importation of African slaves to fuel its plantation economy. The film acknowledges the powerful role which Afro-Haitian culture has played in these people’s political struggle as both repository for people’s history and the raw material from which that history can be reconstructed and transformed.

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13:30 KASKcinema // Talk-screening

Splicing the Militant Cinema
Subversive Film (Mohanad Yaqubi & Reem Shilleh)

In 1968, a group of young filmmakers decided to establish a film unit affiliated with the Palestinian Revolution newly active in Amman, Jordan. The unit was called Palestine Film Unit (PFU) and was working with Al Fatah, one of the Palestinian Libation Organization (PLO) factions that adopted armed struggle as the only way to liberate Palestine. When the PFU was established, not only did it furnish the revolution with cinematic vocabularies, but it also addressed the decades old dilemma of invisibility of the Palestinian people and would offer apparatus for reclaiming visibility. At a later time the work of the unit became a major part of the Palestinian revolutionary cinema. This presentation tracks life and work of the PFU and its members as an example of a militant cinema practice in the 1960’s and ‘70’s, when filmmakers believed cinema could change the world.

Subversive Film is a cinema research and production initiative that aims to cast new light upon historic works related to Palestine and the region; to engender support for film preservation; and to investigate archival practices and effects. Other projects developed by Subversive Film to explore this cine-historic field include the digital reissuing of previously-overlooked films, the curating of rare film screening cycles, and the subtitling of rediscovered films. Subversive Film was formed in 2011 and is based in Ramallah and London.

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16:00 KASKcinema // Talk-screening

Dissident Images
Raquel Schefer, Ramiro Ledo Cordeiro, Daphné Hérétakis

In 1982, in the short film Changer d’Image – Lettre à la bien aimée (To Alter the Image), Jean-Luc Godard reflected upon the difficulty to produce an image of change likely to induce and formally represent change. Can an image of change give rise to change? Must an image of change be an altered image? A politics of aesthetics underlays these questions, as they point out to the poetics and politics of the film image, to the intrinsic articulation of its aesthetic and pragmatic dimensions. Representing current class struggle in Southern Europe, Daphné Hérétakis’ Ici rien (2011) and Ramiro Ledo Cordeiro’s Vida Extra (2013) reclaim a poetic political cinema, leading a formal creative synthesis between historical legacy and emergent audiovisual forms which undermines established categories. Daphné Hérétakis and Ramiro Ledo Cordeiro will be present to show their work, to discuss these aporias of image, aesthetics and politics, and to rethink the relationship between art and politics in the context of an open collective debate.

Raquel Schefer is a filmmaker and researcher. She is presently doing a PHD in Cinema Studies at the Université de la Sorbonne-Nouvelle (Paris 3). Politics of representation, remembrance and oblivion, the acts of telling and re-telling, and the non-coincidence between sensorial memory and audiovisual mnemonics are central issues in her work. Historical episodes are approached through personal and familiar narratives, in some cases embedded in the history of Portuguese decolonization.

Ramiro Ledo Cordeiro works as an independent filmmaker and a film editor. His work, influenced by the thinking of Alain Badiou and Jacques Rancière, reviews political cinema in the light of an overall “redistribution of the sensible”. Vida Extra (2013), inspired by Peter Weiss’ The Aesthetics of Resistance, proposes a cinema praxis based on the recognition and the circulation of new forms of aesthetic resistance. Re-enunciating the novel through refreshed narrative and aesthetic forms, Ledo Cordeiro reverses the relation of facticity and fiction and reconciles the struggle for political emancipation with sensible experience in the time of a returning pavor nocturnus.

Daphné Hérétakis is an independent filmmaker and a student at Le Fresnoy. While studying documentary film at Paris 8 University, Hérérakis directed Ici rien (2011), an experimental film shot in Exarhia, prime centre of social protest in Athens. A collective dialogic portrait of a country in crisis, Ici rien is a major example of today’s experimental political cinema as it points out to a synthesis of historical aesthetic forms and a new horizon of political expectations. Crisis is represented through images of a joie de vivre.

