Found Memories

I don't usually write film reviews but am doing so for Found Memories because the critical reviews and several user reviews seem to entirely miss the point, complaining that there is no plot, it's too slow, an anachronism etc. Some users commented on the ghostly beauty of the photographs taken by the young woman Rita and at least one person commented on the relationship that develops between Madalena and Rita. I think this film is brilliantly insightful about love, community, life and death. The pace of the film reminds us of how much we have lost in the fast paced modern world. Rita says she was born in the wrong time and doesn't have a sense of belonging anywhere. Madalena and Antonio,the town's baker and coffee brewer, have a quirky friendship. As the film unfolds, we learn that these two have both survived their children. The community has no young people and they fear death will completely eradicate the village. Rita brings hope and eventually the villagers warm to her as she begins making photos of people rather than just old artifacts and learns how to make bread with Rita. If you watch this film with your heart, not just with your eyes, you might discover how breathtaking and heartbreaking it really is, much like our lives.

Only rarely I'm absolutely stunned by a movie, the last time it was the Iranian movie "woman without man" now it is this one. It is a movie that stays in your head for a long, long time. No, not much is happening making this movie unfit for the large public but as art movie it is one of the best I have ever seen. The movie is as calm as the life in the town, where the people "forgot to die". The appearance of photographer Rita only makes a subtle difference. I will not give a full description of the movie, others have done that very well for me, but without giving away the plot, the references to death, the cemetery and the ending of the movie make you wonder why Rita came to the town, without the movie making it clear, you just can wonder for yourself.

Amazing visual poetry

Just one small question kept me wondering: How did Rita fit all those different camera's, chemicals, papers, etc in that small rucksack of hers

This Brazilian film has some amazing cinematography, including several scenes seemingly lit only by lantern that are truly unique and impressive. I don't know how the DP pulled it off, but I'd like to know! It's about a small, dying community in rural Brazil where only the old-timers remain, due to death or diaspora. The setting seems from another century until a very modern city girl, infatuated with photography, arrives. Like other recent Brazilian films I've seen, this flirts with the language of magical-realism without resorting to it in any absolute way. However you interpret the narrative, the film implies that one's memories are only meaningful if one has someone else to subjectively interpret them- if one can become a story-teller. Indeed, time can only proceed if there is an other to testify to what has transpired, to what has been lost to time. Implicitly, then, life, being-in-the-world, is impossible without death or, as Derrida would say, unless there is an other to sift through the inheritance one leaves behind.

From the beginning, director Júlia Murat immerses us into this rural Brazilian village and its elderly inhabitants, and moves at their pace, which is to say, damn slowly (be forewarned). An old woman (Sonia Guedes) gets up early, makes bread, walks along the railway tracks to town, and provides them to an old man (Luis Serra) who runs a café, but not before having the same daily argument with him about who should arrange them in the display case. (Seriously, I think they showed that at least four times, which after the first two seemed a bit much). They pray in their rustic church with others, none of whom looks younger than 70, share lunch together, and occasionally mention some pretty dark things that have happened in their lives - children or other loved ones dying. It's more than a little touching to see the old woman writing a daily letter to her dead husband, full of tenderness, and to put fresh flowers outside the cemetery gate for him.

One day, a young woman (Lisa Fávero) shows up and asks to put up for a few nights. She appreciates the beauty of the quiet little town and its people, saying she was "born in the wrong time," despite some of them harboring the outmoded view that as a woman she shouldn't be drinking cachaça, the local spirits. She's also quite a photographer, and the scenes which show the artistic prints she creates with her cameras are wonderful, my favorites in the film. I also loved the moment when the old woman posed nude for her - there was such power in her smile, and a quiet defiance of time. This is a meditation on aging, community, and weathering life's hardships that has a lot going for it. I just wish it had given us a little bit more in its story (or backstories), or had moved along just a wee bit faster, even if its simplicity and pace were the whole point.

My monthly FilmMovement selection arrived today, I put it in the player, and I was blown away. The American title is "Found Memories", which seemed quite appropriate for this mesmerizing film.

It brought back memories of afternoons in the darkroom, playing with high and low contrast paper and double exposures, the weird smell of the photography chemicals in my nostrils, and the low red light. It brought back memories of sitting very quietly behind a door when I was supposed to be in bed, listening to my grandparents tell stories about their youth. It brought back memories of going through boxes of old snapshots found in my grandparents' attic, occasionally stopping to ask "Gramma, what's this?"

Old and new gadgets exist side by side in the film without comment. One camera is a Digital SLR, but the others are pinhole cameras of various construction. Once, the exposure of one of the pinhole cameras is timed with a smart-phone. Recorded music comes from both an old un-amplified gramophone and a pocket digital player with ear-buds and no moving parts.

If there's a constant running through the cinematography, it's abstract patterns and textures: the combination of rust and dust on a decaying mirror, stains and rust on an old bathtub, worn paint, greenery growing through railroad track ballast, ancient clothing with faded printed patterns, heavily weathered wrought iron, abandoned railroad sleeper cars with their regular windows, unexpected angles of light, and paint peeling away to reveal all the different colors the car once was, handmade pottery, an egg being cracked open, a tracery of cracks on an old concrete wall, and on and on. The variations in color are amazing. When there's a wooden kitchen work surface with pottery bowls -some raw and some painted- and baskets and old metal cannisters filled with rough flour and fresh eggs making bread dough, in a faded and stained kitchen that's almost open to the elements, all illuminated by a kerosene lantern, everything is some shade of brown. There must be several hundred different shades of brown, and the film captures them all; point to any area of the screen and try to find that exact color shade again somewhere else, and you can't. Silence and darkness are foregrounded here too, mostly indirectly but once or twice explicitly; six lines of dialog often fills a minute or two of screen time. It was like being in a master photography class, with every scene of the film being one of the example photos.

Often cinematographers have a strong suit: landscapes, or architecture, or people, or... But here everything gets the same exquisite treatment. Just a simple old building, with three openings and a bench outside, the openings painted green and the the walls painted mostly yellow, with a reddish stripe and a brownish stripe, fully occupied the frame and my attention. The lingering, loving, almost caressing closeups of ancient crinkled faces are astounding.

Since the dictum to "hold still" isn't taken very seriously, the results from the pinhole cameras are prints that are sometimes ghostly and often beautiful in unexpected ways. We see those prints being developed and dried, and eventually rummaged through by some of the characters. One would expect those prints to be throw-away props, mocked up to be just good enough to forward the narrative. In fact they're much more. I've seen photographs in museum shows that weren't as good as those prints.

I don't know if the director Julie Murat or the cinematographer Lucio Bonelli should get the main credit here; I suspect though it's the combination, with the whole being more than the sum of the parts.

The premise and narrative are simple -even slight- sort of "Groundhog Day" meets Gabriel Garcia Marquez, something you'd expect to find in a sci-fi treatment rather than a nostalgia treatment. There's not much profound philosophy here. (And I suspect being "old" myself made it easier for me to tune in to the film's wavelength.) If it was just about "getting the point across", it could easily have been done in only thirty minutes. But it's something else, something I can only sorta describe as "visual poetry".