Lost Book Found

In Lost Book Found (1996), Jem Cohen’s documentary style of filming – like the street photography exemplified by Garry Winogrand and Joel Meyerowitz – features snatches of people and the street-life of New York. Filmed on Super 8 and 16mm over a five year period, these unmediated, chance encounters and random incidents in public spaces convey a realistic view of the city.

The narration, voiced by Cohen’s brother in a reflexive tone, devoid of emotion, recounts his experience as a sidewalk ‘pushcart’ peanut vendor and his attempts to decipher a mysterious book that unlocks the ‘secrets of the city’.

I have been at several screening with Cohen in attendance. At Aurora in Norwich I had a conversation with him, and mentioned how he’d been filming a lot with the camera held at waist level, allowing more ‘candid’ filming than might have happened with the camera raised to his eye. His face was a picture, fleetingly looking like he’d tasted sick in his mouth. In more formal Q&As he wouldn’t reveal whether the ‘lost book’ really existed. The film, like the man, needs its mythology.

Sarah Turner’s Perestroika (2009)

Turner made an essay film travelling across Russia – Moscow to Irkutsk, Siberia – filming every day on the train journey, reenacting the same journey she took 20 years earlier. The use of memory is subjected to a formal methodological constraint where she is not allowed – by collaborator Matthew X – to review or make comments on her filmed material until the next day. This separation of the time of capture from the time of reflection of the filmed material feels similar to shooting then reviewing Super 8 film later.

Sarah Turner
Sarah Turner, Perestroika (2009). Image courtesy of the artist

The Royal Road

Taking notes on The Royal Road

I sat in the back of our new van in Bristol watching Jenni Olson’s “cinematic essay”, The Royal Road (2015), while the two sisters chatted under the conker trees during their mother’s last days.

“I’ve been filming the landscapes of San Francisco since just a few years after I arrived here. In capturing these images on film, I’m engaged in a completely impossible, and yet partially successful effort to stop time. I now own the landscapes that I love. I preserve them in the amber of celluloid so that I might re-experience these visions of dappled sunlight, the calm of a warm afternoon, and the framing of an alley as it recedes into the distance. These images serve as a reminder of what once was and as a prompt to appreciate what now is.” (Olson, transcribed from The Royal Road, 2015).

Slapton recording, December 2020

Recording the waves. Image Credit – Kayla Parker
Recording voiceover. Image Credit – Kayla Parker

Slapton Sands standing in for Dungeness to record voiceover. A bitterly cold day for sound recording in south Devon in December 2020, using a Sennheiser MS stereo pair in a Rycote windshield recording on a Zoom F4.

Spending time at Slapton took me back to a music festival on the beach many years ago with my dear friend Robert Surgey (RIP) travelling there in his mum’s tiny Mini pickup.

It also reminded me of filming underwater along that coast with Laurie Emberson for the BBC. Let’s just say it was a different era in terms of health and safety! I remember being in our small rib off Start Point (which is visible distantly in the first picture) with Laurie trying to restart the outboard for what seemed an age after we had been filming on a small wreck in the afternoon. We drifted out to sea despite my efforts to row towards shore in a thick 6mm drysuit while Laurie pulled on the starter cord. Thankfully the engine eventually fired up.

This audio recording session was an early adventure after the Covid lockdowns in the UK where travel was prohibited beyond some hazy notion of ‘local’.

Robinson in Ruins

Kayla Parker introduced the screening of Patrick Keiller’s third film featuring the itinerant scholar Robinson, for Peninsula Arts, at Jill Craigie Cinema, Plymouth University in 2011:

“In conversation at Watershed in Bristol earlier this year, Patrick Keiller described how he set out with a camera to find answers to some questions about moving image and the history of settlement in the British landscape. That expedition became the film you’re about to see: an investigation into notions of dwelling, of belonging to the landscape, and an exploration of land ownership in Britain.”

Keiller says he wanted to find out why people are so interested in looking at landscape, and asks: Why do people love looking at a beautiful view? And, to whom does the land belong? The film starts with the conceit that Robinson’s exposed rolls of film were found in an ancient caravan in the countryside. Keiller was thinking of shooting on digital but someone told him he’d become be responsible for the digital data in perpetuity as part of his contractual obligations.

Paolo Cherchi Usai said cinema is self-destructive as projection eventually wears out film prints. He hadn’t tried to resurrect films on old video tape or audio on DAT!

Father-land at NiMAC in October 18

Exhibtion poster over Nimac entrance

Our film will be part of the Layers of Visibility exhibition alongside Ar(t)chaeology in NiMAC from 19/10/18 to 12/01/2019. The ICPT photography conference takes place during the exhibition where we’ll present a paper on Father-land.

