Time and Cinema (Part 2)
When the Lumière brothers first screened their groundbreaking film "L'Arrivée d'un Train en Gare de La Ciotat" in 1895, aside from demonstrating a new technical achievement, they unveiled a new aesthetic principle: the power to record a moment in time and then replay it, preserving it indefinitely.
It is something that still fills me with awe. It's a capability that sets cinema apart from other art forms and opens up endless possibilities for storytelling and expression.
Commercialization as the Enemy of Time
Cinema is a medium that draws from various art forms, yet it must stand on its own, transcending the sum of its parts. When we rely too heavily on the principles of other arts, we risk creating a pretentious hybrid rather than a true film.
Unlike theater, where traditional time laws dictate the movement and organization of the piece, film has its own set of rules. It's a medium that can manipulate time in ways that no other art form can.
Unfortunately, as cinema evolved and grew in popularity, it began to veer away from its original aesthetic principles and towards more commercial interests. The unique ability to imprint actual time on film, to create a tangible record of a moment that can be revisited again and again, was often overlooked in favor of more conventional storytelling techniques.
Filmmakers started focusing on adapting popular literature and stage plays, seeing these as a way to attract audiences and generate profits. While there's nothing inherently wrong with this approach, it did lead to a certain underutilization of cinema's potential.
Despite the challenges and pitfalls that the medium has faced over the years, I believe that its true potential can find new ways to be fully realized, whether it's through experimental films that push the boundaries of what's possible, or more mainstream works that find new ways to engage and inspire audiences.
Capturing Life
For me, the ultimate goal of cinema is to reconstruct and recreate life itself. It's a chronicle of the human experience, distilled into a concise final product.
Experiment for you to try out
Record a casual conversation without the participants' knowledge. When you listen back, notice how natural and well-formed the dialogue is. It will likely surpass anything that could be scripted or acted—it will be raw and real.
So, what could an ideal film look like? In my mind, it would be a systematic recording of every moment of a person's life, from birth to death, captured on millions of meters of film... or terabytes. Of course, this isn't feasible in practice, but the principle behind it—selecting and assembling real-life moments—is something that I believe all filmmakers should strive for.
Breaking Free from Conventional Storytelling
Film has the ability to break free from conventional storytelling norms. It's not necessary to follow one character throughout the entire piece. The narrative can evolve from one set of facts or a perspective to another, driven by the creator's vision rather than any predetermined structure.
This is something that I've always admired about the work of directors like David Lynch and Terrence Malick. They're not afraid to let their films meander and explore, to let the narrative unfold in unexpected ways. Cinema has the power to incorporate any element from life, much more freely than literature ever could.
Ultimately, what I love about cinema is its vast capability. It's a medium that can incorporate any element from life, from the mundane to the extraordinary. What might be a sporadic use in literature can be a fundamental technique in film.
Cinema and Poetry
As filmmakers, we have the power to create something truly unique—a cinematic experience that stands on its own, transcending the sum of its parts. It's a challenge that I embrace every time I step behind the camera, and one that I believe all filmmakers should strive for.
When we talk about "poetic cinema," we're really talking about a style of filmmaking that goes beyond the literal and the concrete. It's a way of using the language of film to create something that is more than just a story or a plot, but rather a unique and deeply personal expression of the filmmaker's vision.
However, there is a danger in relying too heavily on symbols and allegories in poetic cinema. When we stray too far from the natural imagery of film, we risk losing the very thing that makes cinema so powerful in the first place: its ability to capture the essence of life through direct observation.
I once worked with a director determined to use a particular symbol throughout the movie. It was a beautiful image in its own right, but it felt forced and disconnected from the rest of the story. In the end, it detracted from the emotional impact of the film rather than enhancing it.
Capturing Time in a Visual Haiku
Cinema can capture the simple, everyday moments of life in a way that feels authentic and deeply moving. Show, don’t tell. Resist the need for explanation or exposition. Let the camera linger on a face or a landscape. Allow the viewer to absorb the emotional weight of the moment.
This is something that the great filmmakers have always understood. Think of the way that Terrence Malick captures the beauty of nature in his films, or the way that Wong Kar-wai uses the bustling streets of Hong Kong as a backdrop for his intimate character studies. These filmmakers know that the most powerful moments in cinema are often the simplest ones.
In many ways, I think that the traditional Japanese haiku is the perfect analogy for what I'm talking about. A haiku is a short, simple poem that captures a single moment or observation in just a few words. It's a snapshot of life, a fleeting impression that is both deeply personal and universally relatable.
When I'm making a film, I like to think of myself as a haiku poet, trying to distill the essence of a moment or a character into a single, powerful image. I don’t feel the urge to explain everything or tie up all the loose ends. I trust the viewer to find their own meaning and emotional connection to the work.
This is what I strive for in my own work, and what I look for in the films of others. It's not about flashy technique or clever symbolism. It's about the simple, profound act of observation, of capturing the beauty and truth of life in all its messy, complicated glory.