In Filmology I contemplate on the psychology of film and the metaphysics of cinema, explore its new long-form formats crossing over into television, focusing on the moving image as remedy, my own emotional responses to a film text, as well as contemplation on the psychological engagements of the filmmaker and spectator. This is an intuitive symbolic approach to text interpretation, embracing the capacity of film to bring our consciousness into relationship with our unconsciousness through the emotional impact of film itself – the compensatory function of symbolic art, as well as the dynamic nature of symbols.
The evolutionary 2020 broke us down into essentials: the flesh we are made of, the dreams we inhabit, the lives we lead within our beating hearts. This film was made for this year. In the way scriptures were made for a particular time in history, and for all times, at the same time. It is…
The only way to look at Chernobyl is through the complex ocular shield of the camera, otherwise we’d be staring at Medusa’s face, unprotected. An open nuclear reactor core burning our synapses through sheer magnitude of existential incomprehension. An apocalyptic serialised memento mori.
History hiding underneath its own frayed repeats. It’s 1933 Britain. Fascism as collective narcissism. Narcissism as ultimate isolation from life source. John Malkovich as Poirot, a stranger in a strange land, owning the detective’s cellular memory. This is esoteric Christie, avenging angel, her agent, Sarah Phelps at the steering wheel.
A testament to the inexplicability of mourning, the therapeutic nature of art. In this case, the art of the moving image, the most conjuring art of all. The camera becomes a dignified way to navigate the grieving process, to share it. This is film as communion, echo of a longing, an evocation of love in that eternal…
Camille emerged fully formed, a she-shaman forged in the era of the return of the witch, expanding the liminal space between traumatic events, taking the silver bullet of all audience assumptions and projections in a tale of female rage, all those dark vagina dentata materials blooming a venemous crimson red in the patriarchal dollhouse.