Across the World and Back in Two and a Half Weeks
I feel like I have had my chest blasted wide open this week at MIFF. It is an amazing feeling. My heart has been given the worlds tightest squeeze and release, has been thrown around the room at rapid speed and has been stroked tenderly as it wept. My mind has been sent soaring around not only the world but through so many people's lives and so many issues and ideas and my eyes have been spoilt, teased and offended. I have been given a general all round spiritual, emotional, cultural, intellectual work out.
I have always loved MIFF but never have I been so profoundly effected by it. I have never before been struck by the enormity of what I learn and take on in these glorious two and a half weeks. Not only do we get treated to films from across the world and so get to relish in a diversity of art and style but we get an insight into a multitude of countries and are simply stretched so far in so many ways.
I really feel like I have been away...on a world tour. I feel like so many people have opened their front doors to me and let me stay. I have been so intimate with so many people, I have felt so much pain, delighted in so many images and events, laughed so hard with people who's language I don't speak, danced with them, feared for them, wanted to save them, even taken drugs, eaten noodles and smoked shit loads of fags with them.
A brief update on the rest of my fest:
Kissed by Winter: Another film highlight for me. A Norwegian/Swedish (debut!) masterpiece by Sara Johnsen. A truly stunning and brilliantly made film. Look out for it.
Los Muertos: From Argentina. Strange. Slow. Challenging. Observational. Quite interesting. Hmm...
Hidden: A bit of a French disappointment by Michael Haneke, I must say.
3 Iron: From South Korea/Japan by Kim Ki-duk. Almost really beautiful but a bit too annoying in parts to be so. I loved Spring, Summer, Fall, Winter...and Spring though - the last film of his I saw. But what's that got to do with this year? On with the show...
The above was supported by Blue Tongue: boring. Has Cannes lost the plot?
Election: closing night bang bang Triad film from Hong Kong director Johnnie To. Yeah, good film and stuff but super violent and I've seen it all before. How many gangster movies do we have to see before we get it? Like um...so, violence is bad, so are mafias, it's a never ending cycle of death, destruction, insecurity, deceit, crime and blood shed? Maybe if you don't have anything new to bring to light, don't? I dunno, some people are always entertained by all that shit. Strangely no-one in my party was.
Lomax the Song Hunter: well didn't I weep my Sunday morning away? What a gorgeous documentary by Dutch Rogier Kappers about an American man Alan Lomax who dedicated his life to recording folk music and songs around the world. The subject matter of this one blew me away and thus you will now get a rant from me (or not - your choice of course).
Music is one of those wonderful international languages. Although it differs from country to country, the emotions, if not the stories are always conveyed through the sounds and tones. And it is SO powerful. It is one of the most motivating forces in the world, as well as one of the most uniting. It unites our rhythms, our energy, our voices, our feet and hips, our feelings and sentiments and sometimes our purpose. It is without a doubt one of the most important elements of my life.
It was both awesomely inspiring and incredibly sad watching these folk singers across the world, for so many reasons. Firstly I felt like their souls were laid bare for us. To be allowed to witness that is so fortunate and so, so moving. It felt so pure. There is no pretense in folk music. I'm not talking about hippy shit here, I'm talking pure, traditional folk singers who tell the tales of their people and place. This was not music for sale. It wasn't owned by anyone - it was collective and there was therefore no ego in it.
I'm already talking in the past tense and that is because it is so rapidly disappearing. This was the heart breaking part of the film. We are so lucky that certain enthusiasts in the last century got in on time and recorded and filmed some of these people and their songs before they all die and take them with them. No one gives a fuck any more.
I felt this acutely when I traveled the world. I felt so privileged to bare witness to some of the last remaining members of the old school. The old ways. Tradition. Simplicity. Old dudes. I LOVE them! I have a deep passion for old people - they make me weak. Old men out in the wintry Irish fields with their hats and boots on, playing the whistle in the pub at night; fat women in aprons in Greek thresholds or picking olives in the fields; wrinkly old women in Africa laughing wickedly; an old Nepalese man singing a half hour non-stop song with a two stringed instrument, proudly sitting up in his traditional dress beneath the stars, in front of his whole village, myself and one other girl from Canada who was recording him; silent old Aboriginal men sitting in the desert sand; women wailing in grief across Indian mountain valleys...all these blessed ways that are being gobbled up by the ugly face of "progression" with all it's machinery and technology. Everyone is being homogenised into a big, lonely, aimless globalised mess.
And so I developed a real anxiousness in my travels. I wanted, suddenly, to see the whole world and now. And I wanted to save it. It's just all going so fast.
This film just hit me on almost every level I exist on.
