Humanism in Formality: The Films of Antoine Bourges

Fail to Appear (2017)

Back during the spring of 2018, as I had just finished my second semester of college, I was amidst an intense growth in my cinephilia. For the first time in my film education I felt unbounded by various canons, critic's lists, and the need to follow what I considered a heavily politicized standard to learning the art. While I understood and appreciated the formal and historic importance of Fellini and Ford, the manner of which their respective works were taught within the homogenized ether of typical American film academia didn't sit too well consciously. Knowing just how deeply expansive cinema's parameters were realistically, this standardized, often classist Euro-centric narrative seemed nothing but limiting to me. So starting the beginning of my college enrollment, I made the decision to explore the medium's offerings all on my own volition (with proper context of course). Whether classical or contemporary, it was about crafting my own specialized intake of what cinema was and could be.

It was during this time that I found out about MUBI and their personalized curation of films made for adventurous cinephiles alike. At the time of subscribing to the service, a partnership with Film Society of Lincoln Center saw a share of their Art of the Real program being streamed for immediate home access. The program, billed as a "survey of the most vital and innovative voices in non-fiction and hybrid filmmaking" fascinated me as I had taken profound self interest in documentary film both as an educator and a creative outlet. Among the small selection was an intriguing film by the name of Fail to Appear (2017) by Toronto based filmmaker Antoine Bourges. I knew nothing of the film and Bourges prior to viewing, as well as its leading lady, Deragh Campbell (a rapidly rising star within the indie world), so going in, I had zero clue what to expect.

Fail to Appear is set within the bureaucratic system of social services in Toronto and follows Isolde (played by Campbell), a young caseworker with a certain dry, lethargic exterior. Right from the get go, Bourges makes his aesthetic and ideological principles clear. Beginning with a long take of Isolde engaging in the ever so joyous task of printing multitudes of paper documents, followed by subsequent long, static observational shots of her routine work day, Bourges' directorial assessment immediately strikes the initiated viewer of that of a Wiseman clone in form, infused with the stripped down, minimalist aesthetic of Straub-Huillet. What one also takes notice of (which may go over less informed audience's heads, such as I) is that of the presence of Campbell in the first place who is not a caseworker in her own right. With a certain Kiarostami-eqsue blending of fictive and non-fictive elements put in place, Bourges weaves his areas of interest and contained subjects to properly assist his narrative regimen.

Isolde is tasked with aiding Eric, played by non-actor Nathan Roder, in an upcoming court hearing. Eric's case convicts him of petty theft and his coming hearing a repeat after failing to appear the original date. But his time spent interacting with Isolde paints a much more intricate portrait of the circumstances regarding his situation. Eric is a functioning schizophrenic whose diagnosis and through a piercingly bare scene of dialogue suggests a non deliberate misdoing on his behalf. Bourges deconstructs the harmful myths and ethos surrounding such criminal charges as Eric's and his factoring mental illness to seemingly argue that the system who in theory exists to fairly try and categorize individuals also happens to be the party guilty of eradicating each's own human complexity and as a result, reduces the integrity of each individual to that of a blank representation of their respective wrongdoing. Morality is simply caged to fit equally simple narratives. Opposite of Eric, Isolde, despite her detached demeanor, displays a subtle, but dedicated compassion which not only sees her merely assist, but even make efforts to make lunch plans (to Eric's reluctance) and accompany him on public transit as well as his eventual hearing. Despite the nature of her work being impersonal in design, again reducing each person to a neatly organized case, her fleeting time spent with Eric reverberates oppositely.

Running a little over an hour, the film sees Bourges experiment both with form and with dramaturgy. Fail to Appear does not aim to follow a clear cut narrative, but to present vital fragments of events that exist on a spectrum beyond a three act structure. Bourges even makes the decision to shift the narrative halfway through, as the film goes from Isolde's story to Eric's. What follows is a heartfelt ode to Eric's being as we eventually wander past the initial environments the film starts with to the comfort of his own home where a special talent of his emotionally crescendos the rest of the film.

