Insights 3 - 2010/2011

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SCRIPT&PITCH

INSIGHTS // 3

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Index

Foreword 5 Biographies 7

Script&Pitch Insights //3 2010/2011 Edited by Valeria Richter, Denmark Published by TorinoFilmLab, Savina Neirotti, Italy Design by Flarvet, Italy All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the authors and/or TorinoFilmLab; except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or as a reference.

Le quattro volte - the journey of an Italian ‘maa-sterpiece’ Matthieu Darras

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The Pixel Lab: Final Report Rosie Lavan

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Writing and Directing Across Media Christy Dena

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Innovation in storytelling and audience engagement Brian Newman

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Some notes on pitching & project presentation Franz Rodenkirchen

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More than words. Challenging the traditional written screenplay Eva Novrup Redvall

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Which role can the composer play in the creation of a movie?

Kåre Bjerkø

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To change, or not to change - is that the question?

Franz Rodenkirchen

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©The lectures remain copyright of their individual authors.

Storytelling and discomfort 125 Antoine Bataille www.torinofilmlab.it

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Foreword

Script&Pitch Workshops is now a fully integrated part of the TorinoFilmLab group and therefore Insights is changing its “colours” too in order to celebrate this natural step in its development.

In 2010 TorinoFilmLab entered a collaborative partnership with London-based crossmedia specialists Power to the Pixel, as we are convinced that the new digital opportunities and challenges – in narration and distribution - faced not solely by independent films and filmmakers, but by all storytellers and media, are a natural part of what TFL is about: a passion for stories, for sharing and for spreading the works to the right audiences. The roads towards reaching and communicating with possible audiences multiply and diversify rapidly these years and we need to explore them from every angle.

TFL Training - Script&Pitch introduced a new workshop this year: Writer’s Room, which takes part alongside the script development, yet creates a different group dynamic as the participants and tutors develop one transmedia project in collaboration with its author. It has been a tremendously fruitful experience and we hope to present you with stories and insights about this in the next 2012 digital edition. We also introduced Audience Designers into the script development groups to urge the discussion about audience engagement and management for independent filmmakers: what steps can we take to build and reach audiences, niche and wide, during the development and scriptwriting phases? This is a topic we will also keep in focus for 2012.

We thank The Pixel Lab 2010 for letting us share their Final Report with you, and invite you to dive into any one of our nine contributions, journeying across the pages from Australia to the US, from Denmark across Germany to France, they present insights into scriptwriting, pitching, audience engagement, music and much more!

In this edition we are particularly happy to give you a presentation of, and interviews about, one of the most successful TFL-supported projects: Le quattro volte by Michelangelo Frammartino, produced by Vivo film.

Once again, we thank all our contributors for sharing their ideas and reflections with us. We always welcome suggestions from Alumni, participants, staff and our many guest tutors, so do not hesitate if you wish to contribute to the next book.

Please enjoy the 3rd printed edition, which we proudly place in your hands!

Valeria Richter - Editor & Project Development Manager Savina Neirotti - Director of TorinoFilmLab

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Biographies

Antoine Bataille Antoine Bataille is a freelance script editor based in Paris and specialized in feature films. He graduated in philosophy at UMB (Strasbourg) and film theory at DenisDiderot University (Paris). His theoretic works find an echo among script editing, particularly through the questions of script analysis methodology as well as contemporary narrative landscapes.

Kåre Bjerkø Kåre Bjerkø (*1965) is a Danish composer, music producer, actor, songwriter and among other things also plays the organ. He has a very broad list of work behind him so far, and has written music for many plays, TV and films, among them the world’s first theatre-concert: Gasolin, and the films, Terribly Happy (US remake underway), for which he won a special-Bodil award and Little Soldier. He has often spoken about how film music can become an asset that supports the story development during the scriptwriting phase, instead of being one of the last elements added to the film.

Matthieu Darras Matthieu Darras is the founder and director of NISI MASA, the European network of young cinema. He has been working as programmer for various film festivals (Alba, Bratislava, Cannes Critics’ Week, San Sebastian) and been writing for the film magazine Positif for over ten years. He scouts and selects projects for the TorinoFilmLab.

Christy Dena Christy Dena is an experience designer, writer and director. She has worked on (digital) Emmy nominated projects, consulted with filmmakers around the world, and is currently developing her own web-based audio comedy drama and web entertainment service.

Her company site is at www.UniverseCreation101.com

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Rosie Lavan Rosie Lavan is a freelance journalist from London and the principal writer on Power to the Pixel’s The Pixel Report. A graduate of Oxford University, where she currently holds a postgraduate scholarship, she has worked for The Times and in the House of Lords, and in 2009 she was named a finalist in Vogue magazine’s Talent Contest for Young Writers.

Brian Newman Brian Newman is the founder of Sub-Genre Media, helping filmmakers and organizations to distribute content and connect with audiences and achieve greater impact through innovative uses of new technology. Brian was most recently CEO of the Tribeca Film Institute (TFI), and has been the executive director of Renew Media and IMAGE Film & Video Center. He speaks regularly on new media, audience development and the future of the industry, and contributes to a blog on these subjects at Springboardmedia.

Eva Novrup Redvall Eva Novrup Redvall is Assistant Professor in the Department of Film and Media Studies at the University of Copenhagen. She holds a PhD on screenwriting as a creative process, focusing on collaborations between directors and screenwriters.

Since 1999 she has served as a film critic and she organized the annual conference on academic screenwriting research in Copenhagen, 2010 and is currently working on a Postdoctoral project funded by The Danish Research Council on the screenwriting of Danish television drama series.

Franz Rodenkirchen Franz Rodenkirchen (*1963) is an international Story Editor and Tutor. Franz has been working as a story editor on mostly international film projects for over 10 years, predominantly with writer-directors. He also gives workshops on alternative approaches to script editing and is a tutor in various development programs.

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Le quattro volte the journey of an Italian ‘maa-sterpiece’ Matthieu Darras

More than by its rules or its mission statement, a Film Lab develops its identity from the films it has supported. The luck of TorinoFilmLab was to host the ‘ideal project’, the one that exactly defines - and reinforces - the many ambitions of the initiative, from its first year of existence in 2008.

What better film to express the dedication of TFL at accompanying emerging talents in the exploration of new cinematographic territories than Le quattro volte? A Lab is like a research centre that constantly aims to reinvent the ways of approaching and making cinema. The interviews following, given by the director Michelangelo Frammartino and the producer Marta Donzelli, clearly indicate that these considerations were at the core of the creative process that led to the making of Le quattro volte. In addition they indirectly reveal the importance for TFL not only to enhance the quality and viability of projects, but also to focus on people. What makes the difference for us is when participants view TFL as a community to which they belong and within which they can grow professionally.

Le quattro volte was already a model in its production; it then became a success story following its premiere at the Cannes Film Festival in May 2010. Sold to dozens of countries and awarded prizes in at least as many festivals (as detailed in the following pages), the ‘little film about goats’ was unanimously lauded by critics from all over the world (Jonathan Romney of the British film magazine Sight & Sound even humorously declared it a ‘maa-sterpiece’ – cf. “Press Selection”). This result is not as unexpected as it may seem at first. It is the consequence of an exceptionally humble attitude shown by both the director and producers, for whom the notion of risk has constantly been tied up with the ones of financial consistency and relation to the audience.

The TorinoFilmLab very much recognises itself in Le quattro volte; we are very happy and proud for having somehow contributed to this Italian film adventure!

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Le quattro volte - the journey of an Italian ‘maa-sterpiece’

Interview Marta Donzelli When did you found your production company, Vivo film?

Gregorio Paonessa and I founded Vivo film in 2004. We started with the idea of producing documentaries. Now in retrospective, it is hard to understand why we made this choice. We did not have a specific experience in cinema, documentary or film production.

Gregorio had a strong background as photographer; he was maybe a bit more familiar with cinema than me. I studied philosophy and I have always been interested in how we watch the world…

In how our sight can be influenced by our point of view, I feel cinema is very close to this kind of reflection.

I am also a publisher: while I was finishing my philosophy PhD, in fact, I started to work in our family Publishing House, Donzelli, which I still do. It is how I met Gregorio, who was our marketing director at the time. There is somehow a connection between the experience we had together publishing books and the idea of founding Vivo film. Working with books gives you an eye on reality.

I see a connection with our passion for documentaries. I think the starting point was this one.

Did you have filmmakers in mind to work with?

It all started very quickly and in some 12

respects by chance. I cannot tell you precisely what we had in mind in terms of authors to work with, I can tell you how we began. Before even officially starting the company, we ran into some opportunities and we decided to catch them. The very first thing we did was documenting a workshop by Ascanio Celestini, a talented actor and theatre director (a cult figure in Italian theatre), who had published three books with Donzelli. He was at the time doing a workshop for a new theatre piece, collecting memories from mental hospitals. Simultaneously a quite original idea came out from our relationship with Olivo Barberi, a famous Italian photographer. We sped up the foundation of the company for his short film project. He wanted to film Rome from a helicopter, using a 35mm camera with selective focuses. The result is the city seen as a scale model, in a quite impressive way. Site specific­_ Roma 04, this is the short film’s title, was very successful internationally travelling in quite a lot of prestigious festivals, after its premiere in Locarno.

Somehow these two very first attempts describe and sum up the essence of our original project: the idea of having a vision exploring new territories and at the same time being very close to what the world and reality are. After that

the die was cast; we started to work with many filmmakers: some of them already established such as Jean-Louis Comolli, Daniele Vicari, Corso Salani, some younger and taking their first steps, such as Chiara Malta, Susanna Nicchiarelli, Pippo Mezzapesa. At one point we met Michelangelo.

Michelangelo Frammartino’s first feature, Il dono, was released at about the same time in 2003. Did you already know him?

Actually I had not seen Il dono before I met him, Gregorio did. We heard of him, because Site specific­ _Roma 04 was in Locarno the year after Il dono was screened there. I remember hearing about his film in Locarno.

Where did you meet for the first time?

It was at the Alba Film Festival in 2007. Fabrizio Grosoli, a film critic and programmer, who at the time worked as a consultant for Vivo, introduced us.

Michelangelo had already started on the development with Gabriella Manfré (Invisibile film) on one side and in France Viviana Andriani, but they were looking for a partnership and Fabrizio thought we could be the right producers to join the project.

I remember the first thing Michelangelo showed us was a self-made animation he did to show the long sequence shot that is in the film. It was really the first thing, not even pitching the project.

For Michelangelo images always come before words. We were immediately captured and for us, especially for Gregorio, it was a “coup de Coeur”. We wanted to produce that film!

When you first met did he just show you the animation?

He had a script, a very detailed dossier, with references to the traditions he was referring to and the philosophical ideas that were behind it, with pictures and a wonderful storyboard he had drawn, scene by scene…

What happened after this?

It was very complicated; the beginning of principal photography was in 2009.

Those two years, between 2007 and 2009 were really hard. We entered a project that seemed to be already developed, but in the end it was difficult to find the final productive asset. The first budget Gabriella and Michelangelo had designed was quite low. This is one of the problems with Le quattro volte: no professional actors, no set design, it can seem a very cheap film, but at the end we discovered it was not possible to do it that cheap. The film is shot on 35mm, and working with animals and the unpredictability of nature, makes it not the easiest thing. If you work with elements that you cannot control, you need time and a very good organisation, meaning you need quite a lot of people on the set to give the director the 13

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chance to achieve what he has in mind.

At the beginning we were supposed to be coproducers, so we didn’t go that much into this aspect. We did a direct investment to support Gabriella so that Michelangelo could shoot the tree part. It takes place once a year and we needed to start. We took the risk, that was it.

When was this?

It was in the late Spring of 2007.

Retrospectively, at the end it was a very successful story, but it was risky to invest in this part of the shoot, without having our financial plan secured.

In September 2007 we presented the project to Cinecittà Luce that expressed the will to coproduce and distribute Le quattro volte. It seemed as if we had identified a key solution to our problem. But then, quite quickly, we found ourselves in trouble. It was a problematic phase.

Cinecittà is a State company; their target mission was changed all of a sudden and they were not in the position to coproduce films anymore. They could do the distribution of first and second time feature films, but not coproduce.

Furthermore, through Viviana Andriani, the project had been presented to ARTE France, eventually they decided not to support it; this double bad news came almost at the same time. That was really the kind of situation where you are in despair.

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Le quattro volte - the journey of an Italian ‘maa-sterpiece’

But – as it sometimes happens – this very difficult moment was also the occasion to structure the project in a stronger way. We cleared Vivo film’s role, mutually agreeing with Gabriella that we would be major and delegate producer and we decided to start again from scratch. International coproduction was the new strategy.

From that point on, the clouds began to thin out. We thought of involving Coproduction Office. Philippe Bober was of course following the project, because he had bought the rights to Il dono, distributing it internationally, even though he did not enter the production until we met. We decided to coproduce the film with Essential Film, the German production company of Coproduction Office, run by Susanne Marian. At the same time we involved Elda Guidinetti and Andres Pfaeffli at Ventura Film (Switzerland), who with their great experience and passion immediately started to work on the project. Then it all came together quite quickly; we decided to apply to the Medienboard Berlin-Brandenburg, to Eurimages and were selected by TorinoFilmLab… So the first strategy was Italy and France, it failed; in the end it was Italy, Germany and Switzerland, and it succeeded…

Did Cinecittà Luce finally coproduce the film?

They distributed it in Italy. We are very

thankful to them because Luciano Sovena and his staff never stopped supporting us, also giving letters concerning guarantees etc. We had an Italian Institution supporting us, it was very important, but unfortunately they could not coproduce it.

Tell me more about your work with Michelangelo: how did you invest yourself in the development phase?

From a creative point of view the film was very developed. Michelangelo had worked a lot on it already. For us it was two years before we could start shooting, for Michelangelo it was four years. He spent a lot of months in Calabria, watching the goats, studying the shepherds, observing the nature, the sky, the trees, the charcoal burners’ work. We had the feeling to have met an author, who could go through the idea and who knew precisely what he wanted to do. Then, even if Michelangelo is so conscious, he could not foresee everything, and we faced problems for the production, which is normal of course. We all learned a lot. In the two years before we started the shooting we developed a very strong relationship with Michelangelo. We started to understand each other; he started to trust us. He did not know us before: he just knew we were serious people and that we had produced some good documentaries, especially the last films

by Corso Salani, a director Michelangelo

loved, as we did. We started to discuss how this film needed to be done, from the production point of view, in order to really obtain the vision that he had in mind.

During this process you already had a vision that it would be rather a big budget film or was it something you found out along the way?

We had the feeling since the beginning that it could cost more than expected, but then it became clearer developing the project more in details.

The difference is that we started from a first budget of € 600.000 and finished with a final budget of slightly over €1 million. This was the range, which is of course in both cases a low budget, but it is a forty percent difference!

Usually it is the opposite: a budget is planned for €1 million and then it becomes € 600.000...

Exactly. But we found out we couldn’t do it properly with € 600.000.

How was it to be identified as a documentary production company?

Probably, production companies with a fiction background would not have taken the risk that you did. This is a low budget film, but still ten times the average budget of a documentary...

I think you are catching the point.

Producing Le quattro volte was a turning point in the history of our company. At 15

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the same time, we were maybe the right producer for this film exactly because of our background. Gregorio and I really don’t like the distinction between documentary and fiction. Of course I started by saying we were born as a documentary company, but the idea was really to produce films; and then it became problematic because somehow we were producing a non-format that has no market nowadays. For some strange reasons we always work on edge products. That’s maybe one of the explanations why we were really attracted by Le quattro volte: it was something that you could not define; for sure it was not a documentary, it was a film, but it was not really fiction, it was ‘mise en scene’.

How did you talk about it? Were you looking for like-minded people?

The strategy, as I was saying, was to find good coproducers who were more experienced than us and who had connections abroad; honestly, it is hard to produce these kinds of films in Italy. In fact, the first confirmed funds came from the other countries. Andres Pfaeffli and Elda Guidinetti (Ventura) were the first, confirming the deal with Swiss Television. The second confirmed financing was Berlin Medienboard, if I’m not wrong. The history of Le quattro volte is also one of a team of producers who worked well together. It was not only a financial coproduction, but a 16

Le quattro volte - the journey of an Italian ‘maa-sterpiece’

creative one. It was a group of people who started to trust each other and then it was step by step.

After shooting the first part, you applied for TorinoFilmLab in June 2008.

At that time, were you sort of stuck?

The very bad year was really 2007. At the end of the year nevertheless we started to have the Swiss support and then in 2008 the project slowly seemed possible again. Thanks to the German fund and to Eurimages, which of course was crucial. After that we got the TorinoFilmLab award; and then finally we could get money from the Italian Ministry. It was the first application for a long feature project for us, and the last step for the film’s financial plan. Michelangelo had the audition in front of the commission the day after we received the TFL production award.

At nine o¹clock in the morning he had to be in Rome in front of the Ministry board, so I stayed in Turin waiting for the award ceremony and Gregorio and Michelangelo took a train to Rome.

It was very smart, because we found ourselves in quite a strong position because of this!

In the end we found the right balance, I guess. Michelangelo produced Il dono himself and worked on it with people from Calabria and non-professionals.

Of course all the actors were nonprofessional, but he also got help from local people. For Le quattro volte, the general manager was a person we had worked with and whom we trusted. We thought he could be the right person for Michelangelo, so we introduced him. They are close friends now and everything worked really well.

What did TorinoFilmLab bring to you and to the team?

I am a big fan of it!! I feel embarrassed in telling it to you on this occasion, since it could sound artificial, but it’s not: for me it was one of the happiest incidents in my professional life. It was a great experience. I grew up as a producer. We met a lot of interesting people, highly professional, and very passionate...

TFL helped me to concentrate on the main targets. The first workshop gave both Michelangelo and me the chance to focus on the strength of the project.

In terms of production, were there people who worked with Michelangelo on Il dono?

It was double: some coming from Michelangelo’s background and some from our experience and background.

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It is not so usual that you focus so much for three or four days, just on one thing.

Even if you work for years on a project, you don’t have this concentration so often. It was a dense moment. We became closer since that time. I think I understood more and better, what Michelangelo wanted to do.

Somehow, even learning the skill to pitch Le quattro volte, was important.

We discussed how to present the project.

The basic idea was not to pretend it was a film with a plot, but to work instead on the passage of “something” through the four elements; on the idea of a connection among the film’s parts that the spectator had to build. Michelangelo always used a bit of irony, which is also part of his filmmaking: “Ok this is the story of... The main character dies after twenty minutes, so we will continue the film without him...!”. It was true and it was also a funny way to underline one of the key points of the project: making a film where human beings are not the central element. Slowly we played with irony.

Before TFL, did you have long working sessions on the script?

Yes we had, but not like that. I remember we had a very interesting conversation with Franz Rodenkirchen on the script.

It was the first outsider’s point of view on it. Le quattro volte is not a script that we had several drafts of or where we had to rework on the dialogues, of course 18

Le quattro volte - the journey of an Italian ‘maa-sterpiece’

(!!!). There was not: this part does not work or we don’t understand why the character etc., it is a bit difficult with trees and goats. It was not the kind of stuff that is usually dealt with by tutors, but still it was one occasion to ask us questions about the real meaning of the project.

From the producer’s point of view, there is also the idea at TFL of meeting other people. How did you feel at the final event?

I felt very confident. At the final event there were a lot of professionals, people I already knew, that were great to meet again, and absolutely new people.

It is like a great network, I got many contacts through TFL. Gregorio, Michelangelo and I had the very pleasant feeling that after all, there was a wide group of sensitive, serious and skilled people who somehow cared about the project and its future. It is something very important. A film is a message in a bottle, you build it and then it starts to travel. To have people from all over the world, who know and care, it’s of great value, it means so much in the life of a film.

Then the final event was also a confirmation; I felt the passion, the fact that there were many people who believed in this project, from Savina Neirotti to all the others. This was important: we believed so much in Le quattro volte, and we thought

Michelangelo was a great talent, but at the end nothing was granted; doubts are always around the corner and it is not rare to have the sensation to work on a castle of cards that could suddenly fall. You can have financers, but TFL is a little bit more like a community and it gives you like a ground to stand on. It is also a matter of people who trust you that make you trust yourself. It is a sort of exchange.

Do you think it also helped Michelangelo?

I cannot reply for him, but I guess it did. From a creative point of view, Michelangelo has a consciousness that a first or second time director often doesn’t have in that way. He came to TLF already very structured. He had a point of view and it was not a matter of still developing the story, but to find the right balance. I still think that for him it was an occasion: it is hard to understand what you are doing. Michelangelo’s project was a daring one. Somehow the dialogue with people who understood him was crucial to realize that the idea was there. He had a vision, but I think a director like him always moves on the edge of something. It can be very important to have someone who gives you a hand and says: you are on the right path. That was my kind of feeling of the experience of TFL for Michelangelo.

Retrospectively, did you maybe

make some mistakes in term of your relationship with Michelangelo as director?

We really trusted Michelangelo completely and he deserved it. If I think back, maybe the mistake we made was that at one point we decided not to shoot one particular scene Michelangelo had written; in the script there was one point when the goats were supposed to jump onto the branches to eat the leaves.

This was something that Michelangelo had heard from the shepherds. He had also seen images of goats with this skill in Morocco. But when we came to Calabria, we discovered that Calabrian goats were completely unable to be so athletic. We could not go to Morocco and we gave up. Michelangelo just said: “Ok, it is not a problem; I can do the film without it.” In the editing, the passage between the goat and the tree was very problematic, we really spent a lot of time, and we missed that image.

This is just an example; of course you always make mistakes, or stop yourself in front of insurmountable obstacles.

Looking back, it was difficult, but we should have really insisted on shooting this scene, because we needed it.

I think one problem with Michelangelo is that he does not ask so much.

Sometimes he makes mistakes because of this. The process was learning, anticipating questions. He learned that he needs to ask and we have learned to ask him to ask.

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Can you tell about the editing? When did you finish shooting and start the editing?

We finished the eleven weeks of main shooting at the end of April 2009, and we started the editing immediately.

It was long, ten months. We started in Milan with one editor, and on this level confrontation arose. We were all convinced that the editing would surely not be such a big deal, in view of the strength of the script and of the result of the shoot. It was important for sure, but the structure was already there, we thought. The reality was completely different. We discovered that Le quattro volte was a puzzle. It’s incredible: we have seen so many versions with Gregorio and the other producers and every time, even changing one duration, postponing or anticipating, whatever, you were really seeing things in a different way. It was like a game where if you move one position, the complete frame changes.

Were the other producers involved in the process?

Sure, the idea was to first have two months of editing in Milan, and then to have the first screening. I clearly remember Michelangelo saying: “We are going to show you two versions.” It was a little bit confusing: first screening and already two versions to show, one with the sequence shot and one without. There was a problem: that 20

Le quattro volte - the journey of an Italian ‘maa-sterpiece’

shot was something very important for Michelangelo and we had invested in it, deciding to dedicate two weeks (one of rehearsal and one of shooting) only to the attempt of making it. We saw both films in a row and it was very hard.

Michelangelo was completely puzzled.

For the first time, I saw someone, always in control and conscious of what he was doing, who had really problems with recognizing himself in what he had done. It was like there was a difference between the film he had had in mind for four years and the film that was there on the screen. It was delicate. At one point, discussing it with the other producers, we realized it was useful to involve another editor. Michelangelo needed to start from scratch, maybe trying to change the structure of the film.

Did you involve a new editor?

We had the idea to involve Benni Atria.

We had done Il mio paese by Daniele Vicari together. Benni is one of the most important Italian sound designers and he is also a great editor. He can really think, he is a very clever and very acute person. Sound being so important in the film, we thought he could be the right person to start a dialogue with for Michelangelo, and it worked out. So we invited Michelangelo to Rome, the environment changed as well.

It is useful for the producers to be close: you enter the editing room, you talk, you follow the process closer. For him it

was a big sacrifice, as he had not been at home for a long time, first because of the shooting and then because of the editing.

The important thing for Michelangelo was to create a dialogue with the spectator. The very clear idea was that the viewer of this film needs to “work”; by working I mean he has to move his eyes, to search elements on the screen, to put things together, to deduct, etc.; but this work must be connected to emotions, feelings. To achieve this target, during the editing process, Michelangelo had to remove all the elements that could create distance for the spectator. For this reason it was a long and difficult process.

There was another test screening in Berlin in February 2010. Was it an important one?

It was important because for the first time we saw the film in a theatre. We had seen some rushes, some sequences, but not the whole film. Moreover you were there, Alberto Barbera was there, Enrico Ghezzi too… We felt it was a very important test.

Of course it was already an advanced process because in Berlin the structure was there. It was in February and the film was in Cannes in May. Was the premiere of the film at Cannes your objective from the beginning?

During the period of the sound editing, after the screening in Berlin, the idea was to try Cannes, so at one point we had to stop the editing, because there was the necessity to show the film to the selection committee. I remember a period where for a while it was hard to sleep, and to stop thinking about this target. Of course Cannes is something that everybody wants to achieve; it was very important for Michelangelo, indeed!

Can you tell how did it happen?

Philippe Bober, being the sales agent, was playing the game. Frederic Boyer was coming to Italy to watch Italian films, but we decided not to show him Le quattro volte in Italy because the idea was to do it directly in Paris. In the end Philippe decided to show the film very late. Frederic Boyer received the film at four in the afternoon and he called the same day to invite the film immediately. It was of course a great joy. For Michelangelo, the history of Quinzaine was important, he was very happy to be there. If you have asked him what his dream in terms of festivals was, he would have replied Quinzaine. For us, it was a very good place to start. Frederic Boyer loved the film and supported us so much, his warmth played an important role in the film’s success.

The film was immediately successful 21

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in Cannes...

The very good thing was that we were screened during the first weekend.

That was another moment of joy and stress altogether. It is always a great emotion to show a film for the first time to a real audience. Even if we did a lot of test screenings, but it is not a big hall of people that you don’t know at all; and maybe of course you feel a little more the tension with a film like Le quattro volte, because it is something where you really don’t know how people will react. I remember we had the first screening (for the press) at nine o’clock. We went there around eight to do the test and we saw a huge queue of people. It is quite normal for Cannes, but still I was surprised. The film started; the first ten minutes were terrible, because there is this cough of the shepherd, and in the hall, everybody was coughing, there was a sort of a community of coughs. We didn’t know what to think. I guess it was also a reaction of people starting to watch the film. You need to understand and you don’t understand, there are some minutes of disorientation… But after this very first moment, the screening was very successful. With laughs and applauses. And at the end there was a long applause… I immediately felt that the mood around the film was very good. It was a great experience.

