La Antena, a modern silent film from Argentina
Posted: Sun May 18, 2008 3:55 pm
http://arts.guardian.co.uk/filmandmusic ... 37,00.html
La Antena (The Aerial)
(No cert)
Peter Bradshaw
Friday May 16, 2008
The Guardian
Esteban Sapir's La Antena, or The Aerial, is a monochrome movie from Argentina, that is silent, or almost silent. It has a deeply weird story that appears to have a number of interpretations, or variations on a theme: the iniquities of media mind-control. The film was much admired when it opened the Rotterdam film festival last year; it wants to challenge the prevailing realist ethic of cinema and it sports with the conventions of the medium. With its comic visions of night-time portents and apparitions in the sky, it alludes, clearly intentionally, to Georges Méliès's Le Voyage dans la Lune, and its retro-futurist city has something of Fritz Lang's Metropolis. Sometimes the characters actually speak, without intertitles, and Sapir might want us to remember the huge impact of Al Jolson doing so in his "You ain't heard nothing yet" moment. The obvious modern influence is the Canadian director and faux-monochrome specialist Guy Maddin.
Try as I might, I couldn't make friends with La Antena, despite its distinctiveness and self-possession. There was something whimsical and indulgent about it, and its convoluted, flimsy narrative - oddly forgettable - seemed to have no traction. There are intertitles, but these are not displayed in the manner of genuine silent movies, but appear superimposed on the action itself, shaped and sculpted in a distracting way.
The action takes place in a dystopian future-world in which all the inhabitants have lost their voice, numbed by the sinister brainwashing effect of the television being pumped out by a media mogul called Mr TV. He kidnaps the only person left with a voice, a haunting singer, who has an infant son with no eyes. The only way to smash Mr TV's tyranny is to find the city's abandoned transmitter aerial.
Sapir's movie-making awakened misgivings that I often have with Maddin: a feeling that this mock-silent genre is supercilious, and even faintly necrophiliac. The great works from the silent age were boldly modern, state-of-the-art adventures in technology and artistry, pushing at the limits of the possible. But this seems perverse, a coy homage that misunderstands the pioneering, forward-thinking spirit of the originals, who were far less self-conscious, and never appeared to solicit congratulations on how haunting or beautiful their films looked - although, admittedly, La Antena's imagery is often striking, particularly the bizarre image of the eyeless boy being apparently crucified on a Star of David. Moreover, the scratchy, smokey, milky images Maddin and Sapir are producing recall the silent movies as we see them today after decades have passed, sometimes restored, sometimes not, but never quite as pristine as their creators saw them.
Having said all this, it would be a great shame if this kind of left-field movie-making was swallowed up in the commercial marketplace. It is diverting, and often amusing. Mr TV has the strangest hairstyle to be seen in cinemas: a sort of combover-weave that may also be some sort of horrid stain on his scalp. Could this be a reference to the newly restored Italian president, Silvio Berlusconi?
link
REVIEW: LA ANTENA
nlnews(at)archant.co.uk
14 May 2008
TAKING its visual cues from silent movies, black and white Argentine drama LA ANTENA (TBC) is as surreal as it is unforgettable.
The film, where a television repair man battles the evil Mr TV who has stolen the world's ability to speak, is glorious mishmash of Fritz Lang's Metropolis, Robert Rodriguez's Sin City and Terry Gilliam's Brazil, It's fair to lump director Esteban Sapir in with those visionaries; the story may be of a city without a voice but Sapir certainly has found his. And what a unique voice it is.
His world is endlessly inventive and despite a modest budget, he manages to pile up clever visual details - notably in the use of subtitles.
For characters who cannot speak, subtitles have become an important part of their world - to be touched and manipulated at will. If a character wants to keep their conversation secret they have to hide their text while machine gun bullets become sound effects that whiz across the screen.
