MAXIME LE MOING
Soldiers are DJs
Records in the Hood
They all drink sparkling water
THE TRUTH ABOUT THE YEAR 2000
Sierra de Fuego
The break-in of the century finally took place. Everything was stolen: there is nothing left. Nobody saw something, except maybe the credits of the end.
I work in a cinema, and I am used to see the end of a movie to check that everyone is gone. In these moments, I can only see the end credits of the film. I imagine it with the text, the name of the actors, their roles, and the music that occupies this last minutes. From this feeling, I wanted to establish, during the broadcast of a long generic invented on my own, an imaginary movie by mixing with turntables several end-of-film music, in order to build an absent film. Beyond the image, the music and the text construct an open cinematographic narrative, with multiple interpretations, with only the title of the project as a scenario.
We arrived early, we were made to wait, and suddenly coming from the room in front of which we are waiting, a final tornirant of orchestra, a rhythmic rock song or a nostalgic ballad sounded. The audience of the previous session will start to come out. This is the ritual of the end credits, in which several hundreds of names sometimes scroll on the screen like if it was a parade. In the room stand out those who leave immediatly the place, those who remain a moment longer and those who, to prolong something of the emotion felt, do not take off until the last mentions appeared on the screen: thanks for their help to the city of N and to its municipal services, the film is in Dolby "in selected theaters" ... "No animal has been abused during the shooting ..." And the music continues, and sometimes a noise arises from the last silence - the fundamental noise tal.
Cinema session proposes a new ritual that has its price, because in a world where we do not let time breathe, here is an interval that is left to us, an airlock between the time of the film and the time of everyday life. Precious moment, even if it is sometimes purely formal, like a Catholic mass in Latin, when the priest pronounced "Ite Missa est" even if we knew that it is not totally finished, that it was still necessary to wait but that waiting for the exit had its price. An output that would be wrapped, enveloped by the accents of the great organ, and thus magnified.
It's so true that when television, in the diffusion of movies, interrupts the credits of end before their term to place a lot of advertising spots or program announcements that, obviously, can not wait, we experience it as a barbarism. This narratively useless moment - which one might think only serves to put the names of all the participants - we needed it. In addition, as the ending credits almost always end in abstract dropdowns on a black background, and in a room whose lights have been turned on again, they give us a different awareness of the sound of the film: the sound, delivered from the spatial magnetization, is no longer glued to the action that took place on the screen, it is no longer reprojected by us on a flat surface. It now has the three dimensions for him, he takes advantage of it and, untied of his visual "projection medium", he finally freely fills the space.
There are few things as impressive nowadays as the silence gathered that an audience observes when a scene touches him when all of a sudden the director closes the valves of the sound and that he does not let hear, like Lynch, Kieslowski, Liegh or Miyazaki (the arrival to Laputa in "The castle in the sky") that some sighs, some thrillings in a crystalline silence, almost nothing.
In this moments of grace, we literally hear the audience listen. A kind of proximity of a new type is created with the film and the public. We feel the latter to concentrate, content to be there, without any affectation. The overwhelming silence afforded by digital sound - without, of course, having premeditated and calculated these consequences in advance - allows the cinema session to focus attention, to widen the gap between the sentences and the words, to send back each one to the truth of his own silence and his listening, and to last and last a long time. "
Michel Chion, from the book "Un art sonore, le cinéma".
2014 / 52 min / Coulor / video-performance made at the l'E.S.A.L
An extract of the movie on this link:
1min09 / 10,8 MB / 480p 320Kbits/s
The mix in its intirety on this link:
119 MB / MP3 320Kbits/s