Screening:
Daphné Hérétakis
Ici rien

FR/GR, 2011, 16mm, Super 8 & Mini DV, color, Greek with English subtitles, 30′

“The shooting of this film started in september 2008, in Exarhia, a major centre of social protest in the heart of Athens. As the months passed and the political situation of Greece evolved, the film became the canvas on which fragments of stories finally found a place, composing the tattered landscape of a country in crisis.” (DH)

Ramiro Ledo Cordeiro
Vida Extra

SP, 2013, video, color, Spanish with English subtitles, 96’

“’The revolution is a game you surrender to for pleasure. Its dynamics are those of the subjective fury of living, not those of altruism’. Almost half a century later, few things seem as far back in time as the International Situationist and its idea of deconstructing the left. However, the current European collapse exposes, now more than ever, the need for new forms of resistance against the strategies of evil and their atrocious advance. In his directorial debut, Ramiro Ledo faces that idea of re-enunciating through the only possible path: self-criticism. First part: an assembly after the occupation of Barcelona’s Spanish Bank of Credit. The images don’t exist, they’re just shadows and flashes that, added to the accumulation of slogans and turns to speak, have the effect of a death certificate. Second part: a table talk, the guests expose their fears and doubts about the indignados, the resistance, the pickets, direct action… Both sides, opposed and indivisible, form what is perhaps one of the most uncomfortable and tough Spanish films in recent memory.” (BAFICI)

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20:00 KIOSK // Exhibition-opening

L’œil se noie
Eric Baudelaire & Mathieu K. Abbonenc

L’œil se noie is the result of an intuitive dialogue between two French artists whose work stems from a shared interest in the gaps and fissures that make up (hi)stories, as well as the challenges and promises they hold. At the heart of their practices is a desire to open up and accentuate the tensions between what has been, what seems to be, and what could have been, to pick up the traces of forgotten and unresolved questions and divert them towards uncertain destinations, out of the dead end circuits where things and thoughts get trapped in their own finitudes. Indeed, this is an exhibition about ‘unfinished business’, as one of the pieces in the show suggests. Sometimes quite literally, as in the case of Mathieu’s search for Sarah Maldoror’s Guns for Banta, a film dealing with the struggle for the Independence of Guinea and Cape Verde that has never seen the light of day, or Eric’s ‘makes’ (as opposed to remakes) of some of Michelangelo Antonioni’s unrealized scenarios. In other cases, their work consists of a rewiring of the connections between one sense and another, or between one time and another, as in ça va, ça va, on continue, which highlights the complications implicit in remembering, representing and voicing distant histories of anti-colonial revolt and revolutionary insurrection, or Chanson d’Automne, an assemblage of clippings from The Wall Street Journal dated September 2008, revealing a poetry of resistance within the fracture lines of a dysfunctional economic order. At odds with all laments of the ‘death and the image’ and the ‘end of history’, the works in this exhibition propose a renewed faith in the hidden potentialities of the present, puncturing the impasses and aporias of finitude, giving way to spaces for wandering and wondering that are bound to remain incomplete.

(RELATED SCREENING on SUNDAY 6 April 11:00 SPHINX: Eric Baudelaire, The Ugly One)

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22:00 MINARD // Concert

Crazy Nigger – Gay Guerilla
Julius Eastman

“What I mean by niggers is that thing which is fundamental, that person or thing that attains to a basicness or a fundamentalness, and eschews that which is superficial, or, could we say, elegant… There are 99 names of Allah, and there are 52 niggers.”
– Julius Eastman, Jan 16 1980, Northwestern University

When Julius Eastman took the stage of the concert hall of the Northwestern University to explain the titles of the pieces that he and three other pianists were about to perform, he could not have known that this appearance would be the most lasting statement about his music. Having studied with the likes of George E. Lewis, Morton Feldman and Lukas Foss, all signs pointed towards a bright future for this composer. By 1980 Eastman was performing his music all over Europe and the States and he was an integral part of the thriving Downtown scene in New York, where he recorded with Arthur Russell and Meredith Monk. But for all this promise, his self-destructive behaviour inevitably caught up with him. When he passed away on May 28 1980 in a hospital in Buffalo, the news took more than seven months to reach New York. With the scarce recordings and scores of his music scattered all over the place, attempts to reconstruct Eastman’s output are doomed to remain incomplete. Only fairly recently a selection of his work has been made available, including the trilogy Evil Nigger, Crazy Nigger & Gay Guerilla, which represents in so many ways the intense brilliance of this ‘forgotten minimalist’. These compositions for multiple pianos took the minimalist device of additive process to a whole new structural level, building up immense emotive power through the incessant repetition of rhythmic figures, a composing technique he called ‘organic music’. The titles of the pieces exemplify the rebellious attitude of Eastman, as someone who has always struggled with identity, yet never without casting a new life; someone who has steadfastly eschewed compromise, yet giving rise to a body of work that continues to startle and engage.

