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„Eine ganze Welt öffnet sich diesem Erstaunen, dieser Bewunderung, Erkenntnis, Liebe und wird vom Blick aufgesogen.“ (Jean Epstein)

Touching, How Touching The Nothing Touches – My Lost Film

While having a mail cor­re­spon­dence with my good fri­end Éric Vol­meer about the few films I have made so far, he kept insis­ting to see a film which was somehow men­tio­ned to him by my dear Ioa­na Flo­res­cu. But the film in ques­ti­on is a deli­ca­te case for me as it doesn‘t exist any­mo­re. It makes me kind of angry and sad. Here is what I have writ­ten to Éric about it:

Dear Éric,

I am very hap­py that you keep asking for my so-cal­led „avant­gar­de-film“ which I have shot two years ago main­ly with my mobi­le pho­ne in Graz, Vien­na and Augs­burg. She, the woman I don‘t need to tell you more about, keeps refer­ring to it as my best work. I don‘t think she is right but she always is. Of cour­se, I would love to send the film to you. But I have to tell you that the film has vanis­hed. It just dis­ap­peared. I can‘t tell you more about it and yet, the­re is so much more to say. I wan­ted to wri­te to you about my fee­lings rela­ting to the loss of a film. But then, the­re is also an iro­ny as well as this con­stant desi­re in cine­ma which is its infi­ni­te pos­si­bi­li­ty. Cine­ma has always been in the making until it died. It was never com­ple­ted and I always felt it was right when Godard said that we have never seen its grea­test works or the grea­test work are tho­se that were never real­ly finis­hed. My film is not­hing like that, it is more like a miss­ing memory.

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Don’t dri­ve and shoot

The film is or was cal­led: Tou­ch­ing, How Tou­ch­ing The Not­hing Tou­ch­es. It has been a work about the memo­ries in the pre­sent. Whe­re are we when we remem­ber? It tried to build bridges bet­ween places we are and places we were, but not in the style of Proust, no, the move­ment was from the past to the pre­sent. As if we would eat that made­lei­ne and sud­den­ly think about how we will remem­ber that moment in the future. It was a work that may­be con­tin­ued in its dis­ap­pearence. But how should I have known that? To be honest, I didn‘t know what it was until I have wat­ched it. This makes it somehow almost tra­gic that I can­not watch it again. It was pro­du­ced as part of a semi­nar on Peter Kubel­ka I took part in. One evening we were at the Aus­tri­an Film Muse­um and Mr. Kubel­ka tal­ked about film. His views on digi­tal film­ma­king were as always quite simp­le: Digi­tal Film­ma­king has not­hing to do with film.

What is lack­ing when Mr. Kubel­ka talks about cine­ma is time. It is not as though he does not talk about it at all, but when he talks about rhythm and time, he always goes for mon­ta­ge, mani­pu­la­ti­on and craft, ins­tead of just accep­ting what for exam­p­le André Bazin or And­rei Tar­kovs­ky have been sta­ting rightful­ly a long time ago: Time and move­ment are part of the very image, even if it is just one film-image. It is the­re becau­se film in its core, in its very core that Mr. Kubel­ka sees in its mate­ri­al, has the abili­ty to obser­ve life, to react and inter­act with real hap­pe­nings out­side and cap­tu­re the move­ment of this real world in time and thus trans­form it into a cine­ma­to­gra­phic rea­li­ty like Godard has cal­led and most pos­si­bly still calls it while shoo­ting digi­tal. I know that Mr. Kubel­ka respects this docu­men­ta­ry qua­li­ty of the image but still the­re is a ques­ti­on of focus. It is very easy to see that Kubel­ka is right in his own terms becau­se if you tell him that time is the essence of film, than he would ans­wer that it is also in other media like video and the­r­e­fo­re it is not the essence. But to use an old phi­lo­so­phi­cal trick one could ask the ques­ti­on the other way round: When time is the essence of film, may­be video and digi­tal are still film?

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In my digi­tal film I tried to show that every image has a tem­po­ral struc­tu­re in its own. One that is not des­troy­ed by the lack of mate­ri­al or even the lack of vie­w­ing what is real­ly going on. By zoo­ming in and redu­cing the infor­ma­ti­on the­re is still some­thing going on. Mathe­ma­ti­cal­ly the­re might be a point of not­hing but in terms of fee­ling and expe­ri­ence the­re is always a sen­se of what is going on and this sen­se is part of film.

Fur­ther­mo­re Mr. Kubel­ka tal­ked a gre­at deal about rhythm des­troy­ed and enhan­ced by music. I think film gives the oppor­tu­ni­ty for sight and sound (sound should be trea­ted equal­ly becau­se the­re is no other medi­um that is able to cap­tu­re both image and sound on the very same lay­er, and yes, that INCLUDES digi­tal) to get into a rela­ti­on. They can be har­mo­nic, they can talk with each other, they can argue, they can fuck each other or just play. Mr. Kubel­ka is a mas­ter in this but he is wrong when he says that it only works on film. Yes, again, I under­stand his point from a mate­ria­li­stic per­spec­ti­ve and I see that ques­ti­ons of asyn­chro­ny are inscri­bed into the way film as a medi­um works but in a digi­tal film the­re are sound and images, too. It is only that they are digital.

