En kammerpiges dagbog

Tusind sole

Tusind sole er en filmvisningsrække i København. Hver måned præsenterer vi én international premierefilm og ét genopdaget historisk værk, der på forskellig vis udvider filmmediets mulighedsrum og vores fælleshorisont.

Billetpris: 50 kroner (medmindre andet er angivet).

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Le journal d'une femme de chambre
Luis Buñuel
1964
100 min.
35mm
Fransk tale / svenske undertekster

Frankrig, 1930’erne. Den parisiske kammerpige Célestine (Jeanne Moreau) rejser til en herregård i naturskønne omgivelser for at arbejde. Her flytter hun ind i et hus befolket af excentriske ansatte og arbejdsgivere, hvis feticher, begær og magtspil udspiller sig bag lukkede døre. Da en ung pige bliver voldtaget og myrdet, beslutter Célestine sig for at finde den skyldige.

Alt imens ulmer 1930’ernes fascisme og radikalisering i baggrunden. Antisemitisme, antikommunisme og forestillinger om hæren og kirken som værn mod samfundets forfald vokser dulgt frem.

En kammerpiges dagbog markerede Buñuels tilbagevenden til fransk film efter en yderst produktiv og til stadighed overset periode i Mexico. Filmen blev samtidig begyndelsen på hans mangeårige samarbejde med manuskriptforfatteren Jean-Claude Carrière, der senere førte til film som Dagens skønhed (1967) og Borgerskabets diskrete charme (1972).

Filmens stil er påfaldende nøgtern. Buñuel undgår larmende stilgreb, og filmen er uden underlægningsmusik. Som Carrière siden har beskrevet det, havde Buñuel ikke meget tilovers for greb, der på forhånd fortalte publikum, hvordan en scene skulle opleves: ”Han var dybt mistroisk over for enhver form for filmisk effekt og afviste dem som overfladiske og kunstnerisk prætentiøse… At afvise virtuositet indebærer, at man er overbevist om styrken i det, man viser.”

Filmens krystalklare enkelhed betyder imidlertid ikke, at filmen er visuelt spartansk. Udenfor står træer og løv tæt i skoven, og indenfor bugner herregården af buster, spejle, vaser og lamper – genstande, som Buñuel lader indgå i husets sociale hierarki. Fra det udstyrstunge køkken og det enkle, tapet-dækkede loftsværelse til de barokke stuer registrerer kameraet rummene uden at fremhæve eller forklare. En levende filmkunst, der er overbevist om styrken i det, der vises.

Vi er glade for at kunne præsentere filmen på 35mm.

Præsenteres i samarbejde med Cinemateket.
Kopi: SFI

“The World Doesn’t Know Shinji Somai”
Ryusuke Hamaguchi, 2023

“The world doesn’t know Shinji Somai”. That was the catchphrase coming with the book Yomigaeru Somai Shinji (Shinji Somai Renaissance) published in 2011, 10 years after the director’s death. Now that 10 years has passed again, does the world finally met Shinji Somai? Yes and no. Of course, several retrospectives of his films have been organized in festivals, where he found a new audience. He is still far from achieving the widespread recognition that all Somai lovers feel is his due. This is a thing that I’ve felt precisely while speaking with those involved in cinema around the world. The world still doesn’t know Shinji Somai.

Since his debut in 1980, Shinji Somai is held in the highest esteem by Japanese film fans, just as it is, let's face it, impossible for anyone making cinema in Japan today not to have Somai in mind. Of course, it is easy to imagine the difficulty of mulling over the atmosphere of early Somai films if one is not familiar with the specific context of Japanese cinema in the 1980s. At a time when, with the dismantling of the major studio production system many films were being made by parasitising other industries such as television or music Somai launched his filmography by making "idol films" relying on the popularity of the teenage girls who played the leading roles (which is reminiscent of Hou Hsiao Hsien's debut at the same period).

We often speak of the "sequence shot" or the "long shot" to characterise the stylistic feature he acquired during this period. However, nothing could be more misleading than to regard this as his 'auteurism'. Simply comparing Somai Shinji's long takes with those of Welles, Tarkovsky, Angelopoulos and others will only make his technical coarseness stand out. This could be understood as a reflection of the poor production conditions of Japanese cinema in the 1980s. But no. What he was really aiming for was first and foremost the 'sparkle of life' of the actors. In his work, the long shot allows these young women, seen as "idols", to burst through the frame from within, the better to escape. This inspires the crew, who grew up in studios, to break through the limited circumstances of the time. This 'long shot', which is a by-product of his deep trust in the vitality of the actors' and crew's bodies, is not just a directorial technique, but rather a reflection of his 'attitude to life'.

Moving (selected in Cannes Film Festival's Un Certain Regard section in 1993) is, amongst all of Somai’s films, the one which first created a contact between international audience and his entire oeuvre. However, the film did not simply end up unawarded, nor did it receive the same critical favours as Takeshi Kitano's Sonatine, which was screened in the same year and in the same section. Here again, the world and Somai replayed their failed encounter. Watching the film again today, it seems unbelievable. Especially because of the presence of the lead actress, Tomoko Tabata. Her ability to move, the expression on her face, her eyes - everything is incredible; but it is her voice that I find most captivating. This voice, which alone manages to express her whole being, which plays with distance and time as if it were breaking down all boundaries, to touch and shake the adults who play the other characters, right up to the audience. As a filmmaker, it's hard to believe that such a being could exist in a film. The images are like so much evidence of her vital energy. We are led to reflect on the fact that the life force residing there may also be in us, and we may not be making full use of it. Life, here reinstilled.

There can be no doubt that Moving is still the best gateway for "the World" and Shinji Somai to meet. You don't need to know anything about the history of Japanese cinema to understand this film, which marks a period of the highest refinement in his career, as well as having been brought to life through Tomoko Tabata’s character. But if, thanks to this film, viewers ever become interested in Shinji Somai, I would like them to see his twelve other films. Because in each of them, you will see bodies and hear voices that surprise you. Again and again. There's nothing to be surprised about. We have not yet met Somai Shinji enough.

We still don't know Somai!
Essay udgivet i pressebooklet i forbindelse med den nyrestaurede udgave af Moving.

7. oktober
20.00
Cinemateket
(Gothersgade 55, 1123 København Ø)

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