Musicians: Frederik Croene, Stephane Ginsburg, Bob Gilmore, Reinier van Houdt
Entrance fee: € 8 / 10

in collaboration with art centre Vooruit.

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Later that night: COURTISANE PARTY with Cooly G, HIELE, Gerard Herman, Phonetics, Simon Hold

More info: www.courtisane.be

notes on courtisane

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Time and time again we are asked the same questions: what is this thing called “Courtisane”? What exactly is it that you are proposing? And every time our response falls short. Because the honest answer is that we don’t know very well either, and that, perhaps, we don’t really want to know.

Time and time again we are told that we need to define ourselves. Communication specialists have been saying for years that we ought to think of a “unique selling proposition”. Specialists of whatever kind have urged us to be clear about our “identity”. And yet we feel increasingly incapable of coming up with the right words, words that somehow feel right.

Surely, we whisper hesitantly, it must have something to do with “cinema”, as a configuration of images and sounds, an experience of seeing and listening, a surface of percepts and affects, a construction of a sensible world for us to engage with. And yes, there was a moment when we proclaimed that we were defending “cinema at the margins”. As if that in itself meant something. As if defining oneself as the other of the same, as the outside of some inside, could really make a difference.

And yes, there were moments when we foolishly fell into the trap of some kind of sectarian academism, considering films as scientific or historical objects, testimonies of all that was other or all that had come to pass, museum pieces to behold in all their rarity and sterility. It’s not that we were all that wrong, it’s just that we didn’t say what needed to be said: that what you are seeing up there, flickering on the screen, are not some dead objects. That they are very much alive, alive with sensation, affect, thought.

And that they can make us feel alive in return. Isn’t that what matters most after all? In a world where it feels as if our places have always already been decided on and our paths have been set out for us, where we are constantly dared to be different and perform our own little micro-revolutions, without ever being able to question “the way things are”, isn’t it this aliveness that can give us the energy and courage to trust in what we do not know, in this as yet unknown place of possibility for which we crave to take responsibility?

Glauber Rocha once recalled a Portugese saying: we don’t know where we are going, but we know we can’t get there this way. Perhaps that is the choice we are trying to make: to leave the safe grounds and start trusting in what we see in front of us, even – especially – when shrouded in darkness. To leave behind the categories pinpointing us to places that could be easily recognized and identified. To put our confidence in what resists us, what forces us to think anew. To realize what we have been sensing all along, that there is something else at stake. To let go, slowly, of the certainties of knowing and accepting one’s place. To get lost.

How utterly naive, you say. We don’t even disagree. In light of the all too contemporary mindset of rationalism, cynicism, and common sense realism, we prefer to be naive. It’s not that we are turning our backs to the world – that would be plain nihilism, and there’s too much of that already. We certainly do not want to turn a blind eye to the petrifying darkness surrounding us, nor revel in fantasies of colored rainbows and shiny meadows. But we do need to allow ourselves to dream, dream out loud, dream with our eyes open.

Our “proposition” is perhaps just that: to give you some things to wonder about, things that, maybe, just maybe, make you want to wander yourself. That is all we can do, the rest is up to you.

Apart, Together, or the other way around –
we get there when we do.

(Courtisane festival 2014, 2 – 6 April)

Across the Margins, Beyond the Pale

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Courtisane Festival 2014, 2 – 6 April 2014

“Each generation must, out of relative obscurity, discover its mission, fulfill it, or betray it.”
– Frantz Fanon

