Between cinema and reality there is inevitably a difference (it is both an absence and an abstraction), the goal of which is twofold and somewhat paradoxical: first, it turns cinema into something which is its own universe, governed by its own rules and principles, a something-else-ness whose reason for being resides in itself; secondly, because it differs from it and at the same time is intimately linked with it, it brings our attention back to reality and teaches us how to look and see that which, for reasons which mostly have to do with some sort of accustomed blindness, we fail to see, even though it is right in our face every single second.

***

Ok, I’m mindblown.

Literally one day after what I wrote yesterday on the twofold function of cinema, I bump into this quote by none other than Kiarostami (the text I wrote yesterday stemmed from a scene in “Where is the friend’s home”, that kept returning to my mind): “I’ve often noticed that we are not able to look at what we have in front of us, unless it’s inside a frame.”

***

A fragment by Jean-Luc Nancy, of which I thought recently after bumping into some stuff about Kiarostami (if I remember correctly, this fragment itself is part of Nancy’s book on Kiarostami).

“𝘈 𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘧𝘶𝘭 𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘬 𝘪𝘴 𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘧𝘶𝘭 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘭 𝘪𝘵 𝘣𝘦𝘩𝘰𝘭𝘥𝘴, 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘢𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘪𝘵 𝘪𝘴 𝘢𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘰𝘱𝘦𝘯𝘭𝘺 𝘢𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘱𝘰𝘸𝘦𝘳 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘭 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘪𝘵𝘴 𝘢𝘣𝘴𝘰𝘭𝘶𝘵𝘦 𝘦𝘹𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘺: 𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘵𝘢𝘱 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘱𝘰𝘸𝘦𝘳 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘰𝘸 𝘪𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘮𝘶𝘯𝘪𝘤𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘪𝘵𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧 𝘰𝘳 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘮𝘶𝘯𝘪𝘤𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘪𝘵 𝘪𝘵𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧. 𝘐𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘦𝘯𝘥, 𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘢𝘮𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘵𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘭, 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘰𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘳𝘦𝘨𝘢𝘳𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘢 𝘮𝘦𝘢𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘪𝘴 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘮𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 (…). 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘢𝘱𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘧 𝘪𝘮𝘢𝘨𝘦𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘧𝘪𝘭𝘮 – 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘪𝘳𝘦𝘭𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘱𝘪𝘤𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘧 𝘤𝘢𝘳𝘴, 𝘤𝘢𝘳 𝘸𝘪𝘯𝘥𝘰𝘸𝘴, 𝘸𝘪𝘯𝘥𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘦𝘭𝘥𝘴, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘷𝘪𝘦𝘸 𝘮𝘪𝘳𝘳𝘰𝘳𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘢𝘤𝘵 𝘢𝘴 𝘤𝘢𝘱𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘨𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘷𝘢𝘳𝘪𝘰𝘶𝘴 𝘷𝘪𝘦𝘸𝘴 – 𝘤𝘢𝘱𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘦𝘴 𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘧 𝘪𝘵 𝘪𝘴 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘭𝘦𝘵 𝘪𝘵 𝘨𝘰 𝘧𝘳𝘦𝘦 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯. 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘳𝘢𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘨𝘵𝘩 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘦, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘢𝘮𝘦𝘳𝘢’𝘴 𝘮𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘣𝘶𝘵𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘧𝘳𝘦𝘦 𝘢 𝘮𝘰𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯, 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘤𝘩 𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘤𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘵𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧 𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘵. 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘪𝘭𝘮’𝘴 <<𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘦𝘳>> 𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘦𝘴 𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘯 𝘢 𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨-𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘭 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘢 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘻𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘭: 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘭 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘢 𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘧𝘶𝘭 𝘨𝘢𝘻𝘦 𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘦𝘴 𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘣𝘭𝘦.”

***

When Godard talks about cinema as something that “both gives to life and takes from it” I cannot help thinking about those stories with tribal people and yogis who refused to have their photos taken because they feared the camera will steal their soul (there’s one such story about Lahiri Mahasaya in Yogananda’s “Autobiography of a Yogi,” although he did have his photo taken eventually.) And as much as I don’t believe this (although I do think there’s a grain of truth there, but not in this exact sense), it continues to fascinate me.

***

The real to me is surrounded by an etheric aura – and what is visceral is simultaneously etheric, as well as abstract/conceptual. The cinema that I’ve always been looking for and believe in (as if in act of faith) is the one that captures this dichotomy-simultaneity. The mystical undercurrents of the real. Etheric realism, if you wish.

***

One thing I find liberating about early silent cinema is the degree to which it doesn’t follow rules or, rather, it creates its own rules.

A daring cinema where anything goes and everything can be tried, to the point where it can justly or unjustly seem very non-artistic, naïve, and unprofessional. It is in this very aspect that its power lies: in the fact that it’s a still incompletely developed art, an art which still searches for its specificity and means, an art which is in fact art and something else – an impure medium (see Badiou’s theory on film). An impurity which, in a paradoxical way, is both the essence of cinema as well as that thing which renders it an art which will never be fully developed.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oZUBzqGAPw4

(Featured image: © Anca Tăbleț / Viziunea Interioară)