The film was released in Italy in June...

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Le quattro volte - the journey of an Italian ‘maa-sterpiece’

Yes, right after, at the very end of May. Italy was the first country, and then the film started to travel to the most prestigious festivals all over the world, getting a lot of awards. Commercially in Italy it was not big at all. It was medium, considering the kind of film, it did nearly 15.000 admissions. It is hard with distribution in Italy, the film did well in Rome and Milan, but we had problems in minor cities; it was summer, you don’t have so much space, when you are at the end of May. At the same time with Cinecittà Luce we took the decision to exploit the visibility that Cannes gives you. In 2010 there were only three Italian films at the Cannes film festival, so it was possible to focus on this.

The great thing with Le quattro volte is that it is a small film. The numbers are small, but for many countries, so of course we are very happy. In France, it was 50.000 admissions; UK was great, I think around 50.000 too. In the US it’s a different process, it’s very slow, but very succesful. It has also been released in Argentina, Brazil, Australia, and in so many other countries. The feeling is that it keeps on going; this is a film with a long-term career.

the development of the next film by Michelangelo. The DVD was released in Italy in September 2011.

Lastly, did you recoup the investment ?

At the end we could cover the whole budget. The problem with this kind of film is that it was a full-time job for three years. Of course the fees you put in the budget are never enough to give you compensation for your work. It’s difficult. The film was sold in a lot of countries, but it’s not a lot of money in all those countries. In any case it’s hard, you know, for independent producers.

We are not rich, but we have not lost our money. It’s a very positive balance.

Interview made in Rome on the 7th of October 2011.

Has the film been screened on Italian TV? Not yet, Rai Cinema has not yet bought it. We hope they will soon… They had bought Il dono and are supporting 23

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Le quattro volte - the journey of an Italian ‘maa-sterpiece’

Interview Michelangelo Frammartino Could you tell me about your background, how did you come to make films?

I didn’t make so many shorts before my first feature Il dono. I was studying architecture and later cinema. I was interested in the connection between image and space, real space and architectural space, and to create a strong connection between the people who entered these places. The first things that I made were installations and my background was that before studying cinema and architecture it was really easy for me to draw. But it was a talent that I did not develop. My way of drawing now is not fantastic. I used to draw to think. I prefer it to writing; this is easier for me to express what I have in my mind. The first step is drawing.

And then with pictures, cinema, and architecture, I arrived at the idea of making installations.

Did you want to be a filmmaker?

Yes, when I was young I wanted to be a filmmaker, but when I started to study the connection between image and space, I thought cinema was not the right way for many years. Video and video art were more connected to the present. I was interested in visuals.

Media building, images on buildings and making people create images in 24

the public space. This was really what I wanted to do. When I was young, the place where you could watch an image was on television or at the cinema. And there were no images outside. I wanted to bring the image outside where people are walking. When I was studying architecture and cinema it happened that images were shown outside in Italy. Maybe in England and the United States it took place sooner, but in Italy it was at the end of the 80s, beginning of the 90s. You would start to see images in the subway, in shops. I got really disappointed because I was waiting for this, and for me this had to happen with a strong connection between people and images. And there was none, because the images were advertising, they were like television outside. Probably I started to think about going into cinema for this reason.

Did you make all these installations in Milan?

Yes, I was born in Milan. I studied there and until Il dono, Calabria was something of freedom, of dreams, where I was completely free and Milan was the land of work, studies and growing up as an artist in a way - I don’t know if I am one. With Il dono, and not only with it - I made other things before - I understood that Calabria was not solely the land of

dreams for me, but was probably the land where I understood something about space, this was important for my work. For me it was really a surprise.

Was it already on Il dono that you came to understand this?

When I finished Il dono I understood that when I was young, what was really fantastic for me was the idea of no strong line between inside and outside in the village. When you were in the house, the outside was really close, with the sounds. The door is never closed, the windows are never closed. In the morning when you need the milk the shepherd comes inside with the goat, it is stupid to go out with the bottle, when you can drive the goat inside.

The goat that entered the house, when

I was a kid, it was like “Huh?!” For my grandmother, it was normal, like the truck with the milk. For me this broke the line in such a normal way, because I am interested in this, because cinema is always about breaking lines. And probably this arrived from Calabria and I understood it only later.

Could you talk about the production of Il dono?

I made it by myself. In the 80s and 90s I was not so much into Italian cinema, I probably hated Italian cinema. Not all, but almost everything. In some way I was hardened by the way images came to me when I was young, via television, Berlusconi, the power of the image in a political way. So when I started making movies, I had to do it completely alone, 25

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completely apart and with no public money. So for Il dono I never looked for a producer.

You were your own producer?

I did not exactly understand that I was producing. I had no money for a camera. So I went to the school where I was studying and said: “I need the camera for two weeks.” I needed film, I went to Kodak and asked for film that was not so good. A student came with me for the sound and he knew nothing about sound. It is incredible because in Il dono, sometimes he was really in the wrong position for the sound. I didn’t always notice it because we were really tired, and so we had to work a lot to repair it. The director of photography was actually an electrician. We were five people in total.

If you had to do it again, would you do it the same way?

Not now. I think there is a way to make a movie that is not so self-destructive.

But I started to make Le quattro volte probably in the same way. Making a movie like this is really heavy. For example I edited Il dono. When you edit such a movie, to understand where you have to cut, you don’t really have a narration to make it clear. You have to understand with your perception where it is good to cut. You have to be ‘there’ to know. When you see the same take three or four times, you don’t understand it 26

Le quattro volte - the journey of an Italian ‘maa-sterpiece’

anymore. So you have to stop, to go away and to come back two days later.

If you are the editor, you need a long time to understand. If you are editing with someone else, you can go away and he works, and when you come back you understand whether it is ok and it is faster. So I am aiming at making the same cinema, but trying to make it in a not so difficult and stressful way.

Still today you are perceived as a filmmaker from Calabria even though you are from Lombardy…

I am not exactly Calabrian. You must be born there, you must live there and you must grow up there to understand the feeling we are talking about. Growing up in Calabria, especially in a little village, means that you know that sooner or later you must leave, you must abandon that land. I grew up in Milan, anyway, I love to be considered Calabrese, because I love this land. My identity is the result of different cultures and different places.

Where did the first idea of Le quattro volte come from?

It came after Il dono, almost two years after. I had an idea. I was in Calabria to try to understand something about this idea that became nothing. I discovered it because a friend of mine, Gigi Briglia, a photographer, told me many times: “You must see the charcoal burners, it is fantastic.” When I am in Calabria many

people tell me: “You must see this.” So often it was not important for me. But if you go to Calabria and you are taking a picture, there is always someone that comes and says: “Come here, this is beautiful. Come and make the picture in the right place.” It is hospitality. It is funny, it is nice, but a bit the same. So my friend kept telling me: “You have to see these charcoal burners, and you have to see the ‘Pita’, the tree celebration.” So in the end I went.

You said you had an idea. What was it about?

It was about the connection between an old man and his son. The son is a fragile person, and the old man is going to die. The problem for the man is: “What is going to happen to my son?” I was working on this idea, because I had in my mind two people who were perfect for this. But one day I did discover the charcoal burners, and I started to work on the project, which became Le quattro volte.

How does it work when you go to Calabria? Do you stay at a relative’s place?

I stay in a room in the house of my grandfather. There is a little room that is my room. For Le quattro volte I was there two years. It’s really a small room, in the centre of the village.

When you started to put things

together, did you have the idea to show the charcoal burners in the film?

It was hard and really interesting visually, incredible. So I went many times. I am always interested in processes: the blocking/developing of things inside, the characters around. It was interesting visually, but I did not know what to do with the charcoal. I was interested in the shepherds, for many reasons: one being that my grandmother did not allow me to play with them when I was a kid, and also because they live on the edge of the village. They are in classical paintings. I think that filming animals is interesting for any director, because you cannot control a thing that does not understand you are filming it. I don’t remember exactly when, many months after, it was incredible; I understood that I had in my hand four things: shepherds, animals, charcoal, the tree celebration, and that they were the man, the animal, the vegetal and the mineral. It was strange that it was so clear. So I started thinking there was something in my mind that I did not look for. When I understood that the four forces were the same thing, I realised that what we see is not what we see in some way.

At which time did the title Le quattro volte (excerpted from a Pythagoras’ sentence) come to you?

I don’t remember exactly, maybe one year after. I was working on the idea of mimetic behaviour of animals. It is 27

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something that I am working on at this moment too, for my video installation, something that is important to me.

The structure of the image is destroyed when there is an animal looking at the camera. Le quattro volte is about this in some ways. When I was studying the scientist Roger Caillois, who worked a lot on the topic, in his book there was a reference made to Pythagoras. I then started to look for something from Pythagoras that I knew from school, since he lived in Calabria…

Thus the initial idea was not the one of a soul moving from one shape to another?

It came after some months. I started from the place, from Calabria. I was working on something else. I had my mind ready on the sequence shot, but I didn’t know what it was. The sequence shot is very important in the film. I had it in my mind as something automatic that happens without men. There was the idea of the village edge, and the inside and the outside. It was there, in the middle of the other things, and only after many months I started to understand all these things.

Are you interested in mechanisms?

I am interested in automats, and in building a creature in some way. When I was young, I was always trying to make a robot. When you are making a film you are not trying to make a film, 28

Le quattro volte - the journey of an Italian ‘maa-sterpiece’

but something that is alive. When you start, the mistake is to consider that images are alive, because they are moving. But after working for many years, you understand that to make a film that is alive is really difficult. What is more alive is not ‘there’, the empty space between images. What is alive is what is changing, what is becoming old. If the image is always the same, it is not alive, it is dead. What is alive in a movie is what you don’t see. I think about this when I work. This is why we have a character that we don’t see. Le quattro volte is a story of a character we don’t see. We see only the surface, the man, the animal, the plant, but we are working on something that is not visible.

When did you eventually tell yourself that your idea was strong enough to develop into a film?

Between 2005 and 2006. I was in Milan and I wanted to make it alone. A friend of mine, Giovanni Maderna, an Italian director, wanted to start a production company (Invisibile Film). I told him about my idea. But I have to say I started speaking to some people that I had met with Il dono. I didn’t want to have money the traditional way. If an Italian director wants to make a film, he immediately thinks: “I go to RAI, I go to the Ministry.” I was thinking to do it in another way, with the university, with a different way of finding money.

This was a reason I really loved to go to TorinoFilmLab, because it was a very different approach for an Italian.

Do you feel that during the development process you had a dialogue with your producers about the film?

The first part of the work with Vivo film consisted in sharing with them what I had done on my own before. They used to analyse the projects of their authors with a lot of attention, and this is an approach that is very connected with their work as publishers: they want to have a very precise editorial mission.

The experience with TorinoFilmLab let this happen: at that occasion, Marta and I worked a lot together. Then, in collaboration with Vivo film, but also with Ventura and Essential, it went on and influenced the editing a lot, artistically. Actually, Vivo let us work for a year on the editing, in order to find the definitive version of the movie, and this is not obvious, even for an independent producer.

How was your experience at TorinoFilmLab? It was a very nice experience, not only because the award we received at the TFL influenced other financers that decided to invest in Le quattro volte, allowing us to close the budget, but mostly because finally in Turin - after several challenges during the financing

- we had the opportunity to work with very passionate tutors and to focus on aesthetic and narrative issues, talking about the meaning of the film and finding the right mood to start the shooting.

As you were at such an advanced stage, what kind of input did you get from the Lab’s workshop?

What was important for me was when I spoke with Franz Rodenkirchen, a screenwriter. I remember I had in my mind the possibility to put in the film a little thing that could be more narrative in some way. I remember that I shot it, because I would decide in the editing whether I would use it or not. When I told this to Rodenkirchen, I could expect from him: “Yes, do it!” You think that a scriptwriter is always interested in stories and the idea of shooting goats walking and trees moving could be a bit boring. It was nice that he said: “Don’t put this in this movie.” I shot it, but it was important to get a screenwriter to say this. I remember this perfectly.

TorinoFilmLab is a little bit particular because it is international, but initiated from Italy. Do you feel it is connected to Italian cinema or not so much?

I don’t feel it. You speak English there; it is like going outside. I think that this is normal in Europe, to make a pitch and to try to produce a film with a lab. But it 29

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is not so normal for Italy. It is very good that there is something like this in Italy, and to understand there are different ways to make movies. When I make workshops or when I teach at school I always mention the TorinoFilmLab opportunity in Italy. It is like a door or a window opened to Europe for Italian filmmakers. We are a bit withdrawn, we have to open up to better understand what is possible to make.

The year before, in May 2007, your project was presented at Cannes film festival’s L’ Atelier. What happened there?

People started to know that this film was arriving. This was important and I met people there, but no one committed to the project. Probably we

Le quattro volte - the journey of an Italian ‘maa-sterpiece’

were too much at the beginning of the project to really take advantage of that opportunity.

For Le quattro volte you made a preparation folder, with drawings, animations, and an anthology of texts.

Can you tell about your references?

In the script there were many references too. I told you about Roger Caillois, this was really important for me. There was something about nature, by MerleauPonty, a text by Gilles Deleuze. There were many paintings with shepherds, always on the line between the sky and the earth. There was also a story by Saverio Strati, a Calabrian writer, about charcoal burners. Yet no one makes movies like a painter. You think a lot and read, you watch paintings and then you

have to forget all of this when you are shooting. You don’t think about this in the moment you are shooting. If you think about this you will make a terrible movie.

Are there some frames in the film directly inspired from paintings?

There was one, but it is not in the film.

A shot was really close to a painting by Brueghel, but it did not make the cut.

Yet the idea of shooting from a distance and to see many things is really from Brueghel. You know there are many filmmakers who use Brueghel to explain what they are doing. Many times this is the same painting; Bela Tarr and Otar Iosseliani use the painting of Landscape with the fall of Icarus to explain their work.

Your frames are always very precise.

Do you decide them during location scouting or on the shoot directly?

Always in advance. I know exactly where I will put the camera. I need to do this because I feel freer if I do this. First I go with my camera. When I think that this is ok, I go there with the viewfinder, the lens, and my cinematographer. For example when we made the one shot sequence, the position of the camera was six meters high. We were there with a precise lens. It was not easy to find the point, there were trees we had to cut, and we worked a lot.

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Due to the structure of the film, transitions are of particular importance in Le quattro volte. How did you approach them?

It’s hard to explain this. It is a film with three transitions, which are so important because you have to understand that you are entering a new part, very different, but at the same time remaining in the same film. It was hard to understand how much we had to help the audience understand that it is the same character. When the shepherd dies, the kid is born, there was the possibility to do this without helping and there was such a version.

To what extent did you feel you had to ‘help the audience’?

This is a very good and important question. This belongs to an argument about how much we have to try to distribute this cinema to a larger audience. How much do you have to go to people that normally are not so interested in this kind of cinema? Or how much do we have to stay in our position? In some way you can make a cinema that is completely rigorous and this film will not reach ‘normal’ people.

But in some way it does arrive to them, because there are other directors who watch your movie and then they are more connected to an audience than you, and something of your movie enters in their minds and their films... I really love James Benning, and probably he does 31

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not reach that many people, but I think there is something of James Benning in Le quattro volte. So I may have reached more people than James Benning with this film, and other directors may reach more people than me – and so it goes on. So it is a very difficult question, but we decided to help people in the first episode and not to help them so much in the others.

Do you think the sequence take is there to help the audience?

No, I don’t think this take helps to connect the gaps. In some way yes, but I don’t sense it like something that helps. Where I feel we are helping is in the connection between the cemetery and the birth of the animal. There are things I don’t do, because I can’t do them, because I would risk entering another type of cinema that I am not interested in. For the first connection we are probably on the edge of that.

In any case, the message you intend to convey is that one soul is going to another body, or?

This is how most of the audience understands it, yet not everybody.

This is the very first interpretation yes. I wanted to make something like a Russian matrioshka doll, which I like very much. It’s similar to the charcoal burners’ mountain; there is something that is inside. I wanted a white goat kid for instance, because when it is born 32

Le quattro volte - the journey of an Italian ‘maa-sterpiece’

and it is wet, you can see the pink skin, like the shepherd is still present. I really like Flandres by Bruno Dumont. In the first part there is this story of love, and then immediately there is a cut and the boys go into war. Then you understand that this war is only happening inside the girl. So there is a story that is inside another. In some way, for me, this happened in Le quattro volte. Every story is inside the other. This structure was clear in my mind.

Your stories end with the death of the characters (the shepherd, the goat, etc.) and the birth of the next one.

Why this choice?

This is not the case for each transition: the tree is one hundred years old when we first see it. The tree was an adult in some way, and, for example, Gregorio Paonessa insisted very much on that point to resolve it in the best way. The connection we built was one of colours.

One story ends with a white goat kid in black, so a little white point in the centre. And after the fade-out, there is a white mountain with a black tree in the centre. It’s like a reverse image.

With Le quattro volte you cannot predict who will like it. I make movies for people, I always think of someone who is watching my movie. I work on the strongest connection between the image and the man in front of it.

I come from video installation and this has always been my concern. For me the strongest connection is when people ‘work’ during the viewing of the film. It’s stupid, we are not at school, but what I shoot is there; what I don’t shoot, you have to build it in somehow.

When I make a movie, I try to respect the viewer and to say: “You are here and you are able to understand, I don’t make things to help you, but we work together.” When someone likes what I do, for me it is for this reason. The problem is entering into this cinema,

because it is not so attractive: “Why do I have to go and see a film with goats?”

But when they enter, hopefully they find a strong connection. I worked so much on it, on how to address the eyes and the bodies.

How important was it for the film to be in Cannes?

I think it was really important for the movie. Still I don’t know if it was really a great edition of the Cannes film festival. Probably for many people it was not so fantastic, so a movie not so many people were expecting was a good surprise. For us it was good to be in Cannes and Philippe Bober sold the film to twenty countries during the festival. I think Frédéric Boyer made us a gift selecting the movie.

What is fascinating with Le quattro volte in terms of audience is that it transcends traditional divides.

Contrary to Il dono, which pleased ‘hardcore cinephiles’, this film reaches many different profiles of spectators…

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Did you feel the audience understood what you wanted to do?

I had the feeling that when they really like the film, these are people who want to be different. Probably everyone wants to be different from everyone else. If they like the film because they see an old shepherd, because they see the south of Italy and ancient times and celebrations, I think that they don’t really like the movie. But I think that people really like the movie when they are touched in some way. I am talking about my movie so it’s hard, but it was strong for me when people cried; it is strange if someone cries for Le quattro volte. For me it was like “You don’t like it? You think you lost two hours of your life?” It is possible that you cry after a film because you feel like you lost two hours. I like to think that when someone is touched so deeply it is not for the goats, for the shepherd, for the poor people, but because there is something in the perception that touched that person. Many times, when I like a movie a lot, I feel that the image is in front of me, but in some way, it shows me something that is behind the image.

This is really important for my level of thinking and understanding cinema.

This is like Christo’s work: he covers something in order to show it. In Rome, when you see Colloseum every day for example, you don’t see it anymore. But when Christo covered it, you could see it again. Cinema sometimes works in this 34

Le quattro volte - the journey of an Italian ‘maa-sterpiece’

way: the image shows you something that is underneath or in between the visible. That is really deep and I hope that it is touching..

Even if your film could be qualified for being animist, it seems you are more fascinated by people who are animist than being animist yourself?

I don’t believe what animist people believe, yes. When I met Joe (Apichatpong Weerasethakul), I understood that he believes. He’s a great director, and it’s a bit different when you believe or don’t. If you believe, you are connected; you are completely part of something. I am interested in believing and in finding this belief in reality. And I try to find a belief with cinema. For me cinema is something that helps me to be connected. I have problems with reality; I am not completely ‘inside’.

This is the reason you often use humour and irony?

Yes, it helps me. Irony is something that you use when you want to be inside, but you are outside. In some way I really try to be connected to things. Cinema for me is something that helps me to feel this connection that I am missing. I want to believe. I should, because I want to, but it is not easy for me.

Regarding the sequence shot, did you hesitate to keep it in during the editing?

The problem was that we had so many scenes that we got to a version of almost three hours. There was a moment when this sequence shot looked like the first shot of a movie, not something that you can use in the centre. As you need time to begin to understand what is happening, it looked like a first shot.

This gave so many problems that the editor and I started to rethink and then we understood that the movie could not be the same without it.

In the end, do you think you made the right choice?

I feel it was the right choice, yes, but trying to cut it out made us understand that it was so important. This sequence was one of the first things I had in my mind.

In both Il dono and Le quattro volte you film processions. Why are they important to you?

Probably I like the fact that the people in the processions become like one character, all together. In the sequence shot, in a way, the procession is the men going away. Walking together is something really deep. I understood this when I went to a celebration called ‘Territorio’. It is fantastic, because villagers meet at dawn. It is dark, the sun is rising, and then they start. They go outside and walk along the line of the territory, where the ‘country’ stops, all day and come back at sunset. It is

like they say: “We are this.” It was really emotional doing this together. After a few kilometres we stopped, there was a table waiting for us, people singing, and there were fireworks. Halfway through the procession I had to go back to the village. It was completely empty.

I understood that the fireworks were actually a communication between the people and the village.

Do you think Le quattro volte is the film you wanted to make? Did you make concessions to your initial idea?

I think this is the film that I wanted to do, but probably a bit simpler. At the same time it is not exactly as funny as I wanted it to be. Maybe only after the next project will I understand more deeply where this film drove me. Is it possible to reach a larger part of the audience with this kind of cinema?

Interview made in Rome on the 8th of October 2011.

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Press Selection Below we present you with a small selection of the huge material of collected press reviews and articles about Le quattro volte. We have chosen to keep them in their different languages so as to keep the original flavour for those who read Italian, French and German as well. Our first sample is written by our own Alberto Barbera and therefore we have translated a central part of his article to English: “Rarely have we in cinema seen a work so audacious and fascinating. Frammartino’s film is an invitation to rediscover a vanished world, a plummet thrown into the deepest memory of what has preceded us, the unexpected resurfacing from a primitive condition that we thought we had lost knowledge of. A longing, perhaps, of a primordial identity that has been canceled by the original sin, but also an implicit invitation to look for a new balance, possibly able to recompose the fracture (ontological?) between human beings and other living creatures: plants, animals, rocks, dust, water, wind.” _________________________________________________________________________________________

Le quattro volte - the journey of an Italian ‘maa-sterpiece’

dizioni dimenticate dell’Appennino calabrese o, ancora, un conte philosophique sul persistere delle credenze animistiche nelle civiltà rurali non ancora travolte e cancellate dalla modernizzazione galoppante. In verità, non si tratta di scegliere tra una lettura e l’altra, perché il film è tutte tre le cose insieme. Alla maniera di un Robert Flaherty o di un Jean Rouch contemporanei, Frammartino ha percorso in lungo e in largo le plaghe più remote della regione dove aveva già ambientato il suo primo film (Il dono), filmando per tre anni cerimonie di cui si è perso il ricordo e rituali dal fascino ancestrale.

Non assomiglia a nessun altro film italiano il nuovo lavoro di Michelangelo Frammartino. Volendo trovare degli equivalenti a un approccio assolutamente originale - al progetto cioè di un cinema che prescinde dai condizionamenti di genere e dai retaggi ai quali la maggior parte dei suoi colleghi sembra assoggettata (con l’eccezione, va detto, del Pietro Marcello di La bocca del lupo) – è aldilà delle frontiere che bisogna allungare lo sguardo. Dalle parti di quei cineasti fuori del coro, dediti alla ricerca e alla sperimentazione, incuranti delle convenzioni che separano il documentario dalla finzione, l’approccio realistico da quello concettuale, l’osservazione dall’interpretazione.

Come in un film di Herzog, ha adottato il punto di vista di un alieno per poterne esplorare sino in fondo, con rispetto e ammirazione privi di pregiudizi, la misteriosa e affascinante bellezza. Infine, alla stregua di un Godard filosofo e antropologo, ha manipolato il materiale così faticosamente raccolto per trarne una riflessione di straordinaria intensità e rigore sull’enigma dell’esistenza e sul tema della reincarnazione, un poema visivo - privo di dialoghi ma ricchissimo di suoni e rumori - ispirato a una concezione animista dell’universo. Scandito in quattro capitoli ispirati a una frase attribuita a Pitagora – secondo la quale in ciascun essere ci sarebbero quattro vite distinte, incastrate l’una dentro l’altra: minerale, vegetale, animale e razionale – il film si lascia definire come il viaggio di un’anima attraverso i suddetti stati. Un vecchio pastore malato, che crede nel potere taumaturgico della polvere raccolta in chiesa, muore mentre una delle sue bestie sta per partorire; il capretto si perde il giorno della sua prima uscita al seguito di un gregge al pascolo e trova rifugio sotto un abete bianco, che sarà poi abbattuto per celebrare un rito di origine pagana.

Lo stesso albero viene infine trasformato in carbone, con un procedimento tanto antico da far dubitare che possa essere davvero sopravvissuto sino ai giorni nostri.

Raramente si è visto al cinema qualcosa di altrettanto audace e appassionante. Il film di Frammartino è un invito al viaggio alla riscoperta di un mondo scomparso, uno scandaglio lanciato nelle profondità della memoria di ciò che ci ha preceduto, il riaffiorare inatteso di una condizione primitiva della quale credevamo di aver perso ogni cognizione. La nostalgia forse di un’identità primordiale cancellata dal peccato originale, ma anche l’invito implicito alla ricerca di un nuovo equilibrio, semmai capace di ricomporre la frattura (ontologica?) fra il genere umano e gli altri esseri viventi: piante, animali, rocce, polvere, acqua, vento.

