French filmmaker Chantal Akerman's cinematic accomplishments helped further a new wave of feminist filmmaking, in addition to films helmed by female directors. Akerman's most famous work, Jeanne Dielman, 23 quai du Commerce, 1080 Bruxelles, is a near-four hour opus that she made when she was only twenty five, younger than both Jean Luc-Godard and Francois Truffaut when they both made their respective first features. Akerman was an underrated artist and her memorable films, both short and long, often embody the alienation of women in society, as well as the fine details that go unnoticed, even under the largely, inclusive microscope of the film lens.
One of Akerman's more low-key, experimental shorts is La chambre, which comes packaged in The Criterion Collection set of Akerman's most renowned work in the 1970's. It's an exercise in cinematic craft in the way it has Akerman practices the conventional, but elaborate pan in film, which consists of a camera turning horizontally, often to showcase an all-encompassing view of a room or a specific location, three-hundred and sixty degrees. La chambre pans in Akerman's bedroom, where every time the camera passes her, she is in a different position on her bed. At one point, she is motionless, whereas the next, she is peeling an orange, and finally, at the end of this ten minute work, she's lying on the bed, though doesn't appear to be sleeping.
This will undoubtedly be a baffling little oddity for those brave and willing enough to seek it out, but Akerman likely doesn't mean a lot of thematic depth or significance with this short, other than the fact that it's a light-hearted showcase of the effectiveness of a camera pan. Because there is no dialog, let alone sound, viewers have to resort to picking up on the fine details and intricacies of Akerman's room, which bears rocking chairs, clutter, and years worth of accumulated treasures that make for great details. La chambre isn't much other than a piece of experimentation, but it's far less taxing than most of the genre's works normally are.
Directed by: Chantal Akerman.
One of Akerman's more low-key, experimental shorts is La chambre, which comes packaged in The Criterion Collection set of Akerman's most renowned work in the 1970's. It's an exercise in cinematic craft in the way it has Akerman practices the conventional, but elaborate pan in film, which consists of a camera turning horizontally, often to showcase an all-encompassing view of a room or a specific location, three-hundred and sixty degrees. La chambre pans in Akerman's bedroom, where every time the camera passes her, she is in a different position on her bed. At one point, she is motionless, whereas the next, she is peeling an orange, and finally, at the end of this ten minute work, she's lying on the bed, though doesn't appear to be sleeping.
This will undoubtedly be a baffling little oddity for those brave and willing enough to seek it out, but Akerman likely doesn't mean a lot of thematic depth or significance with this short, other than the fact that it's a light-hearted showcase of the effectiveness of a camera pan. Because there is no dialog, let alone sound, viewers have to resort to picking up on the fine details and intricacies of Akerman's room, which bears rocking chairs, clutter, and years worth of accumulated treasures that make for great details. La chambre isn't much other than a piece of experimentation, but it's far less taxing than most of the genre's works normally are.
Directed by: Chantal Akerman.