Over the Sunday afternoon craft beers at the local bar hangout, the week's literary and cinematic discoveries piled up in a maze.
From Milan Kundera's reoccurring phrase in "The Art of the Novel", namely that a novel should say what only a novel can say, via the idea of the experiment behind "Man with a movie camera", that is to separate film from literature and theater to find its own expression, I understood the story in "Leviathan" (2014) could only be told in a film.
The silent car rides weighing more than a lengthy debate, the barren landscape carrying the female's character despair, or the sudden appearance of a whale skeleton on the coast catching the breath of the child running were (also) an expression of cinema telling the story the way only it can.
The film has its pace and takes its time to look at a brutally corrupt sample of society, in which we don't even know which anchor for hope and source of authority is worse - the political representatives or the religious institutions. And at the end of which we're not sure whether we should allow ourselves to laugh at the whole satire or bow to the elegance of the tragedy.
I am left with a feeling of walking on quicksand, of life running thorough fingers like water, of worlds that can sink, giant hidden creatures than can swallow you. A good moment to acknowledge the frailty of my world and so embark on another week...
From Milan Kundera's reoccurring phrase in "The Art of the Novel", namely that a novel should say what only a novel can say, via the idea of the experiment behind "Man with a movie camera", that is to separate film from literature and theater to find its own expression, I understood the story in "Leviathan" (2014) could only be told in a film.
The silent car rides weighing more than a lengthy debate, the barren landscape carrying the female's character despair, or the sudden appearance of a whale skeleton on the coast catching the breath of the child running were (also) an expression of cinema telling the story the way only it can.
The film has its pace and takes its time to look at a brutally corrupt sample of society, in which we don't even know which anchor for hope and source of authority is worse - the political representatives or the religious institutions. And at the end of which we're not sure whether we should allow ourselves to laugh at the whole satire or bow to the elegance of the tragedy.
I am left with a feeling of walking on quicksand, of life running thorough fingers like water, of worlds that can sink, giant hidden creatures than can swallow you. A good moment to acknowledge the frailty of my world and so embark on another week...
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