The history of cinema is a giant smudge: it is like upturned embroidery, with threads that inter-mesh in a manner so random that even the cautious pursuit of one does not reveal any clear pattern - unless ofcourse, one were to turn it back and view the 'correct side' of the arrangement : the one in the front - which is when the painting emerges. Everything connects to everything else; every film influences the other; every filmmaker is another's inspiration and every film is both classical and contemporary - a mesh so elaborate that it can make any sense only if the 'correct side' is looked at - only if all of it is looked at as being under the ambit of one notion, a singular entity : cinema itself. The permanence of film means that I may view a 1914 film in 2011, and for me, it assumes the status of a 'contemporary film', and there might be a 2011 film, that I hear a lot about, speculate on, anticipate; but never actually 'see' - the film assumes a mythical status, and becomes a 'classic'.
This is the second-part in a series that examines this peculiar phenomena inherent in film, one that defies chronology and grants the viewer of a film the benefit of hindsight, of certain foreknowledge of the career-trajectory of a person whose name features rather mundanely in the credits of a film from before his career. Ofcourse, my act of watching this film takes place only after I have watched all the films in the career of the person.
This is the second-part in a series that examines this peculiar phenomena inherent in film, one that defies chronology and grants the viewer of a film the benefit of hindsight, of certain foreknowledge of the career-trajectory of a person whose name features rather mundanely in the credits of a film from before his career. Ofcourse, my act of watching this film takes place only after I have watched all the films in the career of the person.
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| A Generation (1955)/ Andzrej Wajda |
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