Lo stesso Frammartino suggerisce la possibilità che il suo lavoro si presti a letture diverse, offrendosi simultaneamente allo sguardo come un imprevisto film di fantascienza (ancorché privo di effetti speciali), un documentario etnografico sulle tra-

E’ doveroso, a questo punto, ricordare chi ha consentito a Frammartino di lavorare in assoluta libertà creativa: la Vivo Film di Gregorio Paonessa, Marta Donzelli e Francesca Danza, con la partecipazione di Invisibile Film e Istituto Luce (Italia), Essential

LA RIVISTA DEL CINEMATOGRAFO Le quattro volte

by Alberto Barbera - May 16, 2010

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Filmproduktion (Germania), Ventura Film (Svizzera) e il sostegno, anche finanziario, del TorinoFilmLab. Segno confortante che non proprio tutti, nel nostro paese, si sono venduti l’anima al Mercato e ai suoi imperativi, non di rado soffocanti. _________________________________________________________________________________________

NEW YORK TIMES Eternal Complexities of the Very Simple Life

by A. O. Scott - March 29, 2011 “Le quattro volte,” an idiosyncratic and amazing new film by Michelangelo Frammartino, is so full of surprises - nearly every shot contains a revelation, sneaky or overt, cosmic or mundane - that even to describe it is to risk giving something away. (…)

There is no dialogue, oral discourse being irrelevant to Mr. Frammartino’s concerns.

You hear murmurs of human speech, but they are unintelligible and not translated by subtitles. Nor are the barking of a dog, the bleating of goats or the wind sighing in the branches of the gigantic pine that is the film’s totem and tragic hero. And yet, in spite of the director’s observant naturalism and indifference to the usual expectations of plot, character and performance, “Le quattro volte” is not a documentary.

It has nothing urgent to say about the social conditions in rural Italy, about environmental conditions or peasant customs, even as it sheds interesting light on all of those matters. You can learn something about folk remedies, superstitions and agricultural practices, about how residents of the valley gather snails, treat respiratory ailments and manufacture fuel to heat their homes and cook their food. And this information is conveyed with a clarity and directness that mask Mr. Frammartino’s extraordinary formal sophistication. Using the sweeping perspectives afforded by the precipitously hilly terrain, he composes frames with the skill of a painter and the wit of a silent-film maestro. Perhaps the most sustained, dramatic (and hilarious) example is a sequence involving a truck, a dog and the inevitable goats, whose physical properties and animal natures combine in a complicated, elegantly staged accident. The operations of cause and effect are as airtight as the outcome is absurd, as if the laws of the universe were rigged for comic effect. And Mr. Frammartino observes and manipulates them as deftly - and as rigorously - as Buster Keaton did in “The General,” the most Newtonian of his farces.

Humor - generated by incongruities of scale, the workings of chance and the intrinsic preposterousness of goats, snails and people - amounts almost to a philosophi38

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cal stratagem, a way of exploring how the world works and how it looks. What is perhaps most remarkable about “Le quattro volte” is that it is at once completely accessible and endlessly mysterious.

If you pay attention, you see what is going on and grasp the connections between the different things you see, none of which are terribly unfamiliar. But there is something startling, even shocking, about the angle of vision Mr. Frammartino imposes by juxtaposing apparently disparate elements and lingering on what seem at first to be insignificant details. You have never seen anything like this movie, even though what it shows you has been there all along. _________________________________________________________________________________________

FINANCIAL TIMES Le quattro volte

by Nigel Andrews - May 25, 2011 You know what I’m going to say. It’s a masterpiece. “Oh you critics,” you cry. “You like anything that is ridiculously minimal and set God knows where.” You add: “Or you pretend to.” Dear reader, you’d have to pretend not to like this film. It is overpoweringly lovable. It is now touring the globe charming the pantaloons off every audience in arthouses and beyond.

Granted, there is no story, just the changing seasons. Le Quattro Volte means “the four times” (or “turns”). Granted, there are weird juxtapositions of image and motif as chapters elliptically succeed each other: an Easter Passion play, a flock of goats escaping their pen and invading houses (I loved the nanny goat marooned on a toonarrow kitchen table), a landscape-wide shroud of snow, the raising of a festive tree, charcoal burners building and dismantling a log-made kiln.

Every death yields to birth, every birth points towards death. Yes, we’re talking about regeneration. The very camera and its vision seem to have been told by director Michelangelo Frammartino to let themselves be serially reborn. Surely the funny, fantastic sequence in which a collie dog first disruptively yaps at the stations-ofthe-cross parade – “Via!” shouts a Roman centurion – and later causes town square havoc by removing a van’s stone chock so it crashes backwards through a goat-yard fence (all this in one continuous overhead shot), surely this could not have been planned? And later the tender, harrowing sequence of a lost kid in the snow?

If it was planned it is even more of a miracle: the real beatified by the artful. Imagine how ghastly this film would have been as straight ethno-documentary. “For de39

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cades the little Calabrian town of such and such has been blah blah blah...”

Instead it is dream realism. The old man (Giuseppe Fuda, grizzled-luminous of face, his bent body a question mark seeking its concluding dot) didn’t really die; the kid didn’t really perish; it is done for that fictional truth that provokes, expands and ennobles us. When the kid tears our hearts with its lost, euphonious bleating we even remember, or may do, the original Greek-derived meaning of the word “tragedy”.

Goat song. _________________________________________________________________________________________

THE GUARDIAN Le quattro volte – review A precise, subtle and masterful example of art film from Italy

by Peter Bradshaw - May 26, 2011 Frammartino’s camera will trace the rugged, sun-baked horizon in the same impassive way that it traces the lines of the shepherd’s careworn face, up close. We watch, as an ant crawls up his cheek, like a goat on a hill in long shot. Heartbreakingly, the shepherd is racked by a terrible cough and every night, he drinks some sort of powdered infusion in his cell-like single room, which Frammartino endows with the dignity and poignancy of something by Van Gogh. (…)

Animals are a bit of a rarity in film – they featured in the neo-realists’ work and Kusturica has a fondness for them, but nowadays they are often digitalized fakes.

These animals are the real thing: they take the leading roles, while the humans are largely in the background. This deeply affecting film has a stillness and a reverence to it, every shot framed and composed with outstanding judgment. If you are tired of wittering, headache-inducing nonsense at the cinema, then this is for you. Try it. _________________________________________________________________________________________

Süddeutsche Zeitung Im Kino: Vier Leben Auch Ziegen haben Gesichter

by Martina Knoben - July 5, 2011 Vom Unsichtbaren und der Wirkung des Unterbewussten: Michelangelo Frammartino stellt eher unübliche Hauptdarsteller in den Mittelpunkt seines Dramas. Das 40

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Geisterhafte des Kinos resultiert ja nicht nur daraus, dass es immer nur Vergangenes, oft Totes präsentiert. Die Technik selbst mit ihren Einzelbildern, deren Abfolge eine Illusion von Kontinuität erzeugt, hat etwas von einem Spuk, zumal ein einzelnes dieser Bilder gar nicht bewusst gesehen werden kann, unterbewusst aber durchaus Wirkung entfaltet. (…)

Von der Überzeugung, dass es im Kino mindestens so sehr um das Unsichtbare wie um das Sichtbare geht, ist Michelangelo Frammartinos “Vier Leben” zutiefst durchdrungen. Nicht nur, dass er von einer Art Seelenwanderung erzählt - sehr viel subtiler übrigens, als der deutsche Verleihtitel vermuten lässt. Darüberhinaus ist der Raum zwischen den Menschen und Dingen sein eigentlicher Hauptdarsteller, ganz so wie in den Arbeiten etwa des Thailänders Apichatpong Weerasethakul oder des Amerikaners James Benning. (…)

“Vier Leben” ist ein Film fast ohne Worte, der ganz auf seine starken Bilder vertraut, auf ein luzides Licht und beeindruckende Choreographien, die die Dinge verbinden. Esoterisches Geraune gibt es glücklicherweise nicht. Man erkennt es ja auch so: etwa dass Ziegen nicht nur Köpfe, sondern richtige Gesichter haben oder auch Hunde zu Slapstick fähig sind. _________________________________________________________________________________________

LE MONDE “Le quattro volte”: de l’humain au minéral, l’enchantement du monde

by Jean-Luc Douin - December 29, 2010 Des révélations comme celle-là, il s’en manifeste rarement. Des cinéastes comme celui-ci, il faut les honorer. Ce film, d’une malicieuse simplicité, est stupéfiant de beauté et de gravité. On s’y retrouve au bout du monde, en un lieu archaïque où perdurent des traditions ancestrales. C’est pourtant bien aujourd’hui qu’il a été tourné, dans un paisible village médiéval perché dans les montagnes de Calabre.

Grand Prix indiscutable du dernier festival de cinéma italien d’Annecy, Le quattro volte témoigne d’une curiosité contemplative pour les mystères et d’une réticence viscérale pour les artifices. Mais aussi d’un sens aigu de l’humour. Digne de Buster Keaton et de Jacques Tati, un long plan-séquence dont le héros est un chien vaut, à lui seul, d’être préservé dans les cinémathèques. A l’entrée du village, au croisement de deux routes, ce clébard endiablé perturbe la procession religieuse des habitants 41

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déguisés en soldats romains, puis retire une cale sous la roue d’une camionnette stationnée en équilibre instable, qui dévale la pente et défonce en contrebas la barrière de l’enclos où le berger parquait ses chèvres. Ici, le réalisme extrême de cette fiction aux apparences de documentaire réinvente la mécanique des catastrophes en chaîne et l›art du cadavre exquis. _________________________________________________________________________________________

Les Inrockuptibles Le quattro volte de Michelangelo Frammartino

by Jean-Baptiste Morain - December 28, 2010 (…)

Comme l’eau prend des formes multiples, se régénère et se souille, puis se régénère à nouveau, la vie se transmet d’un corps vivant à un autre: faune, flore, humanité ou minéral; feu, eau, air et pierre. C’est donc de réincarnation que parle Le quattro volte, cet étrange film découvert lors de la dernière Quinzaine des réalisateurs à Cannes, et qui n’a cessé depuis de voyager et de remporter de prix partout où il est passé. Parce qu’il ne ressemble à aucun autre.

Parce qu’il montre, en restant au plus près de la matière, de ses origines, de sa terre, les forces souterraines qui travaillent les esprit, la société, l’urbanisme, l’architecture de notre époque. Parce qu’il nous montre avec des outils simples la brièveté de la vie. Que sous l’Italie (donc l’Occident) chrétienne en apparence bien ordonnée et domestiquée, des forces animistes, syncrétiques, païennes circulent et couvent, nous gouvernent, nous, nos vies, nos sexualités, le cours du temps. Mais qu’heureusement le hasard (une petite pierre qu’un chien dégage de la roue arrière d’une camionnette rouge) vient mettre un peu de magie, de surprise et de bouleversement dans un monde qui serait sans lui bien triste et figé.

Entre symbolisme et surréalisme, avec un humour visuel et sonore d’une grande sophistication, à la frontière poreuse entre documentaire et fiction, Frammartino, chamman calabrais nous ramène à un temps immémorial, à nos racines les plus profondes, avec un regard totalement contemporain. _________________________________________________________________________________________

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Il corriere della sera Le quattro volte

by Paolo Mereghetti - May 27, 2010 Ogni scena non si limita a mostrare le diverse facce di una delle quattro “vite” pitagoriche ma scava nelle azioni e nelle immagini per dirci qualche cosa di più. Come nella scena della processione, quando qualcuno, arrivato in ritardo, vorrebbe unirsi agli altri ma ne è impedito da un cane piuttosto ostile. Per allontanarlo, cerca di mandarlo a raccogliere dei sassi, ma non si accorge di usare anche quello che tiene fermo un piccolo moto furgoncino. Che dopo un po’ (quando l’uomo si è allontanato) si muove lungo una discesa, finendo per aprire alle pecore un varco nella casa del pastore appena morto. Così che le bestie scoperchieranno la pentola dove erano custodite delle lumache, pronte a invadere la stanza. Senza bisogno di una parola di spiegazione, Frammartino ci mette sotto gli occhi il legame che tiene unite azioni e cose, mostrando il sottile equilibrio su cui tutto si regge e che anche un semplice sasso può distruggere. Certo, un cinema così chiede allo spettatore uno sforzo di attenzione e di purificazione (dalle sceneggiature che spiegano troppo) non facilissimo, a cui troppi film (e fiction) hanno disabituato. Ma la sua visione può essere una salutare rigenerazione visiva per chi non si accontenta di un cinema che pretende di mostrare tutto e poi non dice niente. Invece, senza pronunciare una parola, Le quattro volte ci dice davvero molto! _________________________________________________________________________________________

SIGHT & SOUND NATURE CALLS (interview)

by Jonathan Romney - June, 2011

There is no pitch, no synopsis that could remotely do justice to the hybrid originality of Le quattro volte (The Four Times). I first heard about Michelangelo Frammartino’s feature just before it screened in Cannes last year, from a British distributor who had caught it early. “It’s right up your street”, he told me, knowing my penchant for the unclassifiable. “The hero is a goat”, he went on, “and an ash pile... and a pile of logs”.

Naturally, I rushed to see it - partly because any film featuring goats is bound to be entertaining, partly because I remembered liking Frammartino’s idiosyncratic debut Il dono (The Gift) in 2004. But nothing prepared me for the brilliance of Le quattro volte, a film at once severe, poetic, beautiful, comic, philosophical, hugely complex 43

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and sublimely simple. It also contains the single finest extended sight gag I have seen since the heyday of Jacques Tati - and makes the best ever cinematic use of goats. Reviewing it in Cannes, I had no hesitation in declaring it a ‘maa-sterpiece’. (…)

Wordless storytelling Perhaps not surprisingly, there was never a written script for Le quattro volte, but a set of drawings. “I feel that if I draw, I don’t alter the idea I have in my head”, Frammartino explains. “Whereas if I try to write something down, I’m using a different part of my brain. So I draw, I take photographs, I make small animated sequences.“ Not the least of Frammartino’s achievements in Le quattro volte is to dispense almost entirely with human language (barring the occasional shout or muttered blessing). He previously experimented with wordless storytelling in Il dono, also filmed in Caulonia, the film was about an old man (played by the director’s nonagenarian grandfather) and a young prostitute, brought together by two objects - a pornographic photo and a lost mobile phone.

In Le quattro volte, Frammartino goes further in reducing the centrality not just of language, but of human presence altogether. That’s why the film - which, says Frammartino, took him two years to conceive and three to make, although he filmed it in 11 weeks - was shot by Andrea Locatelli in a style that reduces the primacy of the human. Take, for example, those rooftop shots, or the views of the village hillside, in which people, viewed from a distance, become comically puppet-like.

“I’m used to observing the world from my own height”, says Frammartino. “But if I film from one metre off the ground, l’m taking a viewpoint which is no longer human but mechanical – the viewpoint of the camera. It’s like trying to see the world through the eyes of someone who is not capable of making distinctions, of discriminating between things - who can’t therefore establish hierarchies.” For Frammartino, who made video installations before turning to film, “those filmmakers who have attempted to approach things from this non-human viewpoint have released themselves from a cultural burden – l’m thinking of Michael Snow or James Benning, or Beckett’s Film.”

Frammartino was also inspired by scientific theories of camouflage: “There are particular forms of camouflage in which certain animals take on features of a mineral - actually become mineral, like stonefish. They do this not to escape predators because they don’t actually have predators that seek them out visually. So scientists are suggesting that these animals are actually fusing with their surroundings.

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That’s quite the opposite of the survival instinct, which leads you to separate from things. So this story about a man who becomes mineral, who discovers that he is made of the same material that surrounds him, is an invitation to the audience to make that same journey - to understand that between you and the film itself, there’s really no separation.”

You can take Frammartino’s mineral philosophising with a pinch of salt - although the film’s spirit is materialist rather than mystical, as the theme of transformation and fusion underwrites its whole conception. You might even see the theory of fusion at work in the hybrid nature of a film partaking at once of fiction and ethnographic documentary; Le quattro volte would sit nicely alongside, say, the Taviani brothers’ Padre padrone (1977), Gideon Koppel’s British landscape essay sleep furiously (2009) and the deadpan comedies of Tati and Otar losseliani, not to mention György Pálfi’s bizarre metaphysical slapstick Hukkle (2002).

Central to the film is Daniel Iribarren’s richly textured sound design, fusing disparate materials, establishing the sense of continual metamorphosis. The thump of the ash pile becomes both a heartbeat and a drum - we hear it in the tambours of the Easter procession. Then there are bells: the constant din of the goat bells, the bell carried by their guardian - as if he were a kind of human ‘alpha goat’ - and the church bells, summoning the human flock. And what are the parade trumpets, if not a human imitation of the primal bleat? We also get a wide range of wood sonorities, from the creak of boughs to the rustle of the charcoal at the end - crisp, glassy, representing the complete transmutation from vegetable to mineral. Frammartino has said that he considers Le quattro volte “a political film, because it gives viewers choices.“ His film invites us to a more active viewing process than most, prompting us to shape for ourselves a multiple, uncontainable onscreen world. That conception of creative spectatorship is Frammartino’s response to contemporary Italian image culture and a political regime that achieved power, he says, “by controlling images that were very seductive and very brutal - that prevented you from having any say in the whole equation”.

You certainly get that ‘whole equation’ – a holistic equation, even - in Le quattro volte. But Frammartino’s film is also political in the sense that it’s an example of eminently green cinema. As well as offering a vision of natural equality in which goats and logs have equal narrative rights with man, it also proposes a theory of universal recycling, in which nothing is wasted - not even the dust.

(Sight & Sound: Thanks to Consuelo Hackney for translation.)

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facts Title Le quattro volte (The Four Times) 2010 Final budget € 1.028.000,00 Credits Written and Directed by: Michelangelo Frammartino Director of Photography: Andrea Locatelli Editing: Benni Atria, Maurizio Grillo Sound Design: Daniel Iribarren Sound: Paolo Benvenutti, Simone Paolo Olivero Production Design: Matthew Broussard Produced by: Marta Donzelli, Gregorio Paonessa, Susanne Marian, Philippe Bober, Gabriella Manfrè, Elda Guidinetti, Andres Pfaeffli A co-production between Vivo film, Essential Filmproduktion, Invisibile Film, Ventura film Supported by Ministero per i Beni e per le Attività Culturali - Direzione Generale Cinema TorinoFilmLab 2008 Eurimages Medienboard Berlin-Brandenburg Fondazione Calabria Film Commission - Regione Calabria In collaboration: ZDF / ARTE, RTSI

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Countries sold (so far) ARGENTINA, Zeta Films AUSTRALIA, Potential Films AUSTRIA, Filmladen BOSNIA and HERZEGOVINA, Megacom2 BELGIUM, Lumière BRAZIL, Mostra Internacional BULGARIA, A Plus Cinema CANADA, D-Films CROATIA, Continental Film DENMARK, Ost for Paradis FRANCE, Les Films du Losange GERMANY, NFP HONG-KONG, Edko Films HUNGARY, Anjou Lafayette ICELAND, RUV IRAN, Irib Media Trade IRELAND, New Wave Films ITALY, Cinecittà Luce JAPAN, Zazie Films KOSOVO, Megacom2 LUXEMBURG, Lumière MACEDONIA, Megacom2 MEXICO, Cineteca Nacional Mexico MIDDLE-EAST, Irib Media Trade MONTENEGRO, Megacom2 NETHERLANDS, Lumière NEW ZELAND, Potential Films NORWAY, Arthaus PARAGUAY, Zeta Films POLAND, New Horizons PORTUGAL, Clap Filmes&Atalanta ROMANIA, Clorofilm RUSSIA, Maywin SERBIA, Megacom2 SLOVENIA, Megacom2

SOUTH KOREA SPAIN, Alta SWITZERLAND, Frenetic TAIWAN, Filmware UK New Wave Films URUGUAY, Zeta Films USA, Kino Lorber

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Festivals, awards and nominations

Le quattro volte - the journey of an Italian ‘maa-sterpiece’

Flanders International Film Festival, Gent (October 2010) Festival International de Cine Valdivia, Spain (October 2010)

Alba Film Festival (March 2007) - A place in Europe - Work in Progress Award Festival International du Film de Cannes (May 2007) - L’Atelier TorinoFilmLab – Production Award € 150 000 (November 2008) Festival International du Film de Cannes (May 2010) - Quinzaine des Réalisateurs Europa Cinemas Label Award, Palm Dog

12° Festival du Cinema Europeen en Essonne, (October 2010) 19° Philadelphia Film Festival, Philadelphia (October 2010) 54° British Film Institute, London Film Festival, UK (October 2010) 23° Tokyo International Film Festival, Japan (October 2010) Festival Nouveau Cinema, Montreal (October 2010) - Daniel Langlois Innovation Award

Nastri d’Argento, Rome (June 2010) - Nastro d’Argento – Special Award

Bergen International Film Festival, Norway (October 2010) - “Cinema Extraordinaire” Award

München FilmFest (June 2010) - Cinevision Award

Mostra Internacional de Cinema de São Paulo, Brasil (October 2010)

Karlovy Vary International Film Festival (July 2010)

Festival du Film Italien de Villerupt, France (October 2010) - Competition

“Lo straniero” Award, Sant’Arcangelo di Romagna (July 2010)

Festival Internacional de Cine de Valdivia, Chile (October 2010)

10th Era New Horizons Film Festival, Wroclav (July 2010)

Santa Fe Film Festival, US (October 2010)

Competition, Audience Award, International Film Guide Award

Viennale International Film Festival (October/November 2010)

XII Motovun Film Festival, Croatia (July 2010) - Special mention, Fipresci Award

Filmmaker Doc Film Festival, Milan (November 2010) - Homage to Michelangelo Frammartino

Sarajevo Film Festival, Sarajevo (July 2010)

CPH:DOX Copenhagen Int. Doc. Festival, (November 2010) - DOX Best Film Award

Bobbio Film Festival, Bobbio PC, Italy (July 2010) - Gobbo d’Oro Award

International Film Festival Bratislava (November 2010) - Grand Prix Za Najlepší Film Award

JUK Herceg Fest, Montenegro (August 2010)

33° Starz Denver Film Festival, US (November 2010)

XVII Festival du film de Lama / Compétition, Corsica (August 2010)

32° Noordelijk Film Festival, Leeuwarden (November 2010)

Haugesund International Film Festival, Norway (August 2010)

Festival del Cinema Indipendente, Foggia (November 2010) Critics Award

Telluride Film Festival, Colorado US (September 2010)

Tallinn Black Nights Film Festival, (November 2010) - Screen International Critics’ Choice

Toronto International Film Festival, Canada (September 2010)

Festival du film de Vendome, France (December 2010)

San Sebastian Film Festival, Spain (September 2010)

XXVIII Sulmona Cinema Film Festival 2010, Italy (December 2010); Ovidio d’Argento Best Film

XXVI Haifa International Film Festival, Israel (September 2010)

Cinemameriche Film Festival della migrazione e del gusto, Chiavari (December 2010)

Trailer Film Fest, Catania, (September 2010) – Best Trailer Award

51° Thessaloniki International Film Festival, Greece (December 2010)

48°New York Film Festival, New York (September 2010)

Terra Madre Day 2010, Massafra (Taranto), (December 2010)

Annecy Cinema Italien, (October 2010)- Grand Prix, Cicae Award

2°Festival du Cinéma Européen de Les Arcs, France (December 2010)

7° Reykjavik International Film Festival, Iceland (September - October 2010) - Golden Puffin Award, Fipresci Award

Jeff Film Festival, Taranto (December 2010)

Hamptons International Film Festival, England (October 2010)

Tromsø International Film Festival, Norway (January 2011)

XV Pusan International Film Festival, South Korea (October 2010)

BIF&ST – Bari Int. Film & TV Festival, Italy (January 2011) – Best Editing, Best Producers

2Morrow - Annual International Film Festival, Moscow (October 2010) - Grand Prix

Berlinale, (February 2010) - Kulinarisches Kino

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Palm Springs International Film Festival, California, US (January 2011)

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Le quattro volte - the journey of an Italian ‘maa-sterpiece’

Glasgow Film Festival, Scotland (February 2011)

Sarasota Film Festival, US (April 2011)

34° Portland International Film Festival, US (February 2011)

8 e 1/2 Festa Do Cinema Italiano, Portugal (April 2011)

Jameson Dublin International Film Festival - “Real to Reel” - Dublin, (February 2011) Special Jury Award

David di Donatello Awards (May 2011) - 3 Nominations: Best Direction, Best Producers, Best Sound

!f Istanbul, Turkey (February 2011) - “!f Inspired” - Most Inspired Film, Siyad Award Turkish Film Critics

Cinema City Film and Media Festival Novi Sad (June 2011)

Terra di Cinema, Tremblay en France (March 2011)

International Film Festival St. Petersburg, Russia (June 2011)

Sofia International Film Festival, Bulgaria (March 2011)

Lo Sguardo Selvaggio Cinema e Natura, Caprarola, Italy (June 2011)

Le Festival du Sud, France (March 2011)

Midnight Sun Film Festival, Finland (June 2011)

Skopje International Film Festival, Croatia (March 2011)

Shanghai International Film Festival, China (June 2011)

Hong Kong Film Festival (March/April 2011)

Sydney International Film Festival, Australia (June 2011)

Cinemaplaneta - Cuernavaca, Morelos, Città del Messico (March 2011) Astradoc, Naples, Italy (March 2011)

Bellaria Film Festival, Italy (June 2011) - Premio “CinemaItaliano.info” Most Awarded Italian Film of the Year

Wisconsin Film Festival, US (March 2011)

Transilvania International Film Festival, Romania (June 2011)

Bradford Film Festival, England (March 2011) Eurodok Forpremiere, Norway (March 2011)

Ciak d’oro Awards (July 2011) – Winner: Best Photography, Best Producers, Best Sound; Nomination: Bello e invisibile Award

European Union Film Festival, Chicago, US (March 2011)

5 Estrellas - Semana Internacional de la Crítica, Argentina (July 2011)

Festival International du Cinéma Méditerranéen de Tétouan, Morocco (March 2011) Compétition Longs-Métrage - Prix pour la Première Œuvre

Dokufest, Kosovo (July 2011)

Invisibili (March 2011) - Best Italian Film Invisibile

New Zealand International Film Festival, (July 2011)

Italian Film Festival in Scotland, Edinburgh (April 2011)

Espoo Ciné International Film Festival, Finland (August 2011)

Nashville Film Festival, US – (April 2011)

Calgary International Film Festival, Canada (September 2011)

Historier från Italien, Stockholm, Sweden (April 2011)

Festival Internacional de Cine Arte & Cultura, Paraguay (September 2011)

Buenos Aires Festival Internacional de Cine Independiente, Argentina (April 2011)

Marcarolo Film Festival, Italy (September 2011)

Di Terra e di Cielo, Varese, Italy (April 2011)

Ânûû-rû âboro Festival International du Cinéma des Peuples, France (October 2011)

Festival Cinematográfico Internacional de Uruguay (April 2011) – Best Film Award

Festival do Rio, Brasil (October 2011)

Italian Cinema London (April 2011)

Lucca Film Festival (October 2011)

Italian Film Festival UK (April 2011)

Corsica.doc (November 2011) - La Marge

Kosmorama Trondheim International Film Festival, Norway (April 2011)

BBC Four World Cinema Awards (November 2011)

Cornell Cinema Ithaca, US (June 2011)

Era Nowe Horizonty Miedzynarodowy Festiwal Filmowy, Norway (July 2011)

Minneapolis/St. Paul International Film Festival, US (April 2011) Principi Ricostituenti, Carpi, Italy (April 2011) San Francisco International Film Festival, US (April 2011) 50

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The Pixel Lab: Final Report

In 2010 TorinoFilmLab entered a new and exciting partnership with the cross-media frontrunners, Power to the Pixel, and participated in their new event: The Pixel Lab: The Cross-Media Film Workshop in July, and in The Pixel Forum Conference in London in October. These are exciting times for visual story telling and TFL recognizes the necessity for independent films and their makers to face and acquaint themselves with the opportunities and challenges that the digital media offer. We are therefore delighted that Power to the Pixel has given us permission to share Rosie Lavan’s detailed Report from The Pixel Lab with you here!

