I have long admired Wright's painting; what I find interesting, and surprising, about the film is that the narration of different elements of the painting does not itself tell us something that the painting does not already say—at least to those who still possess a moral imagination—, but by impinging on our ears rather than our eyes, the film makes it much more difficult (I hope) for a modern viewer/listener whose biophilia has been overwhelmed by the technophilia of our age to dismiss the painting as an ignorant 18th c. response to the Advancement of Science. ("A sacrifice to science is still a sacrifice." Indeed.) Hearing is temporal in a way that vision is not; the human voice, especially, speaks to us as if it is present with us, now. Oddly, though, not all film has this effect: we can observe stories and think of them as being played out in other times or worlds not our own. Perhaps what Can Eskinazi is doing is akin to performing classical music on instruments that have been around for a long time, giving particular voice to ideas and feelings that are universally human yet sometimes require just the right touch to bring them to life.
I absolutely loved this. I want to see more of Can Eskinazi's work. I just finished rereading part of Michel Foucault's Les Mots et les choses and was struck by the brilliance of his reading of Velasquez' Las Meninas in the first chapter. I had read it over 40 years ago. I had forgotten that Foucault wrote what I just reread, but I always saw the painting, and still do, through the residue of long-ago reading. That, I had not forgotten. Now I will ever see this painting through this film. I also just finished doing some superficial work on 18th-century naturalists. Echos. Thinking about Charles Bovary's unfortunate experiments in surgery as well. Again, love, love, love this. The dialogue is so well imagined and delivered.
This is awesome. Could watch films like this all day. More please!
The human voices prattle on in cruelty and horror. It is the cockatoo who can only speak with the sound of flapping wings who has the most to say.
Finally the victim of human folly dies, and with wings silenced, the bird judges his tormentors and executioner.
I have long admired Wright's painting; what I find interesting, and surprising, about the film is that the narration of different elements of the painting does not itself tell us something that the painting does not already say—at least to those who still possess a moral imagination—, but by impinging on our ears rather than our eyes, the film makes it much more difficult (I hope) for a modern viewer/listener whose biophilia has been overwhelmed by the technophilia of our age to dismiss the painting as an ignorant 18th c. response to the Advancement of Science. ("A sacrifice to science is still a sacrifice." Indeed.) Hearing is temporal in a way that vision is not; the human voice, especially, speaks to us as if it is present with us, now. Oddly, though, not all film has this effect: we can observe stories and think of them as being played out in other times or worlds not our own. Perhaps what Can Eskinazi is doing is akin to performing classical music on instruments that have been around for a long time, giving particular voice to ideas and feelings that are universally human yet sometimes require just the right touch to bring them to life.
I absolutely loved this. I want to see more of Can Eskinazi's work. I just finished rereading part of Michel Foucault's Les Mots et les choses and was struck by the brilliance of his reading of Velasquez' Las Meninas in the first chapter. I had read it over 40 years ago. I had forgotten that Foucault wrote what I just reread, but I always saw the painting, and still do, through the residue of long-ago reading. That, I had not forgotten. Now I will ever see this painting through this film. I also just finished doing some superficial work on 18th-century naturalists. Echos. Thinking about Charles Bovary's unfortunate experiments in surgery as well. Again, love, love, love this. The dialogue is so well imagined and delivered.