In my film I tried to show how rhythm is neither due to the images alo­ne, nor to the sounds, nor to the editing, but due to all aspects play­ing tog­e­ther on dif­fe­rent digi­tal layers.

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Of cour­se, the­re are dif­fe­ren­ces bet­ween film and digi­tal. But the mista­kes and traces of the medi­um are not so dif­fe­rent bet­ween film and digi­tal. A digi­tal film­ma­ker in my opi­ni­on can and should the­r­e­fo­re search for the indi­vi­du­al aspects of his for­mat and try to find beau­ty, life and inspi­ra­ti­on in them just like a true FILM­ma­ker can use scrat­ches and so on. Pixels are con­side­red to be a weak point of digi­tal cine­ma but I think one can find some beau­ty in loo­king at them. Ano­ther point would be for exam­p­le the abili­ty to be fle­xi­ble or to shoot very long takes.

In my film I tried to mix the abili­ty of digi­tal cine­ma to film when­ever I dis­co­ver­ed some­thing with what I cal­led the beau­ty of the pixels. It was a film that zoo­med until you could only see an oce­an of pixels.

So, now as it has dis­ap­peared and Mr. Kubel­ka has won again…this couldn‘t have hap­pen­ed on film. May­be I should tell you how it dis­ap­peared. One might say that it has never real­ly exis­ted. When does a film that was never shown exist any­way? This film exists only in the memo­ry of its maker and the one per­son who has seen it bes­i­de him. Well, it is one of tho­se easy fears that beca­me true in this case. The­re is even a gre­at film cal­led 36 by Nawa­pol Tham­ron­gratt­a­na­rit which deals with tho­se fears and emo­ti­ons. May­be in our age the absence of a film crea­tes more emo­ti­ons than its exis­tence. I don‘t know. So, I had it on my lap­top as file, as more files actual­ly. It just was a click on a list cal­led „Tou­ch­ing“ (how sedu­cing to touch with a click some­thing cal­led like that). It was also on Ioana‘s lap­top and sup­po­sedly on my hard dri­ve. Then my lap­top bro­ke down, Ioana‘s lap­top bro­ke down and it wasn‘t real­ly on my hard disc. The film had vanis­hed. It is still vanis­hed. It is stran­ge becau­se I don‘t real­ly belie­ve it. Every second day I search my hard disc for it. It was the same when my bike was sto­len on a cold evening in Vien­na. For a cou­ple of days I retur­ned to the place whe­re I had lost it and was expec­ting to find it the­re as if its absence was only an illu­si­on. (I won­der here how the few peo­p­le who have seen Greed by Von Stro­heim feel/​felt about the fact that it doesn‘t exist any­mo­re…) Mr. Kubel­ka would say that my film only diap­peared becau­se it was never the­re. But we can talk about it, can‘t we? So it is a film about memo­ries that has beco­me a memory.

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All of this might seem very unin­te­res­t­ing for you as I am not a well known film­ma­ker and the­re is no tra­ge­dy in a lost film of someone like me. But I think in the case of an unknown young film­ma­ker it‘s even more tra­gic. I lost a film befo­re I even star­ted. But when can we speak of a start? Cer­tain­ly not while losing a film. Natu­ral­ly, I doubt mys­elf after such an inci­dent. How could some­thing like that hap­pen to me? Do I real­ly care enough? Isn‘t that a huge pro­blem? I know that this film was born out of neces­si­ty but as always with me this neces­si­ty dis­ap­peared as soon as the film was finis­hed. Of cour­se, I feel a cer­tain need to have such a work shown in public but I don‘t feel it like a ques­ti­on of life and death whe­re­as I feel this life&death vibe when I am doing it, espe­ci­al­ly in editing. But may­be the­re is a litt­le hope as ano­ther ver­si­on of it exists. I gave it on a DVD to the pro­fes­sor who is avant­gar­de-film­ma­ker Ran­dy Ster­ling-Hun­ter. The thing is, when I asked him about my film many months after han­ding it over to him, he repli­ed that he hasn‘t seen it yet as he has no disk dri­ve (!). Honest­ly, I don‘t expect him to find this DVD but I have cont­ac­ted him. The other pos­si­bi­li­ty lies in the fact that I have at least 90% of the rough mate­ri­al and I am going to make the film again. But will it then be the same?

So, I am sor­ry, I can­not send you the film. I can only descri­be it. The­re are some tur­ning signs of capi­ta­lism in Graz and Vien­na. They move exact­ly in the same rhythm. The­re are some ciga­ret­tes near a win­dow, the smo­ke of a hotel room whe­re I made love. The­re are fire­works. Then you can hear David Bowie and his sun machi­ne (isn‘t it fit­ting that this film dis­ap­peared?) and you can see the sun, the snow. The­re is may­be a sad­ness, a dri­ve bet­ween places and images that con­nect the past and the pre­sent or just spaces. Final­ly we see a hor­se in Vien­na and it has a ner­vous tick. It tri­es to touch its its bel­ly with its eyes. We zoom in and the clo­ser we get the more beau­tiful this sick­ness feels.

If it re-appears I will let you know. Until then I will be in a sta­te of con­stant mour­ning, I will be a para­no­id hun­ter of tho­se lost images and sounds, digi­tal images and sounds and I will car­ry them with me in ever­y­thing I do.

Best,
Patrick