Below you’ll find a list of all the amazing experts and tutors who took part in The Pixel Lab and I hope the Report motivates you to further explore the world of crossmedia and how it can inspire you and your projects.

The editor

The Pixel Lab Tutors and Experts 2010 Group Leaders: IAN GINN, Producer, Hubbub Media (NL); BEN GRASS, Producer & MD, Pure Grass Films (UK); BRIAN NEWMAN, Consultant and Former President, Tribeca Film Institute (USA); MICHEL REILHAC, Executive Director ARTE France Cinéma (FR). Additional Tutors: NUNO BERNARDO, CEO, beActive Entertainment (PT); WENDY BERNFELD, MD, Rights Stuff BV (NL); GUILLAUME BLANCHOT, Director of Multimedia and Technical Industries, Centre National du Cinema (FR); ALEXANDRE BRACHET, CEO, Upian.com (FR); CHRISTY DENA, Director, Universe Creation 101 (AUS); MEL EXON, Managing Partner, BBH Labs (UK/USA); LIZZIE FRANCKE, Senior Development & Production Executive, UKFC (UK); JEFF GOMEZ, President & Chief Executive Officer, Starlight Runner Entertainment (USA); PAUL GRINDEY, Head of Legal & Business Affairs (Scripted Content), Ch4 (UK); MONIQUE DE HAAS, Audience Engagement Expert, Dondersteen Media (NL); MICHELLE 52

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The Pixel Lab: Final Report

KASS, Film & Literary Agent, Michelle Kass Associates (UK); RAY MAGUIRE, President, Sony Computer Entertainment UK, Nordic, Ireland (UK); ERICA MOTLEY, Head of Acquisitions, Icon Entertainment International (USA); STEVE PETERS, Experience Designer & Partner, No Mimes Media (USA); GREGOR PRYOR, Digital Media Lawyer and Partner, Reed Smith (UK); TIMO VUORENSOLA, Filmmaker (Iron Sky) & Internet Pioneer (FIN)

• Audience engagement strategies (Monique de Haas; Steve Peters) • New models and possibilities for transmedia production (Jeff Gomez) • New business and revenue models, finance structures and delivery partners (Brian Newman; Ben Grass; Ian Ginn; Wendy Bernfeld; Michel Reilhac) • Digital rights issues for cross-media properties (Gregor Pryor) • Storytellers and brands (Mel Exon) • The games industry and cross-media (Ray Maguire) • Finance plans, packaging and defining value across media (Erica Motley)

Power To The Pixel – The Pixel Lab: Final Report The first part of The Pixel Lab, Power to the Pixel’s Cross-Media Film Workshop, took place in the St. David’s Hotel, Cardiff, Wales from 4 to 10 July 2010. The following report by journalist Rosie Lavan provides a summary of the residential week.

1. The Context The Pixel Lab, the first of its kind, complements Power to the Pixel’s (PttP) existing and highly successful programme of events throughout the year.

The Lab was one of a number of new developments underway at PttP this year.

The first ever Pixel Market took place at the London Cross-Media Forum in October 2010. 18 international cross-media projects were selected for inclusion. Producers introduced their work to decision-makers, financiers and potential partners and 9 of the projects were selected to take part in the Pixel Pitch competition. The winner of the ARTE Pixel Pitch was Granny’s Dancing on the Table from Sweden’s Helene Granqvist of Good Film and Hanna Sköld of Tangram Films who received a prize of £6,000.

Executive Summary The Pixel Lab was a groundbreaking event, which brought together international cross-media producers, media professionals and experts.

A project-driven, residential workshop, it was the first stage in a process, which continued until Power to the Pixel’s Cross-Media Forum in London 12 to 15 October 2010, where the Lab’s producer participants presented their cross-media projects to potential international business and finance partners. The Lab made provision for ongoing learning. Distance learning from July to October was arranged for producer participants, as they developed plans for audience engagement and interactivity, distribution and marketing and finance and packaging.

The Lab was established both to help to develop projects and to bring them to market.

The Lab combined teaching and group workshops with one-on-one meetings and plenary sessions with cross-media experts and pioneers and leading figures in film and media financing, distribution and legal affairs.

Thirty-four participants from across Europe attended. Half brought projects they are currently working on, which the Lab aimed to develop by extending their audience and value.

These works in progress also provided the focus for the practical application of skills and ideas raised in teaching and discussions.

Themes covered by experts and tutors at the Lab included: • Building storyworlds and cross-media story design (Jeff Gomez; Christy Dena • Producing cross-media properties (Nuno Bernardo; Alexandre Brachet; Ben Grass) 54

It is hoped that projects mentored at the Lab will go on to be showcased in the Pixel Market and subsequent competitions. Liz Rosenthal, founder and managing director of PttP, said that in this way the Lab will bring PttP’s work supporting filmmakers full circle.

The Lab also took place ahead of the launch of The Pixel Report on 12 October, a new website and print publication which brings together case studies of key cross-media projects, profiles of tools and services designed to support cross-media producers, and contributions from experts and leading practitioners in the field.

2. The Agenda There were two overarching and recurrent themes at the Lab. First, the changing role of the producer.

The Lab aimed to enable producers to generate intellectual property that is far wider 55

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than single format work. This shift will require many more skills than a traditional film or TV producer needs.

Forming new partners and collaborations is also crucial: producers will depend on working with many different types of people to help create new story formats and partners who have the means to bring their projects to market. Liz Rosenthal set the scene on the opening day of the Lab. “Before, their job was all about making something and delivering it to someone else, and not taking part in the exploitation of the content, not involved at all in engaging audience, not having any part of ownership of that audience. Now that role can be transformed” The Lab explored new responsibilities and opportunities for the producer. “It’s not just about handing your work on to someone else,” Rosenthal said. Producers have to seek ways of engaging audiences early on. They must deploy all the powerful tools at their disposal – social networks, messaging outlets, mobile phone apps, gaming – not only to engage audiences, but to turn those audiences themselves into tools for collaboration, promotion and distribution.

Secondly, the Lab set out to challenge the silo mentality, which dominates both the film industry and media more widely.

Such division is no longer relevant to producers hoping to engage audiences who are decisively not siloed. Content producers must be able to converse with mediamultilingual audiences and understand that a cross-platform approach that recognises, generates and extends value can be both creatively and financially rewarding – attractive to audiences and investors alike.

Equally important is a fluid, intuitive approach to building the practical partnerships through which their creative ambitions can be realised. Liz Rosenthal outlined the illogicality and limitations of the prevailing mindset: “For any producer who is thinking of producing stories today it seems ludicrous to think of producing something for one single format, on one single platform.”

3. Learning Structures The Pixel Lab facilitated multi-level learning.

The participants who had brought projects were carefully matched with a participant without a project, establishing from the outset partnerships, which brought 56

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fresh eyes and new strengths to the works in progress.

Experts led plenary sessions and presented case studies of their work and also met participants individually to provide practical, targeted suggestions and guidance for their own projects.

Efforts were geared towards the final day of the Lab, when producers presented their work to 20 assembled representatives from the BBC, ARTE, UK Film Council, Channel 4, Sony CEE, Screen Agency Wales and other organisations and funding bodies from the Welsh media industry.

Participants were divided into four groups. These were led by expert tutors Ian Ginn, producer and founder of Hubbub Media, Ben Grass, producer and managing director of Pure Grass Films, Michel Reilhac, executive director of ARTE France Cinéma, and Brian Newman, consultant and former president of the Tribeca Film Institute.

Group sessions focused on producers’ projects. In these smaller workshop arenas, the projects were laid bare to frank discussion and constructive criticism, and participants debated the creative, practical, business and even ethical issues raised by the work of their peers.

The topics covered in plenary sessions were also considered in the groups and brought to bear directly on projects. Experts circulated the groups, contributing to discussions and providing specific feedback on each project. In this regard, the group environment functioned as a rehearsal space for producers to hone their pitches ahead of the presentation event at the end of the week and with a longer-term view to future pitches for funding or competitions.

The projects differed vastly in subject matter, cross-media design and level of readiness, but advice shared frequently proved relevant and transferable to all participants.

The common awareness that together participants and experts were exploring a new world was strong. Michel Reilhac praised the way of learning and hailed the Lab as a model for future events. “It’s a mix of people from very different backgrounds but all focusing on the same idea of exploring, exploring a new field ... cross-media.

Also everyone came here in a sharing spirit,” he said. “I really like that horizontal way of transmitting and building knowledge just by incrementing from everyone’s experience.”

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Participants and experts alike spoke of an atmosphere of trust. According to Jeff Gomez, president and CEO of Starlight Runner Entertainment, such support and co-operation is crucial. “If we don’t help one another raise the water, then all of our boats sink.”

4. Paradigm Shift There was consensus recognition that this is a time of profound change and the true impact of cross-media cannot yet be fully gauged or understood.

Jeff Gomez, a leading figure in cross-platform story design who created the fictional worlds for films including Avatar and Tron, said: “We are in the midst of watching a paradigm shift that is sweeping across the entire world”. He shed light on Hollywood’s perspective. For a century the studio system has provided both the blueprint for cinema production and the establishment against which independent producers have reacted. Now, though, it is Hollywood’s turn to change.

The transformative impact of cross-media is clearly being felt there, Gomez said.

Transmedia is a buzzword and the major studios are considering how and where to position themselves in this storytelling and production revolution.

A new and viable career path is starting to emerge for the transmedia producers of tomorrow: many are emerging from traditionally denigrated roles in development having identified transmedia potential in the scripts they read.

In April 2010 the PGA inaugurated the Transmedia Producer Credit, indicative of the recognition and prestige now accorded to the role.

Interestingly too, Gomez highlighted recent news that Brazil’s Globo network had just launched a transmedia department which will take an active role in commissioning and production – the first of its kind.

He likened this development in an emerging economic power to the rapid spread of mobile phone use in Africa and India, where the wire phone network was leapfrogged altogether and new technology established itself at once.

Steve Peters, partner at No Mimes Media and creator of the hugely successful alternative reality game Why So Serious which trailed The Dark Knight, also spoke of a transitory stage. He likened the current situation to early cinema and the time lag between the invention of the film and the point when people began to recognise its 58

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true creative and commercial potential and opened first movie theatres.

New consumer products to facilitate the blending of media delivery are constantly being released. Wendy Bernfeld, Lab tutor and Managing Director of Rights Stuff BV, used the example of internet TV and pointed to developments in May 2010 and the release of TV sets which provide direct access to the internet. Producers need to be aware of these changes, recognise that they are indicative of how people may be thinking one or two years from now and consider how their own content might be developed to be compatible with emerging trends and behaviour.

5. Audience The most significant shift has, of course, been centred on audience. As Liz Rosenthal put it: “The audience now to a certain extent has taken control of the media. They are no longer just passive viewers, they are active collaborators, distributors, sometimes evangelical fans and followers, and even financial stakeholders.”

It is impossible to isolate discussion of audience from other issues: it affects, if not utterly determines, every aspect of cross-media. Despite its omnipresence, the Lab isolated particular aspects of the audience relationship for special consideration.

Audience engagement must be the preoccupation of every producer. How can an audience be attracted to a project from the outset, and how can their interest be sustained?

It is unquestionably a challenge, and one which producers face in a fiercely competitive environment. According to Brian Newman, “It’s become an attention economy.

What matters is my time. ... Once you get me you have got to keep me.”

Steve Peters compared transmedia to “live theatre on a global scale”. Cross-media producers must work hard for an audience, just as an actor on stage has to. The payoff is in the organic, exciting and sometimes unpredictable connection and interaction such proximity allows.

Psychology has a role to play. Successful audience engagement depends on an intuitive understanding of audience behaviour.

Nuno Bernardo explained that during the making of Sofia’s Diary the makers discovered that the target young teenage audience was most active online between 5pm and 5.45pm – new content was therefore released at this time every day. Similarly, new content in his subsequent series Flatmates was released just after lunch when the target student audience were most likely to be online.

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Where an audience is encouraged to act independently in a story – in an ARG set-up, for example – careful planning is needed to stimulate their continued involvement.

Steve Peters spoke of how the sense of discovery, when an audience member or player feels they have understood or penetrated a game, leads to a sense of ownership.

Different practitioners have had success with very different strategies. Steve Peter’s game design in Why So Serious effectively enabled players to become citizens of Gotham City and to interact with the Joker himself. The design for the web documentary Gaza Sderot by Alexandre Brachet’s company Upian.com allows viewers to explore the content as they choose – following one particular character or theme, concentrating on one area, or selecting different dates. For those who watched the daily episodes when they were originally broadcast, the real time aspect – content was shot, edited and uploaded within 24 hours – added a powerful sense that these films presented real life as it happened.

6. Audience: Collaborators and Participants Further to discussions at the Think Tank, the Lab explored ways in which audiences can become collaborators and participants in projects. It is clear that in order for this to work, creators must respect and value their audience’s contribution, and recognise and reward it.

Timo Vuorensola, pioneering director of the crowd-sourced Star Wreck: In the Pirkinning and Iron Sky, has established a devoted network of supporters over years of work. They have provided financial backing, practical skills and support, and have promoted the films through their own online networks.

Despite the obvious creative and practical benefits of such an active audience, it must be recognised that not every audience member will want to become involved to such a degree, if at all. The non-participatory audience must not be excluded or isolated.

Similarly, not every audience member will view or engage with content on every platform. Story design must take account of this, ensuring that content on every platform can exist in its own right, while still being enriched by additional formats.

Christy Dena emphasised the need for orientation and way-finding facilities to guide audiences through stories.

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degree of autonomy when exploring a storyworld into which they have been invited.

An audience’s trust in a game or story must not be betrayed, Steve Peters said.

There are pitfalls to beware of when inviting audience contributions. UGC, for example, can be a double-edged sword – a great asset if people participate, but problematic and demoralising if they do not. Similarly, YouTube and social networking sites can make public the apparent success or failure of a project with figures for followers, page views or fans.

Despite the possible risks, producers ignore social networks at their peril: Peters noted that Facebook commands 25 per cent of US Internet page views.

7. Youth Market It is commonplace to suggest that many of the newer platforms available to producers, such as social networks or ARGs, are the domain of the young. While this might be a rather limited assumption, with the balance of activity on such platforms weighted on the side of the under-30s there was widespread recognition of the importance of understanding how to engage young people. Jeff Gomez said that financiers are aware of the demands of younger audiences and want to fund projects that can satisfy them. “They [young people] are moving effortlessly from one platform to the next and they want their content to do the same.”

On the creative side, he pointed out that detail in stories matters to young audiences who understand and remember complex information about characters and plots. Content producers face the challenge of ensuring their audience remains stimulated. “Even little kids are ready to move on once they have seen something once or twice,” Gomez said. “Creatives need to move fast.”

Wendy Bernfeld used an example from gaming to stress the importance of producers taking a long view. It is readily assumed that the target market for games consoles are men aged between 18 and 35. In May 2010, though, Sony partnered with independent filmmakers in a deal that will bring indie films to the PlayStation. This may seem to be targeting a totally different demographic, but new ways of reaching audiences are crucial as habits change. As Bernfeld said, “it might be that the younger generation may not even be buying televisions anymore”.

Helena Bulaja, a participant producer from Croatia, offered her analysis of the challenge for directors and producers. “Today we also have to be aware that the generation that’s coming, the young people, they grew up on multimedia and hypertext experiences...so for them linear storytelling doesn’t mean the same thing as for us.”

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8. The New Producer Recognising and developing the new producer underpinned much of the teaching and thinking at the Lab. It was an equally important lesson for non-project participants: as active figures in the industry they too must understand this shift, and begin to respond to it.

Jeff Gomez emphasised the need to create production models which unite the development of cross-platform work and the ability to secure funding for it, maintain the rights to works and reap the benefits. As the central figure, the producer needs to understand and manage each aspect of these new models.

Producers provide leadership and vision. They safeguard the integrity and cohesiveness of a creative work and its cross-platform afterlife. Such leadership is crucial in defending the identity of a work or a brand and ensuring its continued appeal and potential to generate value.

Ben Grass illustrated the importance of the role with a diagram that placed the producer at the centre: the lynchpin for every project, and the primary point of contact for broadcasters, advertisers, distributors, and creative and financial partners.

9. The Silo Mentality Industry silos are illogical and damaging: disconnection in communication and practice within and between media must be overcome, and a producer has the ability – and now, perhaps, the responsibility – to do so.

Liz Rosenthal said:”We all tend to be, as producers, siloed in an industry. Either we go to TV financiers to finance our work, or we tend to be in the film industry and we go to film financiers, or we’re just in the gaming industry and we go to games financiers.”

She pointed to new opportunities to network across industries – particularly exciting at a time when budgets and independent funding sources all over the world are drying up. Producers have to expand the financing options available to them.

“Cross-media storytelling can only help that.”

Linear thinking, particularly among creative professionals, is another obstacle which the cross-media producer has the power to challenge. For Gomez, “it’s a matter of building bridges between linear and nonlinear thinkers so we are getting the better of one another’s skill sets.”

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idealised and outdated notions of the career of a screenwriter, a director or a producer which they believe to be incompatible with cross-media. Such resistance breeds missed opportunities.

In Hollywood, a deep-rooted creative and professional culture has to be overturned.

For emerging independent cross-media producers, though, best practice can be inculcated from the very outset. They have the power to make their projects true models for the future.

Participants came to the Lab aware that creative roles need to be realigned. Helena Bulaja spoke of the need for directors to adapt. “Today before you start your film as a director you have to first design your film, like an engineer. You have to build a grid around your story that works on many different platforms, which tells the story in a different way from the user’s point of view.”

10. Story Early sessions at the Lab looked closely at story and how to design a narrative that permits cross-platform extension and secures engagement and response from the audience. Clearly, the strength and success of story is the bedrock of any project and therefore of fundamental importance in winning financial backing.

Both Jeff Gomez and Christy Dena emphasised the need for a clearly identified essence, core theme or concept in a project, which serves as a persistent reference point and hook for all extensions of the story.

Despite the “story” tag, this quality is crucial in fiction and non-fiction alike. It is clearly seen in Gaza Sderot: Life in Spite of Everything, the web documentary presented at the Lab by producer and expert Alexandre Brachet. Gaza Sderot is carefully built around a core concept – two towns, geographically close but politically distant – which is carried through to the very design of the website’s parallel viewing panes, powerfully divided by an orange border.

Appropriateness emerged as an important principle when designing, extending, pitching and delivering stories. In other words, creators must resist the temptation to extend their work to different platforms simply because they can, regardless of whether that platform is suitable for their story or audience. The narrative must be meaningful in all its formats. Decisions to extend a story to a new platform must be based on sound judgement, integrity and audience and market knowledge.

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Every element of a story world can be designed to permit the extension of narrative or character in further projects or on different platforms, but the coherence of the original story must remain intact.

Similarly, producers need to know their media. Nuno Bernardo gave an example from Final Punishment, the multi-platform thriller series set in a Brazilian women’s prison. In developing content for mobiles, beActive chose not to stream videos featuring graphic violence: on such a small screen, so close to the user, such scenes would be too intense. Decisions also had to take into account that the length of mobile videos in Brazil is limited to 38 seconds.

Story is audience engagement. Jeff Gomez said that the point of transmedia is to put a pair of ears on your narrative – in other words, design a story that can listen and react to the responses of its audience.

There can be no distinction between the creative and commercial aspects of a project. Story design, that first creative step, must be undertaken with the funding prospects and commercial life of the project in mind. Christy Dena cited John Caldwell’s assertion that a screenwriter must be an entrepreneur. Different platforms can be selected on the basis of their potential as sources of revenue.

11. Cross-Media Originals Much work in cross-media centres on “extending” stories or brands to new platforms – spin-off film games, series, books or merchandise, for example.

However, the Lab recognised that an important and necessary development will be the production of what Steve Peters termed “native” transmedia: intellectual property designed from the outset to have a multiplatform identity.

Steve Peters described native transmedia as the Holy Grail of this new industry, distinct from franchise transmedia, such as the media and merchandise surrounding a Disney film, and marketing transmedia, like Why So Serious, the ARG Peters himself developed for The Dark Knight. Several experts at the Lab have gained recognition through their production of cross-media originals.

Nuno Bernardo shared his experience of creating his highly successful series Sofia’s Diary, Flatmates and Final Punishment. Each project comprised simultaneous content online, in traditional media and on mobile phones and incorporated direct interaction between characters and audience members – most often online, but 64

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sometimes at live events. Bernardo’s aim is to create a truly 360 degree experience for his audiences.

Unusually, Gaza Sderot was commissioned expressly for the internet by ARTE, the French-German broadcaster which was seeking to develop its online presence and credibility. Alexandre Brachet explained how the documentary incorporated blogs and social networking. The television series followed several months afterwards, and was only produced in response to the Israeli attacks on Gaza which began days after filming had finished.

Brachet also presented Upian’s more recent collaboration with ARTE, Prison Valley, another web series which draws heavily on online games for its design and engagement methods, and again has employed social networks, notably Twitter, to great effect. By contrast, Ben Grass explained how his production company, Pure Grass Films, has used sponsorship and brand partnerships to facilitate its original crossmedia work. “You’ve got to move into territory that sponsors are going to find appealing for their target market,” he said. “Once you’ve got that core idea it’s nice to have a simple view that can articulate what is the business model supporting each element of the proposition.”

12. Distribution: New platforms, New partners As has been noted, content producers need to seek new partners to fund, promote and distribute their work, and cross­-media has broadened the field for such co-operation – be it sponsorship from a global brand or major media company or capitalising on the support of an enthusiastic fan base.

As audiences have changed so has distribution: every different platform offers its own potential reach. It is an area in which cross-media producers can take an innovative and intuitive approach, thereby extending the audience and value of their work. It is no longer simply a case of presenting media to audiences; distribution can be as much about communication as consumption. For Christy Dena, distribution can be a skill and trick in how people experience your world.

Timo Vuorensola, the Finnish director behind the sci-fi parody Star Wreck: In the Pirkinning, presented the distribution plan for his forthcoming Nazis-in-space feature Iron Sky. The film has yet to be made, but tens of thousands of people have already requested a screening of it in their area through Crowd Controls, the demand tool formulated by Brian Chirls. An online following are actively supporting the film 65

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and Vuorensola and the Iron Sky team are rewarding this fan base with the promise that the film, when completed, will be brought straight to them. The Iron Sky example offers another incarnation of the power and importance of the sense of ownership, which Steve Peters identified.

Ben Grass said a sound plan for distribution will help win commercial interest and support. “The notion that you have distribution in place will appeal to advertisers seeking new ways of reaching consumers.” Gregor Pryor, digital media lawyer and partner at Reed Smith, concurred, noting that a clear divisional distribution and exploitation strategy is attractive to financiers.

The Pixel Lab: Final Report

reaches 90 per cent of the population aged 13 years and over through its magazines, websites and mobile applications.

14. Rights Issues As has been emphasised, cross-media producers must have a firm grasp on the financial, distribution and consumption aspects of their property: behind every great pitch there must be a sound business case.

13. ‘Old’ Media There was widespread consensus on the value of strong relationships with traditional media. They have a natural place in cross-media enterprise, and producers can tap into their enviable reach, reputation and longstanding relationship with audiences and readerships.

Gregor Pryor said that developing international cross-media property is the latest production focus. Online, of course, social networks are playing a huge role, stimulating ‘referral’ behaviour, as audiences share media, and promotional brand building. Pryor said producers must address what he terms “legal hygiene”, putting in place carefully planned strategies before, during and after production.

Just as they must know their audience and media, producers have to understand the laws and restrictions covering intellectual property which could affect their work and its rights.

Partnerships with television, radio and newspapers can help secure maximum impact, for an intellectual property itself and any associated endeavours. Nuno Bernardo’s Brazilian project Final Punishment culminated in a television series, and television advertising for Sofia’s Diary merchandise was crucial in winning over adults – more likely to trust products seen on TV – buying items for younger viewers of the web series.

It is important to use the correct terminology for the dissemination of work. Terms such as “copying”, “broadcasting” and “making available”, specific to digital content, carry distinct implications.

The internet has borders: producers must be regionally sensitive and understand which rights and licenses apply in the different territories where their work is distributed.

Alexandre Brachet’s series Gaza Sderot, Prison Valley and Havana Miami partnered with print media. Press coverage and additional content on partners’ websites raise the profile and credibility of a cross-media project. Links with established titles also help develop a project’s identity and reach people whose interests and outlook – indicated by the newspaper or magazine they read – render them a natural audience for a project, even if they are unfamiliar with other media platforms.