An anthropological mockumentary, a baroque anti-symphony, a surrealist counter-ethnography, a revolutionary musical comedy, a porno-misery parody and a cubist road movie. What do all these films have in common? At first sight hardly anything, except for the fact that they all seem to be rooted in a world that is still classified “third”, a world marked by broken promises and shattered dreams, haunted by the spectres of colonialism and the realities of imperialism. These films are distant echoes from a time when a roaring call for a “third” cinema was resounding, one that could expose cruel realities and chase away unwanted ghosts: a cinema of liberation, not owing anything to the workings of the dominant order; a cinema of opposition, found on the outer edges of the overdeveloped world, always South to someone else’s North. These films are all that, and they are not. They do speak of the incoherence of underdevelopment and the discards of colonialism, and yet they refuse to conform to the imperatives of urgency and pedagogy that are bound up with these motives. They do take position against established powers and manifest a desire to overcome the past, but also resist any prescribed directions and prefer to reimagine unforeseen futures. They struggle hard to look for identity, but they do so through the very dismissal of the identities that are imposed by others. Outrageous, hilarious, vertiginous, delirious: this is a cinema that has nothing to lose, and everything to gain; a cinema that chooses to forsake the trodden pathways, only to find itself in a state of complete sovereignty. In all their dislocated intensity, unfathomable glory and impossible hope, this is the stuff that foolish dreams are made of.

In collaboration with the Royal Belgian Film Archive. In the framework of “Figures of Dissent (Cinema of Politics, Politics of Cinema)” (KASK/HoGent).

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Djibril Diop Mambéty
Touki Bouki (The Journey of the Hyena)

SN, 1973, color, Wolof spoken with English subtitles, 35mm (restored), 95’

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“That’s the way I dream. To do that, one must have a mad belief that everything is possible – you have to be mad to the point of being irresponsible. Because I know that cinema must be reinvented, reinvented each time, and whoever ventures into cinema also has a share in its reinvention.“
– Djibril Diop-Mambety

Touki Bouki portrays the wanderings of Mory and Anta, who roam all over Dakar in pursuit of their dream of escaping to France. “The story of Touki Bouki goes back centuries: men have always set out for new lands where they believe time never stops… Only few adventurers seem to make it, but that has never stopped anyone… Djibril left his country with the dream of finding success and solace in Europe. He soon discovered, however, the cruelty of life. While his dream fell apart little by little Djibril found he was unable to leave “Europe”, his host country. That was when returning to Africa became the real dream for him. Ending his days in Africa was a dream he would never fulfill. Touki Bouki is a prophetic film. Its portrayal of 1973 Senegalese society is not too different from today’s reality. Hundreds of young Africans die every day at the Strait of Gibraltar trying to reach Europe (Melilla and Ceuta). Who has never heard of that before? All their hardships find their voice in Djibril’s film: the young nomads who think they can cross the desert ocean and find their own lucky star and happiness but are disappointed by the human cruelty they encounter.” (Souleymane Cissé)

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Kidlat Tahimik
Mababangong Bangungot (Perfumed Nightmare)

PH, 1977, color, Tagalog spoken with English subtitles, 16mm, 93’

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“Maybe I’m just an accumulator of images and sounds and then I make a tagpi-tagpi [patchwork] and sew them together. I just work with images and I put my sounds on them and then I release a flow of thoughts and start juggling the sequences back and forth. I don’t try to find surrealist images even in the way as it happened in Perfumed Nightmare. I was a madman when I was making that film and I still am.”
– Kidlat Tahimik

For his first film, Kidlat Tahimik (meaning “quiet lightning” in Tagalog) drew on his own experience living “in a cocoon of Americanized dreams” for this tale of a village jitney driver, faithful student of Voice of America and its many lessons, and founder of his local Werner Von Braun fan club. Kidlat hopes to become an astronaut, or at the very least to strike it rich in the promised land. He makes it as far as Europe, where a series of rude and comical awakenings unfolds and Kidlat learns that the modern Western world is far from paradise. Tahimik, who later became a protégé of Werner Herzog in Munich, is a faux naif who uses the genuine naiveté of his hero – like Chaplin’s Little Tramp – to inscribe a powerful portrait of the American colonization of Filipino dreams. But, like the charming, festooned “jeepny” Tahimik constructed from an abandoned U.S. Army vehicle, the film creates something wholly original and imaginative from the discards of colonialism. In the words of Susan Sontag: “ Perfumed Nightmare makes one forget months of dreary moviegoing, for it reminds one that invention, insolence, enchantment – even innocence – are still available on film”

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Arthur Omar
Triste Trópico

BR, 1974, color, Portugese spoken with English subtitles, 16mm to video, 75’

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“I am fascinated by sound interference and remixes, ultra-editing, blending, everything that goes beyond the immediateness of the image and the verbal. Words, depositions, speech; for me it’s all raw material to be modulated. I’m not interested in anything that preexists the images, but the production of an experience through the image, in the image, like a chemical reaction in the brain, that can only occur there.”
– Arthur Omar