One of the most beautiful elements of the film was Kappers retracing Lomax's foot steps through villages and replaying the recorded music to the people who sang them years previously. We got to watch these old faces light up as they listened to themselves or their parents on shiny modern head phones or portable stereos. Some cried. Some giggled with delight. All were blown away. A gathering of old folk in one Galician village erupted into dance out of sheer joy, with all the exuberance of the youthful version of themselves that they were listening and dancing to. One old man went to collect his bag pipe and it was on for young and old. I had gone to pieces by this stage. I can't even begin to tell you how beautiful it was.
Apart from raising the issue of big music companies somewhat stealing and destroying the freedom and joy of music these days, Lomax made a really interesting point about how much power the very few in this world who have ownership of or access to a radio transmitter have compared to the millions who have radio transistors. The former chooses what we will listen to and does all the communicating and the latter does all the listening but, unlike in normal society, cannot talk back. (Let's not get into talk back radio here). He singled this out as one of the great reasons for loneliness in these modern times. Perhaps that is going a little far but he does have a bloody good point.
Instead of gathering together in rooms, squares and ale houses and talking and singing together, people sit in isolation and listen to music pumped at them from sometimes miles away, by a stranger.
We are such a lonely society. Sure some of us go to the pub or the footy or other social events but essentially we applaud and encourage independence. We sit for hours on our computers "communicating" to often faceless strangers. We watch other people on TV, frequently on our own. We drive our cars alone. We don't know most of our neighbours...we have killed community.
It's not a dirty word: community.
I lived in Galway for a short while and it was one of the happiest times of my lives. Hardly anyone had land lines as they were too expensive to put in and even when they did you'd pay (the phone booth) in 30 second increments there. Mobiles were expensive to call too, so instead you'd just wander to their house. And if they weren't there you were bound to find them in one of four pubs and would generally know which one on any given day. Nights were spent drinking together in the warmth of the pubs but the drinks were just an excuse to be there and TALK. And sing. And laugh. And, of course, sometimes cry. (Mind you the talking was sometimes just an excuse to stay there and drink, however...don't ruin my story). Everything encouraged face to face communication; shoulder to shoulder music. It was such a joy. I felt so rich there.
I do despair at what we're losing but this film just reminded me to stop running so fast - to appreciate what I've got. Not to take anything for granted.
It made me want to sing more.
Favourite thing today: Life, love and Bonnie 'Prince' Billy. Now THAT was a truly brilliant gig.
I have always loved MIFF but never have I been so profoundly effected by it. I have never before been struck by the enormity of what I learn and take on in these glorious two and a half weeks. Not only do we get treated to films from across the world and so get to relish in a diversity of art and style but we get an insight into a multitude of countries and are simply stretched so far in so many ways.
I really feel like I have been away...on a world tour. I feel like so many people have opened their front doors to me and let me stay. I have been so intimate with so many people, I have felt so much pain, delighted in so many images and events, laughed so hard with people who's language I don't speak, danced with them, feared for them, wanted to save them, even taken drugs, eaten noodles and smoked shit loads of fags with them.
A brief update on the rest of my fest:
Kissed by Winter: Another film highlight for me. A Norwegian/Swedish (debut!) masterpiece by Sara Johnsen. A truly stunning and brilliantly made film. Look out for it.
Los Muertos: From Argentina. Strange. Slow. Challenging. Observational. Quite interesting. Hmm...
Hidden: A bit of a French disappointment by Michael Haneke, I must say.
3 Iron: From South Korea/Japan by Kim Ki-duk. Almost really beautiful but a bit too annoying in parts to be so. I loved Spring, Summer, Fall, Winter...and Spring though - the last film of his I saw. But what's that got to do with this year? On with the show...
The above was supported by Blue Tongue: boring. Has Cannes lost the plot?
Election: closing night bang bang Triad film from Hong Kong director Johnnie To. Yeah, good film and stuff but super violent and I've seen it all before. How many gangster movies do we have to see before we get it? Like um...so, violence is bad, so are mafias, it's a never ending cycle of death, destruction, insecurity, deceit, crime and blood shed? Maybe if you don't have anything new to bring to light, don't? I dunno, some people are always entertained by all that shit. Strangely no-one in my party was.
Lomax the Song Hunter: well didn't I weep my Sunday morning away? What a gorgeous documentary by Dutch Rogier Kappers about an American man Alan Lomax who dedicated his life to recording folk music and songs around the world. The subject matter of this one blew me away and thus you will now get a rant from me (or not - your choice of course).
Music is one of those wonderful international languages. Although it differs from country to country, the emotions, if not the stories are always conveyed through the sounds and tones. And it is SO powerful. It is one of the most motivating forces in the world, as well as one of the most uniting. It unites our rhythms, our energy, our voices, our feet and hips, our feelings and sentiments and sometimes our purpose. It is without a doubt one of the most important elements of my life.