Pryor identified current trends including 360 degree commissioning, a focus on profitability instead of revenue, new consumption formats and reduced production costs. All are full of promise for producers and could lead to new and exciting finance and business models. Concomitantly, all are susceptible to legal issues. Both sides of this potential must be appreciated.

Such audience intuition informed the design of Lana’s Kitchen, a daily soap developed by Lab group leader and producer Ian Ginn. He explained that the series targets women aged between 40 and 50 – not a natural audience for a web soap. However, it is hosted on the website of Libella magazine, a Dutch women’s weekly with a circulation of 2.5 million, of whom 800,000 visit the site every week. Libella itself is owned by Sanoma Magazines, the largest media company in the Netherlands which 66

15. Creative Solutions Like the media they monitor, these laws are still in development. Despite the uncertainty this transitory stage brings, it offers room for producers to secure deals with broadcasters and platforms on their own terms, safeguarding ownership of their intellectual property.

Wendy Bernfeld said that a producer’s skill set would prove useful.

“Don’t worry that you don’t know the law or the legal or whatever, because the law67

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The Pixel Lab: Final Report

yers and the businesspeople – everyone – are exploring different models as well,” said Bernfeld. “This is the time for you to be creative. It’s the same negotiation ballet – you’re in the same turf as you’ve always been in.”

16. Conclusion The focus of The Pixel Lab was firmly on the future. It was designed with a commitment to carry forward the themes and issues it explored.

While new platforms are important new partners for producers – Bernfeld noted that in Europe alone there are now 700 VOD platforms, all working with filmmakers on a non-exclusive basis – a rights savvy approach is still important.

During August and September, producer participants completed further development work with experts through distance consulting. They reconvened in London at Power to the Pixel’s Cross-Media Forum, where meetings were set up with mentors, potential partners and financiers from across media industries.

Advice from lawyers, she said, should be taken with a grain of salt. Often, creative solutions to problems exist which will enable producers to retain the rights to their property and maximise its potential.

Rights to a property can be separated – different deals can be done for different windows or regions. “Shoulder programming” is an innovative way to extend value: producing new, additional works associated with an original property, which can be sold and distributed independently.

Demonstrating knowledge of the platforms available will help content producers, particularly of what Bernfeld termed “greyer areas” like the iPhone or iPad, which seem to combine platforms. This can be addressed when a project is pitched.

Producers might also consider bringing their older work to new platforms, digitising projects where appropriate.

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The Lab was a model for teaching and learning. Important relationships and networks were established in an atmosphere of support and co-operation, where participants were ready to face common challenges and share mutually beneficial knowledge.

It combined expert experience from the furthest reaches of the film and media industries, spanning Jeff Gomez’s blockbuster worlds and Timo Vuorensola’s crowdsourced productions.

The Lab was frank about the challenges and complexities that lie in wait for crossmedia practitioners, but it was overwhelmingly optimistic. The opportunities for producers today are manifold.

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Writing and Directing Across Media Christy Dena

I’ve been working in the area currently called ‘transmedia’ for about 8 years. I’ve seen people abuse the term, using it to refer to anything new or more accurately, anything new to them. I’ve also seen people who have been working in the area, but not calling it transmedia, for about 15 years. So what is this nebulous beast?

Transmedia is not synonymous with digital media, as it often involves both digital and non-digital media. A transmedia writer is also not synonymous with writers who write both screenplays and novels. Instead, transmedia often involves the continuation of a story across media. Likewise, a transmedia director oversees the creative vision across film, website, and game – whatever is employed to communicate the message. As you can imagine, these roles demand a certain skill set above, but including, the duties involved with working with one medium. In this chapter I’ll explore the sort of skills that are needed for writing and directing quality transmedia projects.

Writing Transmedia Let’s start with writing, and four of the key approaches that have emerged so far in transmedia writing. They represent areas of expertise and therefore opportunities for writers. The first two approaches are types of transmedia projects. Transmedia always involves multiple distinct media (such as a film, TV show, book, play, and so on), but how they are combined is what sets them apart from each other. The first transmedia type is a collection of mono-medium stories. The most common example of this is a “franchise,” where a book, film and perhaps a console game all contribute distinct stories to one overarching “storyworld”. A pre-transmedia paradigm would describe such projects or “franchises” as involving a writer team working on a screenplay for instance, and another working on the novel; with one medium usually being the most important and the others tertiary; and the stories were often adaptations not continuations.

An important difference to note is that stories are now continued across media, can involve the same writer teams, and undergo careful continuity controls. In the 70

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transmedia context, all of the stories in each medium are seen as equal contributors to the meaning of the overall storyworld. Writers that are in demand at this level, therefore, are able to work in more than one medium and are equally on par with each other.

The second transmedia type is a collection of media that tells one story. For instance, a two-screen entertainment project where the audience is meant to shift their attention between a TV show and a website. Another example is a story distributed across the Internet, where characters have multiple websites, social media accounts, interact through email and may even publish a newsletter. While the first transmedia type is often designed to have a self-contained story per medium, without the necessity for the audience to engage with all of them; the second transmedia type is usually designed to have a reader, audience member or player consume all of the media to understand a single story. These types of projects require a writer to not only be adept at the media being utilised above their understanding of storytelling in general, but also adept in how to guide their audience from one media point to the next. This is where an understanding of interactivity — the province of first-generation hypertext and CD-Rom writers and contemporary game writers — is an essential skill.

The next two approaches to transmedia storytelling can be described as the timing of a transmedia project: when it becomes a transmedia storyworld. What the most common skill writers, consultants, and editors are employed to do in type one transmedia projects (multiple self-contained stories on multiple media) is an expansion analysis. This occurs when someone has already created a novel, film, TV show, game or play, and they subsequently want to expand it…to make it transmedia. It is an extending of an existing mono-medium story.

An expansion analysis involves establishing the entire history of the characters and settings presented already; determining what is essential to the storyworld and what is secondary; what areas haven’t been explored yet (such as a sub-character, possible prequel or sequel, and so on). These tasks culminate in the creation of a transmedia bible. Like a TV show bible, the document outlines all the essential elements that make up the world – such as characters, plots, style, themes, design, props, settings. The same or different writers then draw on this continuity guide to ensure any expansion perpetuates rather than contradicts the rules (including the thematics) of the world.

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When working with writers or producers on a transmedia bible, it is important to also take their budget into account. However, I find exploring the possibilities of the storyworld is best done without budget in mind at first, as how those possibilities are experienced can be adjusted. One doesn’t write about story possibilities in terms of screenplays and game dialogue. It is the higher-level that is mediumindependent. Often the subject-matter lends itself to a certain medium, and then you can establish what is possible on the budget.

It is also important to consider the team’s expertise in artforms. If no-one on the team (including the producer) is familiar with games for example, it is unlikely a game will be developed properly. There needs to be some understanding of ‘other’ artforms in the core team. I have therefore found that a discussion about what the team has worked on, is interested in, and what they use as a fan is helpful in establishing an organic expansion into other media.

Finally, part of an expansion analysis involves researching what their existing audiences are already doing. Are there characters that are of interest above others?

Characters that are hated? Plots that have been explored in fan fiction? Questions unanswered? A call for interactivity? While I certainly don’t advocate expanding a world according to audience desires only, audience behaviour can offer guidelines and listening to them builds a co-creative dialogue.

The expansion of an existing mono-medium story also has its pitfalls: an obvious reason being that the original story was designed to be self-contained and often conclusive. An example of this is Steven Spielberg’s film A.I. Artificial Intelligence.

It had an apocalyptic ending that did not lend itself to the games that Microsoft wanted to release after the film. Why would someone feel the desire to play in a world they had just seen end tragically? To address this problem, the producers engaged the services of a team to create a distributed media experience (an alternate reality game) that brought the story alive in the world of players. The digital games did not happen, but the attempt to reverse the effects of a conclusive film ending highlights issues associated with expanding mono-medium stories.

The second type of timing refers to projects that are designed to be transmedia from the beginning. It is here that a writer’s creativity and understanding of transmedia is tested. Will all characters exist in all the media? What sort of characters and settings would suit both linear and interactive media? What story will be told 73

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or experienced in what media? In what order will they be released? How shall the release of each story in each media be paced? How will audiences be moved between media? What elements will be essential and what tertiary (if at all)? Once again, a transmedia bible is often created, to outline all of the elements to be told across media. This bible can be used as a development document (and is therefore often changed), pitch document, and continuity document.

As you can imagine, a writer working in transmedia needs to have an intimate understanding of the media they’re working in, and an understanding of how they will work together. In my experience, I’ve found the bare minimum for writers entering this area is an understanding of interactivity and thematics. Interactivity is important because transmedia writers working with any type of transmedia project need to understand how (among other things) to compel action in their audience, respond to their audience, and how different points of entry affect plot.

Thematics is important because a writer needs to understand how meaning can be communicated in many ways. They need to know how to communicate central messages beyond words, often with images, sound, framing, props and game mechanics. Almost a century ago, poet Guillaume Apollinaire gave a lecture, L’Esprit Nouveau et les Poètes, on what he described as the “visible and unfolded book of the future”. He wrote that writers in the future will, “like conductors of an orchestra of unbelievable scope,” have at “their disposal the entire world, its noises and its appearances, the thought and language of man, song, dance, all the arts and all the artifices.” This is the future, and an unbelievable scope is here for writers. Now, what of the conductors, directing transmedia projects?

Directing Transmedia How does one direct across media? Let’s get back to one of the core activities of a director. In her book on Cinematic Storytelling, Jennifer Van Sijll offers 100 ways to convey ideas in movies beyond dialogue. Jennifer talks about screenwriting books and their overemphasis of plot, structure, and character, and not how ideas are conveyed cinematically. Screenwriters need to convey to the reader of their script what they will see and hear on screen; and importantly, they need to communicate by more than dialogue and narration. Directors need to “understand the technical properties of film and then employ them creatively to advance the story. Without the connection between content and technique, you are watching two disjointed parts; the result, more often than not, is a technical exercise” (xii).

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An example Jennifer gives is from Francis Coppola’s movie The Conversation. Jennifer talks about how the film grew out of Coppola’s interest in repetition, which he symbolises with “the circular”. The symbol of the circular was used in the film with images such as spiral staircases. Indeed, there are many director’s commentaries on DVDs that reveal how certain shots or edits or sound was structured to convey meaning, but a helpfully lengthy treatise is available in filmmaker Sidney Lumet’s book.

In Making Movies, Lumet shares how he makes meaning through all the stages of production, across all departments and areas — rehearsals, costume, lighting, editing and so on. When talking about his process, Lumet discusses the importance of theme: “Having decided, for whatever reason, to do a movie, I return to that all-encompassing, critical discussion: What is the movie about? Work can’t begin until its limits are defined, and this is the first step in that process. It becomes the riverbed into which all subsequent decisions will be channeled.” (13-14) He offers examples of themes, of what a movie is about, for instance: The Pawnbroker was about how and why we create our prisons. Dog Day Afternoon was about how freaks are not the freaks we think they are…we are much more connected to the most outrageous behavior than we know or admit. While Running on Empty was about who pays for the passions and commitments of the parents?

These core ideas influence all creative decisions such as (from the writers perspective) characters, settings, plot, and (from the directors perspective) costumes, props, sets, composition, sound, editing and so on. An example Lumet describes is his choice of camera lenses based on the theme of the movie Prince of the City: “Going back to its theme (nothing is what it appears to be), I made the decision: We would not use the midrange lenses (28 mm through 40mm). Nothing was to look normal, or anything close to what the eye would see. I took the theme literally. All space was elongated or foreshortened, depending on whether I used wide-angle or long lenses.”

This process of making meaning with every element a person sees and hears in a film is not, of course, specific to film. Any medium has its technical elements that 75

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can be drawn on to communicate meaning. In interactive arts, what a player does is sometimes designed to be a significant event. For instance, game designer and theorist Ian Bogost talks about how gestures can work in persuasive games. Bogost cites designer and educator Brenda Brathwaite’s art/serious game Train. Train is a game about the Holocaust, and involves a point in which the player smashes glass.

This gesture and the feelings it evokes in the player are meant to be part of the meaning making process. Indeed, the game is part of Brathwaite’s series called the Mechanic is the Message.

Actions can also be meaningful in trans/cross-media projects. An example is the film Untraceable. The website (KillwithMe.com) is a key feature of the film plot, and was actually created on the web (as part of a marketing campaign). As you will notice on the actual site, visiting it and choosing to enter is implied to be an immoral act. The film audience are given the same option as the characters in the film. Although without doubt a marketing tactic, the significance of user action was not lost.

Let’s look at other ways meaning can be communicated across media, between a film and its website. Take the film Stranger than Fiction: it has digital effects and narration that contribute to the story about storytelling. The website for the film, (www.sonypictures.com/homevideo/strangerthanfiction), continues the visual and conceptual approach of the film. It is not simply as advertisement of the film, it has the same style applied appropriately to the medium. Another example is Darren Aronofsky’s film Requiem for a Dream. The website for the film (www.requiemforadream.com) draws on the TV show featured in the film, as well as explores the themes of the film — addiction and corruption...but in a manner specific to a website.

This may seem like common sense, but in the past continuity across media was governed by purely visual concerns. Franchise bibles were style guides that ensure the “brand” is depicted in the same manner. A transmedia approach, on the other hand, involves ensuring that the theme that dictates meaning in one medium, also does in another. This is why it is crucial to have a director and a producer who have the theme deeply ingrained in them, overseeing the entire production.

Writing and Directing Across Media

selected the team well). However, these sort of designers are hard to find. And so a transmedia director needs to know not only how to direct (in their own way), but also understand each medium (that is the point). In transmedia they need to know enough to work with more than one medium confidently. This is rare, and is the reason why there are more transmedia producers than transmedia directors.

But transmedia directors and writers are emerging. For instance Chris Milk, directed the film production, post-production, and web production of Arcade Fire’s The Wilderness Downtown. He speaks about his process in an article online: http://creativity-online.com/news/deeper-behind-the-work-chris-milk-on-arcade-fire/145763.

It is these roles that will provide the necessary glue to maintain a creative vision across numerous production teams. These production teams from various artforms all have their own scheduling processes, work culture, hierarchies and methods that facilitate quality outcomes. This is one of the biggest obstacles to creating transmedia projects. It is a temporary one though, as there are transmedia production companies emerging, and more and more professionals who are adept at working on transmedia projects. One lesson I have learned is to focus on what concerns we all have: creating great experiences, stories, characters, dialogue, interactions, imagery, sound. This is where we connect.

I’m aware there are established writers and directors who think there is nothing different about transmedia. While one needs the skills they’ve already developed within a medium, it is rare that a quality production emerges from such artists. A transmedia approach starts with seeing each artform you’ll employ as equal. This is why I often recommend teams to work with what they already love, rather than what they think is popular. Transmedia writing and directing is a challenge, but satisfying in ways you cannot imagine. One lesson I take with me everywhere is an appreciation of the diversity of ways of creating and communicating. While I am continually stretched in transmedia, I also have learned more about what unites us.

How will you unite your team, audience and world?

In these film and website examples, the web designers were talented enough to conceive of a site that is thematically meaningful (and the producers or marketers 76

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Innovation in storytelling and audience engagement Brian Newman Founder, Sub-Genre Media

We’ve seen the impact of digital technologies on the music and print industries and are now beginning to see its impact on the world of film and video. In the words of Harvard business professor Clayton Christensen, digital technology has largely been a disruptive innovation - it has changed the product itself, and its delivery and consumption in ways that the market didn’t expect. For music, this meant the decrease in physical album sales, due to an increase in the demand for single tracks.

There were also the concurrent lowering in prices, as well as an increase in access to free, and pirated, music. For film, we can expect more of the same, but like with the music industry, the artist need not despair. Just as musicians are now beginning to connect more directly with their fans and find new revenue streams, albeit ones that privilege the individual artist not the record label, so too can filmmakers now develop new artistic and business practices that may prove more creative and more lucrative.

Perhaps the single biggest change wrought by digital technology has been its exposure of many a bad business practice. As Warren Buffet has said about the recent global financial meltdown, “it’s not until the tide goes out that you see who’s wearing the swim trunks,” and digital technology has allowed us to see that many things weren’t working well for artists and audiences in the film business. To be sure, many Hollywood financial shenanigans have been exposed, but for those of us working outside this system - be it American independents or artists working with some public subsidy for production - an entire model has collapsed.

It is now not just possible, but normative, for a filmmaker to finish an excellent feature film, play it at a major film festival to much acclaim and then receive an offer for distribution of as little as $50,000 US for all rights, in all territories, for as long as twenty years. These economics don’t make sense, but they often never have. It’s just that now, filmmakers can more easily email one another and find out that this bad deal is a regular occurrence, and one that has often been hidden in the sale of global rights. The problem, however, is more basic - for all but a handful of impor78

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tant, artistic films fail to reach a broad audience, regardless of whether their sale price was high or low. Sure, they may have been playing numerous film festivals, and winning many awards and acclaim for their directors, but very few of these films can claim to be seen by more than a few thousand persons globally.

While the adage art for art’s sake is nice, it is more often the case that filmmakers hope their works are seen by an audience, and hopefully a sizable one at that.

Furthermore, in an era when government funding bodies are increasingly focused (obsessed?) with impact and quantifiable numbers, while simultaneously being cut or downsized in many regions, this is not only an unsustainable model, but one that will continue to undercut itself. Digital has exposed the underlying business model as a bad deal for all, but unfortunately the system it seems to put in place erodes these same models even further. Some would say not just erodes, but has already exploded them altogether.

The problem with digital, is that to fully address both its dilemmas and promises, one must fully embrace the true paradigm shift it offers. Too often, filmmakers and industry repeat the same mistakes as the music industry, thinking they can apply some digital window-dressing while practicing business as usual, all while proclaiming loudly that these mistakes have taught lessons from which we’ve learned. Unfortunately, building a Facebook page, for just one such new digital strategy, while continuing to try and perpetuate the old model is not a paradigm shift and such strategies will fail. Remember, it’s not that the music industry couldn’t see digital coming, couldn’t imagine an iTunes like service; to do so would have undercut their existing, seemingly healthy business. To succeed they would have had to cannibalize everything about their model, and that was too much for the executives to swallow. So others came along and did what needed to be done.

The same is now happening in film, but it needn’t play out the same. The key to surviving and thriving in any paradigm shift is to realize that the “rules of the game” have changed. To adapt, we must realize that “old world” values are being replaced with something new. Computer theorist Alan Kay has said that the best way to predict the future is to invent it. Filmmakers, and industry, can create this future now, but only by strategic thinking, which involves teasing out some of the properties, or values, of this new paradigm. While these will undoubtedly evolve, a few things now seem abundantly clear.

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First, we have moved from an economy built on scarcity to one built on abundance.

The entire film (and music and print) industry has been built on the notion of scarcity. It was expensive to learn how to make films, to shoot them, to edit them, to market and distribute them. Talented actors were hard to find, and being so few, they attracted inordinate attention for the films that featured them, so they commanded big salaries. Shipping film cans was expensive, and there were only so many theaters with only so many films made, so as an audience member, your choices of what to see were relatively limited. Digital has changed every aspect of this scenario. While a quality film can still be expensive to make, it needn’t be any longer.

Amateur and “pro-am” filmmakers are flooding the market with both low and high quality films. Prints no longer need to be made. Everything is zeroes and ones. Content has become super-abundant.

This alone has changed everything about the economics of film production and consumption, but it has also shifted the power dynamics. As an audience member, I now have a plethora of choices. In fact, I have too many things to choose from, and I can choose to watch them not just in the theater, or the comfort of my home in front of an amazing HD television, but I can watch what I want on my Iphone while on the train. You can’t stop me, because being zeroes and ones, I can easily and cheaply find your film anywhere, and all digital locks can easily be broken (as in truth, can most analog locks, you can Google and find those methods online now as well).

Where a filmmaker was once just competing with a few hundred other films each year, you are now competing not just with every other person with a digital camera, but also with the entire weight of film history, now (largely) available online somewhere, often in a great format. As an audience member, I face an embarrassment of visual riches, and we have now entered the attention economy - because what matters to me now as much as any currency is the value of my time. For me to grace your film with my attention, much less my money, you must get my attention. You must engage me. This is not as easy (if it ever was) in an increasingly crowded marketplace.

Luckily, another key trend of digital helps us with engagement - the rise of participatory culture. Audiences can now easily participate actively in the art they engage with, and expect to be able to do so. This is an historic return to the way art used to be practiced—by and for all. Ancient cultures valued communal art making and practice, with the arts integrated into community activity. Audiences no longer want 81

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to just consume their art—they want to be involved, to engage in the conversation around art and creativity and perhaps participate in its production. Artists can no longer expect to just make their art and let someone else engage with the audience - the audience now demands to be part of a conversation, and rewards those who participate in this back and forth. Many artists fear this communication, but I would suggest that while conversation is difficult, it is much better to be rewarded by a fan base that can participate in dialogue than be ignored entirely by audiences who expect this engagement. It also strengthens the disintermediation of the old system, allowing artists to speak (through cinema or blogs) directly to their intended audience.

This direct engagement with one’s audience is necessary, because if there’s anything clear about today’s audiences and consumers it is that they demand authenticity and trust. They don’t want to just be marketed to incessantly. They want to not just have a dialogue, but have an authentic dialogue that values their input, respects them as viewers and this can only be accomplished when the artist is personally engaged with her audience. Zoe Keating, an avant-garde cellist from the United States, engages with her audience on a regular basis via the short messaging social media network Twitter, and as a result has garnered over 1.5 million followers. They follow her because she engages them with stories from her life, responds to their inquiries and this has been rewarded well - she can now ask her fans for funding to produce her music, and go directly to them to sell her art as well. She no longer needs a middleman to have a successful career. Numerous other musicians and now filmmakers are doing the same, but all are learning that audiences engage more directly with authentic, trusted voices.

These audiences also expect convenience and immediacy - something almost antithetical to the business model of film, which has been wedded to the idea of territories and windowing. To be frank, these are useless relics of the past, creating an artificial scarcity that the audience will no longer tolerate (because they are now globally connected and have a choice of many options). Audiences want their films (or other content) when they want it, on what device they want it, on their timetable and they probably wanted it yesterday. It took the music industry a long time to figure this out, but offering content more quickly, at a reasonable rate also helps the fight against piracy. People are less likely to pirate content when they can get it quickly and easily. Many filmmakers are now finding success by offering their films for sale as DVD, VOD and online nearly simultaneously with their theatrical release.

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Most are also finding that this doesn’t detract from their theatrical revenues either.

In fact, in the US, a few distributors are even finding that an advanced preview on VOD can help push theatrical sales.

This notion, that a film should be available in multiple windows more quickly also stems from another hallmark of the digital age - the expectation for finding content on multiple platforms. Consumers are now well accustomed to watching films not just in the theater and on their large flat screen televisions (or digital HD projectors), but are equally comfortable watching films on the computer, their Ipad, and even on their Iphone or other smartphone device. Many filmmakers find the idea of someone watching their masterpiece on a small cell-phone screen, perhaps while taking the train or bus to work, an abhorrent situation. This is understandable, but such filmmakers should realize that increasingly, if your film is not available on multiple platforms, it doesn’t exist for a large portion of audiences. In fact, it is very possible that exposure to quality films on small screens might lead to greater respect for the theatrical experience. Many a film school student or even just a film lover will admit, when pressed, to their first experience with many of the masters of cinema having come from a VHS tape on a small television. For many, especially those not living in major cities, this was the only way to get access (and importantly, repeat access) to quality cinema. Getting the chance to then watch that film, perhaps as a restored print, on the big screen was then much more exciting. Revival houses rely on this phenomenon, and it is likely that the trend will continue in the digital age. Second, the largest problem for quality, art films is obscurity, perhaps we should welcome any increase in audience no matter the screen size!

More importantly, many filmmakers are beginning to embrace the nature of multiplatform in their storytelling. Transmedia storytelling utilizes multiple platforms not just as exhibition formats but also as possible means to expand story-telling and audience engagement possibilities. In fact, transmedia practice addresses all of the changes suggested above. It acknowledges that audiences want to participate more directly with stories, and lets them engage on the platform, or platforms, of their choice in a smart way that rewards those who participate more actively - with some participants even contributing to the story itself. Not everyone wants to participate as actively as the most dedicated fans, but transmedia practice allows for this as well - each platform or element is a distinct experience. If I only watch the film, I can enjoy it, but if I have also played the game, watched the episodic “prequels” online or attended the live alternate reality game (ARG) event, I might have 83

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deepened my relationship to the “story-world” shown in the film.

As a creative individual, this can offer not just new story-telling possibilities, but also help alleviate some of the pain associated with the new world values. Perhaps you don’t want to have someone watch your film on a mobile phone. You might be alright, however, with them using their phone to play a game related to your film, watch the trailer or even some short form content related to the film. You might not want everyone to have access to the DVD in advance of a theatrical screening, but you might want those fans who donated to your crowd-funding campaign to have such access so they might spread the word. Or perhaps those fans who successfully complete a game gain access to some of your content early. The possibilities for both story development and audience engagement and building are greatly enhanced through transmedia practice.

Transmedia storytelling is beginning to gain some traction among creatives. For it to succeed, however, the film industry must embrace such multi-modal thinking not just in creative storytelling, but also in creative business practices. Due to market conditions and established players who fear new models, we see less experimentation with business models. Few broadcasters, exhibitors, distributors, financiers (governmental or investors) or others involved in the production and dissemination of films understand either the values of the “new world” brought about by digital, nor the concept of transmedia. Successful producers will likely have to speak of the new world in terms of the old. It will likely be much easier to pitch a film that happens to have multiple platforms with interesting audience engagement strategies than a transmedia production, for at least the near future. Just as certain story elements work better in different environments on different platforms, so too might certain business models work best for certain platforms. Producers will likely have to carve up rights for each platform, and raise funding for them differently as well.

A broadcaster might only fund the traditional film, and perhaps the website. The game and live events might have to be funded by corporate sponsorship or advertising support. The short form “prequel” to the film might be crowd-sourced, while the book is supported by an advance from a publisher. Each creative project will have as many different monetary schemes as it has story elements, if not more. While this creates more work, it also opens up possibilities.

