About two hours into the screening of D’Est (From the East, 1993) that was showing at le Reflet Médicis, the physicist walked out. Before leaving, he whispered to me that he couldn’t take it anymore and that he was ‘going to take a walk’. Of course, I, being a staunch Roman Catholic, stayed to witness the end of the film. And after it was done, emerging like a newborn from the cosy folds of the small cinema room, faced with the physicist demanding I explain what, exactly, was the point of what we had just watched, I realised that I could not. Because what was there to say? What actually was the film about? A meditation, a constructed globe, a CCTV eye roaming across the depressing, barren landscape of the former Soviet territories, from fields to city, from summer through to winter, from face to staring face. What was it trying to say? Did it matter?
We argued, naturally. Perhaps I was more susceptive to the quiet, dredging process of watching nothing unfold. I felt relaxed letting the unaction wash over me. It is like an exercise in self-control, in waiting for some long-anticipated conclusion that may never come. For the film is slow and winding. It’s steady, travelling shots track the faces of people in the train station, in the street, queuing for the bus, waiting for something that is never clearly defined. But there is always a purpose; there is always a hand deliberately moving the camera. And so it is not an anonymous, impersonal gaze as might be suggested. Instead, it is deeply personal, deeply profound. Akerman roams, and we go with her. She is silent, and so are we. Hardly anyone speaks, though they all look with distrusting eyes into the depths of her camera. They do not trust it, so should we?
Suffice to say, this is not an easy film. Then again, it is an experimental documentary film: what does it gain from being digestible, enjoyable even? Stories are told sporadically, untranslated. We do not understand but then, perhaps, Akerman is asking us how much we really need to understand in order to know and to feel. The instability of the time is translated thus through the often silent, travelling lens. Lives glimpsed, only glimpsed. Collapsing, rebuilding, cutting up sausage in a wallpapered kitchen. These are the lives Akerman is interested in capturing. An endless cold permeates; in the cinema room I put my coat back on. When I look around I notice some people sleeping. The final, unending winter. Akerman tells us very little, but perhaps, she shows us ourselves.
Le Jeu de Paume celebrates Belgian the filmaker, artist and writer Chantal Akerman (Brussels 1950- Paris 2015) through an exhibition showing from 28 September to 19 January 2025.
Le Jeu de Paume rend hommage à la cinéaste, artiste et écrivaine belge Chantal Akerman (Bruxelles 1950 – Paris 2015) à travers une exposition exceptionnelle, du 28 septembre 2024 au 19 janvier 2025.