It was both awesomely inspiring and incredibly sad watching these folk singers across the world, for so many reasons. Firstly I felt like their souls were laid bare for us. To be allowed to witness that is so fortunate and so, so moving. It felt so pure. There is no pretense in folk music. I'm not talking about hippy shit here, I'm talking pure, traditional folk singers who tell the tales of their people and place. This was not music for sale. It wasn't owned by anyone - it was collective and there was therefore no ego in it.
I'm already talking in the past tense and that is because it is so rapidly disappearing. This was the heart breaking part of the film. We are so lucky that certain enthusiasts in the last century got in on time and recorded and filmed some of these people and their songs before they all die and take them with them. No one gives a fuck any more.
I felt this acutely when I traveled the world. I felt so privileged to bare witness to some of the last remaining members of the old school. The old ways. Tradition. Simplicity. Old dudes. I LOVE them! I have a deep passion for old people - they make me weak. Old men out in the wintry Irish fields with their hats and boots on, playing the whistle in the pub at night; fat women in aprons in Greek thresholds or picking olives in the fields; wrinkly old women in Africa laughing wickedly; an old Nepalese man singing a half hour non-stop song with a two stringed instrument, proudly sitting up in his traditional dress beneath the stars, in front of his whole village, myself and one other girl from Canada who was recording him; silent old Aboriginal men sitting in the desert sand; women wailing in grief across Indian mountain valleys...all these blessed ways that are being gobbled up by the ugly face of "progression" with all it's machinery and technology. Everyone is being homogenised into a big, lonely, aimless globalised mess.
And so I developed a real anxiousness in my travels. I wanted, suddenly, to see the whole world and now. And I wanted to save it. It's just all going so fast.
This film just hit me on almost every level I exist on.
One of the most beautiful elements of the film was Kappers retracing Lomax's foot steps through villages and replaying the recorded music to the people who sang them years previously. We got to watch these old faces light up as they listened to themselves or their parents on shiny modern head phones or portable stereos. Some cried. Some giggled with delight. All were blown away. A gathering of old folk in one Galician village erupted into dance out of sheer joy, with all the exuberance of the youthful version of themselves that they were listening and dancing to. One old man went to collect his bag pipe and it was on for young and old. I had gone to pieces by this stage. I can't even begin to tell you how beautiful it was.
Apart from raising the issue of big music companies somewhat stealing and destroying the freedom and joy of music these days, Lomax made a really interesting point about how much power the very few in this world who have ownership of or access to a radio transmitter have compared to the millions who have radio transistors. The former chooses what we will listen to and does all the communicating and the latter does all the listening but, unlike in normal society, cannot talk back. (Let's not get into talk back radio here). He singled this out as one of the great reasons for loneliness in these modern times. Perhaps that is going a little far but he does have a bloody good point.
Instead of gathering together in rooms, squares and ale houses and talking and singing together, people sit in isolation and listen to music pumped at them from sometimes miles away, by a stranger.
We are such a lonely society. Sure some of us go to the pub or the footy or other social events but essentially we applaud and encourage independence. We sit for hours on our computers "communicating" to often faceless strangers. We watch other people on TV, frequently on our own. We drive our cars alone. We don't know most of our neighbours...we have killed community.
It's not a dirty word: community.
I lived in Galway for a short while and it was one of the happiest times of my lives. Hardly anyone had land lines as they were too expensive to put in and even when they did you'd pay (the phone booth) in 30 second increments there. Mobiles were expensive to call too, so instead you'd just wander to their house. And if they weren't there you were bound to find them in one of four pubs and would generally know which one on any given day. Nights were spent drinking together in the warmth of the pubs but the drinks were just an excuse to be there and TALK. And sing. And laugh. And, of course, sometimes cry. (Mind you the talking was sometimes just an excuse to stay there and drink, however...don't ruin my story). Everything encouraged face to face communication; shoulder to shoulder music. It was such a joy. I felt so rich there.
I do despair at what we're losing but this film just reminded me to stop running so fast - to appreciate what I've got. Not to take anything for granted.
It made me want to sing more.
Favourite thing today: Life, love and Bonnie 'Prince' Billy. Now THAT was a truly brilliant gig.
posted by Darcy at 10:38 PM
3 Comments:
Eat it Kid A.
Yeah, see you on Friday Darce...
Thanks guys, especially as I felt it was one of those lazy, late night blogs that I regretted posting.
I felt I hadn't covered all bases. I could have written reams on each point.
Thank Christ I didn't but there were a lot of blogs in that one.
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