Innovation in storytelling and audience engagement

from three months to multiple years developing a project. Once that film was in the can, however, it was not uncommon to spend less than six months preparing for and marketing a release. An enormous amount of time that could be spent developing one’s audience is often lost, and can now be captured by thinking of audience development from the script stage - and by figuring out on which platforms they will engage with the story and how to monetize those platforms. Hard work, but for smart producers, work that might pay off quite handsomely with both creative and business rewards.

Producers must now put as much creativity into thinking about, learning from and developing their audience as they do developing their stories. This is not to suggest that storytelling is no longer key. A good story, well told, remains central to the creative and business success of any film. Focusing on the audience need not detract from the art of filmmaking. Hollywood’s obsession with market testing and polling has given audience development a bad name. Such market testing essentially said, “give ‘em what they want, no matter how dumb it is.” Transmedia practice asks instead - given my story, who is the audience? Where do they reside? What do they like to do? What platforms do they use? How can I most creatively engage them in my story-world through those platforms? These questions, asked properly, don’t detract from art, they can make it richer, more meaningful and more engaging.

Brian Newman writes on film and new media at www.springboardmedia.blogspot.com

Producers now have more potential places to turn for funding, for marketing support, for audience aggregation and engagement. Producers used to spend anywhere 84

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Some notes on pitching & project presentation Franz Rodenkirchen

Whenever you present your film-project to someone else, be it an individual or a larger audience, one could say you are pitching it. When you tell it to a friend in a bar, to a new acquaintance at a festival, to a prospective co-producer – you always try to convey your story in a way that makes it sound interesting to this other person.

Or at least, that would be a good goal to start with...

Some people say that one’s whole life is a pitch, because day in and day out we are trying to convince somebody of something. In the world of film, as a writer, producer or filmmaker, you will need to talk about and explain your ideas, your vision and belief in your story; which makes sense, because film is an expensive medium, so it requires conviction to get other people to part with their money, also because it is a long process and you need conviction to see a project through.

And it is made for a larger audience than just a chosen few, so it should somehow communicate.

While an informal pitching situation will maybe come easier, it is often the public presentations, on co-production markets or in front of decision-making panels that seem more difficult to master. And it is true, that when you are addressing a larger audience, the usual signs we use in interpersonal communication (verbal and physical) to assure we have an attentive listener, are more difficult to read. Maybe one person stares out the window – does that mean you already lost them all? Most likely not. The person might even be staring into space as a personal manner how to concentrate very closely on your words. Still, we tend to look for a friendly face in any audience as our anchor, for reassurance.

At the same time, one could say it seems you can get away with more things just because you don’t get one individual reaction. Sometimes it may actually be more difficult to see what effect your words have on your listener.

For all these reasons, it is to be recommended that your pitch is clear and convincing in itself, independent of a particular audience.

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Some notes on pitching & project presentation

But especially in one-to-one pitches, a recommendation borne out by experience is, to have “different bait for different fish“, meaning to adjust your pitch to the person you are pitching to. Who is it and what is the specific thing you want from that person? Depending on this, you might emphasise different aspects of your story, without changing the story in its essence.

In such cases, people can’t relate, they ask themselves: why should I feel this, what should make me feel this way? If you manage to convey the emotion, you will make them feel it and don’t have to tell them at all. Any interpretation of emotions – and naming them is already an interpretation of an emotional reaction - should be avoided.

In a way, when you are pitching, you are not only pitching to the audience in front of you, you are also pitching to yourself: you enter into a dialogue with yourself. And I am quite sure there have been occasions where you’ve been pitching or talking about a future project, and your inner listener signalled to you where you became unsure, registered the hesitation in certain spots, or got stuck.

Very often, this indicates the unresolved issues in your story. But you also clearly register the aspects that go well, the ones that hold you and lead you through your pitch. Maybe you have realised that they tend to be connected to an emotion.

Just tell your story, make the audience walk in the shoes of your characters, help them to experience what they experience.

First of all, it must be said that pitching is a skill that does not come automatically to anyone; maybe to the precious few. But in general, it should be practised and rehearsed in order to develop a style that is effective. There is any number of styles: the secret is to develop the style that suits you the best.

Given the situation of how films are financed in Europe, you should keep in mind that the audience of your pitch contains potential future collaborators. But there are very few people who can make final decisions on their own. They will most likely need to convince others, who are not present at that time, that yours is a really good project. So your pitch gives them the tools to do that, it should plant in them the conviction and the vision to go out and continue the work you start with your pitch.

Spread the word, raise the curiosity, convince people.

How do you convince people? How do you make them take your project into their heart? By addressing them as human beings, by reaching their ability to empathise, feel compassion, be passionate.

Pitching is the art of selling an idea through an emotion.

But: don’t tell an audience what to feel.

Don’t say, this is a really tragic, or romantic, or fantastic story. Don’t claim. The attempt to conjure up emotions by calling them by name usually ends in the opposite.

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For the same reason, avoid at all costs explaining what your film is about, in terms of any message or political agenda. Film is a medium that seduces, that envelops, that can do a lot of things to an audience. You might have a strong message, and let’s hope it is not just a political one, but an emotional one, too. But any message should rather come across indirectly, in the subtext, in the way you decide to tell your story. Not as a kind of lecture or press release.

It is also viable to make things personal by relating your own interest in the story.

Relate to that when deciding how to tell your story.

No story should be told in too much detail. But do tell the ending, because if you don’t, it will be the first question coming at you, and professionals will rather feel annoyed by your sly idea to capture them by withholding essential information.

If your story is strong on plot, use this. Try to recreate the emotional journey of your future film audience for your pitching audience. Where will they sit on the edge of their seats? What questions will they have, where’s suspense and catharsis coming from?

Very complex stories fare better when presented in the set-up, up to the first major point of crisis – and then the pitch can be rounded off by posing the main dramatic question that will inform the remainder of the film and point towards the kind of resolution you have in store for your characters.

Most stories require you to sketch the whole story arc in your audience’s mind. Then prepare by thinking how to get from A to B to C. Where to start and where to finish.

Use a “ladder” - a list of 8-10 bullet points that represent your major story beats - in preparing the pitch. With this ladder in mind, you’ll be able to trace the arc of the story from beat to beat, and it will be easier to get through plot. If possible, choose the moments that have emotional impact and relate dramatic questions the char89

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Some notes on pitching & project presentation

acter faces at this particular point: “Will I ever get him to forgive me now?”; “I can’t do this, it is too painful”; “How can I now face her again?”; etc.

• Can the story be transferred to another country, another setting, can the characters be different in some specific way?

If your story does not primarily hinge on plot, if it does not have a strong action that propels it forward, don’t pretend there is one. Rather think of your story’s specific qualities: what made you tell it, and why in the way it is told? What’s special for you and how do you think you will get this across to your audience?

It is unfortunately true that there are people who, in order to not have to make all those other decisions that are connected to their taking an active interest, will ask in order to exclude.

The bottom line here is: convince me not to say No. Decision makers tend to be busy people, and saying no is less work than saying yes.

This is another reason why the actual pitch or presentation should only be as long as you feel comfortable. Once you’ve said what you wanted to say, end it there. No need to linger, it will just make you say things you’d rather not have said.

During preparation, ask yourself: • Where do I want to start with it and where do I want it to end?

• Do I have an obvious hook into my story? Then use it.

• Do I have a logline, or tag-line, a one-liner pitch? Do I have the kind of story that can benefit from having such?

• Is there something like a USP (unique selling proposition), something that makes this story unique in terms of an easily marketable quality (high concept, etc.)

• What do I want to achieve in my audience in terms of emotional reaction? What do I want them to feel and carry with them, when my story, when the future film to be made of it, is over and they are going home?

• Once you know your emotional core, you can think about the elements you need in order to achieve the emotional reaction you are looking for. Can it hook into the audience’s individual experiences, dreams, fears?

• Is there a universal aspect in terms of empathy/emotion, or are you aiming for a more intellectual insight?

Beyond thinking about the story only, you’ll have to think about the expected feedback. It is good if you know some things about your audience. What is their interest in listening? Are they assessing, or looking for a project? People will ask you questions. Frequently asked questions can be:

And do not let yourself get dragged into a discussion of the minute details and machinations of the story. That’s for later, when you have the script development meetings with your newfound producer.

Finally, while rehearsing your pitch is good, please do not learn it by heart. At least not if you can’t act well enough to hide that you are reproducing memorised lines.

Why? After all, it will get you through the pitch without slipping up? But it will also lack your immediate involvement, the impression that you are right here with your audience, sharing the same emotions, the same vision.

Immediacy is one of the most convincing tools of successful communication. And after all, that’s what you do.

You communicate.

• • • • •

What is your story, what is your film about, what is your theme?

Why would this be interesting to an audience?

Is this meant for the cinema or for TV? What other film could you compare it to, reference it with?

Explain motivation of a character (very frequent) or explain a specific turn of the story.

• People tend to focus on beginnings and endings. How do I get into the story and how will I leave it? What remains?

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More than words.

Challenging the traditional written screenplay Eva Novrup Redvall

What is a screenplay?

Most of us will probably answer that question by referring to the standard format of 90-120 pages of words on a page in 12 point Courier that we all know so well. Words that outline the idea for a film by trying to describe the setting, the characters, the action, the mood and all the other different elements that make up an audiovisual expression.

In academic film studies the question of what a screenplay actually is often leads to fierce debates about the fundamental nature of the text. How can you define a screenplay? What is its ontology? Is it a literary or a dramatic text? Is it an autonomous work or rather just a work that is part of a process of transformation?

The director Pier Paolo Pasolini has called the screenplay a structure that wants to become another structure (Pasolini 1977). The screenwriter Jean-Claude Carrière has insisted on the screenplay being the first step in a metamorphosis (Carrière 1994).

I have spent the past three years studying screenwriting collaborations between directors and screenwriters in Danish filmmaking for my PhD thesis on screenwriting as a creative process while simultaneously working as a consultant in the industry (Redvall 2010a). Based on that research and my experiences from the Danish industry I can definitely conclude, that taking a moment to question the nature and function of the screenplay not only matters in academic discourse. In the industry and among both directors and screenwriters, there are currently a number of challenges for the traditional screenplay and a number of issues to address. In the following, I will outline some of these issues, focusing on the many different functions of the screenplay as well as some of the ways in which one can try to approach the screenplay as more than written words. Not the least the new digital media offer a range of tools for experimenting with the traditional text-based approach to developing film ideas that challenge the classical divide between conception and execution.

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The functions of the screenplay The reason for writing a screenplay is most often to try to get it produced. The screenplay is thus regarded as a blueprint, by some compared to the recipe for a dish or the outline for a building. Often the screenplay in its final draft is considered to express the final idea of the film. In the final draft, the film has been conceived, now the execution starts.

A number of scholars have been writing about this widespread idea of separating conception and execution as a fundamental challenge in the approach to screenwriting. Steven Maras, the author of Screenwriting: History, Theory and Practice, argues for the value of working with a concept like ‘scripting’ rather than screenwriting. In his understanding of the term, scripting involves approaching screenwriting as a more dynamic process with an interplay between conception and execution in the way that the making of the screenplay not only involves writing, but also draws on a number of other methods typically considered to be part of the pre-production (Maras 2009).

Another Australian scholar, Kathryn Millard, has recently pointed to the fact that while the film medium has changed enormously since the invention of cinema in the silent film era, the approach to screenwriting and the format of the screenplay has changed surprisingly little. According to Millard, not the least the new digital techniques and work methods challenge the idea of the traditional screenplay, since there are now numerous new ways in which one can try to illustrate or play with a film idea before actually shooting the film. Millard suggests trying to understand the screenplay as more of “an open text that sketches out possibilities and remains fluid through the film-making process” (Millard 2010: 15).

The collaborations that I have been studying emphasize how the issue of what a screenplay actually is poses a very concrete problem to both practitioners as well as to the funding systems that are involved in judging the quality of potential projects.

In an industry context, the screenplay has at least three different functions.

1) It is a practical work tool for directors, screenwriters, producers and sometimes others to gradually describe and define the idea of the film that one intends to make 2) It is a communication tool with the purpose to communicate this idea to the people who are to help make it become a film 3) It is a sales tool with the purpose to convince film commissioners, investors, and 94

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others of the quality of the project and why they should fund this rather than the many other projects trying to find money The question is of course, whether the same screenplay can serve all three functions.

My case studies involved a number of situations where there were clear conflicts between the different functions and a strong scepticism on behalf of the screenwriters and directors as to whether their writing on the page was being understood in the right way.

In one case an established director and writer who worked closely together on developing a film for the fourth time continuously expressed the sense that while they gradually learned more about the film and thus condensed their idea in the screenplay it got still harder for others to read. During their intense work on the screenplay they got to know the characters, the conflicts and the moods in a way that didn’t need explicit description in the screenplay. However, this made the text complicated to decipher for people who had not been part of their process of discovery. They felt that they needed to provide a contextualization of the screenplay for others to be able to understand.

In another case, a successful director, working consciously with reinventing his work methods and approach to filmmaking, in his new project found that experimenting with unreal elements like an interplay between dream and reality will always be hard to understand from the written page. Some stories are more readable than others and certain situations and moods are much harder to communicate verbally than visually.

In both cases, director and screenwriter were frustrated with the written screenplay’s inability to translate their visions. Besides working with many different methods to develop the screenplay, there was much talk about alternative ways of communicating an idea for a film (Redvall 2009a). In the one case, the director made a slide presentation with music from the location scouting as well as mood images of how he imagined the atmosphere in the film to be. During my research, most directors and screenwriters expressed scepticism as to whether the screenplay can stand on its own. In the following I will try to present some of the ways that certain filmmakers are currently experimenting with, trying out new approaches to screenwriting that go beyond the classical text.

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Just add images!

In a visual world like the film industry, the wonderful opportunities of the coming of the digital technologies have often been hailed as a fantastic progress. However, one can argue that the coming of screenwriting software has had a more standardizing than liberating effect in the field of writing films. Just add words! This is the catch phrase for the software Final Draft that together with Movie Magic Screenwriter are among the most used screenwriting software in the industry today. Now in its eighth version Final Draft has played a crucial part in making the so-called studio format the standard most everywhere. Final Draft has even developed its own version of the font Courier, Courier Final Draft, catering to the typewriter nostalgia of writing in Courier where all letters have the same width, making it easier to get a sense of the screen time of the text.

Whereas the new screenwriting software – also counting open source formats like the Java-based Celtx or programs for story structuring like Dramatica Pro – in many ways has made the journey of writing in the acceptable format easier for writers all over the world, one can argue that the software has also contributed to an increased standardization of the form of the screenplay. It is remarkable how much screenplays from all countries and film cultures often resemble each other. Especially considering how different films and film language can be.

However, still more screenwriting software now consists of features enabling writers to incorporate music or images in combination with the text. This combination of the text with other audiovisual ways of telling a story seems to be what many directors and screenwriters long for as tools to make sure that other people get the right sense of their imagined film. The following are examples of how some Danish filmmakers have recently tried to present their screen ideas as more than text.

Danish cinema is a small national cinema, dependent on public funding. In the past years, there has been still more focus on the importance of both screenwriting and development from the Danish Film Institute. Funding has been allocated to try to open up for new ways of approaching development. Among the efforts have been initiatives like offering filmmakers the opportunity of presenting their projects on certain Pitching Thursdays to try to deemphasize the focus on the written word in the support systems. Many filmmakers complain that they are much stronger visually than verbally, yet the word on the page is the way to present an idea to others.

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Currently, the Danish Film Institute is trying to be more open for presenting projects in new ways and to also encourage people to start developing their projects while still in the writing stages. The funding for new approaches seems crucial, since alternative ways of working with screenwriting, drawing on the possibilities of the new media or involving more collaborators, will often be a costly affair that producers are not necessarily willing to spend money on before knowing that the project is moving forward towards the magical greenlight.

Mood boards and mood reels Storyboarding is a well-known tool for visualizing a story. As with the screenwriting software, digital help is now to be found in the form of software like Storyboarding Pro, but normally more explicit storyboarding is not used until the pre-production phase in live action films. However, two other similar methods can help communicate the idea of the film as more than words already at the screenwriting stage, mood boards and mood reels.

Mood boards are boards or posters mixing images, text and sometimes other elements to illustrate the look and atmosphere one intends for a film. Mood boards have long been used in the advertising industry, and they seem to become still more common among Danish filmmakers. Like the screenplay, a mood board can serve many different purposes. A mood board can be a creative tool for the screenwriting process itself and for the development of the visual language of a story. Concurrently, it has a clear communicative function by visualizing some of the elements in a project that can often be hard to capture in writing. Mood boards can be analogue as well as digital, but still more people work with cutting together bits and pieces on their computer.

In one of my cases, the fashion industry was an important setting for the story.

Since a number of photo shoots were central, it was natural to work with mood boards for the film to experiment with what might be told visually through the look of each shot. Already during the screenwriting the director contacted a fashion photographer and her work with mood boards became influential both for the screenwriting process as well as for the different presentations of the intended look of the film. Like the third function of the screenplay mentioned in the above, a function of the mood board is of course also to create an attractive tool for presenting the film to potential investors.

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The same is the case with mood reels that most often consist of clips from other films containing elements that one would like to have in one’s upcoming project. An example of a recent three-minute mood reel for a potential Danish feature film was structured around the elements ‘colours’, ‘editing/camera style’, ‘the two worlds of the story’, ‘parkour/escape’ and ‘character/humour’, presenting both classical elements concerning the ideas of the visual universe as well as central elements to the story itself. The images of the mood reel were accompanied with lively circus music adding to the sense of the film. The reel showed how the intended approach to colours would be inspired by a film like Pedro Almodóvar’s Volver (2006) and how the humour would lean on scenes like the one from Spider-Man (2002) where Tobey Maguire gradually starts to experiment with his new abilities. A mood reel is thus not only a way to communicate and develop thoughts on atmosphere or acting styles for further discussions, but it can also be a way to express elements of the story that might be hard to understand from the page. Of course, borrowing from popular films also has a seducing way of linking one’s project to previous hits, and a danger of the mood reel can be that it easily misleads, since one hopefully wants to create a work with a unique voice rather than a montage of effective samples.

However, the mood reel is an example of how the new digital opportunities have created fairly cheap and easily accessible ways to supplement the written screenplay with visuals. While the characters of Robert Altman’s Hollywood satire The Player (1992) would throw film titles over the table when describing their future hits as ‘Ghost meets The Manchurian Candidate starring Bruce Willis’ or ‘a meeting between Out of Africa and Pretty Woman with Goldie Hawn’ one can now cut together pieces of visual inspiration or likeminded works to create a multimedia-mosaic to support the text.

Short pilots and filmed readings An analogue method that has been regularly used in Danish filmmaking over the past years is a reading of the screenplay. For a number of years, readings have been a tool at the screenwriting department of the National Film School of Denmark where readings are used as an internal work tool for the screenwriters as well as a way to communicate their texts to others (Redvall 2010b). A reading can help create a sense of the pacing of a screenplay while concurrently giving the actors a chance to get a feel of the different scenes and a taste of the dialogue. At the screenwriting department of the film school readings are also just used as a tool for the writers to read each other’s texts aloud in workshops, but readings can also be a good tool for 98

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other partners than the creative collaborators who might not be enthusiastic about getting a sense of a film from reading.

In one of my case studies, the development of the screenplay involved both extensive improvisations with the actors and a reading of the screenplay. Both initiatives led to major changes in the screenplay and in both cases the idea was to involve people at an early stage in the writing process so as to be able to incorporate input from the actors, the A-team and from others as well.

While readings - as a creative tool - are not a new thing, a more recent development is to use readings as a way to make the screenplay more accessible to others and as a way to present a specific project or the style of a writer. The Danish Film School has started producing filmed readings with excerpts from screenplays by the graduating students from the screenwriting department as a way to promote their material and their specific style to the world. The readings can be found on the school’s website and are thus a calling card for the students as well as a tool to promote the school.

There are other examples of using readings as a more outward tool for communicating and selling a screenplay. The British filmmaker and academic Sue Clayton has experimented with presenting a project as a filmed reading with actors reading the dramatic text aloud while photos from the locations of the story as well as music is used to create a sense of the atmosphere and setting of the film (Clayton 2008).

The film – Jumolhari – takes place in Bhutan, and if one is not familiar with the country’s magnificent mountains and the local music this type of presentation creates both a sense of the setting as well as of the nature of the drama.

An audiovisual rather than only textual presentation of a project is not the least relevant when the ambition is to create something that might be hard to imagine for the potential readers. Thus, some filmmakers work with making pilots for their project. Instead of drawing on already existing material as in the mood reel, the pilot gives a taste of the project through a scene or a sequence from the film that one wants to make. While a pilot in the world of television is a whole episode of a proposed show, the use of pilots in film is normally a short way of exemplifying a chosen element in the film.

For the Danish director Peter Schønau Fog’s Kunsten at græde i kor (The Art of Crying, 2007) a pilot was made to create a sense of the complicated relationship between the father and the son in the story. The pilot opened for new discussions on 99

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how to structure the story that led to a whole new ordering of the scenes in the screenplay while also being essential in convincing investors that the delicate balance between humour and drama could be adapted from Erling Jepsen’s novel (Redvall 2007). Similarly, when Lars von Trier wanted to originally work with chalk on the studio floor rather than traditional production design in Dogville (2003), a 15-minute pilot was made to test how this might work on the big screen. The pilot illustrated what might be hard for many people to envision and helped secure the financing.

More recently, the former director of the National Danish Opera, Kasper Holten, successfully made use of a pilot when he wanted to communicate his cinematic approach to opera in his first film ever. The pilot showed how his take on adapting Mozart’s Don Giovanni, as Juan (2010), insisted on the strengths of the film medium rather than focusing on the more traditional filming of a staged opera. The pilot presented the first scene from the opera as film, and the result was important, not only in communicating the intentions to financers, but also by making collaborators understand the nature of the project. Thus, the acclaimed screenwriter and former teacher at the screenwriting department at the Danish Film School, Mogens Rukov, decided to collaborate with Holten on the project after having seen the pilot. Previously, Rukov had been sceptical of working on a film based on an opera, but since the pilot showed a cinematic way of dealing with opera, he became interested in coming on board (Redvall 2009b).

Pilots and filmed readings are two concrete examples of how one can try to make a text come alive and how to visualize certain elements as a supplement to the written screenplay. Both methods can work as, on the one hand, a tool during the creative process of developing a film, and, on the other hand, as a tool of communicating the idea for a film and a way to convince others that what one imagines and tries to explain on the page can come alive on the screen.

Machinima and AI-impro The visually advanced software used for animation and interactive storytelling is rarely used in relation to Danish live action films unless they involve extensive use of CGI. However, some filmmakers have started to experiment with what can come of drawing on some of these tools as both a source of inspiration as well as a tool for communicating an idea. During a seminar at the film festival CPH:PIX in 2009, Danish filmmaker Per Fly was given technical assistance to create three scenes for his film The Woman that Dreamed About a Man as so-called machinima. The term 100

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machinima comes from combining ‘machine’, ‘animation’ and ‘cinema’ and refers to making film by using real time 3D-techniques from computer games. The idea is to shoot scenes inside computer games. In 2006, the people behind South Park were awarded an Emmy for an episode that was partly shot in World of Warcraft.

The scenes for the film by Per Fly were created in the game Grand Theft Auto 4 where one has the opportunity to film sequences as the game evolves. An advantage of trying this out is that the computer game offers a variety of possible angles for each sequence while also having a complete universe with a variety of locations in which to shoot. For the specific scenes, a taxi, a city and a hotel were needed.

After location scouting in the game all three settings were found, and the challenge was then to make the scenes work convincingly in a universe where the characters have a very limited range of expressions.

Machinima offers the opportunity to test atmospheres and pacing, but in the opinion of Per Fly, a major problem is the lack of human expression in the three scenes made in the experiment. Based on this lack he found that machinima was not a strong tool for screenwriting and pre-production, but he was convinced that it can become a whole new way of expression of its own in the hands of a new generation of filmmakers.

In the same seminar at CPH:PIX, the animation director Rikard Söderström had created a scene with two characters using the software Movie Storm. As opposed to machinima, Movie Storm is created for filmmaking and has better features for working with directing movement and creating facial expressions. Söderström had bought a bedroom setting for his scene. He found the software useful for trying out many different ways to shoot a scene with the camera and when evaluating the experiment he highlighted the fun of allowing oneself to be inspired by “Artificial Intelligence-improvisations” from the virtual stars. However, he also found that the “bad acting” is a severe drawback, but the many strange things coming from the virtual actors can sometimes provide input that is more rewarding than sitting alone at a desk trying to come up with ideas for your film.

The two tests of new possibilities coming from the still more advanced multimedia software illustrate that while screenwriting software has revolutionized the verbal part of screenwriting, there still seems to be a long way to go before computers will be an everyday tool for creating audiovisual storyboards or for making major explo101

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rations of the visual universe for a film while developing regular live action films.

The more visual based software demands time and advanced technical knowledge, and it seems that in its present form the lack of detail and nuance asked for by directors and screenwriters does not make it worthwhile. Much will probably happen in this regard in the forthcoming years, but at the moment it often seems more fruitful to think in more analogue ways of approaching the screenplay as more than words.

Music as part of the process One area in which computers offer more easily accessible new ways of approaching screenplay development is in the field of music. The digital media makes it much easier to involve the composer at an earlier stage of the process than before. Composing music for a film no longer means hiring a real life symphonic orchestra or band, and the composer can use the new technical tools to try out many different things along the way, making the music an active asset already during the screenwriting rather than something that is just added after the film has been shot.

Kåre Bjerkø (see page 61) is an example of a Danish film composer who has repeatedly been involved in developing upcoming films at a very early stage in the process.

