This movie is the exact type of extremely difficult to review because its content and subject exists on such an ephemeral and visual production of engagement that words are ill-fit for describing or justifying its non-linguistic elements. This is a story of an artist at the end of his life, but is neither biography nor a retroactive of his artwork, but focuses more on the process of the artist and what is lost when his life comes to an end and his work becomes unfinished.
The artist is Spanish painter Antonio Lopez Garcia, and the director Victor Erice. Garcia's paintings, at least portrayed in this movie (I am unfortunately unfamiliar with the wider body of Garcia's work), are formal still-lifes that Garcia approaches by careful and involving breaking down of natural elements into immaculately structured space, while he agonizes over shifting natural light. Erice I'm more familiar with, due to his other two movies, El Sur and The Spirit of the Beehive, all movies he's currently made being rigorously composed and ephemerally lit, which makes him the perfect director to take this subject on. The two artists seem, though one is on screen and one is invisible, in perfect and transcendent dialog throughout the entire movie. It's very hard to explain how a movie that is essentially about a man standing in place and painting, giving up, restarting, failing, restarting, almost finishing, and then noticing that the tree he's painting has changed completely as winter bears down and he starts to lose hope can be so immediate, beautiful, and interesting for two and a half hours. It's the exact type of movie you want to run out to the streets and tell everyone to see, but when asked what it's about are stopped short by trying to figure out how to explain how awesome it is to almost literally watch paint dry for two hours. But believe me when I say it's awesome.
It's not that inactive and static. Other characters come and talk to the artist about his work, one of the most important ones being a contemporary who at times helps and at times criticizes Garcia's work. The photography and the camera movements in this movie are amazing and expertly draw the eye to a beautiful and well-lit world struggling with the idea of beauty and light. Garcia's work style is fascinating and the way Erice presents it even more so. The best part is that Erice keeps close to Garcia in most situations and observes his movements and style from afar, then cuts to insert shots of the details that make it so appealing; but then, upon showing those details, the camera detaches and starts roving around the area, far from the artists habitude and into the world itself. It's like Garcia's small details send Erice spinning, searching for similar examples of beauty in the wider world. Erice has this thing about trains that I'm not exactly sure what the exact fascination is (though cinema and trains have a very close Industrial era relationship quite often presented in cinema), and at the height of each of Erice's excitements features a train rolling by.
The movie starts to get suspenseful, too, as the quinces start falling. This is, after all, the story of a man at the end of his life--set in fall, racing against the coming winter, musing on memories of his life and wondering what it all comes to, realizing the wisdom he's gained, etc. It becomes tragic as the man who you observe building every piece of his art from scratch (including the canvas) with a strict and ordered craftsmanship developed over years of practice and career finally finds himself unfit to do it all as the world starts moving faster than he can, including the everchanging weight of the quinces on the trees. Erice, on the other hand, has more alacrity and resourcefulness in his artistic craft, and where the previous artist eventually fails to complete his painting, Erice sets up lights and a camera (on screen, mind you, making the movie self-aware) and uses it to describe not only the artist, but his untapped dreams.
--PolarisDiB
The artist is Spanish painter Antonio Lopez Garcia, and the director Victor Erice. Garcia's paintings, at least portrayed in this movie (I am unfortunately unfamiliar with the wider body of Garcia's work), are formal still-lifes that Garcia approaches by careful and involving breaking down of natural elements into immaculately structured space, while he agonizes over shifting natural light. Erice I'm more familiar with, due to his other two movies, El Sur and The Spirit of the Beehive, all movies he's currently made being rigorously composed and ephemerally lit, which makes him the perfect director to take this subject on. The two artists seem, though one is on screen and one is invisible, in perfect and transcendent dialog throughout the entire movie. It's very hard to explain how a movie that is essentially about a man standing in place and painting, giving up, restarting, failing, restarting, almost finishing, and then noticing that the tree he's painting has changed completely as winter bears down and he starts to lose hope can be so immediate, beautiful, and interesting for two and a half hours. It's the exact type of movie you want to run out to the streets and tell everyone to see, but when asked what it's about are stopped short by trying to figure out how to explain how awesome it is to almost literally watch paint dry for two hours. But believe me when I say it's awesome.
It's not that inactive and static. Other characters come and talk to the artist about his work, one of the most important ones being a contemporary who at times helps and at times criticizes Garcia's work. The photography and the camera movements in this movie are amazing and expertly draw the eye to a beautiful and well-lit world struggling with the idea of beauty and light. Garcia's work style is fascinating and the way Erice presents it even more so. The best part is that Erice keeps close to Garcia in most situations and observes his movements and style from afar, then cuts to insert shots of the details that make it so appealing; but then, upon showing those details, the camera detaches and starts roving around the area, far from the artists habitude and into the world itself. It's like Garcia's small details send Erice spinning, searching for similar examples of beauty in the wider world. Erice has this thing about trains that I'm not exactly sure what the exact fascination is (though cinema and trains have a very close Industrial era relationship quite often presented in cinema), and at the height of each of Erice's excitements features a train rolling by.
The movie starts to get suspenseful, too, as the quinces start falling. This is, after all, the story of a man at the end of his life--set in fall, racing against the coming winter, musing on memories of his life and wondering what it all comes to, realizing the wisdom he's gained, etc. It becomes tragic as the man who you observe building every piece of his art from scratch (including the canvas) with a strict and ordered craftsmanship developed over years of practice and career finally finds himself unfit to do it all as the world starts moving faster than he can, including the everchanging weight of the quinces on the trees. Erice, on the other hand, has more alacrity and resourcefulness in his artistic craft, and where the previous artist eventually fails to complete his painting, Erice sets up lights and a camera (on screen, mind you, making the movie self-aware) and uses it to describe not only the artist, but his untapped dreams.
--PolarisDiB