Two patrons enjoy a moment of levity in East Hastings Pharmacy (2012)

Fast forward to the present where last week I managed to get to Bourges' previous and only other feature, the pertinently titled East Hastings Pharmacy (2012). Like Fail to Appear, Bourges faces his camera towards another institution, this time the pharmaceutical industry and more specifically, a methadone program set in downtown Vancouver. Day by day, regulars at the pharmacy line up before the barricaded counter that supplies their prescribed intake of methadone served inside a disposable paper cup. After ingesting their dosage, they are handed two lollipop sticks as consolation and merrily sent on their way. The facility is compact in design with only an added seating area available for temporary lounging. Above, an old analog television looms over for customers' entertainment. Juxtaposed alongside the main exchanges at the window are various scenes of dialogue between patrons as they often share laughs or recount stories to one another at this space. Bourges' approach here is straightforward but nevertheless humanizing.

Bourges casts actress Shauna Hansen as the film's lead, the main pharmacist who exists as an open stand-in for the audience as we gaze at various transactions made from just behind her glass barrier, an obvious but literal metaphor. With commonalities to Deragh Campbell's Isolde, Shauna is also a closed off individual. Her relationships with patients remain casual and she never breaches beyond professional conduct during moments of frustration and desperation by those just on the other side of her protected space. Though this role of being the hand that feeds for a larger entity does not also come without its emotional tolls. In a later scene, Shauna's moral struggle about the effects of her work confront her harshly through the anguished pleas for help by a patient one day seemingly impacted negatively by what should be her treatment. Despite clear distress being signaled through Shauna's replies, she remains utterly immobile in her role, unable to do much beyond what is standard procedure.

The biggest distinction Pharmacy has in comparison to Fail is the much more seamless manner of which Bourges infuses his dichotomy of real and unreal elements with the casting of actual addicts to reenact and improvise scenarios true to their own. This not only provides a rawer, truer sensibility to the film, enabling some truly unflinching moments brought on by drug addiction, but as a result, acutely questions the usefulness of methadone programs by critiquing its negative effects by those individuals directly hit. But for me, what makes the film stand out most is how Bourges dissects and configures the limited space of which he works. The titular East Hastings Pharmacy is a cramped space and only beyond what has already been described is the back area for employees only. There exists so few possibilities for spacial exploration through the camera yet Bourges pulls it off with aplomb. The film consists of a series of fixed shots and angles that cut back to each other in semi-sequential order. Regular views include both sides of the counter of which Shauna operates including a close-up of the open space where she passes items through by hand, the lab in the back for her and her co-worker to fix various drugs, and the seating area of which patrons lounge to name the essential few. Unassumingly forward in its presentation, Bourges through clever convenience, shoots and edits his film with Bressonian rigor that is at once apt but ingeniously fitting for his glimpses of institutionalized repression of human compassion.

Bourges abstracts the mimetic qualities of documentary to create a blurred fictive reality where dramatic, performative gestures communicate the underlying humanism within the institutions and systems that represent the hard opposite. Bourges isn't advocating for these structures, but rather highlighting the struggles of humanity faced within what is a cold, labyrinthine system of laws, codes, and hierarchical power. When it comes to discussing the great humanist filmmakers of all time, Bourges deserves honest ranking with Ken Loach and the Italian Neo-Realists whose films so often are taken for obvious grant. In terms of discoveries I've made separate of any curriculum, Bourges instantly comes close to the top. Hoping his work catches on one of these days.

Below are Vimeo links of which both films can be rented or purchased. Support Antoine Bourges!

https://vimeo.com/ondemand/failtoappear

https://vimeo.com/ondemand/easthastingspharmacy2

A New Era for Independent Cinema?

Currently, we find ourselves locked within the rapture of global chaos without a clear end in sight. I think it's safe to say that those of us who have followed current events for years now have come to expect this bleak new existence creeping ever so closely and inevitably due to the harmful effect of negligent world powers, the cornucopia of corporations committing mass immoralities against citizens and the environment and the deceitful villainy of cake. But what none of us could've ever expected was how abruptly that change would come to hit. 2020 has been a rough year to put it lightly. In just a short span of several months, we have found ourselves unwillingly indoctrinated to a new reality. It seems almost daily that *something* manages to tug at the proverbial cloth more and more, creating further strain on our last fibers of sanity. Yet, through it all, we accept these regular disturbances with our heads afloat, braced for what tomorrow will bring. It's quite miraculous really. And as someone with defeatist tendencies, this sort of communal buoyancy is truly inspiring. Now, despite this somewhat positive outlook, I'm not going to end this short reflection off with some yucky, feel good schmaltz. That'd be selfish of me honestly. I'm as equally uncertain as you are about this predicament we find ourselves in. But at the very least, we must continue to be mensches to one another. That's how we'll (eventually) prevail.

