Journal of Film Preservation - FIAF

pero el comentario atribuye mayor
importancia al material de archivo en
sí. Además, von Bagh no se conforma
con utilizar material de archivo, sino
que retoma secuencias de películas de
ficción rodadas en Helsinki y cuadros
(algunos de los cuales son anteriores
a la invención del cine) que agregan
un elemento de color del que por
supuesto carecen los documentos en
blanco y negro. Como en el caso de
Davies, el comentario se construye con
numerosos préstamos y música tomada
de las películas de ficción citadas, pero
las reflexiones de von Bagh sobre el
material de archivo y la ficción son el
elemento más original del comentario,
en especial, las relaciones entre el
presente y el pasado.
Por supuesto, la película de Peter von
Bagh es una película sobre Helsinki,
pero es a la vez una película sobre
la magia de las viejas imágenes. Y la
asombrosa secuencia inicial, con un
carguero que rompe el hielo del puerto
de Helsinki en medio de mirones
que están sobre el hielo, es ya una
demostración de ello, al igual que la
magnífica secuencia final, con la vuelta
de las tropas, que le permite a von
Bagh concluir sus reflexiones con las
palabras: «La historia nos mira.»
El último «city film» reseñado es muy
distinto. The London Nobody Knows
(Norman Cohen, Reino Unido 1967)
se inspira en un libro de Geoffrey
Fletcher que propone una visita a los
lugares de Londres desaparecidos y
olvidados en general por todos, salvo
por sus habitantes. En este caso, se
trata de filmar lugares que están por
desaparecer, como un teatro del barrio
de Bedford, que fue derribado dos
años después del rodaje de la película.
Otro elemento especial es el recurso
a un «guía»: James Mason, con gorra
de visera y traje de tweed, nos pasea
de manera muy convincente por los
lugares. Por último, el comentario, a
veces irónico, insiste en el hecho de
que este Londres, en parte devastado,
sigue teniendo una verdadera vida de
barrio.
PD. Como indica el autor en sus
párrafos finales, la visión (y la
proyección en pantalla grande)
de estas películas, todas ellas de
calidad excepcional, plantea muchas
cuestiones relacionadas con el uso de
los archivos en esta época de lo digital.
Lo cual no es el menor de sus méritos.
Cohen with a most attractive quirkiness and style. There is a host, and a
surprising one – James Mason in flat cap, tweed jacket, pullover, and furled
brolly. But he does not come across as a movie star slumming in a lowbudget
documentary. He seems genuinely interested, perhaps because
he had a degree in architecture from Cambridge. The narration is by turns
ironic, humane, sardonic. This London may be run-down, but still brims
with street life. One startling aspect of the film now is the intensity with
which it shows the poor, the homeless, the alcoholic – portraits held long
enough to feel the pain. One sequence has Mason in a Salvation Army
hostel interviewing residents, men “down-on-their-luck”. It is awkward,
this meeting between a Hollywood movie star and the three poor yet
unashamed men. But it feels real. And that side of our old cities is still with
us. As with the other three films, music plays an important role – in this case,
old music hall songs.
The overall feeling of The London Nobody Knows is encapsulated in the film’s
last lines, with Mason standing in front of a building being attacked by a
wrecking ball:
“There is no need to be too sad about it because, after all, most
of Victorian London was fairly hideous. And we can also console
ourselves with the knowledge that the same fate attends our least
favourite modern monstrosities.”
There are no DVD extras with The London Nobody Knows. It is packaged with
another film from that period, a short 1968 romantic comedy, Les Bicyclettes
de Belsize. Since there are no extras, I explored the Internet and discovered a
lot of references to The London Nobody Knows. It gained a minor cult status
during its years of being hard-to-find. There are sites which, for example,
debate the identities of characters who appear unidentified in the film.
Despite the Internet discussion, I think it would have been enlightening if
the distributors had included some background in the actual DVD package.
As has been discussed elsewhere in these pages and in several issues of this
journal, the digital revolution is affecting both the archival and screening
worlds. I have seen La Mémoire des anges in the theatre in HD, and it looks
and sounds splendid. I first saw Of Time and the City in Montréal at a film
festival. The screening was horrendous, the sound continually breaking
up. I saw it a second time some months later on release in Montréal. This
time the sound was fine, but the picture was unsatisfactory. I am not going
to blame the producers. Complaints about cinema digital projection are
widespread. Some cinemas even project DVDs. However, I did find on the
Internet a note from Michael Brooke of the BFI, where he quotes a comment
made by the technical supervisor of the digital Of Time and the City:
“Of Time and the City was produced through the Digital Departures
Initiative by Hurricane Films in association with Northwest Vision
and Media, Liverpool 08, BBC Films and UK Film Council. For reasons
of a micro-budget and the basic fact that the film relied so heavily
on footage from regional archives (only available in SD), the film was
produced PAL standard definition and delivered on Digibeta.”
Which brings us to a quandary faced by all of us who work with archives,
the necessity of getting the best possible quality sources, always with the
supposition that our films may make it to the big screen; and then to the
very real question about the digital projection facilities in theatres. As an
62 Journal of Film Preservation / 81 / 2009