When There Is No More Music To Write, and other Roman Stories
When There Is No More Music To Write, and other Roman Stories
Courtesy of CPH: DOX
VERDICT: Éric Baudelaire riffs on the music and musical sensibility of Alvin Curran in this absorbing archival documentary about the revolutionary fervour of mid-century Rome.
From the opening moments of Éric Baudelaire’s new mid-length film, When There Is No More Music To Write, and other Roman Stories, it is clear that we are situated during the Years of Lead. A period of political and social unrest which engulfed Italy from the late 60s to the early 80s, it is the backdrop against which musician Alvin Curran’s time in Rome is defined. Baudelaire’s film takes different elements of Curran’s experience, his work, and his philosophy to craft this abstracted but seductive portrait of the artist. Made in collaboration with Curran and music historian Maxime Guitton, it is a single channel triptych that will also go on to become three moving image works within a joint exhibition by the three titled When There Is No More Music To Write.
The first of the three films that comprise the overall work, Four Flat Tires, is the most explicitly about the political situation. It takes as its starting point a little known aside in the otherwise infamous story of the kidnapping of Aldo Moro, the former Italian prime minister, in March 1978. His car was attacked by the left-wing terrorists in the Via Fani in Rome and the subplot involves a flower vendor who should have been working on the street that morning but whose tires were mysteriously slashed in the night. The second film, A Lost Score, is somewhat less narrative-based, utilising an ultimately unused score that Curran and Musica Elettronica Viva did for Antonioni’s Zabriskie Point and pairing it with archival footage from the film. The final film, When There Is No More Music To Write, which gives the overall work its title, takes this phrase that Curran was told by electronic composer Franco Evangelisti shortly after arriving in Rome, and explores its connotations.
All three of the films utilise a blend of material from a variety of archives, the films of Annabella Miscuglio (who was making films in Italy during this period) and Baudelaire’s own Super 8 footage of the landscapes that Curran would have been living in. Their effect is less illustrative than it is atmospheric, the fleeting images have an ephemeral and ethereal quality that enriches but doesn’t distract from the sound which, perhaps understandably, often takes centre stage. Together, both audio and visuals help to emphasise the radical energy emanating from this geographical and historical moment. As far as portraits of musicians go, it is one of those rare beasts that really manages to capture the essence of its subject rather than just recounting their story.
Director, cinematography: Éric Baudelaire
Editor: Claire Atherton
Music: Alvin Curran, Musica Elettronica Viva
Sound: Éris Lesachet
Production Company: Poulet-Malassis Films (France)
Venue: CPH:DOX (NEW: VISIONS)
In English
59 minutes