As for our beloved pastime of film, 2020 has also proven especially difficult. The heralding of the death of the cinema has long been projected since the boom of television and the rise of alternative media platforms leading to more empty seats in theater spaces. Just like that of world affairs, this eventual fate would be met a lot sooner than expected due to the swift effects brought on by COVID-19. Overzealous financial ambitions made standard procedure in the last couple of decades amongst the studios have created further rifts in the self-sustainability of the medium in the United States. There is just way too much money being pumped into films that are then expected to sell fabulously to an audience with waning interest and declining disposable income. As a result, more inexpensive projects (comparatively) get sacked and the vicious cycle ravages on creating starker lucrative goals to make up for past failures. One could definitely view this as valid evidence leading to Hollywood's collapse. The event film has all but lost its purpose now that these productions have become depended upon. Now with theater spaces mainly closed and audiences en masse unable to keep feeding the cycle traditionally, American cinema finds itself in a rather strange place. It's unprecedented and history cannot possibly educate on a solution to follow. Hollywood, for the first time, finds itself in a purgatorial state.

What has been triumphant in the film world though is the semi-recently introduced "virtual screenings" model to help bolster independent cinema and its vast network of supporting entities. Through this initiative, independently owned theaters and distribution labels have managed to usher in a new form of exhibition. One that ingeniously fuses the allotment of profit from in person theatrical admission with the widespread availability and convenience of video on demand streaming. Crucial to the survival of the art of independent film are the exhibitors who choose to champion these more iconoclastic productions on the big screen. With this model, lovers of film from all over the country can now support the art form they cherish in a much more charitable fashion.

At the moment, virtual screenings continue due to the ongoing pandemic, but what happens afterwards? If the amount of support so far has said anything, it's that this model has proven especially helpful to audiences who wouldn't typically be able to see the films screened until the eventual home video release (which can be a lengthy wait), as well as aid the establishments who offer the movies in the first place as a bonus. My hope is to see the continuation of this operation even after participating theaters open up again. As many of us dedicated cinephiles know, living in a city or town with a specialized movie house is not only a great privilege, but vastly under numbered. For me specifically living in Las Vegas, it's straight up nonexistent here. So to now have the opportunity to financially support a film like Dan Sallitt's Fourteen (2019) in an establishment like New York City's Film at Lincoln Center or Columbus' Wexner Center among a myriad selection of other places of the like, from the comfort of home, is doubly gratifying. It's not only the films themselves that need our championing, but the institutions that help support the passionate, collective effort we know as independent cinema.

The world is still burning but indie film finds solace at this very moment. While I remain in the dark about larger affairs, I am consoled by the endless possibilities virtual screenings have opened up. What exciting new opportunities can this entail for the medium? With widespread support, can this possibly wave in a new era for independent cinema? For instance, I think about the Metrograph's expansion into distribution last year, giving greater purpose to what it means to be an exhibitor of film. Their output, made up of both contemporary and classic titles, including Claire Simon's wonderful expose of La Femis' cutthroat admission process in The Graduation (2016) and the restoration of David Hockney's portrait in A Bigger Splash (1973), offers film enthusiasts even more important work to be seen and appreciated. If celebrating independent cinema means giving rise to voices on the fringes ready to be heard, or in this case seen, so much good can only come from what this encompasses. More filmographies, careers, and lasting effects to culture just ready to blossom.

Only time will tell of course, but I remain hopeful about where this goes next. At the very least, it's something to cling on to in these freakish times.

JUST DON'T THINK I'LL SCREAM and a Brief Confrontation of Cinephilia

A still from one of the many film clips that make up the movie. Film of origin unknown.

Yesterday evening I finally got around to seeing Frank Beauvais' feature length confessional essay film Just Don't Think I'll Scream (2019) and boy what a turbulent watch it was. 

