copenhagen architecture biennial
& Tusind sole præsenterer:
Langsomhedens filmkunst
27.09-05.10.2025
Under overskriften “Slow Down” undersøger dette års Copenhagen Architecture Biennial, hvordan langsomhed kan anvendes som et arkitektonisk princip. Hvordan kan en deceleration af det globaliserede samfund se ud?
I samarbejde med biennalen præsenterer Tusind sole fire film med henblik på at udvikle forskellige forståelser af langsomhedens filmkunst.
Hvad indebærer langsomhedens filmkunst? Henviser den til en genre, en æstetik, et tempo, en kultur? Vi præsenterer fire film, der kredser om sådanne spørgsmål (uden at de dermed kan eller vil besvare dem på nogen endegyldig måde). Disse værker gør det klart, at når det kommer til filmkunsten, er langsomhed ikke blot en reduktion af hastighed eller et fokus på stilhed. Langsomhed betyder også, at noget forlænges. At noget fortsat formes. At det er undervejs.
Langsomhedens filmkunst, som vi definerer den i dette program og dets arkitektoniske kontekst, fører os til udkanten af et lokalt finsk samfund, hvor tid gradvist bliver en hypnotisk kraft, efterhånden som årstiderne går (Eight Deadly Shots). Langsomheden leder os også til New York under Den store depression, hvor vi skal sidde sammen med Spencer Tracy og Loretta Young og kigge på stjernerne (Man’s Castle). Vi skal på ekskursioner med en lille gruppe botanikentusiaster, der er på jagt efter sjældne blomster i glemte hjørner af Normandiet (7 Walks with Mark Brown), og
til sidst skal vi observere manuelt arbejde på Araya-halvøen i det nordøstlige Venezuela, hvor man har udvundet salt i 500 år (Araya).
En episk tv-miniserie, en hollywoodfilm, et økologisk eksperiment og en poetisk dokumentar: Langsomhedens filmkunst lever på tværs af tid, rum, form og genre.
De udvalgte film minder os desuden om, at langsomhedens filmkunst, paradoksalt nok, ikke blot er langsom. Den er noget andet end “slow cinema.” Langsomhedens filmkunst indeholder en følelse af hurtighed, af uhæmmet arbejdsomhed, af en slags “uproduktiv produktivitet”.
Den franske kritiker Serge Daney skrev engang, at en god film forstyrrer ens tidsfornemmelse og i én og samme vending kan føles “meget langsom og utrolig hurtig”. Dette gælder også for langsomhedens filmkunst, som vi forstår den: Den udtrykker flere hastigheder på én gang. Det er en filmkunst, der er fuldstændig udmattet, men alligevel fyldt med energi. Den kan være tung og træg, men den bevæger sig alligevel fremad. En filmkunst med et intenst nærvær. Den handler ikke blot om verdens tilstande, men er også skabt af verdens tilstande.
Se vores program nedenfor og læs mere om Copenhagen Architecture Biennial her.
AN INTERVIEW WITH JONÁS TRUEBA
Gary M. Kramer, 2024
What observations do you have about the state of Spanish cinema today and how easy it is to make a film like The Other Way Around?
Trueba: Making films in Spain is never entirely easy, nor is it as evident as in France or the United States, where there seems to be a truly recognised tradition and cinema is part of the identity of those countries. In Spain, this has never been the case, and that complicates things. This translates to, for example, within our European environment, our country being one of the least invested in cinema in proportion to its size. But I don’t want to sound like I’m complaining. I believe there have always been very good filmmakers in Spain, sometimes working under very difficult conditions. My father, for example, started making films in the early ‘80s. At that time, there wasn’t even an industry as we call it now, but his generation contributed to creating a new state of things after the end of Franco’s dictatorship, where culture played an important role. The ‘90s were a kind of consolidation for Spanish cinema; many new directors emerged, and a new base of viewers was created. I grew up as a teenager with that Spanish cinema; young people of my age sometimes wore T-shirts of Spanish films, Spanish cinema was “cool.” Then that faded away. Now I’m quite critical of that cinema, to be honest. When it was my turn to start making my own films, that whole model of cinema, my parents’ model, had entered into crisis. And it coincided with the global crisis, particularly the crisis in world cinema, with the changes from celluloid to digital, and then Spain’s economic crisis in particular. The generation of filmmakers I belong to has become strong out of that crisis. It’s a very different generation. Right now, I would say that my generation is perhaps the most diverse there has ever been. I can name some filmmakers who are slightly older than me and are references, like Javier Rebollo, Isaki Lacuesta, Albert Serra, Andrés Duque, Fernando Franco, Elías León Siminiani, Virginia García del Pino… and others born in the ‘80s like myself or Rodrigo Sorogoyen, Mar Coll, Celia Rico, Carla Simón, Elena López Riera, Carles Marqués-Marcet…
I love the Ingmar Bergman tarot cards and the idea of the past, present, and future in the couple’s relationship. The argument they have is about the film 10, there is also an homage to Truffaut (a visit to this gravestone) and The Other Way Around reminded me of Rohmer’s films. What inspired all the homages?
I like that you call them “homages” and not “quotes.” For me, it’s like what many painters do in their works when they paint a motif that reminds them of another painter who has inspired them. In other arts, these homages are accepted naturally. In cinema, they are viewed with suspicion. But in the end, cinema is also an art that needs to reflect on itself, where we can and should accept that there is a tradition we can engage with. I like to think of Truffaut, Rohmer, Bergman, or Blake Edwards as friends. They are part of my life; I think of them often. They have helped me love cinema but also love life. So, it’s normal that finally they end up sneaking into the film, just like other friends and experiences do.
You blur reality with your film. The film can be read in different ways. What do you want viewers to believe?
I like what you say, “blur reality…” I don’t know. I really don’t have a clear idea of what I’m doing, I feel around. But I would like the viewer to ask this question, and they don’t necessarily have to get a clear answer. What matters is to give the concept a spin, and that it serves to continue thinking about love, but also happiness, routines in life, and if life as a couple is really worth it. Those are the questions we ask ourselves, and this film just tries to go a little deeper into them. It does not intend to reach a conclusion but rather a new beginning with those same questions. Renewing doubts is also feeling alive. Don’t you think the same…?