OUT 1: NOLI ME TANGERE (FRANCE/1971/JACQUES RIVETTE, SUZANNE SCHIFFMAN)

Comprising eight feature-length ‘episodes’ which cover the same period of time, Jacques Rivette’s epic humanist drama Out 1: Noli Me Tangere begins with a theatre group rehearsing for Aeschylus’ Seven Against Thebes, before switching over to another group whose preparations for a different Aeschylus play, Prometheus Bound, are a little more unorthodox. Peripheral characters, whose connections to either group are unknown, discover correspondences which mention some of the actors, and begin to grow suspicious that the ‘Thirteen’ being referred to is some sort of secret society. What ensues is a quest to crack this enigmatic group which may or may not exist, an undertaking which starts to take away from people’s lives.

The film’s title is contrasted to the word ‘in’, meaning fashionable, suggesting that the plot is a reflection on the futile search for popularity. The characters who are supposedly ‘in’ the secret society are unaware of it, and the characters who beg, steal and borrow for information do not see much improvement in the quality their lives as a result. Rivette’s decision to set the film amongst theatre groups raises questions about the participation of the viewer in both the theatre and the cinema, and the artifice and duplicity of acting, and the success of his film is a testament to the cast’s abilities. Jean-Pierre Léaud (Antoine from The 400 Blows) is particularly brilliant as the uncaring Colin, a man whose lifeblood is pretending to be a deaf harmonica player in order to extort money from the public.

AS I WAS MOVING AHEAD OCCASIONALLY I SAW BRIEF GLIMPSES OF BEAUTY (USA/2000/JONAS MEKAS)

Jonas Mekas is one of the most prolific artists working with film, and even to this day he keeps himself occupied with projects at the grand old age of eighty-seven. His four-hour magnum opus As I Was Moving Ahead Occasionally I Saw Brief Glimpses Of Beauty narrates the past thirty years of his life through a careful compilation of family footage, accompanied by commentary, music and audio clips. Through Mekas’ meticulous editing, positioning disparate events side by side, precious memories lose their preciousness and become performances of ‘real life’ – a family excursion is no longer a fun day out, rather a beautiful silent play of light and colour.

Mekas, a man haunted by the spectre of memory, achieves the rare feat of putting himself on camera without needing to be in front of it. His juxtaposition of images is never gratuitous or sentimental, even as flowers superimpose images of children, and although names of relatives and friends are mentioned, the priority is never to learn exactly what role these people play in his life, rather to learn what sort of people they are or were. Any budding artist working in 8mm and 16mm would do well to watch Mekas’ work to learn how to make true meaning of home video footage. In spite of, or perhaps thanks to its extensive length, As I Was Moving Ahead is a wholly immersive experience – while these may not be memories from our own lives, they will be by the end of the film.

ABOUT CHILDREN (SPAIN/2003/JOAQUIM JORDÀ)

In this introspective documentary about the judicial system in Spain, five people accused of molesting children are put on trial in Barcelona. The scandal, named the Raval case after the neighbourhood in which it took place, rightfully shook the nation to its core. Xavier Tamarit, a soft-spoken schoolteacher who stands accused of prostituting several children under his care, appears disturbingly unaffected by the charges launched against him, explaining himself without emotion. Director Joaquim Jordà compiles news reports, interviews and even performance art related to the case to illustrate the impact of the case on the media.

By subject matter, this sits alongside Capturing The Friedmans and Paradise Lost, but in opposition to these films, About Children presents the facts without breaking the fourth wall, as if not wishing to sensationalise the case any further. In some ways however, Jordà’s work trivialises aspects of the case – the film is as much about the Spanish judiciary as it is about paedophilia, and while the theatre pieces and acoustic soundtrack may help to form filmic interludes, they are discordant with the serious nature of the trial and appear insensitive. This is not to say that the film doesn’t take its subject seriously. The cameraman seem to be everywhere in the courtroom, absorbing natural reactions from attorneys and jury members, as well as profiling the accused without interfering with procedure. Shocking, challenging and thought-provoking, About Children is a hard-hitting analysis of an abhorrent crime, an incisive study into the darkest side of human nature.

JEANNE DIELMAN, 23 QUAI DU COMMERCE, 1080 BRUXELLES (BELGIUM/1975/CHANTAL AKERMAN)

One of the more testing cinematic experiments, Chantal Akerman’s magnum opus concerns Jeanne Dielman, a woman who simultaneously fulfils all three “feminine roles”: the virgin, the mother and the whore. By day, Jeanne is the paradigmatic housewife, silently and dutifully going about her chores, a near-colourless cardigan primly draped around her shoulders. Later in the day, we see her interact with her adolescent son, mostly feeding him and assisting with his homework, but also patiently answering some personal questions. In the evenings, we learn that she is prostituting herself from home as a means of income. During these diverse errands, Jeanne gives away almost nothing of her emotional state. After witnessing a few days of this routine, we start to see the influences that upset and liberate this seemingly unshakable structure.

Those expecting this film to succumb to the conventions of cinema may be bitterly disappointed. At 201 minutes, each shot lasting several minutes and the camera never moving, it requires more than a little patience and broadmindedness. Akerman revels in the muted dramas of woman’s existence, creating from them not a story but a diorama. Throughout the film, an electric blue light flickers on reflective surfaces, reminiscent of a static television, or a police light. This conjures ideas of surveillance and objectification, two activities in which we as viewers are complicit. It’s an exceptionally brave and influential piece – Michael Haneke surely picked up a few lessons on suspense from it – but sadly unlikely to touch the people it should.

JUDEX (FRANCE/1916/LOUIS FEUILLADE)

Following ethical criticisms about his earlier crime serials, prolific director Louis Feuillade created Judex, a quirky, shadowy hero with an underground lair and secret identity (not unlike Batman). The film begins in much the same way as Feuillade’s other works, with Judex targeting a wealthy banker. However, we soon discover that his motives aren’t so much led by personal politics as personal feelings – he has fallen for the banker’s daughter. This sets the scene for the rest of the serial, a piece quite remarkably astute in the emotional responses it expects. Further exploration of Judex’s psyche comes from the rather sombre seventh installment, wherein we discover more about his mother’s desire for revenge. While tonally discordant with other episodes, its style anticipates the suspense-ridden horror classics of the twenties, adding another facet to the project.

What does detract from the series is the use of the Licorice Kid, a child parallel to Judex, a character conceivably worked in for younger audiences. This was to sadly set a loathsome precedent for the thriller genre. On the other hand, the photography is consistently spectacular, the light playing more than an ancillary role. One moment in the penultimate episode looks like it could have been extracted from a Bergman film, and another, which lingers on a sunlit seascape, enthrals the viewer using very little action. The tints too are used excellently, sometimes deliberately jarring with the tone of the scene. It comes as no surprise to learn that Feuillade was revered by Surrealists.