Beauvais' film is a montage made up of the 400 films he watched between a four-month span of time in 2016 during a depressive state of isolation trapped in the French countryside. Beauvais narrates this dark period recounting the chronology of events leading up to this point, first triggered by the quietly tragic break up between him and his boyfriend and the subsequent hell he plunged into before miraculously finding his head above water once again (for the time being). Parallel to his recollection is a chronicling of world politics often connecting back to his mental state of which was in a constant tug of reasoning self-worth and death. Beauvais' prose is lyrical and poetic yet raw and unflinching as he vocalizes his guilt, failures, and worries about where he had found himself. The 400 films he consumed (alongside a handsome mix of other media) proved more of a coping mechanism rather than for pleasure. Beauvais admits to seeing 4 to 5 films a day through a myriad combination of mediums from online files he had illegally downloaded to DVDs purchased online. His residual time outside of his movie watching spent searching and planning for films to watch the next day. Rinse and repeat. Money was scarce and Beauvais barely kept himself afloat as he made a small business selling the discs, records, and books he would accumulate in order to access new content for himself to digest. Beauvais' life for the four months was relegated to being the most extreme cinephile out of sheer survival.

As for the craft of the montage itself, edited by Thomas Marchand, it's reasonably lacking in ingenuity but effective in execution nonetheless. The presentation is concise, reeling together various snippets from each film, often serving as direct visual accompaniment to his talking points, creating a singular abstract collage of Beauvais' experience. Despite the harrowing nature inherent in the subject matter, Marchand manages to imbue minuscule moments of levity through Beauvais' rhetoric. I'm reminded most specifically of a part where Beauvais recalls meeting up and chatting with an old friend but being pitted into mostly silence due to how much the other loved talking about himself and it is at this moment where Marchand inserts a clip of a man gesturing a jerk off motion with his hands. Pure kino.

When finding out about this film early last year due to the sizable praise it received coming out of Berlinale, it snagged my intrigue without slack. And now just having seen it, my initial pre-viewing extrapolations, now realizations have been confronted. And that is answering the side effects that come with being a cinephile. Now, I should preface before sounding like my own life situation compares to that of Frank's, it doesn't. But, the same feelings that arise from being someone who digests more movies on a regular basis compared to my fellow citizens is shared. To the common folk, cinephilia is not normal.

From time to time I catch myself pondering the futility of my own dedication to the cinema. At first it started as a fun, innocent dive into the expansive catalog of film selection, but has since morphed into a much more obsessive ordeal. While I don't spend all of my time watching and browsing film like Frank, it still remains a key component of my day to day life. It's quite literally part of who I am at this point. Aside from the pure euphoric joy it brings me, which itself is enough of a justification, I do often find myself having to further reason the point of it all. Why continue watching so many films when I can go on and do something more "useful" and "productive" with my time, even if not realistically possible. My answer (typically) is to continue feeding the constantly growing beast that is my film education and how that can be applied to future career opportunities, but that still isn't enough. There's been a growing void that's opened up in me as I've begun to "adult" over the past couple of years. Failures, regrets, and anxieties in my personal life that continue to haunt me every passing day. To help pacify and dull these feelings? I turn to film (among other arts). There's a self contained poetry that film and only film offers that no other art can. To observe the existences, philosophies, and choices made of other people, cultures, and beings. Fiction or non-fiction, narrative or experimental, crucial perspectives and ideologies that have helped shape me come directly from my experiences in film. I've found cinema to be the great teacher for understanding the conditions of life, both physical and metaphysical.Yet despite this, why do I continue to feel so guilty for indulging the way I do? It's a harmless vocation on my behalf if not a positive driving force for self growth and exploration.

Is it perhaps a symptom of capitalistic propaganda ingrained in the culture of working class America?  The general idea floating around in the ether of this country seems to be that personal pleasure does not equate to any monetary value. To feel content and successful, we must reach and satisfy society's deeply problematic and shallow views of success through countless hours of soul sucking work. That's horseshit. As mentioned before, a large segment of my justifying extends itself to that of career avenues. Money. That's what all this centers around in the end. Though despite reaching this clear and logical conclusion my underlying feelings still remain unmoved. I don't understand it. And probably never will.

Obviously Beauvais' film struck a bunch of nerves within and seemingly so among all the other cinephiles out there who've shared these similar sentiments on sites like Letterboxd and MUBI. Despite the unpleasant reality of it, I couldn't be more grateful for Beauvais opening up and dedicating a film to this very niche but important topic. There does exist a dark side to the passion of watching lots of movies. It's not pretty but must be confronted.