The biography of an imaginary doctor who left Brazil to study in France where he became friends with André Bresson, Max Ernst, and Pablo Picasso, and somehow ended up as an indigenous messiah. “A galaxy of discontinuous images. With a new presentation of the conflict between the coast and the sertão, Triste Trópico proposes a criticism, full of irony and hallucination, of the anthropological discourse in the tropics. Its main character, a surprising petit bourgeois doctor, embarks on a journey that will invert the sense of Levi-Strauss demarche, as expressed in his book Triste Tropique. The allegory of Cinema Novo was conceived as an unveiling, whereas the allegory of Triste Trópico is a movement towards opacity, and what poses a problem is the very act of reading. Triste Trópico is meta-cinema and, from this point of view, it is different from the forms of anti-colonialism of the 70s in Brazil”. (Ismail Xavier)

DUE TO THE UNAVAILABILITY OF A COPY OF ‘TRISTE TROPICO’, THE FILM WILL BE REPLACED BY ‘HOW TASTY WAS MY LITTLE FRENCHMAN’
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Nelson Pereira dos Santos
Como era gostoso o meu frances (How Tasty Was My Little Frenchman)

BR, 1971, 35mm, Tupi, French and Portuguese spoken with English subtitles, 84’

“The government broadly financed historical films, but it wanted the history to be within official parameters – the hero, the father of the country, all those things we have been told since elementary school. I made How Tasty Was my Little Frenchman, which does not correspond in any way to the official vision of history, under these circumstances. The film was not even considered to be historical, but rather purely fictional, as if official history were not fiction.”
– Nelson Pereira dos Santos

Jaundiced cultural allegory dressed up as anthropological re-creation, How Tasty Was My Little Frenchman slyly links Montaigne’s who-are-the-real-savages query to Brazil’s military dictatorship. Pereira draws from multiple historical sources—especially German explorer Hans Staden’s 1557 memoir—to tell the story of a French soldier’s experience as a captive of the cannibalistic Tupinambá tribe. “Pereira constructs a comic horror film in which sixteenth-century intertexts are read as current events in an analogy of colonialism with global capitalism. This film is Pereira’s response to Brazil’s building of the Trans-Amazon Highway, in the course of which contact with indigenous communities was made that threatened them with near extinction. The current destruction of habitat and native populations recalled to Pereira the traumas of colonization…The ingesting of foreign invaders thus becomes for Pereira a metaphor for indigenous resistance to global capitalism, the most recent form of economic colonization.” (Virginia Higginbotham)

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Carlos Mayolo & Luis Ospina
Agarrando pueblo (The Vampires of Poverty)

CO, 1977, color & b/w, Spanish spoken with English subtitles, 16mm to video, 28’

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“In the early 1970’s there appeared a certain type of documentary that superficially appropriated the achievements and methodologies of independent film to the point of deformation. In this way, poverty became a shocking theme and a product easily sold, especially abroad, where it is the counterpart to the opulence of consumption… We made a kind of antidote or Mayakovskian bath to open people’s eyes to the exploitation behind the miserabilist cinema which turns human beings into objects, into instruments of a discourse foreign to their own condition”.
– Carlos Mayolo & Luis Ospina

Filmed in Cali and Bogotá, Agarrando pueblo follows an unscrupulous film director as he and his cameraman wander around the cities looking for unwilling subjects for a documentary commissioned by German television. “Deliberately detached from the accusatory militant left, Luis Ospina and Carlos Mayolo launch in 1978 what could be called their cinematic-political thesis: Agarrando Pueblo (The Vampires of Poverty), an outrageous protest of national and international documentary models, which at the time – and even today – shamelessly exploited all kinds of third-world suffering (referred to by the directors as “poverty-porn”) and exported it to European television stations and festivals. Counterinformative from beginning to end and in every sense of the word, the film mixes staged and real scenes of a typical film crew commissioned by a Germany television channel to seek out archetypical social horrors, trampling over the basic principles of professional ethics, the meaning of information and – naturally – sociological research.” (Isleni Cruz Carvajal)

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Med Hondo
West Indies (ou les nègres marrons de la liberté / The Fugitive Slaves of Liberty)

MR/DZ, 1979, color, French spoken with English subtitles, 35mm, 113’

