Reality/Presence is the Past's Future
某人已把我的Div三做了，名字也取得很好聽。世界真系小小小，直到今天一看他的簡歷才發現曹斐的好幾個作品都是他做的攝影師。
我们每天的日常生活里充斥着各种荒诞的事件。影片由20多个发生在城市里的事件拼贴而成：一个拿不到赔偿金而扬言自杀的男人；一个在路中央手舞足蹈的疯子；一群在高速路上失控的猪；随意乱过马路的行人；在消费过程中出现的假钞；在建筑工地里发现的文物；城市的河流里既有打着环保旗号的游泳队伍，又有不怕肮脏的渔夫，甚至还有一条逃跑出来的鳄鱼……
作者阐述：
在两年间我收集了DV爱好者拍摄的各种素材，并决定做一部有自己风格的城市交响曲。一直以来，城市交响曲形式的纪录片都没有展现现实的声音，如沃尔特鲁特曼的《柏林：城市交响曲》、吉加维尔托夫的《带摄影机的人》和戈弗雷吉里欧的《失去平衡的生活》。但这次，绝对不需要配乐，这部城市交响曲里交织着各种现实的声音和事件。
黄伟凯，1972年生，广东人，1995年毕业于广州美术学院国画系，2002年作为自由工作者开始独立拍片。
Born in 1972, Huang Weikai is a Guangzhou-based filmmaker with a degree from the Guangzhou Academy of Fine Arts. He began creating films as a freelance artist in 2002.
Director’s Note：
When I began shooting this film, I told myself not to be concerned with what a documentary “should be like”, or to worry about the meaning of “vérité” or “truth.” Both a documentary and a feature are films observing different sets of rules. What I set out to make was a film anyway. A wast majority of people hold that documentary is monotonous, lengthy and uninteresting, because the cliche of documentaries ruins the appetite of audience. A young filmmaker is not to produce a model of a standard documentary but to try to produce a creative piece of work, even he may risk committing very stupid or naive mistakes.
The most attractive aspect lies in uncertainty. During the shooting, neither I nor the people I shot had any idea what would happen next. We seemed to be in a floating boat, in the vast ocean, accepting the challenges that befell us. But that is only what the filmmaker felt. The people you shot may ask: “what is the difference between today and yesterday; why are you still shooting? In front of the camera, his life is mobilizing and changing. It is even more dramatic than a feature movie. His songs are also very expressive, so the interviews sometimes are replaced by performance, which is in fact more capable of expressing his emotions and delivering the information to target audience and sometimes even play the role of the narration.【來自http://www.reelchina.net/directors/huangweikai.htm】
"Weikai assembled the footage from over one-thousand hours of footage he collected from other, amateur filmmakers, and while stitching this footage together, he followed but one rule: No successive scenes could come from the same source tape. It's a film that aspires toward democracy, that hopes to represent the multitude.
And yet, a priori to these ideas and gestures, Disorder is simply a gripping, stirring, occasionally shocking experience. Part of this is due to Weikai's playful juxtapositions: Men jostling with a pig, trying in vain to coax it back into a truck; panicking policemen, quelling a contextless near-riot, shoving someone's mother into a wagon; a shirtless, unhinged man crossing a busy intersection, only he has nowhere to go; another shirtless man, armed with grievances, disarmingly lucid about why he is perched on the railing of a bridge. These are all unrelated scenes, captured by unrelated cameras. But mostly, the power of Disorder rests in the associations we draw from Weikai's raw materials, the narratives we surmise, the moments that are savagely funny or miserably sad, if that's what you want them to be. Perhaps you thought some of the scenes—grainy messes of inscrutable action—resembled a music video.
After the film, Weikai discussed this emerging idea of a distinctly Chinese "absurdity"—a condition of life related to but distinct from previous expressions of the absurd, like Kafka or magical realism. This was a theme many Chinese artists were contemplating, he explained, and it offered a fascinating way to think about Disorder in particular, and the documentary genre in general. While this was a film about the everyday effects of globalization and progress, it wasn't a polemic about causes. It was about a common, daily effect: this was a film about people who had accepted a measure of absurdity in their lives. This was the ruling condition of all the scattered scenes, from the cop—powerless, ultimately—brokering a deal between two aggrieved citizens, to the family—bemused but not shocked—who happen upon an orphaned baby in the brush."
And yet, a priori to these ideas and gestures, Disorder is simply a gripping, stirring, occasionally shocking experience. Part of this is due to Weikai's playful juxtapositions: Men jostling with a pig, trying in vain to coax it back into a truck; panicking policemen, quelling a contextless near-riot, shoving someone's mother into a wagon; a shirtless, unhinged man crossing a busy intersection, only he has nowhere to go; another shirtless man, armed with grievances, disarmingly lucid about why he is perched on the railing of a bridge. These are all unrelated scenes, captured by unrelated cameras. But mostly, the power of Disorder rests in the associations we draw from Weikai's raw materials, the narratives we surmise, the moments that are savagely funny or miserably sad, if that's what you want them to be. Perhaps you thought some of the scenes—grainy messes of inscrutable action—resembled a music video.
After the film, Weikai discussed this emerging idea of a distinctly Chinese "absurdity"—a condition of life related to but distinct from previous expressions of the absurd, like Kafka or magical realism. This was a theme many Chinese artists were contemplating, he explained, and it offered a fascinating way to think about Disorder in particular, and the documentary genre in general. While this was a film about the everyday effects of globalization and progress, it wasn't a polemic about causes. It was about a common, daily effect: this was a film about people who had accepted a measure of absurdity in their lives. This was the ruling condition of all the scattered scenes, from the cop—powerless, ultimately—brokering a deal between two aggrieved citizens, to the family—bemused but not shocked—who happen upon an orphaned baby in the brush."
-- Hua Hsu
No comments:
Post a Comment