London - Patrick Keiller, 1994, 35mm
Robinson once said that he believed that if he looked at the landscape hard enough, it would reveal to him the molecular basis of historical events, and in this way he hoped to see into the future.--Robinson in Ruins, narration by Patrick Keiller, 2010.
Robinson in Ruins - Patrick Keiller, 2010, 35mm
I think the first long takes were probably rape fields; after Brize Norton there are those two shots of oil seed rape. What struck me is that they looked like a crowd of people, and they looked as if they were saying ‘no!’ There seemed to be something going on in this field, a combination of these interestingly structured plants, with the stalks moving in a very strange way, and the fact that when you get closer you see them slightly differently. I was very taken with this: it’s not so much a question of whether one wants to make a long take, it’s a question of whether you can bear to stop.--Patrick Keiller, from the unedited transcript for this interview with Daniel Trilling, unpublished.
Robinson in Space - Patrick Keiller, 1997, 35mm
As a cinematographer, Robinson was interested in opium. He often liked to quote Walter Benjamin: 'the true creative overcoming of religious illumination certainly does not lie in narcotics. It resides in a profane illumination, a materialistic, anthropological inspiration...'--Robinson in Ruins, narration by Patrick Keiller, 2010.
The Old Place - Jean-Luc Godard & Anne-Marie Miéville, 1999, video
Film offers a kind of permanence to subjectivity. On a bad day, or in a bad light, even the architecture of Gaudi might lose its immediate appeal, but in a film one's transitory experience of some ordinary, everyday detail as breathtaking, euphoric or disturbing — a doorway, perhaps, or the angle between a fragment of brickwork and a pavement — can be registered on photographic emulsion and relived every time the material is viewed. On the other hand, when actual extra-ordinary architecture is depicted in films it's often easy to conclude that something is missing, as if the camera has nothing sufficiently revelatory to add, and nothing to improve on a visit to the actual building.--Patrick Keiller, 'Architectural Cinematography', This Is Not Architecture (Routledge, 2002), p. 43.
Posted by Matthew Flanagan at 03:39
A huge thunderstormrolled around in coils all afternoon abovethe roof-tops before it broke in flashes and sheeted down.I stared at the lines of cement and glassthat walled up screams and wounds and limbsincluding mine, which I have survived. Warily, lookingnow up at the roof-tiles doing battle, now at the dry page,I listened to the wordof a poet perish or changeinto another voice we no longer hear. The oppressedare oppressed and quiet, quietly the oppressorstalk on the phone, hatred is polite, and even Ibelieve I no longer know who is to blame.Write, I tell myself, hatethose who sweetly lead into nothingnessthe men and women who walk beside youand believe they do not know. Write your name tooamong those of the enemy. The stormhas passed away with all its bluster. Natureis far too feeble to mimic battles. Poetrychanges nothing. Nothing is certain, but write.--Franco Fortini, Translating Brecht, written 1957-62. Trans. Paul Lawton.
Posted by Matthew Flanagan at 23:11
In Nouvelle Vague or Puissance de la parole, he wrote maybe two or three lines, if that. He rarely reads entire books. He takes a few extracts, usually the best ones, but it's sometimes a bit random. He pecks at books like a hen in the garden.--Luc Moullet on Jean-Luc Godard, Jean-Luc selon Luc, 2005, video.I ask about the significance of the llama and the donkey in Film socialisme... 'The truth is that they were in the field next to the petrol station in Switzerland where we shot the sequence. Voilà. No mystery. I use what I find.'--from a compellingly awful interview with JLG in the Guardian, 12.07.2011.Godard wrote nothing: what good is writing when so many things have already been written? Such is his motto.--Luc Moullet, The Cosmic Film, 2005.
Posted by Matthew Flanagan at 21:24
Film socialisme - JLG, 2010, DV
Posted by Matthew Flanagan at 21:22
Cœur fidèle - Jean Epstein, 1923, 35mm
Landscape (for Manon) - Peter Hutton, 1987, 16mm
In water, crystals grow, beautiful as Venus, born as she was, full of the most secret graces, symmetries, and correspondences. Games of heaven; thus, worlds fall...--Jean Epstein, 1928, via.
Posted by Matthew Flanagan at 16:15