As a seasoned movie enthusiast who has traversed the labyrinth of global cinema for decades, I find myself captivated by Jessica Sarah Rinland‘s latest masterpiece, “Collective Monologue.” Her unique approach to storytelling, which seamlessly blends human and animal narratives, is a breath of fresh air in an industry often saturated with predictable tropes.
As a movie enthusiast, I’ve always been intrigued by the power of touch and hands, but in Jessica Sarah Rinland’s latest masterpiece, “Collective Monologue,” she broadens her perspective beyond just human limbs. Her exploration delves into the tender interactions between Maca, a caretaker, and the animals residing at the Buenos Aires Eco-Park, often captured within the confines of their enclosures. This film subtly unveils the complex dichotomy between the compassionate acts of nurturing and the political implications of confinement that are inherent in places like zoos.
As a film critic, I found myself deeply intrigued by Rinland’s perspective on hands in her work. During a press screening before the world premiere of her film at Locarno, she shared with me that her fascination lies in the process, labor, and tools associated with them. With a diverse background in art, book-making, and installation work, Rinland’s focus has consistently been on fostering unique modes of perception. The films she creates and the tools she employs are not mere choices for her; they grow naturally from her personal interests and curiosities – “They are things I like and the things I want to see,” as she puts it.
In 2015, she made a short movie titled “Expression of the Sightless” that focuses on a blind man feeling a statue by touch, while in 2016’s “Ý Berá – Bright Waters,” she explores whether it is feasible to adopt an animal’s viewpoint through filmmaking.
In “Collective Monologue,” the concept of interspecies touch transcends its typical definition, as labor seamlessly merges with nurturing care. A scene particularly noteworthy is when Maca, one of the howler monkeys, and Venus share a moment of connection. Their fur seems to meld, creating an image where they appear as a single entity, their bodies entwined in a beautiful display of unity.
Scenes like these with an emotional impact highlight the main struggle portrayed in the movie: the strife between the dedicated efforts of individual caretakers and institutions whose roots can be traced back to European ideas. The Eco-Park initially caught Rinland’s attention in 2019 as she was studying its structure, which bears a striking resemblance to that of Berlin Zoo.
“Rinland points out that when the zoo was established in 1888, it was intended for visitors to learn about the geographical origins of the animals, which is illogical because animals don’t originate from buildings. To illustrate his point, he gives the example of elephants living in a Hindu temple; however, these elephants are actually African elephants.”
However, during the following five years of working on her project, Rinland found herself drawn to creating a film that didn’t strictly fall into one camp or another – neither anti- nor pro-. Instead, she was captivated by the ambiguous aspects, the subtle complexities within these realms. Her past films had resonated with her particularly because of characters like Maca from the zoo and museum workers.
Rinland’s films are always the product of cooperation, involving both her subjects and historical records. She expresses that she is not driven by a preconceived notion of what she wants to achieve, but rather seeks to learn and explore diverse methods of thought and knowledge acquisition.
16mm film has consistently been her preferred medium during her artistic journey, not only because of its physical properties, but also due to the significance it holds in terms of technique and spatial context. As she puts it, “I might have just 20 minutes of film for two days, so most of my time is spent simply interacting with Maca.” Essentially, this means that she spends a lot of time observing and listening to Maca, as well as to the surrounding wildlife.
Delving into a cinematic realm that transcends visual and auditory cues, I found myself immersed in a world where the language of animals reigns supreme in the captivating films of this visionary director. Rather than relying on conventional means of communication, she weaves an “anti-language” – a more tactile, sensory cinema that invites us to focus on texture and the intricate dance between creatures and their surroundings. For her, sight and sound are but two facets of our interaction with the world. This filmmaker’s unique approach was significantly influenced by an essay penned by Clemente Onelli, the park’s second director, about animal scents. Upon reading it, I felt a profound resonance, thinking to myself, “I want the entire film to embody this essence.”
She positions her work in a unique realm that bridges the avant-garde films of Chick Strand and Jonas Mekas, along with the instructional films of Mary Field and Percy Smith. Her preference lies in merging various elements, and her projects frequently reflect a vibrant mix of people (and creatures), diverse camera styles, and philosophical references. The title “Collective Monologue” suggests a piece that thoughtfully combines discussions on labor with profound insights into the relationships between animals and their caretakers.
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2024-08-16 18:17