Sapir keeps things light and breezy despite the political allegory, although the movie's strongest message is simply that the magic of old-fashioned film-making is alive and well - even if it needs help from computer wizardry. - JUSTIN MATLOCK
La Antena (The Aerial)
(No cert)
Peter Bradshaw
Friday May 16, 2008
The Guardian
Esteban Sapir's La Antena, or The Aerial, is a monochrome movie from Argentina, that is silent, or almost silent. It has a deeply weird story that appears to have a number of interpretations, or variations on a theme: the iniquities of media mind-control. The film was much admired when it opened the Rotterdam film festival last year; it wants to challenge the prevailing realist ethic of cinema and it sports with the conventions of the medium. With its comic visions of night-time portents and apparitions in the sky, it alludes, clearly intentionally, to Georges Méliès's Le Voyage dans la Lune, and its retro-futurist city has something of Fritz Lang's Metropolis. Sometimes the characters actually speak, without intertitles, and Sapir might want us to remember the huge impact of Al Jolson doing so in his "You ain't heard nothing yet" moment. The obvious modern influence is the Canadian director and faux-monochrome specialist Guy Maddin.
Try as I might, I couldn't make friends with La Antena, despite its distinctiveness and self-possession. There was something whimsical and indulgent about it, and its convoluted, flimsy narrative - oddly forgettable - seemed to have no traction. There are intertitles, but these are not displayed in the manner of genuine silent movies, but appear superimposed on the action itself, shaped and sculpted in a distracting way.
The action takes place in a dystopian future-world in which all the inhabitants have lost their voice, numbed by the sinister brainwashing effect of the television being pumped out by a media mogul called Mr TV. He kidnaps the only person left with a voice, a haunting singer, who has an infant son with no eyes. The only way to smash Mr TV's tyranny is to find the city's abandoned transmitter aerial.
Sapir's movie-making awakened misgivings that I often have with Maddin: a feeling that this mock-silent genre is supercilious, and even faintly necrophiliac. The great works from the silent age were boldly modern, state-of-the-art adventures in technology and artistry, pushing at the limits of the possible. But this seems perverse, a coy homage that misunderstands the pioneering, forward-thinking spirit of the originals, who were far less self-conscious, and never appeared to solicit congratulations on how haunting or beautiful their films looked - although, admittedly, La Antena's imagery is often striking, particularly the bizarre image of the eyeless boy being apparently crucified on a Star of David. Moreover, the scratchy, smokey, milky images Maddin and Sapir are producing recall the silent movies as we see them today after decades have passed, sometimes restored, sometimes not, but never quite as pristine as their creators saw them.
Having said all this, it would be a great shame if this kind of left-field movie-making was swallowed up in the commercial marketplace. It is diverting, and often amusing. Mr TV has the strangest hairstyle to be seen in cinemas: a sort of combover-weave that may also be some sort of horrid stain on his scalp. Could this be a reference to the newly restored Italian president, Silvio Berlusconi?
link
REVIEW: LA ANTENA
nlnews(at)archant.co.uk
14 May 2008
TAKING its visual cues from silent movies, black and white Argentine drama LA ANTENA (TBC) is as surreal as it is unforgettable.
The film, where a television repair man battles the evil Mr TV who has stolen the world's ability to speak, is glorious mishmash of Fritz Lang's Metropolis, Robert Rodriguez's Sin City and Terry Gilliam's Brazil, It's fair to lump director Esteban Sapir in with those visionaries; the story may be of a city without a voice but Sapir certainly has found his. And what a unique voice it is.
His world is endlessly inventive and despite a modest budget, he manages to pile up clever visual details - notably in the use of subtitles.
For characters who cannot speak, subtitles have become an important part of their world - to be touched and manipulated at will. If a character wants to keep their conversation secret they have to hide their text while machine gun bullets become sound effects that whiz across the screen.
Sapir keeps things light and breezy despite the political allegory, although the movie's strongest message is simply that the magic of old-fashioned film-making is alive and well - even if it needs help from computer wizardry. - JUSTIN MATLOCK