etnobofin

Choir of Christ Church, Oxford – Kyrie: Deus creator omnium
From Taverner- Missa Gloria tibi Trinitas [Buy] [emusic]

A life of abstinence and simplicity seems a difficult thing to maintain… my resolution to give up alcohol for Lent lasted exactly 24 hours from Ash Wednesday until Thursday evening, thanks to an impromptu farewell gathering for a good colleague returning to New Zealand.

But the modest denial of a simple pleasure for 40 days (modest in my case, because – by English standards at least – I don’t drink often or much) pales in comparison to the lifetime of denial chosen by monks of the Carthusian order. Their strict code includes a vow of silence, reclusion from the outside world and a rigorous daily pattern of prayer, manual work and study.

Last night I watched Into Great Silence, the first documentary ever made about the Grande Chartreuse monastery, nestled in the Chartreuse massif north of Grenoble. It was filmed over six months by the German director Philip Gröning, who worked entirely on his own, sharing the same routine as the monks. (The monks are so reclusive that it took Gröning 16 years to gain permission to make the film).

The film is long – almost 3 hours – but it is engrossing despite the lack of any narrative and almost no dialogue. On screen, the monastery and its inhabitants create a universe that runs to rhythms utterly alien to the lives of most of us. We might even envy the simplicity of the monks’ routine as they pursue “the peace that the world cannot give”.

I was reminded a little of Tarkovsky‘s editing technique of “sculpting in time”- images and scenes are held for long periods, other shots are repeated in different contexts or from different angles. Stars rotate across the sky and seasons pass through the valley, and yet the routine of the monks remains constant and unswerving.

However, the silence is never absolute. The film is filled with the noise of daily activity and sounds of nature beyond the windows. Bells punctuate the movie just as they mark the lives of the monks. And the monks have a weekly “recreation” where they leave the monastery for a walk in the mountains, when they are permitted to speak to each other.

Perhaps the most haunting images are the portraits of the monks themselves, gazing down the barrel of the camera at several points during the film. Their expressions are inscrutable – we are forced to ask why these men have chosen to seek God through such a severe and demanding life: a life they accept with joy.

As with all humans, the ultimate spiritual motivations of the monks remain hidden from our view, knowable only unto their creator. But through the rhythms of Into Great Silence, we are offered an intimate and thought-provoking portayal of a way of living that has remained largely unchanged for a thousand years.

One of the best Christmas presents I got this year was a DVD of some old family films shot on 8mm and Super 8. Images I hadn’t seen since I was a child, all bathed in that curious watery light that only small-gauge filmstock can create.

The family’s stockpile of 8mm films go back to 1948, (well before my time!), but the earliest parts of my childhood were recorded on Super 8, until the cost and hassle of processing the films became too great.

New Zealand had no film processing labs in those days, so the films were posted to Kodak in New York to be developed. As VHS cameras and cassettes became affordable, the idea of recording home life on filmstock seemed rather quaint.

Watching the films now, it seems we spent a LOT of time on the beach, or playing outside – but of course the low-grade film worked best in natural sunlight, so the camera was used mainly in summer and then only during daytime.

Unfortunately there isn’t too much naff 1980s stuff to laugh at except for my first bike (red chopper-style with a banana seat and trainer wheels), our short shorts and the swingball set at my aunt’s house. (Maybe this is all really 70s stuff – NZ was still under import restrictions and we tended to be about 5 years behind the rest of the world.)

Long, dark evenings in an English January are perfect for editing silly videos to put on Youtube, so I messed around with a 2.30min highlights package. A few of the cats and grandparents are no longer with us, but way back then, it seems like we were all having fun.

The music is by The Cutters, a band from northern California. You can buy their stuff and get free mp3s on their site.

The Golden Compass tries valiantly to work as a film, but doesn’t quite make the grade. It has to pack a lot of action into a family Christmas feature, and so we are not allowed to linger over any particular aspect.

In its haste to recreate the broad sweep of Philip Pullman‘s novel, the narrative dashes breakneck from Oxford to London to Norway to Svalbard, via airships, horseless carriages, gypsy paddlesteamers and the back of a talking polar bear.

There is little time to contemplate the themes of the trilogy, let alone the magnificence and strangeness of Lyra’s parallel universe. This is a pity, because it is thematic and inter-textual depth, coupled with extraordinary leaps of Pullman’s imagination, that make the books such a joy.

The actors are pretty good, and make a fair fist of a spartan script. Nicole Kidman‘s Mrs Coulter is magnificent in gold lamé, slinky and seductive, although at times her charm is so oily that it seems incredible that anyone could ever trust her with responsibilities at the General Oblation Board.

Sam Elliott is pitch-perfect as Lee Scoresby, the six-shooter packing, Twain-esque balloonist (apparently Samuel L. Jackson was suggested for this role… now THAT would have been something to see!).