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“For too long a time, African cinema has been conceived as a poor cinema, a cinema of approximations where techniques did not match ideas … Militant cinema can thus be beautiful and rich … Indeed, West Indies … is no more a West Indian film than an African film. It is a film which summons all the people whose past is made out of oppressions, whose present is made out of aborted promises and whose future is left to be conquered.”
– Med Hondo

A single-set color musical tracing the history of the West Indies through several centuries of French oppression. “Med Hondo’s West Indies is a revolutionary musical in both senses of the word. This witty, scathing production offers an angry view of West Indian history, using imaginative staging and a fluid visual style. The film’s single set is an enormous slave ship [built in an unused Citroen factory in Paris]. Mobile camerawork and frequent narrative shifts take the actors through various vignettes about French colonialists invading the Indies, Carribean natives lured to Paris, the process by which the islands were first settled and a lot more. The material has the potential for overbearing irony but Mr. Hondo has a light touch. With cast members rotating their way through many different roles (the same actors may play slaves, then worried island villagers, then displaced West Indians)… Mr. Hondo leads the film through a long series of well-connected tableaux, culminating in an almost joyous call to arms.” (Janet Maslin)

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Glauber Rocha
A Idade da terra (The Age of the Earth)

BR, 1980, color, Portugese spoken with English subtitles, 35mm, 152’

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“The film develops the same ways, principles, lines, desires of justice and humanism in a world getting more and more destroyed by violence. The film is a barbarous mass, not a civilized mass. Because in substance of cinematographic language, montage, structure, everything was remade, subverted, reorganized. It is a baroque, reconstructivistic style, a very new thing that the Brazilians who saw the film adored.”
– Gauber Rocha

Catholic rituals and Afro-Indian gods, rural mysticism and revolutionary politics, Brahms and Villa-Lobos: this last film by Glauber Rocha, angel-demon of the Brazilian “Cinema Novo”, defies every attempt at unequivocal classification or definition. “It’s not to be told, only to be seen”, he said. A torrential, hallucinatory anti-symphony, a terrifying cry of desperation, a destruction in progress. “He hit himself against the impossible, the impossibility of being a great filmmaker of the Third World, a great black filmmaker. The Age of the Earth is the film of the Third World, there is no other. The others are films that join other films. The Age of the Earth is a great impossibility, a passage through world and time, a discovery of America on the opposite lane, a black Battleship Potemkin, or rather, it informs, full of gestures and rhythm, an extreme anti-classic – a spitting of blood in the face of the current cinema, dominated by sweetness.” (Pascal Bonitzer)

Alexandra Cuesta: Films & Influences

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17 February 2014 20:30, OFFoff Cinema Gent

At the invitation of art cinema OFFOff, Courtisane is very happy to present a program composed of films made and chosen by artist and filmmaker Alexandra Cuesta (EC/US). Inspired as much by Walker Evans‘s reticent street photography as by Bruce Baillie’s sensuous film poems, her work manages to strike a delicate balance between the mundane and the poetic, the material and the intelligible. Public places and urban landscapes are observed in their splendor and singularity through the abstract and vernacular figures of everyday life, exploring the constructions of space and structures of time that can be found in the order and disorder of people’s daily movements and environments. These filmic portraits in motion, elegantly composed of textures of light and fragments of bodies, are reminiscent of an approach that Flaubert once referred to as an “absolute way of seeing things”, manifesting the sensible intensities of the most ordinary things, on the point of disentangling the connections that make them into functional objects. It is precisely in this point of tension that the sensibility of Alexandra Cuesta’s work is situated, perpetually oscillating between a fleeting play of correspondences and a surface of percepts and affects that is there for us to engage with.

Helen Levitt, James Agee & Ed Howard
In the Street

US, 16mm, b/w, sound, 13’

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In The Street is reportage as art. It reports the facts, but for their useless beauty above all. While it could be argued that the film tells us how working class residents of Spanish Harlem lived in the 30’s and 40’s – how they looked and behaved, the addition of expository narration could have told us so much more. Statistics and other facts could have helped us put what we see into context and multiplied the use-value of the film. The absence of narration or other texts proves the artist’s intent that we are intended to enjoy the film as a collection of beautiful appearances.” (Roy Arden)

Alexandra Cuesta
Recordando El Ayer

16mm, color, sound, 8’

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Shot in Queens, NY in 2004. Memory and identity are observed through textures of everyday life in a portrait of Jackson Heights, home to a large Latin American immigrant population. Images of street, people, and daily rituals render passing of time in a neighborhood that becomes a mirror not just of another place, but also of the past. The landscape visually reflects the space as a creation of a new home while revealing displacement within the new condition. The meaning of home is explored and built upon collective recollection.

