Packed with plenty of references to philosophers, writers and filmmakers of the contemporary era, The Dream and the Radio (Le rêve et la radio) is one long delirious ode to what could now be considered a quaint way of starting a revolution. Inspired by French counter-culture emerging from the protests and barricades of May 1968 – specifically the work of French situationist Guy Debord – the first feature from Canadian filmmakers Renaud Després-Larose and Ana Tapia Rousiouk revolves around four young bohemians seeking to change the world through books and old-school broadcast media.
Unfolding mostly in darkened rooms and on nocturnal streets, with everything shot in the 4:3 aspect ratio and the chiaroscuro lighting preferred by Portuguese cineaste Pedro Costa (who is among those thanked in the credits), The Dream and the Radio is a bricolage of avant-garde aesthetics (Stan Brakhage’s collage comes to mind) and activist cinema (the influence of the video work of Jean-Luc Godard and Anne-Marie Miéville is omnipresent).
Mesmerising in parts but frustratingly vacuous in others, The Dream and the Radio remains an intriguing exercise which could further cement the position of the filmmakers’ hometown, Montréal, as a nexus of left-wing artistic experimentation. With its emphasis on the intangible power of soundwaves, the film should be seen in tandem with fellow Montréalers Karl Lumieux and David Byrant’s Quiet Zone (2017), an admittedly more engaging and precise documentary about people seeking “radiation-free” places to live in.
Still, Després-Larose and Rousiouk have produced something which will certainly stir a lot of discussion and debate – and some detraction – after its premiere in the Tiger Competition at the International Film Festival Rotterdam. It is scheduled to move to Berlin for a screening in Critics’ Week, an independent programme simultaneous with the official film festival.
Produced by a skeleton crew, the film stars the directors themselves as two of its four protagonists. Després-Larose plays wannabe writer Eugene, who blames his own inability to finish his first book, a naval-gazing treatise about his “lost childhood”, on his day job as a sales clerk in a shop called “Arthouse Outfitters”. Unfailingly indulgent about his own travails, he pays scant regard to the aspirations of his partner Constance (Rousiouk), a starry-eyed artist who tries to upend mainstream social beliefs by playing her own sound art – a collage of subversive speeches and avant-garde music – on an underground radio channel.
They spend most of their time musing about their work and dreams at home in the bathtub – à la Godard’s The Joy of Living and Bernardo Bertolucci’s The Dreamers – until their insulation from the outside world is broken by their friend Beatrice (Geneviève Ackerman). When not joining the couple for their weekly “reading ritual”, her idea of rebellion lies in the distribution of books – Rilke, Rimbaud, Baudelaire and Nietzsche – to the homeless, and pummeling advertising boards with small paint pellets.
The two women are soon jolted from their small gestures of defiance by one Raoul Debord (Etienne Pilon), the smooth-talking leader of a mysterious anarcho-syndicalist collective. Constance, in particular, is increasingly sucked into his scheme to take over the city by assaulting and controlling local radio stations. Through raw visual effects, Raoul’s sermons are given a Messianic touch, as he glowers in a halo and his growling pronouncements are matched by digitally produced soundwaves on screen.
Doubts remain, however, about whether the guy’s the real deal or an rabble-rousing impostor. He dismisses cellphones as evil but is revealed to be the owner and avid user of one; priding himself as an orator of groundbreaking ideas, he also grudgingly admits to “reworking” other people’s speeches into his own. On further investigation, the increasingly jealous Eugene discovers Raoul’s work as an actor, a hint perhaps at his real identity as a seductive showman rather than an authentic radical.
This chastening exposé of a charlatan in the midst of idealists is perhaps crucial in adding some kind of gravitas to The Dream and the Radio. While the tribute to Debord and his analysis of society as a spectacle remains as relevant as ever, the film also debunks – maybe inadvertently – many myths still whirling around the ’68-ers and the progressive social movements which followed.
This deconstruction of social activism aside, Després-Larose and Rousiouk do manage to take the viewer on a whirlwind tour of film history. Taking their cue from Godard’s very own Histoire(s) du Cinéma – the use of classical music (most significantly a jabbing musical leitmotif by Béla Bartok), say, or the superimposition of images in one single frame – the directors incorporate elements of silent films, noir, found-footage cinema and more into their work. It’s jumbled and slightly derivative at times, yes, but at least the directors – with the help of Charles-Antoine Turcot’s production design and Rousiouk’s very own jarring sound design – offer something fittingly immersive for the big screen.
Directors: Renaud Després-Larose, Ana Tapia Rousiouk
Screenwriters: Renaud Després-Larose, Ana Tapia Rousiouk, Geneviève Ackerman
Cast: Geneviève Ackerman, Ana Tapia Rousiouk, Renaud Després-Larose, Etienne Pilon
Producer: Renaud Després-Larose
Director of photography: Renaud Després-Larose
Editors: Ariel Harrod, Simon Gervais
Art director: Charles-Antoine Turcot
Music composer: Mario Gauthier
Sound designer: Ana Tapia Rousiouk
World Sales: La Distributrice de Films
Venues: International Film Festival Rotterdam (Tiger Competition), Berlin Critics’ Week
In French
135 minutes
