The Vien­na­le has every year an inof­fi­ci­al the­me song, this year it’s undoub­ted­ly John Barry’s The­me from The Per­sua­ders which is to be heard in Bert­rand Bonello’s Noc­tura­ma. After a week of Vien­na­le, the films unfort­u­na­te­ly seem to start to melt into each other. The body is drai­ned, I atten­ded too many par­ties, none of them offs­creen. At some point Isa­bel­le Hup­pert star­ted rub­bing me with her foot under the table. Her mom was the­re too. But I like her mom in L’A­ve­nir way bet­ter becau­se her eyes have no face. Elle gave me an adre­na­line boost, Noc­tura­ma as well. I sup­po­se the­re are few fes­ti­vals on which one does­n’t at some moment stumb­le upon My Way. Yet at the Vien­na­le it comes in Noc­tura­ma, per­for­med (mimed) by one of the young ter­ro­rists (male), wea­ring make-up, wal­king down the stairs of the super­mar­ket, the Sid Vicious way. It seems only natu­ral, the Vien­na­le is bet­ter than Il Cine­ma Ritro­va­to (and all the other film fes­ti­vals I have atten­ded). It is outra­ge­ous, I mean it posi­tively, the­re is a lot of outra­ge­ous­ness at the Vien­na­le so far. For wha­te­ver reason his acts makes me think of Lee Kang-sheng as some sort of mer­maid in The Way­ward Cloud. Com­ple­te­ly dif­fe­rent things, com­ple­te­ly dif­fe­rent impli­ca­ti­ons of the musi­cal act, so I guess it is sim­ply becau­se I think too often of Tsai Ming-liang. I saw his No No Sleep again at the Vien­na­le, this time on the big screen, it made me think that naming the short-film pro­gram in which it ran «Beau­tiful» was the per­fect choice. But that was befo­re I saw the other films. I sup­po­se I am a grou­pie for Bonel­lo (intellec­tual­ly?), I do howe­ver won­der if see­ing only this film would have tur­ned me into one. It just hap­pens that Bonel­lo is one of the very best out the­re («the­re» mea­ning the hazar­dous out­side that tre­ats talent and pas­si­on so indif­fe­rent). He has style and qua­li­ties that go way bey­ond simp­le mat­ters of mise-en-scène.

I attend ano­ther pri­va­te par­ty moment, it has again vague­ly some­thing to do with rape, like the Christ­mas din­ner in Elle, this one takes place in Lav Diaz› The Woman Who Left. Two women in a house, a trans­ves­ti­te, soon to be raped, and an ex-con­vict loo­king for reven­ge sing Some­whe­re from West Side Sto­ry tog­e­ther. A moment of soli­da­ri­ty bet­ween two women, as one could say the­re are some in Elle. Befo­re my fever goes away I see Paul Hamy tur­ning into João Pedro Rodri­gues in O Orni­tó­lo­go, again, one of the bet­ter films of the year. My fever dissap­pears when Isa­bel­le soot­hes me, hers­elf and her grand­son (the one in L’A­ve­nir, not the one in Elle becau­se that one is not her grand­son) when sin­ging À la clai­re fon­taine. I then rea­li­ze that all I wan­ted to say was that I have never seen any­thing that resem­bles Peter Hutton’s (yes, I’ll say it and act as if it needs no fur­ther expl­ana­ti­on) per­fect At Sea.