In reflecting upon the response to Close Your Eyes in Spain, I must admit that, while the box office performance may have been modest, the profound impact it left on the hearts and minds of the audience was undeniably significant. The poignant exchange between the actress and the spectral figure of Gardel served as a poignant reminder of our shared humanity, transcending the boundaries of time and space to resonate deeply with viewers who, like us spectators, grappled with their own existential questions.
After his critically acclaimed 1973 directorial debut, “The Spirit of the Beehive,” which is often hailed as one of Spanish cinema’s finest and most impactful works, Victor Erice has only created four more films. His latest masterpiece, “Close Your Eyes,” premiered at Cannes last year to a mix of acclaim and debate. Now, making its way to the U.S., it could be the standout film of this year, further solidifying Erice’s status as a contemporary guardian of incomplete cinematic endeavors.
In the movie titled “Close Your Eyes“, we follow director Miguel Garay (Manuel Soto), who started making a film 30 years ago but had to halt it when his main actor and friend, Julio Arenas (Jose Coronado), left the set without a trace. Over time, Miguel moved away from Hollywood to live in seclusion by the sea, yet the search for Julio reignites after an appearance on a sensationalistic TV show about unsolved enigmas. However, the mystery goes beyond the plot; it’s also a reflection of the film’s introspective and thought-provoking nature. As “Close Your Eyes” reaches its deeply moving conclusion, we may ponder if Miguel’s pursuit of Julio is actually an effort to regain his own sense of self. A character in the film remarks, “They’re the only one who can look at me differently.” “This,” they say, “is what I desire from them: a final glance before I pass away — nothing more.”
In this scene, the speaker is Mr. Levy (Josep Maria Pou), a character in Garay’s unfinished movie titled “The Farewell Gaze“. This film bears resemblance to Carlos Saura’s second feature, “El Sur” (1983). Notably, production on “El Sur” was halted before Saura could finish shooting the final act. The incomplete ending leaves the movie as a mystery without a solution, but it adds to its intriguing enigma. It’s unfortunate that Saura wasn’t able to complete his film. Additional insights into the production of “El Sur” can be found in the Criterion Collection release, which includes detailed extras, including an extended interview with Saura. Similarities can also be drawn between “The Farewell Gaze” and another of Saura’s unrealized projects, “The Shanghai Spell“, which was abandoned in the 1990s.
Amongst all of Erice’s works, it is likely that “A Dream of Light,” released in 1992 as “The Quince-Tree Sun” or its original title “El Sol del Membrillo,” resonates most with the themes you are concerned about. This acclaimed documentary follows the artist Antonio López Garcia’s endeavor to paint a quince tree in his garden. Erice himself refers to it as his riskiest project, and it was the last feature film he released before “Close Your Eyes.” The movie starts with an extended sequence showing Garcia’s meticulous preparations for painting: stretching strings across the tree, marking dots on the quinces and leaves for accurate placement. Erice filmed nearly every day as the artist worked, but nature intervened. Rain and clouds blocked the sun, the quinces ripened, the leaves changed color. Partway through the film, after prolonged rain, Garcia is forced to abandon his painting and instead attempts a drawing, only to give that up as well. The quinces grow, ripen, fall, decay or are eaten. The tree goes through its seasons. In the end, the artist’s efforts to capture reality — so precise, so careful, so prepared — seem like they have failed.
Through Eric’s camera and perception, the documentary A Dream of Light stands out as one of the most inspiring ever produced. This is partly due to its belief that art encompasses not just the end product, but also the chase and the journey, and that an artist’s work is a part of a cyclic process of growth, decay, and renewal – similar to the cycle of nature itself. On the other hand, Close Your Eyes, while recreating a magical, incomplete film and depicting the poignant human costs of its abandonment, transmits a strong undercurrent of optimism. It does this by encouraging us to contemplate life as a force of stunning, bewildering beauty that we should cherish and embrace.
As a passionate cinephile, let me share some insights into the creation of my film, “Close Your Eyes.” The funding for this project surprisingly came together within just five swift months – an unusually quick timeline, especially in the Spanish film industry. Collaborating with the talented screenwriter Michel Gaztambide, we began crafting the film in July 2021. Interestingly enough, the foundation of our story was laid years earlier when I penned the original plot myself.
In considering the characters of the movie “Close Your Eyes”, it’s natural that similarities may arise with past experiences like “The Shanghai Spell” and “El Sur”. Some viewers might even draw spiritual connections between Julio, the missing actor, and myself as a director who has been less active since 1992. However, these comparisons are not entirely accurate. I’ve continued to make films over the past three decades, primarily in the form of short and medium-length productions, some of which have been showcased at international festivals and exhibited on various platforms. While they may not have reached mainstream distribution, they still represent my work as a filmmaker, alongside my museum installations that blur the line between cinema and video art.