He is a big advocate for making the music a tool in screenplay development, and he is now a popular collaborator for a number of Danish directors wanting to use music as an important part of their cinematic universe. Among the many productions in which Bjerkø has been involved, is Henrik Ruben Genz’ Frygtelig lykkelig (Terribly Happy) which won the major Danish film awards for 2008 and is currently in the pipeline for an American remake. The film tells a dramatic story from a village in the far out Danish countryside, and Genz and Bjerkø had thus originally talked about the music having a western genre feel. Accordingly, Bjerkø started out by composing a score with a western-atmosphere, which Genz and the team listened to a lot during the shoot. However, when Genz and Bjerkø watched the resulting takes there was now so much western feel in the images that adding the original music would be too much. New music had to be developed, but the original music had been essential for communicating the atmosphere of the film both before and during the shoot.

Bjerkø also played an important part in Annette K. Olesens’s Lille soldat (Little Soldier, 2008) where he was involved from the early screenwriting stage. He took part in the reading of the screenplay, as well as early screenplay meetings, and he finds that this should always be the case with a composer. The music should be able to 102

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influence the plot, the characters and the setting as an integrated, storytelling element. To what extent will music be part of the different settings? Can a certain kind of music communicate the feel of the film? To him music is a crucial screenwriting element, and by using new media one can rather quickly either get a hold of existing examples from other people’s music from which to be inspired or produce something as a starting point for conversations.

For Little Soldier, Bjerkø had composed some music for the first screenplay meeting with the A-team. Among the short sequences was a variation on the Danish children’s song Little Soldier, but played in a minor key in contrary to its original major tune and with the melody broken into pieces. Bjerkø also had a version where part of the melody was being played backwards to mirror what he considered the essence of a story about a broken character, unable to find her place in the world. The latter version inspired director Annette K. Olesen to shoot some sequences backwards and play them forwards to experiment with creating images where something is a little off.

Digital media offers the opportunity to work with the music like this, making the music – like the text – go through several rewrites along the way. The music thus becomes an organic part of the process and can inspire aspects of character development, emotion, story and style.

The audiovisual screenplay?

Hopefully, some of the examples in the above have helped generate new thoughts on how to approach screenwriting as more than a process of only putting words on a page. Exploring new ways can benefit not only the writing of the screenplay, but also the other important aspects of the process, the issues of communicating the idea of the screenplay and of finding financing for making the idea come to life.

A number of screenwriting scholars have recently been writing about the value of a more dynamic approach to the screenplay with an understanding of the text as more open to changes and new ideas along the way than the classic notion of the screenplay as a finished blueprint for a film. Focusing on the American independent film, J.J. Murphy has emphasized how new digital technology allows filmmakers to not only make films cheaper and faster, but also to have a more explorative approach to the screenplay as a work tool (Murphy 2010).

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Steven Maras has been writing about a filmmaking-by-layering-strategy where the digital media are used to rethink the place of the screenplay and the traditional separation of tasks in the production process. Maras mentions George Lucas as an example of a director who has been working with ‘layering’ or breaking down the divide between conception and execution for years. Contrary to the classical notion of the autonomous screenplay, Maras finds that Lucas explores new ways of visual notation, storyboarding and scripting. Maras also highlights new methods based on improvisation and a greater openness towards screenwriting as a continuous process from the independent film scene, where he finds that a number of directors are now working from a mixture between a script and a treatment, what he terms ‘a scriptment’ (Maras 2009).

More than words. Challenging the traditional written screenplay

References Carrière, Jean-Claude (1994): The Secret Language of Film. London: Faber and Faber.

Clayton, Sue (2008): Paper at the conference Re-Thinking the Screenplay at the University of Leeds, September 12 2008.

Maras, Steven (2009): Screenwriting: History, Theory and Practice. London: Wallflower Press.

Millard, Kathryn (2010): ”After the Typewriter: The Screenplay in a Digital Age”, Journal of Screenwriting 1:1.

Murphy, J. J. (2010): ”No Room for the Fun Stuff: The Question of the Screenplay in American

The digital media allow filmmakers to challenge the sequential production process to a greater extent than before by opening for input from many different collaborators with their specific knowledge already during the conception of a film. In the years to come, it will be interesting to see if films will still primarily be born from words on a page and if the classical screenplay will continue to be the standard format, or whether the time has come for the Screenplay 2.0.

Indie Cinema”, Journal of Screenwriting 1:1.

Pasolini, Pier Paolo (1977 [1966]). ”The Scenario as a Structure Designed to Become Another Structure”, Wide Angle 2: 1.

Redvall, Eva Novrup (2007): ”Kunsten at blande humor og alvor” (“The Art of Mixing Humour and Seriousness”), Dagbladet Information, July 25 2007.

Redvall, Eva Novrup (2009a): “Scriptwriting as a Creative, Collaborative Learning Process of Problem Finding and Problem Solving”, Mediekultur 46.

Redvall, Eva Novrup (2009b): ”Don Juans sans for manipulation er hypermoderne” (“Don Juan’s Sense of Manipulation is Hypermodern”), Dagbladet Information, October 30 2009.

Redvall, Eva Novrup (2010a): Manuskriptskrivning som kreativ proces. De kreative samarbejder bag manuskriptskrivning i dansk spillefilm (Screenwriting as a Creative Process. The Creative Collaborations behind Screenwriting in Danish Feature Filmmaking). PhD thesis from the Department of Film and Media Studies at the University of Copenhagen.

Redvall, Eva Novrup (2010b): “Teaching Screenwriting in a Time of Storytelling Blindness: The Meeting of the Auteur and the Screenwriting Tradition in Danish filmmaking”, Journal of Screenwriting 1:1.

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Which role can the composer play in the creation of a movie?

Kåre Bjerkø

I am a composer and when we talk movies I am the one who doesn’t talk about the movie in the same way that the other participants in the making of the movie do. I am often the last person to arrive in the production process, and often when I arrive, it’s around the time when it dawns on the director and the producer that the movie isn’t quite the movie they thought they would get. I am then engaged in a kind of tweaking of the movie into what the creators wanted it to be by adding music as a layer of paint on the surface of the film.

But it doesn’t have to be like that. I have heard this explanation about who the composer is by Sheldon Mirowitz, which I find enlightening. It’s called “the rule of the drummer”1. The idea is that if the moviemaking team were a band, the composer would be the drummer: the odd guy who sits in the corner, who doesn’t think about the melody or the lyrics, but rather about the groove and the tempo. And what kind of drummer do you want in your band? Do you want the drummer who plays fast with a lot of details and amazing fills? No - you want the drummer that does the most for your song. And it is not the amazing super funky soloist who plays like he is James Brown, but the person who plays the drums in such a way that it makes your song better. And sometimes that means not playing at all or being “un-tight”. It’s about listening to the song and doing what is best for the song. Second of all, you don’t want your drummer to add the drums as the last instrument like an overdub.

You want him to do the basics. You want him to be there when you decide, in what kind of style you want to do your song.

It’s the same thing when it comes to movies.

I suggest, that instead of doing the music in a kind of Hollywood-way where the composer is the last to arrive on the scene, you ask the composer to be one of the first. And when I say first, I mean when you are working on the script. Start think1

YouTube - THE COMPOSER/DIRECTOR COLLABORATION PART 2 of 9

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Which role can the composer play in the creation of a movie?

ing about the music right away. If you don’t have a composer at hand then appoint somebody to take care of the music, such as a music editor or supervisor, who can feed you music during the script phase. Now, why would you do that?

a space where we listen to the music together with the characters. The story is told by music, feelings and images instead of words. And you can start picking out your favorite tunes and place them in the script.

Music generates ideas in other ways than words do. Music works in other dimensions than the narrative part of the script. It’s not about the story line or the plot.

Music is about the emotions and the environment, but in an abstract way. It’s like a sculpture. And it can take you there instantly. Just close you eyes... WHAM!! or plingg... Music is perfect for testing and creating moods long before the movie actually is captured.

You can also develop a back-story and characters around music. Ask yourself: what music does this character listen to? If you find the music the character listens to, then you know something about that character - where she comes from or what she dreams about. Because all people tell a story about themselves through the music they are connected to.

It’s not a coincidence that we always hear the Boss in a mafia movie listen to opera.

Opera is the ultimate upper-class music. It tells a story about a dream of respectability - about being recognized as a founding member of society - a story about passion and big emotions (I know it’s a stereotype, but it’s a good example, and sometimes you want stereotypes in order to get started). In contemporary movies the main character often listens to music that tells who she is. If she for example has to rebel in some way, she maybe listens to some rebellious style of music. Music that means something to her and maybe was something she listened to in her youth. Where you come from, or who you want to appear as, is connected to the music you prefer. This music will communicate something about who the character is to the audience in a simple and fast way, when she turns on the radio or puts on some headphones. Is she sophisticated, rebellious, out of a working class environment, cultivated, angry, sad etc.?

The composer or a music editor can contribute with another way of thinking about the movie. As a composer, I focus on the amount of emotional distress the characters are in at any given time in the movie and how these emotions are expressed. I also think in tempo. Often it is the change in tempo or positive or negative distress that is interesting for the audience. You could make a diagram for the movie and for the scenes. When I read a script I often focus on the characters at this level.

I’ll give an example: in a script, where the main character was in a terrible kind of distress, I noticed that he needed some kind of relief. Because of the circumstances he was in, he couldn’t react in the scene, so in his next scene we had to see a reaction. At the same time we were in the last third of the movie, so we didn’t want the tempo to go down at that point. But the reaction scene was written as a rather slow scene in the same tempo as the scene before. I mentioned my observation and the second scene was rewritten with violent action for the character. So in the first scene the emotional distress was contained and controlled and in the next we saw a violent reaction and relief.

I often think of the tempo and the emotional distress in terms of a table to get an overview. I look at the movie as a whole or zoom in on the scenes:

This leads to another way of looking at music which I call “over-score”. We all know what an underscore is. Over-score is when the music is in the foreground telling the story in a music video language. The music is often pop-music. Sofia Coppola is a user of this style. She uses a lot of contemporary music, which is very dominant and creates a patchwork of music. Also a lot of feel-good movies use over-scoring, but you can see or hear it in every kind of movie. In the script it often covers transport or a development over a period of time where we fast-forward. This music creates 108

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Which role can the composer play in the creation of a movie?

swer is: use the same language that you talk with everybody else on the production.

There is no such thing as a special “music” language. If you try to use what you think is specific in music terms, like a genre – jazz, or even a more specific - jazz guitar, the possibility for misunderstandings rises. There is a lot of “jazz guitar” out there.

From Django Reinhardt to Pat Metheny. You have to be either lucky or know your composer extremely well if he or she returns with exactly the kind of “jazz guitar” you had in mind.

Instead, I propose to use the same language you use with the producer or the photographer. You talk about the story and what it means to you or the audience. Talk about what environment, atmosphere or feelings you want to transmit to the audience. Talk about what your vision is. Explain your understanding of the characters’ feelings and needs in the specific scenes. You and your composer should also talk about the budget and the limitations and expectations. And overall, pick an orchestra or an instrument that fits the financing and stick to it. It helps to knit the movie together and creates a sound and a universe. Pick a concept for the score. Remember that music can be a sculpture and that the audience tends to accept pretty abstract forms of music when the music is used as underscore in a movie; music the audience wouldn’t listen to under normal circumstances, they will swallow raw.

Remember it’s only a guideline. A tool you can use, if you have some tempo or emotional distress problems. Also remember that emotional distress can be positive and negative i.e. happy, anxious, bored and so on.

I hope you understand my way of talking about these subjects. Because another thing that I find is a problem for movie professionals, who collaborate with composers, is the language. What language do you use with the composer? The short an110

Use the music to make your movie stand out. Use it to make your movie special, if that is what you want. In terms of overall costs, it is one of the cheaper ways to do it.

Good production value! But you have to develop a language about it with your composer and that takes time. So you’d better get started. You have to experiment and talk about what you experience. And when you use temp tracks, try to explain what you think the music does for the scene in terms of story, emotion and environment.

In my experience temp tracks can be both a blessing and a curse. It’s a blessing if I can extract and transform the temp track into the general score of the film, but it’s a curse if it locks the movie and the director down into a mood where nothing else works besides the temp track. So be careful and don’t fall in love with the temp track, you can’t have it anyway. But the temp track is still an excellent tool for testing moods, and it’s a good place to start.

In my experience there is a window at the start of the creation of the movie where you can talk about the music, which runs alongside the creation of the script. But when the pre-production and shooting starts this window slowly closes. Then the filmmakers become obsessed with other more immediate issues that demand their 111

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attention. It opens again when the shooting of the movie is over and the editing starts. But if the composer has participated in the creation of the script, the music is already a part of the movie and you don’t have to start from scratch.

You can still use the music, though, as a tool to work with tempo when you have readings with the actors, rehearse or on the set when you shoot the movie. By introducing music you can crank the actors’ expressions up or down. Or you can express the exact feel of a scene by playing a piece of music that has that feel instead of trying to explain it with words. You can use music to focus the whole crew. You can also establish the right tempo of a scene by playing a piece of music. This way to use music also has the advantage of the music becoming integrated in the movie so it doesn’t pop up as a surprise in the postproduction: “Hey, what about the music”?

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To change, or not to change is that the question?

Franz Rodenkirchen

When reading scripts or watching films, one of the most obvious differences to be observed is often related to the treatment of characters. Not only the treatment, but already the intention that makes a writer choose how to expose and maybe also explain character, reveals a broad range of different options and purposes.

If action is character – and given the almost proverbial usage of this phrase, there’s reason to believe it to be true - then one question would have to be, what constitutes an action?

There are many means to convey who and what a character is, for example words, dialogue, and all the information relating to the character, which the writer decides to put into the script.

And we can also remind ourselves of some other frequently found phrases, relating to a character being sympathetic, likeable, or - and often more problematic - a character can be experienced as difficult, distant, hard to empathise with. These observations contain an implicit judgement, and it is a far-reaching one: assuming that audiences prefer likeable characters they can feel close to and identify with, any judgement of character that has a negative ring to it is considered a danger to the success of the film. According to this common wisdom, broad market accessibility cannot be had with a film that features characters we can’t identify with.

Further reading:

Of course we have to acknowledge that not every film is for everybody. And we can also safely say that there are films that, due to their subject matter, theme or choice of narrative tools will have a more limited audience, and that this is consciously so.

Larry Sider et al, 2003: “Soundscape. The School of Sound lectures 1998-2001” Wallflower Press, London. This book contains a number of interviews with moviemakers, sound engi-

All this is widely accepted and shouldn’t be dwelled upon.

neers, and composers about the way they use sound and music, e.g. David Lynch, Walter Murch (Sound designer on Apocalyse Now), Carter Burwell (Composer for the Coen brothers).

For terms, lingo and process of the (Hollywood) scoring model see Wiki: Film score - Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia.

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And yet, there is room and food for thought when it comes to the question of character, exactly because so many implicit half-truths are passed along without much consideration.

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Let us first look at the classical conception of character, the one we know from restorative three-act structure. In this conception of character, there is one defined goal to achieve and in the journey of pursuing it, the character will make new experiences and come out changed. Usually the character achieves the goal, but it has somehow become almost secondary compared to the emotional gain, the fulfilment of the character’s need, which he or she has finally been able to acknowledge and chooses to accept. Indeed, in the most typical version of this concept, the goal has been exactly the wrong way to achieve the need and once the character is able to realise that, pursuit of the goal can even be given up and change, and understanding embraced. Personal growth is at the core of this type of narrative. The character will come out of the ordeal a “better person”.

We can think of a film like “American Beauty”, where Lester Burnham’s goal is to seduce his daughter’s friend Angela, but when he is finally there, he chooses not to go through with it and happily embraces his newfound role as a middle-aged father and family man. He has learned to like himself for what he really is…

To change, or not to change - is that the question?

This concept of character (and the function of what is frequently called the emotional need) relates to a type of story that orchestrates the main character’s gradual realisation of the initially unconscious need. As audience, we are often invited to understand this need way before the character does. If we could talk to her or him, we might be able to tell what should be done, what kind of change is necessary to mend the character’s crucial flaw, and to become a “better person” in the broadest sense.

This mechanism supplies one of the strongest means for the audience’s identification with the character. But it only seems to work if the option for change is considered a change for the better (usually that relates to what we consider better for ourselves under comparable circumstances, and it is also very often a change towards a socially more acceptable personality). The whole ordeal of pursuing the goal in this sense is little more than the way towards emotional maturity and it plays to our sense of justice that this shall also take sufficient time and not be granted too early (as in the “you just haven’t earned it yet”-feeling after the midpoint).

And the character must be able to actively choose whether to change or not.

The epitome of the “you have to become a better person to succeed and move on”ideology is maybe Harold Ramis’ “Groundhog Day”, where a weatherman (played by Bill Murray) has to re-live the same day over and over again until he finally ceases being a selfish ass and starts thinking of others, too. Here, literally, the world stops turning until change has been chosen and implemented.

Even if a character does not change, the classical concept of character holds, if the character is brought to the point of making a choice about a change. We can take Bob Rafelson’s “Five Easy Pieces”, where Bobby Dupea (the character played by Jack Nicholson) is actively rejecting to change from the self-exiled loner to a socially compliant and emotionally committed man. Instead of accepting to finally commit to his girlfriend Rayette, he sneaks away towards “a very cold place” – and he says, “I’m fine”.

Pressured to make a choice between two worlds that both hold promises as well as threats - while offering a sense of belonging - he chooses to reject both options as he seems to feel that he doesn’t belong either way. He insists on his irreducible and inexplicable personal freedom, even if the choice he finally makes seems to reinforce his loneliness. As far as his “character flaw” is concerned he remains essentially the same person he was in the beginning.

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In this classical concept of character development, the possibility to actively choose is of vital importance. There can be no emotional need the character cannot fulfil herself / himself, for that would mean that there are human weaknesses, flaws or shortcomings one cannot “correct” oneself. But if humans can have weaknesses, which cannot be changed by our own active will, the system is upset. What can a story come to, if the character who has a strong need can only wait and hope that somebody will fulfil their need? Gone would be the idea of activity, gone the confidence of choice, gone, too, the idea that we are indeed the mistresses and masters of our lives.

And this, in turn, might threaten the law of adequate returns, for what shall an audience identify with, if characters suffer their emotional need like an incurable disease?

In Ingmar Bergman’s “Autumn Sonata”, Eva (Liv Ullman) invites her mother, world famous pianist Charlotte (Ingrid Bergman), to visit her after they haven’t seen each other for seven years. In the course of one night, mother and daughter talk about their relationship and it turns out that all her life, Eva felt unloved by her mother.

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satisfied with whatever she did, whatever she was, whatever she looked like: “I understood one thing: not one molecule of the real me could be loved, or even accepted”. Although with the years, Eva was able to turn her desperation into a hateful understanding of the mother, she still very much hopes against hope that love between them is possible, that the mother could accept her. We clearly see this when Eva plays Chopin’s Prelude No.2 to her mother, insisting on her professional opinion, which, as could be expected, is completely crushing Eva’s playing, with Charlotte then playing the same piece herself, pointing out her superior interpretation. From then on it seems clear that there can never be a loving acceptance between mother and daughter. Yet all of Eva’s accusations only make sense if she secretly harbours the hope for exactly this acceptance.

So here we seem to have a case where the need is to be loved and accepted, but the character with the need is unable to act upon it. Eva completely depends on Charlotte to either give / show that acceptance, or withhold it. Therefore Eva can never actively fulfil her need.

So does this mean that in “Autumn Sonata” the emotional need doesn’t work? Or did we maybe identify a “wrong” need?

If we ask ourselves, do we really want Eva to get the love / acceptance of that mother, the answer may be no. Rather, Eva should be able to understand that she has to stop wanting it and be able to live on. If that were her need, she could again act upon it in an active way. And she could free herself from the prison that is her desire for this unattainable love. And so she can come out a changed person, too. Bingo?

If this is not a classical version of the emotional need structure it is mostly due to the fact that the shift from “getting the love of the mother” towards “acknowledging that she has to stop wanting the love and accept that” also means shifting the focus from a more seamless identification with Eva towards a reflection. Eva relentlessly accuses the mother, thereby displaying the still existing urgency of her need to be loved. While we, the audience, empathize with her and come to understand what Eva’s real emotional need seems to be, it appears as if Eva herself cannot really see this, even at the end. So she might never really have the option to be active about her need - and continue to hope against hope…

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won’t give up, even if it’s too late, I don’t think it’s too late. It mustn’t be too late.”

Another interesting aspect here is that Eva’s character focuses on this lack of love and acceptance, thereby pointing us towards the need I just described. Yet Bergman, in commenting on his film remarks that mother and daughter will never be able to forgive each other. Being capable of forgiveness is a much less egotistical need than wanting the acceptance and it also includes Charlotte, the mother.

Where interpretations of emotional states and reactions are concerned, there is also an irreducible element of personal choice and subjectivity, even if the case the film makes seems very clear at first glance.

If “Autumn Sonata” is an example of a film where character-change might or might not be part of the narrative intention, we can see if there are also films where characters are clearly not expected to change. Are there examples where the filmmaker has not only deliberately chosen to present an unchanged character at the end, but also tells a story where the option for change is not what the film is essentially about?

In Jessica Hausner’s latest film “Lourdes”, main character Christine (played by Sylvie Testud) is a young quadriplegic woman with multiple sclerosis. Christine seems not to be religious at all, we sense that she follows the routine of daily prayers and rituals largely because this is what one does in Lourdes. As she says herself, she’s visiting, because it’s the only way she gets out. She is attended by a young nurse, Maria from the Order of Malta. Christine especially likes one officer of that Order, the handsome Kuno. Most of the pilgrims hope for a physical cure, but Frau Hartl, an elderly able-bodied woman who shares Christine’s room also seems to look for company more than anything else. She’s latching on to Christine as her personal ward and moves her through the daily program. One day, Christine finds she can move her finger and that same night, she suddenly gets up from her bed and goes to the bathroom all by herself.

From now on Christine is the new sensation, the latest miracle. But while she is going along with the protocol of miracle testing (that also involves a thorough medical check-up), she seems most interested to regain her independence and her powers of seduction. Now she can flirt with Kuno without having to feel that his friendliness arises out of pity. And so Christine starts to live and make plans for the future, culminating in an outing where she leaves the now “jobless” Frau Hartl behind and, 117

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together with Kuno, takes on the mountain slope with all her youthful vigour. On the last evening at the farewell party, people dance, and Christine dances too, with Kuno. Suddenly she stumbles and falls. Swiftly ushered to the side, she remains standing alone, watching the other dancers. After some time, Frau Hartl appears with the wheelchair and subtly nudges her to sit down. The film ends with a long shot on the compliant Christine, observing the (off-screen) dancers.

When we look at this character, we cannot possibly say that she has any goal, except being among other people, to not be alone. Out of this arises no particular need she’d initially be unconscious of, nor does she change at any point of the film in a way that would indicate she has now understood how to become a “better person”.

What she wants, she is aware of, and also she knows what she lacks and needs.

There is also no opportunity for change that would be rejected by her. Instead, change is external, radical, indeed, apparently miraculous. Christine experiences it as if it were an outside force. From one moment to another, she can walk again, move again. And this creates a problem for her, but it is not a character problem, it is more of a philosophical (or ontological?) problem.

How can she, a non-believer, be miraculously cured? Was it all just by chance? Or was it indeed an act of God? And if so, how can she go on with her life, avoid relapsing, despite of being a sceptic or maybe even a non-believer? Is there anything she can do to keep the gift, to keep this new life? In the long and painful, yet ambivalent closing shot, Christine seems to have all these thoughts run through her mind.

While she realises that there are those who’d prefer to have her as a patient (Frau Hartl bringing the wheelchair), there are also those who dance with abandon to the merry tune of “Felicitá”, and until a moment ago she was one of them.

We end without knowing what’s in store for Christine, ill health or permanent cure, while we also feel that in the absence of proof, maybe one is tempted to resort to faith to go on living.

This strong and emotional ending derives not out of the main character becoming a better person, acknowledging her need or anything like that. Essentially, Christine is unchanged. Rather it is we, the audience that could entertain some very profound thoughts through following Christine and experiencing her world. In “Lourdes”, we have a credible and realistic character, but still, her dilemma is not connected to an 118

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emotional lack in the sense that she’d become a – however credible - stand-in for our vicarious emotional cleansing. Christine is allowing us to have some thoughts that affect our very own existence and in this, her own individual fate (as a character) can eventually almost be neglected.

“Lourdes” is a film with a clearly fictional storyline, well acted by professional actors and clearly shaped as a project of fiction, despite its minute and sometimes almost documentary-like observation of the pilgrim’s diverse rituals.

In Lisandro Alonso’s debut film “La Libertad”, the boundaries between reality (shall we say documentary?) and fiction are much more blurred. Its main character, Misael (played by Misael Saavedra) is a young woodcutter working in his solitary job in the vast Argentine pampas, and he is playing himself, doing his job. Or is he?

The film essentially depicts a day in the life of Misael. After an opening where we see him sitting by a nightly fire, eating some kind of meat, we cut to the beginning of his working day, sorting his wood, hunching down to defecate, selecting trees to cut down, then cutting one of them, almost in real time. After a solitary lunch, accompanied by a song from his old transistor radio, Misael takes a nap.

Suddenly the camera seems to take on a life of its own, drifting like the (well audible) wind through the landscape, looking at the sky in a series of smooth, organic movements, until, calming down, it catches a truck passing by.

Waking up, Misael and his ready-cut wood are fetched by a man and his son (and his dog) in an old pick-up. Misael continues alone to a sawmill, whose owner drives a hard bargain. He finally buys the 15 logs for 27 pesos. Dropping in at a small convenience store, Misael buys Marlboros, Fanta and gasoline for his chainsaw, which already costs him a big part of his money. He calls someone to inquire about his mother, sending her a message. After returning the borrowed truck, he ambles home, catching an armadillo on the way. For the remainder of the film we see him preparing his dinner of roast armadillo. As darkness sets in, he lights a bonfire and, lit by the huge flames, he sits at his camp eating the armadillo. There’s thunder and lightning in the night sky, and as the screen goes dark, we hear the rain start.

“La Libertad” is essentially an observation of a man’s solitary life, and the filmmaker is not interested in setting up his character. Neither is he looking for (or point119

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ing out) emotional flaws in Misael. While adopting a seemingly clear documentary style, Alonso manages to make us look at his main character and over time we cannot but start thinking about Misael: his solitude - that could be called freedom by some. His life close to nature - that might hold a promise of romantic purity (in a way reminiscent of Rousseau, Thoreau, etc.). The sheer simplicity of what he is doing, day in, day out.