Even Christopher Lee drops by to play Saruman- oh sorry, Count Dooku – or some other slightly anonymous evil dude lurking in the corridors of power. I was left wondering if the Magisterium was trying to cut its budget by subcontracting villains from the Sith and subletting office space in the tower at Isengard.

But Dakota Blue Richards manages to carry the film. Her Lyra seems to provide a perfect mix of stubborness, curiosity and vulnerability that allows the rest of the Pullman universe to revolve. If they do film The Subtle Knife and The Amber Spyglass, one wonders how they will find a young male actor to match her in the equally demanding role of Will Parry.

The Oxford scenes were fun to watch, simply for all the location spotting. The kids get to run across parts of Christ Church meadow that are closed to the public in our universe. The fictional Jordan College is an interesting amalgam of Exeter (Pullman’s old college), Queen’s and Christ Church – Cardinal Wolsey proving his prescience by building Tom Quad large enough to allow the docking of airships, even if the fountain of Mercury (made famous in Brideshead Revisited) had to be removed.

So overall, it’s a fun movie to watch, although I’m not sure how much you’d understand if you haven’t read the books. We’re left with a film that looks magnificent, but provides little more that a thumbnail sketch of the original story, with a few set-piece action scenes to tie it all together. Not disappointed, just moderately let down.

For New Zealanders, it is easy to view this as an archtypal kiwi film. There are certainly aspects of this work that will resonate strongly with a native audience: the need to escape our islands, the sense of landscape, the particular characters in the community, and the accents of the actors. For kiwis of a certain age, there is even a “Dougal Stevenson” moment.

Director Brad McGann (currently battling cancer again) has done a great job capturing the landscape of inland Otago, and reflecting the culture of a small town in New Zealand’s South Island. But this is a film that anyone, anywhere will enjoy. Beautiful to look at, and genuinely moving.

I know there are many non-NZ readers of this blog. If your experience of NZ cinema begins and ends with Peter Jackson, this film is well worth seeking out.

Crowded House – She Goes On
From Woodface: Capitol 793559 [Buy]

You’d have to be either intensely stupid or immensely ambitous to decide on impulse to rent and watch 5 hours of Ingmar Bergman, having never seen a Bergman film before in your life. But it looks like it’s going to rain all weekend. Work has drained you of the desire to worship at the Turnaround with Manuel Bundy at Rising Sun, or check out Senor Cesar at Galatos, or Isaac and Kelly K blowing at Khuja. (Hell, even Scribes of Ra and the united forces of Wellington and Auckland Batucada couldn’t get me out last Saturday night. I’m such a slacker). So. You rent Fanny and Alexander, and get blown away.

F&A is a moving and expansive film. Although set almost exclusively within the confines of two bourgeois families in Sweden in the early 20th Century, F&A is impressive in its sweep, conflating issues of power in marriage, family politics, faith, the nature of theatre, death, childhood and immorality into an epic that drew me in completely. Who cares that it takes 5 hours and two DVDs to get there?

Bergman’s experience in live theatre is evdient throughout in the timing and rhythm of the scenes, the balance of dialogue, and the deliberate placement (blocking?) of actors within the camera frame. This film contains depiction of some of the most complex emotion I’ve ever seen in cinema. (I would have to see some more of his films to confirm whether this is a Bergman trademark). Perhaps the best example is the laughable to-ing and fro-ing between the childrens’ uncle Carl and Helena, his wife from Munich. Their interactions swing within the space of seconds from physical revulsion to pathetic mutual fawning. Utterly extraordinary to watch two actors grapple with this incredibly difficult material, and make it convincing.

The children’s stepfather, the austere protestant Bishop Vergerus, dominates the action of the second half of the film. What motivates him to treat his new wife and stepchildren with such chilling and cruel indifference? Is it a firm conviction in the righteousness of his particular interpretation of Christianity? Does Vergerus truly act out of “love”, as he tells Alexander as he beats him and locks him in the attic? Is it a desire for power and order in his household? Is it some kind of sadistic psychosis? Is he genuinely in love with Emilie? I’m not sure if any of this is truly elaborated, nevertheless the portrayal of the Bishop by Jan Malmsjö.

Special mention must be made of the kids playing the titular roles of Fanny and Alexander. The character of Fanny remains something of a hollow shell, since most of the key action is viewed from Alexander’s perspective (Alexander operates in this film as an analog for Bergman himself.) But her apparent strength and impassivity in the face of death, imprisonment and abuse provides a foil to the often emotional Alexander. Here’s a ten year old who goes to pieces as he approaches his father on his deathbed, speaks to ghosts (no it’s not a European T6S) and is beaten by his stepfather for failing to distinguish between fantasy and reality.

Apparently there’s a 5 disc F&A box set coming out in November, including the original cinematic release, the 5 hour edited-for-Swedish-TV version and the making-of doco Dokument Fanny och Alexander. Yoiks. I may have to clear the decks on my credit card.

I think I’ll have to rent some more Bergman sometime, and hope that it lives up to my assessment of F&A….