Robert Fenz
Soledad (Meditations on Revolution, Part III)

US, 16mm, b/w, silent, 14’

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Part three of Robert Fenz’ silent black and white series of films that explore the meaning and the resonance of the word “revolution”, shot in Mexico and New York. “The films of Robert Fenz can never be subject to the principles of static analysis: their potential of subversion is always at work. However some traits are common to his entire oeuvre: the critical conscience, the political engagement (which differs from militantism), the desire to know what the shadows withhold, the passion for the other. Fenz reaffirms these prominent traits of his artistic humanist heritage innovating in the construction of a visual sensitivity which opens up elemental questions of idealism from concrete, sensitive and physical observation. Following the path of rhythm, creative improvisation and kinetic description, his cinematographic oeuvre develops a style that is founded on a profound faith on the power of the image – as a source of communication, as a critical tool, as an interior necessity.” (Gabriella Trujillo)

Bruce Baillie
Valentin de las Sierras

US, 16mm, color, sound, 10’

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“I just shot simply but used a telephoto lens with an extension tube on the back, which gives you a very limited focal plane, a few inches. No one I know ever uses it with a long lens, especially with a moving subject, but I really liked the way it looked. I had to get into the flesh of that town, with the merciless sun beating into the bricks of the street and all the death-every night there’d be something or somebody killed, lying in the street in the morning. I had met up with this (archetypal) young girl, riding her pony. And I was afraid to meet her father. I’d sent word out trying to see her, and he sent word back to come meet him, and I thought, “Oh, God!”. But he turned out to be a very nice fellow: Manuel Sasa Zamora, of Jalisco. They were very poor and lived behind a big gate and had a horse and a dog named Penquina. That horse didn’t like me and would not let me film. I had to give it up for a while. Later, I named my horse after the film – Valentina.”

Alexandra Cuesta
Piensa en Mi

16mm, color, sound, 15’

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Moving from east to west and back, the windows of a bus frame fleeting sections of urban landscape. Throughout the day, images of riders, textures of light and fragments of bodies in space come together to weave a portrait in motion; a contemplative meditation on public transport in the city of Los Angeles. Isolation, routine and everyday splendor, create the backdrop of this journey, while the intermittent sounds of cars construct the soundscape.

Ernie Gehr
Passage

16mm, color, silent, 14’

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Composed of two intercutting shots of the S-Bahn elevated train through former East Berlin taken before and after the fall of the Berlin Wall, Gehr presents a mundane, yet illuminating glimpse of the profound cultural and economic changes in his ancestral homeland as seen through the city’s transformed – and almost unrecognizable – urban architecture.

Alexandra Cuesta
Beirut 2.14.05

16mm, color & b/w, sound, 7’

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Shot in Beirut, Lebanon during the filming of Ca Sera Beau, From Beyrouth with Love by Wael Nourredine.

Leandro Katz
Los Angeles Station

US, l6mm, silent, 10’

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“Leandro Katz’s simplest, most direct and probably least ambitious film and yet in many ways it is his loveliest. The results of the systematically structured material is unexpectedly stirring. Because of the impersonal method of construction, the freeze frames are not the result of sudden sentimental tugs. The count sometimes falls very conveniently on an image of natural poses, strikingly set against the backdrop; but just as often, the freeze frame is of a bare wall or an alleyway. The mechanical tension between the handheld camera’s panning and the systematic stops creates disarmingly simple, evocative effects. The freeze may halt a pan or simply congeal an already held moment. In the first case, an image often ends up de-centered, highlighting the broadside of the shack-like dwellings with their inhabitants crowded at the edge. Or, alternatively, a smiling boy, full of animate life and sensuousness, suddenly becomes an anthropological document, frozen evidence of a time, a place, and a culture.” (Tony Pipolo)

Alexandra Cuesta
Despedida (Farewell)

16mm, color, sound, 9’30

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Shot in Boyle Heights in East Los Angeles, this neighborhood historically formed by cultural transition resonates with the poetry of local resident Mapkaulu Roger Nduku. Verses about endings, looking and passing through open up the space projected. A string of tableaus gather a portrait of place and compose a goodbye letter to an ephemeral home.