At the same time, we could arrive at totally different conclusions: Misael works hard to make just enough money to sustain him continuing working hard (while buying some of the most common brands). We never know if he chose to be in this job or simply was left without any other option. His solitude might seem self-imposed, especially in the eyes of busy, overstressed city-dwellers, but we can’t tell whether he enjoys, merely accepts or maybe even resents it. What we see is what we get and, supported by the title, this makes the film clearly conceptual.

Misael is a perfect projection screen for our own dreams and fears, as well as for our preconceived ideas about those parts of the world (and its people) we tend to know very little of. “La Libertad” might as well refer to that liberty we, as an audience, take in projecting meaning on the stoic Misael, whose freedom remains a question of interpretation.

At the end of the film, some shots from the opening are exactly repeated, creating a circle of life, an endless loop, an indefinite series of same-o-same episodes. Again, this only works for the spectators. Misael is still just there, compliant, unchanged, ready to be made sense of.

As a first conclusion, we might say that in the more classical ways of building a character we can “deposit” our emotions inside the character. We can vicariously experience the change, the improvement, maybe the cleansing of this human being and that means we can also leave it behind as we leave the cinema. Aristotle’s idea of catharsis essentially applies here.

In the narratives that employ characters to reflect upon questions of a larger scale or where characters function as a projection screen, we are not allowed to “deposit” and somehow shake off the emotion. Catharsis is denied, sometimes not even considered a possibility. Rather we are asked to deposit something within ourselves, a question, a feeling of recognition that folds the narrative back on ourselves, not as 120

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spectators, but active participants. Maybe the action that is denied the characters on screen then necessarily has to be taken by us…?

While this may sound quite a lot like the classic distinction between drama and epic, between Aristotelian and Brechtian theatre, we can look at one final example to try and illustrate why that simple dichotomy does not suffice when working with film narratives and the treatment of character.

“A nos Amours” by Maurice Pialat tells the story of Suzanne (played by then newcomer Sandrine Bonnaire), a beautiful and sensual 15-year old teenager. We first meet her at a summer theatre camp, where, after rehearsing a period play about love, she flees the campground with some friends and heads for a boat and the open sea. The camp itself is beautiful, but also confining, with rules about dating that are bound to be broken.

Aboard the boat Suzanne stands at the prow, her back to us, wearing a white sundress that billows around her. Observing her from the upper deck, her brother remarks to some other men on her beauty, her power over men.

Suzanne sneaks out of camp to meet with her boyfriend, Luc, but abruptly stops short of having sex with him. Later she appears at a party in the port, wearing an off-the-shoulder t-shirt, her tanned skin, her eyes, her smile, registered by every sailor at the bar. After sleeping with an American (which may have been her first time), she responds to his, “Thanks a lot” with, “You’re welcome. It’s free”. She tells her roommate she doesn’t quite know why she did it: it was kind of nasty, but she doesn’t regret it.

One evening, in reaction to her declared intention to go out on a date that will quite obviously be a sexual encounter, her father slaps her, suddenly and hard. But later the same evening, in a midnight heart-to-heart conversation, a true moment of communion, he worries about Suzanne’s sadness, the loss of her dimple, and they talk gingerly and for the first time about sex, that is, about each other as sexual beings. He also announces that he’s going to leave the family.

From then on Suzanne lives with an almost hysterical mother and a weak brother, who tries to make up for his lack of true authority by slapping her around whenever she disregards his accusations about her way of life and the worries she causes him and the mother. After more sexual encounters with men that stretch over several 121

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years, Suzanne gets married to a nice-looking young man, the epitome of a good son-in-law. On the eve of her marriage she meets Luc, who, she claims, is the only one she ever felt love for. But although it seems possible to get back together with him, we find her having married the nice boy and life continues.

One evening, at a dinner with family and friends, the father shows up again, to everybody’s surprise. In a long scene of brutal honesty he lays bare the selfish motivations and aspirations of everybody at the table. Shortly after we see him with Suzanne riding on a bus on their way to the airport. Suzanne is heading for San Diego with her latest guy. The father accuses her of being unable to love, and she shrugs it off. He understands and recommends her to stay there, instead of returning to Paris. Once on the plane, Suzanne looks out the window, somehow lost in thought, neither here nor there, her childhood left behind, her future not yet arrived, a future that may be both a liberation and / or some new kind of imprisonment.

To change, or not to change - is that the question?

respectful distance, thereby truly caring for Suzanne.

In contrast to the at first glance comparable “Five Easy Pieces”, Suzanne is not rejecting a change that contains the clear option of fitting in with society’s expectations. Rather the claim for change appears somehow to miss the point. In the long dinner scene the father paraphrases van Gogh, saying there will always be sadness.

And this sadness, while not an existential fact to everyone, may well be beyond Suzanne’s reach. Yet, even if she could change, we can’t be sure she would change and all the film asks of us is to entertain that thought without passing judgement on Suzanne.

And maybe the change that counts more than any other happens within - and we can always only feel it from inside while to the outside observer, everything remains the same…

The character of Suzanne invites psychological explanation and interpretation and seems to beg for a biographical or relational causality to explain her behaviour and consequently keep it in check. There are many unanswered little questions in “À nos Amours”; especially those questions films normally aspire to provide answers to. While there is a microcosm of the everyday, complete with abusive family structures, strong father figure etc., none of this is brought into any definite causality with Suzanne’s behaviour, feelings or existence. The film (and its maker) cares very little about explanations. It just shows the behaviour without ever trying to explain or justify anything. At one point Suzanne says, “I have a cold heart”, indicating that she is by no means suffering unknowingly of some strange emotional affliction. It is anyhow left to the judgement of the audience to say if she really suffers or not.

And would she actually be better off if she tried to change?

In one sense, sex might be the thing that is not attached to love for Suzanne, so we could say she needs to learn how to love. But it might as well be that the love she knows is inextricably bound to this feeling of attraction and abandon and that she indeed embraces it. If anything, she remains wrapped in her own cryptic and impenetrable subjectivity, and any judgement of her says more about our own desires and morality than about her character.

This openness is the film’s greatest and most timeless quality, a portrait of a human being that provokes our empathy, our engagement, yet always retaining its 122

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//

Storytelling and discomfort Antoine Bataille

Every scriptwriter, script editor or film professional involved in the development of a script lives through the experience of an unexpected surprise when the story and images light up on the screen. Something new appears, a certain charm of the moving picture, and the understanding of this “something” remains an eminent stake in film studies. For the people who write, a feeling of disorder can be felt; as if that obscure force coming from the depth of the images disturbs the story they patiently built. Hence, dramaturgy seems to come down in favour of something that the people who write and develop scripts cannot control. Why such a feeling of powerlessness?

According to an old principle in dramaturgy, the protagonist, who has a goal, is confronted by an obstacle obliging him to get involved in a conflict. The spectator identifies with this protagonist and his emotion depends on the issue of the conflict. This principle was invented for theatre, and then adapted to scriptwriting for film in a wide variety of forms. Nevertheless, this model hasn’t been created for the cinema. It keeps the concept of an emotion dependent on the story. It doesn’t deal with the specificities of the cinematographic medium.

The emotional theme is a development tool, which can be used like a compass.

It polarizes the elements of the story. A narrative emotion participates in the representation of a story in the mind of the spectator, who perceives moving images and sounds. An emotion is an echo coming back to the spectator’s mind after the screening. Emotions reside between the perception of a movement on the screen and a reconstruction of events in the frame of a narrative movement. Emotions are transmissions of movements. In the case of films, several movements perceived on the screen don’t enter into the frame of a story. These are moments, which touch us, yet we can’t use them in the elaboration of a story. The question is: is there another possibility of conflict and identification, which is purely cinematographic, passing through something else than the story? This is the quest for an elementary affective state of cinematographic images before their integration in the causal 124

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chain of a plot. The goal here is to shift from the scale of the story to the scale of the film image.

Two hypotheses can be set: 1) There is, at the level of the moving image, something which touches us, but which doesn’t result from a narrative emotion, and which is more affective.

2) Emotion, at the level of the narrative movement and Affect, at the level of the local movement (image), constitute two complementary ways of identification with the characters.

There is a need to talk about an affective experience of films. As something opposed to the emotional experience due to the identification with characters in the frame of a plot, the affective experience is due to the perception of movement in films, before any reconstruction of these different movements into the syntax of a story in the spectator’s mind. The affective charge of moving pictures is a catalyst for identification with the characters as much as a “narrative” emotion, but through something else than story. Hence, “narrative” emotions and the affective charge of moving pictures are complementary ways to “move” the audience.

In order to more practically confirm theses hypothesis, this phenomenon of affective charge can be observed in two symptomatic films: Body Rice (2006, Hugo Vieira da Silva) and My Uncle (1958, Jacques Tati). In spite of their differences, Body Rice and My Uncle propose an emotional experience, which is not only focused on story. A first look on the narrative aspects of these films can be a way to avoid, in a second step, what is not concerned by the affective charge of moving pictures. What are the stories of these two films?

The most narrative element in Body Rice is a title explaining that since the 1980s, German institutions have sent hundreds of teenagers to the south of Portugal in the frame of various experimental projects, and that the film is the result of a research process involving some of these teenagers. These teenagers are supposed to be in trouble, but we don’t know more about them. The characters don’t do many things and spend most of their time doing nothing. It’s a film about emptiness. In Body Rice, the narrative material is so rare that it is obvious that we are touched by something else than the story. The characters don’t evolve in the frame of a quest or a plot.

The story, in My Uncle, is more present, but still loose. It’s about Hulot and his sister, who lives in an ultramodern villa with her husband, Mr. Arpel, and her son, Gérard.

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Mr. and Mrs. Arpel want Hulot to conform himself to their modern world and values.

They want him to get a job and have a wife. But the modern world of the Arpel family is full of tension and reveals a magical archaic way of thinking. A study of the film, which is focused on the moving image, reveals an underlying tension, an electric atmosphere in the film. It is all about nervousness.

Since the 1990s, film theory has been turning to a more aesthetic than semiotic approach to movies. This new wave of film studies pushed film theorists to define new influences and new “masters” in the history of thought. The question of the heritage of the German Art historian Aby Warburg on film studies has thus been asked for a few years. That question is moreover rounded by a mystery: Warburg, who was 29 in 1895, and who became interested in movement – in the Zeitgeist of his time, see for instance Bergson’s works during the same year – has never evoked cinema in his works, but his heritage leads us to think that his phantom wanders there after all. Actually, Warburg’s conception of Art history is built on a time crossed by phantoms of buried times reappearing unexpectedly in more recent artworks. Warburg’s starting question was the following: what does the influence of antiquity signify for civilization at the beginning of the Renaissance? First, in his PhD thesis1 he analyses The Birth of Venus and The Spring by Botticelli. He notices the afterlife (Nachleben) of several ancient gestures and positions in the bodies’ movements. Objects like hair and clothes amplify their movement. Warburg sees in this a representation of bodies taken in ecstasy, pain and interior strife. This is a survival of antique and pagan forces in the Christian art of the Renaissance. He names them Pathos-formeln (Pathos-formulas), these deep forces of expression of pathos surviving in Art history and emerging in an anachronistic way. These underground movements recall a memory, which is as insensible to narrative continuity as to logical contradictions. These are fossilized affective states.

Warburg invents the concept of Dynamogramm to describe this form of time made of afterlife; an energetic metaphor to understand the transmission of antique art in a state of maximal tension through centuries where energy is not polarized by the continuity of Art history.

We are in an energetic understanding of moving images. The question is to feel a “Lebensenergie” (life force), which is actualized in the bodies’ movements, and 1

Aby Warburg, “Sandro Botticellis Geburt der Venus und Frühling: Eine Untersuchung über die Vorstellungen von der Antike in der italienischen Frührenaissance”, PhD thesis, University of Strasbourg, 1892

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disturbs the calm and peaceful contemplation of the painting. It’s a question of malaise. According to Warburg, this reveals the Dionysian pole of art. It provides a conceptual model to conceive the appearance of affective movements in a way, which doesn’t follow the continuity of the film. The point is to feel a “Lebensenergie” which is in the moving pictures, and which remains in the background of the film to reappear violently and unexpectedly at the surface of the film, a little bit like the unconscious in Freud’s words.

Giorgio Agamben sees in Warburg’s work a will to understand the “kinetic potential”2 of painting. He imagines the idea of a missing film in which the relation to a still frame is like Warburg’s relation to painting. The German media theorist Karl Sierek explores this idea of an imaginary film3. This film would not be a linear narrative movie built on the principle of causality. It would be a film made of ridges, rifts and frictions.

We can compare such a complex regime to the intellectual context in which Warburg worked. In the end of the 19th century, the critique of Positivism – inspired by philosophers like Nietzsche and Georg Simmel – provided a new way to focus on details, which could not be integrated in an ideological system built on the concept of progress. In the same way, moving pictures can escape the “progress” introduced by the plot; directors like Eisenstein have used such an intensification of the charge of single movements. With Warburg, the notion of story is in crisis because movement provides a powerful appeal to the depth of moving pictures.

With Warburg, the film script seems, at first, to be useless. We are in the immediate experience of the moving image. We had a methodological problem, which was: how to find a bridge between film analysis and our hypothesis? How to understand affective movements in film that seem to be counter-movements from a narrative point of view? How to start the analysis? Warburg’s starting point is the movement of bodies and the art viewers’ empathy with these bodies in movement The principle of empathy (Einfühlung) developed in the end of the 19th century, 2

3

can be illustrated by the different views of Winckelmann, Goethe and Warburg on the Laocoon, a sculpture in which the movement of bodies is very easy to feel. For Winckelmann4, this is an example of noble simplicity and quiet serenity, a triumph on pain due to the Greek soul. That position is ridiculous for Warburg. For Goethe5, the beauty of the Laocoon exists by the representation of energy in its maximum intensity. He proposes an experience: watching the sculpture for a fraction of a second, and then we see the marble in movement. That experience is close to the perception of a still image in a film. The senses, thus, drive the gaze on the sculpture. According to Warburg, empathy permits the thought of this phenomenon of movement transmission, this capacity of bodies to express pathos. There is an anthropomorphic identification, which precedes narrative forms.

In that perspective, do film images have a capacity to express pathos? Body Rice offers the most visible manifestation of the moving pictures’ affective charge. This same principle of empathy can be used to describe the effect of dance in Body Rice’s rave party scenes. As a survival of Greek orgiastic dances, these rave party dances express, by their irregularity and their exaggerations, a feeling of malaise, a nervous reaction to the Apollonian serenity. This is the interior fight between the two poles – Apollonian and Dionysian – which provokes the feeling of earthquake provided by the rave party sequences in Body Rice. Choreography, in these scenes, is above the story.

This potential seems to be visible in films since the birth of cinema, in what I call “primitive” cinema, when the narrative codes weren’t yet formalized. See for example the Serpentine Dances of Loïe Fuller, shot by the Lumière brothers, Edison and Alice Guy: it’s about the wonder provoked by movements of the body. The ravers of Body Rice, thus, are no more characters in the dramatic use of the term, but rather phantoms appearing and disappearing on the screen, touching us through their gestures, but it remains impossible to identify with them in the frame of a plot. In Body Rice, the disordered choreography doesn’t only refer to orgiastic dances through gestures, but also through the amplification of these gestures by clothes, hair, jewellery, as in the Serpentine Dances. This process used in antique art as much as in Renaissance painting shows a certain capability in cinema for creating a feeling of disorder.

Giorgio Agamben, « Nymphea », in Image et mémoire, Paris, Desclée de Brouwer, coll. « Arts et Esthétique », 1984 (trans. 1998, 2nd edition, 2004)

4

Karl Sierek, Foto, Kino und Computer. Aby Warburg als Medientheoretiker, Hamburg, Europäische Verlagsanstalt, 2007

5

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Johann Joachim Winckelmann, Gedanken über die Nachahmung der griechischen Werke in der Malerei und Bildhauerkunst, zweite vermehrte Auflage, Waltherische Handlung, Dresden und Leipzig, 1756 Johann Wolfgang Goethe, “Über Laokoon”, Propyläen, Tubingen, 1798

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The teenagers of Body Rice oscillate between two precise states: on one hand, the excitement of dance, and on the other hand, exhaustion. The three rave party sequences appear in the film as violent peaks of intensity, which fall when the party is finished. These violent movements come out, unexpected, as these rave parties. Body Rice seems to be conceived on a nervous regime, and the other scenes, particularly the nap scenes, are very still, yet also contain micro movements expressing the underlying force hiding under the linearity of the film, which contains nervousness. The movements are trembling. These micro-movements find their maximum intensity in the spasms of Joaquim’s body, due apparently to his alcoholism. Alcohol is very present in the film; the characters drink, a lot. And as in the body of Joaquim, the film releases a strange nervousness, as if the film were a sick body whose nervous system would be broken down by alcohol.

Hence, the affective charge of the moving image is not only in excess, but also in limited movement, at the level of details. It’s like being a seismographic-spectator.

Along the film, signs of tension can be felt, and they explode as earthquakes in the rave party sequences. The past energy hidden in the underground of the film is represented in the dream-like sequence of the opening credit: C. Döring’s Super-8 film, 3302, made in 1979. A punk energy can be felt in that “film in the film”, and that energy reappears – or survives – in Body Rice in the form of a disease. Gesture is thus the manifestation of a buried energy reappearing in the bodies as fossils in movement. It drives the moving image into its obscure force. Thus, the obscure force of moving images enlightens Agamben’s project to reap the “kinetic potential” of pictures. A link with Bazin’s essay on the ontology of the photographic picture can be made when he explains that cinema is like the “mummy of change”6.

Another part of Warburg’s work offers a clarification on the affective charge of moving pictures. During his travels with Indians in the United States of America in 1896, Warburg began to focus his work on symbolic thinking. The Indians’ dances are made of symbolic and mimetic links to nature. The Snake’s ritual, for example, consists in manipulating dangerous rattlesnakes, which symbolically represent storm flashlights, by the way they move, in order to master the strength of the storm, and to provoke rain. The Antelope’s dance is an imitation, through disguise and gestures of the hunted animal. Thus, “by imitating, disguised and masked, the expressions and the movements of an animal, […] it’s not to have fun that

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the Indian slips into this animal, but to obtain something from nature, magically, by metamorphosing his own person, because he thinks that his own person can’t manage to do it without being amplified and metamorphosed. In the pantomimedance consecrated to an animal, imitation is hence a cultural act achieving in its greatest fervour the loss of identity and the fusion with a foreign being.”7 The symbolic thinking permits the dancer to obtain something, a particular strength, through mimetic gestures.

Symbolic gestures destined to gain a superior force are very present in the ultramodern world of My Uncle. The Arpel family and their friends are contaminated by a magic way of thinking because of their exaggerated gestures revealing their will to achieve nobleness. Their world, made of technology and progress in a society in full growth, is saturated by obscure beliefs revealed by their body-movements. This new conception of symbols, which allows us to define the cinematographic symbol as something in motion, is also based on the principle of empathy and we may notice the influence of Vischer’s essay Das Symbol8 on Warburg to introduce empathy in this process. The symbol reveals the obscure part of the image. As in Body Rice, the affective charge of the images is due to the re-emergence of a fantasized past.

Maybe this is nostalgia of a past, which has never happened… But in My Uncle, the survival energy is not bound to burst; the symbol tends to channel that energy.

The picture’s affective charge crystallizes in the symbol. But these symbols are old and used. Also, some energy escapes the control of the symbol. Some gestures are out of control and exaggerated. It provokes a constant nervousness in the scenes happening at the Arpel family’s villa. That electric atmosphere adds an underlying puzzling pressure to this film. The cinematographic symbols in My Uncle are the product of a rejected desire of glory and nobleness reappearing as a symptom. We can feel the symbolized sufferings of the characters and the electric atmosphere of the film.

Let’s go back to theory. After the exploration of Body Rice and My Uncle, lots of traces of movement have been discovered. These movements escape the global movement of the story, yet create tension in the films. The story hence appears as one of several lines able to create tension, identification and conflict because films are hiding other lines, underlying and obscure lines that disturb the story, 7

6

André Bazin, «Ontologie de l’image photographique», in Qu’est-ce que le cinéma ?, Paris, Éditions du Cerf, 1945

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8

Aby Warburg, “A Lecture on Serpent Ritual” in Journal of the Warburg Institute, London, 1939 Friedrich Theodor Vischer, «Das Symbol », in Kritische Gänge, IV, Munich, Meyer & Jenssen, 1887

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as phantoms. It seems that these phantoms from the past are the phantoms of primitive cinema. Hence, Warburg’s heritage for a history of cinema is puzzling, because it seems that the cinematographic modernity of Body Rice and My Uncle doesn’t result, in fact, from a progress, but from phantoms coming from a time when cinematographic storytelling didn’t exist.

In other words, the affective charge of moving pictures results from a very primitive aspect of cinematography. Thus, we can compare such a conception to Gilles Deleuze’s book, The Movement-Image. According to Deleuze, early cinema hadn’t found its own essence, as it wasn’t able to express subjectivity and to provoke an interior movement of mind. He calls this early period, the time of the “image in movement”, which is not yet, according to him, the time of the “movementimage”9. The affective charge of films results from this early cinema while Deleuze considers this period as a less important moment of cinema history because this art form hadn’t yet introduced a “sensory-motor” scheme. Here comes the thorny challenge of a confrontation between Warburg and Deleuze. These two thinkers are both influenced by Nietzsche and the eternal return (Ewige Wiederkunft) but their directions are different. This is more a problem of Philosophy of history rather than a problem of film studies, but there is a missing meeting between the two authors.

A more interesting question, in the field of film studies, is how to understand the symptomatic return of affective charges, not only as a revival of primitive cinema, but also as a way to understand discomfort in a film. According to Georges DidiHubermann10, one of the most influential commentators of Warburg, a link can be made between Warburg’s Pathos-formeln and Freud’s conception of symptom. It’s an underlying force, which emerges violently. The affective movements are thus the expression of a suffering. Everywhere, in the films, if the narrative suffers from not polarizing the events in the frame of a narrative, there’s an affective movement. The nervous movements of the bodies, the circulation of that energy through symbols, are revelatory of the suffering living in the films. Hence, films become contaminated by obscure non-narrative forces imposing chaos.

As in Body Rice, the film seen in the light of Warburg’s works becomes a sick body.

Disease is a crucial experience in Warburg’s work. In 1918, he entered a long period

Storytelling and discomfort

of psychotic troubles. Persuaded he was responsible for the German defeat, he had persecution deliriums and incoherent attitudes. He wrote to his doctors: “My disease consists in the fact that I cannot link up things according to their simple causal relation”11. Warburg’s racked works reflect the inescapable and crucial experience of madness. Then, his following works constituted, thanks to Dr. Binszwanger, part of a recovery process. Der Bilder Atlas Mnemosyn12, made in 1929, is a remarkable production, working on the principle of editing, associating images from different backgrounds in order to built a history of pathos and an Atlas of symptom. Such a production couldn’t have been done without the chaos spread in the History of Art, as much as in the researcher’s mind. This is after all an experience of survival when we watch films enlightened by Warburg’s works.

In Warburg’s disease, which was characterized by the loss of the capacity to “link up things according to their simple relation of causality”, we enter into a nervous experiment in films. It develops a certain sensitivity toward gestures, fits of energy and swirls and a non-narrative relation to films. We eventually become unable to understand the story; and such incapacity is without a doubt a major handicap for anyone working in the field of scriptwriting. That’s why the crisis of story, which characterized modern cinema, the rupture with logical continuity, can be understood with Warburg as the effects (or symptoms) of a disease fighting with the story linearity to create disorder.

Warburg turns us towards a new way of watching images, mobilizing a certain tact referring to analogy rather than logic. When we are haunted by Warburg’s phantom, we can’t watch films in the same way. The story is relegated to the margins in order to let the images appear with all their affective charge. It’s an experience pushing towards discomfort, facing the incapacity to maintain the meaning in a definite direction. We are contaminated, as spectators, by an affective experience preventing us from understanding the story told by the film. We may feel suddenly sick. In that way, film research that considers Warburg’s works constitutes a decisive experience, which leaves its marks on the analytic gesture forever. In that nervous experiment of films, the sensitivity to gestures, sudden bursts and swirls create a non-narrative relation to films. The cinematographic Modernity can be compared to such a regime 11

9

Gilles Deleuze, L’image-mouvement, Paris, Éd. de Minuit, coll. « Critique », 1983

10

Georges Didi-Huberman, L’Image survivante, Paris, Éd. de Minuit, coll. « Paradoxe », 2002

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“Letter of July 16th 1921 to the directors of the Bellevue Clinic”, in Ludwig Binswanger, Aby Warburg: La guarigione infinita. Storia clinica di Aby Warburg. Dir. Davide Stimilli, Neri Pozza Editore, Vicenza, 2005

12

Aby Warburg, Der Bilderatlas Mnemosyne, dir. Martin Warnke & Claudia Brink, Berlin, Akademie Verlag, 2000

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(e.g.: Robert Bresson). Martin Arnold’s work also goes in that direction.

Let’s go back to the main question: what can Warburg teach us about films through his works? This can now be transformed into a more pertinent question: what does Warburg suggest we feel when we watch films? That research, which constitutes a winding way through different objects, sometimes violently confronted, in films, Warburg’s work, its enlightenments by Didi-Hubermann, and also Agamben and Karl Sierek, reveal in the end a decisive experience of sensitivity. That experience consists of seeing in films an incoherent malaise that Warburg saw in Art history.

The hypothesis of an emotional regime made of two poles – a narrative pole and an affective pole – can be confirmed, because film images have been charged since the birth of cinema with a capacity for being able to touch or move the audience through the sensory experience of movement. And that strength reappears violently in modern cinema.

Herein lies the powerlessness of the people who write and develop scripts. When they watch their screenplays transformed into moving pictures, the emotional themes of their dear stories seem to be polluted by uncertain scraps of meaning due to untameable gestures. It is pertinent here to remember that they take up an impossible challenge when they try to describe moving pictures, enabling the creation of the causal chain of a plot. But if they want to keep writing, maybe it’s better for them to naively believe that they will succeed in such a project.

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