The exhibition catalogue and poster has my image looking out from the residency apartment. Professor Liz Wells selected it in part for the connection between the venetian blinds and the Venetian history of the old city.

Father-land

Father-land screening in NiMAC’s auditorium

We spent quite a bit of time in NiMAC’s auditorium with Father-land screening. The wall onto which the film was projected faced approximately north, so it’s not too much of a stretch to ‘project’ that if the illuminated rectangle was a window the view would be not entirely dissimilar.

Geographer Jay Appleton, in his book The Experience of Landscape talks about the human response to being in a place of safety where one can look out into the landscape, framed as prospect and refuge. Our rooftop outpost above the Powerhouse Café allowed us a secluded vantage point to film over the Buffer Zone in a way that mirrored the lookout posts of the soldiers along the Green Line. Near Trikoupi Street, the guards’ feet were only two meters above street level but it was easy to miss them as they looked down on the passers-by below. As we began filming we were unsure of the etiquette around the Buffer Zone, nor the legal strictures since there were many signs proscribing filming the guard posts and fortifications in the south, and the Turkish soldiers to the north seemed even more forbidding.

The construction of the art centre meant that sounds from outside became imbricated with the soundtrack of the film. I was conscious that the amplified call-to-prayer from the north would be less remarkable to locals, but also perhaps unwelcome being repeated in the gallery as it is a sound that permeates the city every day. It was slightly uncanny hearing a constantly changing augmentation to the film’s audio – that is itself composed of the sounds of the city – by the sound filtering in from outside: the muezzin relayed from Istanbul reciting the adhan over loudspeakers on the Selimiye Mosque, pigeons on the window ledges, crows calling, people’s voices, construction and traffic noise. If I had thought of it I would have recorded the ambience from outside with the film’s soundtrack silenced…

Missing Derek in The Scott Building

The final frame looking towards the power stations

I screened Missing Derek in the Scott 102 at Plymouth University. The 5-hour film played on a loop. When working in Kent in the 80s and 90s I was transported along A-roads and motorways across the width of England. After the quiet frenzy of getting ready to leave – both personal gear and the filming kit – you would settle into a ‘zone’ as the miles and hours rolled by in the crew bus. As we were physically transported over 300 miles one was also mentally transported by the ever-changing vista through the windscreen of the VW Transporter van.

The experience of motorway driving is similar to cinema, in that you have a fixed frame within which there is action – or the lack of it – but the sensorial experience is largely visual, as you are separated from the ‘outside’ within the vehicle, and the environment is perceived through the pane as images – like watching a film.

Sea Front – some thoughts

You know the rushes are there, and you remember them, although the memory fades, you know they’re still there, so you know they are not lost.

In 2006 I started making a short film for a collaborative project called Super 8 Cities. Each contribution from around the world would feature a city filmed within the same set of rules or parameters. The project rules forbade panning with action and required a frame rate of 24fps to give the disparate films a stylistic coherence. The recently discontinued Kodachrome film – for me the essence of the Super 8 experience – was selected for the project. My film Sea City would follow the coastline through Plymouth from east to west.

The footage was shot as the journey of a flâneur along the coastal path – the liminal land/sea southern boundary of the City of Plymouth. The flâneur, in the modernist sense, seemed an appropriate stance for the filmmaker as the route traversed the varied and disparate results of urban planning, from the semi-derelict industrial to accessible tourist spots. Patrick Keiller suggests:

“The present day flâneur carries a camera” and warns of “the lonely life of the street photographer, who acts the flâneur in the hope of recording glimpses of the marvellous with his camera. His is a difficult task, for poetic insights so rarely survive their capture on the emulsion.” (Keiller, 1981/2)

The Film

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Essay Film and Narrative Techniques: Screenwriting Non-fiction

First Symposium of the BAFTSS ‘Essay Film’ Research Group
18 and 19 November 2017, University of York, UK
Organised by BAFTSS and The Interdisciplinary Centre for Narrative Studies, University of York

Troubling dialogues: fitting words into place

nicosia-graffiti
Nicosia graffiti on underground car park

Abstract

By Stuart Moore and Kayla Parker

This paper examines the screenwriting processes developed during the creation of a collaborative essay film. The strategy emerges through its authors’ shared production experience, allowing the intertwining of their subjectivities with political and social histories. Using their practice research project, Father-land as a case study, the authors critically reflect on their evolving dialogic methodology developed through collaboration.

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