Have you ever adjusted your filmmaking style to cater to modern audiences, given that you started creating films in the 1960s and released your first feature in 1973? The world and the way we consume movies has significantly transformed since then, with technology playing a crucial role in how films are made and watched. From being displayed on big screens to being digitized for viewing on televisions, computers, tablets, and mobile phones, this shift has led to a more consumer-oriented approach to films. However, I must emphasize that while I acknowledge these changes, I don’t let audience tastes dictate the direction of my work. Instead, I consider them when the film is ready for release.
As a lifelong artist myself, I find immense resonance in Garay’s decision to view his life as a masterpiece. Throughout my own journey in the arts, I have often wrestled with the question of whether my work or my existence should be considered the greater creation.
In a dual sense reminiscent of Janus, Miguel and Julio appear to share a single identity. While Miguel remains shackled by his past memories, Julio, who has transformed into Gardel, seems liberated from the weight of recollections. The film revolves around the reshaping of one’s identity, but it may be not just Julio, but rather Miguel whose life needs reclaiming. The question arises: is it Julio or Miguel whose consciousness and memory require salvation? Moreover, as observed by Dr. Benavides in the movie, consciousness might hold equal importance to memory. Intriguingly, Julio, despite appearing well-adjusted in the nursing home, never seems to extend a helping hand to his fellow residents.
The movie “Close Your Eyes” explores two recurring themes: one on the concept of gazing, which is quite apparent, and another on the importance of names, although it may be subtly suggested. Miguel goes by several identities such as Garay and Mike in Marina Rincón. Julio Arenas transforms into Mario Guardione, known as Gardel in the nursing home. Mr. Levy has employed various names throughout his life, including Judith and Qiao Shu for his daughter. Dr. Benavides is delighted to discover Gardel’s true identity, and Garay eventually asks Mr. Levy about the essence of a name. Jorge Luis Borges poetically expresses this idea in his poem “A Compass,” stating that behind every name lies something unnamed.
As a passionate movie enthusiast, allow me to share my thoughts about the inclusion of “My Rifle, My Pony, and Me” in the film. This cowboy song, originally sung in Howard Hawks’s Rio Bravo, was sung by Miguel during a nighttime scene at Marina Rincón, his temporary seaside home. The scene was charming yet carried an underlying melancholy. To me, the song’s rendition in the movie seemed to subtly foreshadow death, but upon reflection, I now see it as a celebration of life and camaraderie. Interestingly enough, this song wasn’t initially scripted; instead, we improvised it on set. The scene is significant because it provides an unexpected glimpse into Garay’s character, revealing aspects beyond his time in Madrid. Unlike Carlos Gardel, Garay leads a transient life in Marina Rincón, living by the sea and cherishing his companions. I believe that “My Rifle, My Pony, and Me,” sung among friends, encapsulates this character who values friendship above all else.
The film appears to incorporate two distinct tones. One is reminiscent of “The Farewell Gaze,” a work left unfinished, which I shot using 16mm film and photochemical support for its evocative, vintage aesthetic. The rest of the movie, focusing on the present-day life experiences of the character Garay, was filmed digitally. However, I find it more interesting to discuss the tonal differences rather than the styles. The sequences related to “The Farewell Gaze” carry an epic dimension that echoes classic cinema, evoking a sense of redemption akin to the ending of films like Charlie Chaplin’s “City Lights” or Carl Theodor Dreyer’s “Ordet.”
At the conclusion of “Close Your Eyes“, a moment of redemption unfolds. This moment materializes from the screen of a dilapidated, forsaken cinema, and it is personified by a young woman named Judith-Qiao Shu, who recognizes her father on the verge of his final moments. She stands before the camera, her eyes glistening with tears, and then the actor once portraying Gardel appears alongside her in this gaze. Together, they look out at us, at the audience, comprised of individuals who cannot claim any symbolic salvation.
How was the reception of “Close Your Eyes” in Spain? Did you find the commercial success satisfying? The box office response was fairly positive, albeit challenging due to the timing of its release at movie theaters, coupled with a lengthy runtime that complicated the exhibitor’s ability to schedule multiple screenings as usual.
Despite creating just four full-length films throughout a span of fifty years, you’ve produced numerous shorts instead. Has it ever felt disheartening to you that you haven’t made more features? And what factors have primarily contributed to this situation? Is it chiefly about funding issues? Or are there other factors at play as well?
I was intrigued by the series of video letters you exchanged with Iranian director Abbas Kiarostami in the 2000s. Can you tell me more about how this correspondence began and evolved?
It’s intriguing to note that you have quite a history in commercial filmmaking. Since I haven’t had the chance to watch your ads, I’m eager to know more about them. Could you describe this work? Is it possible for you to infuse some of your cinematic flair into these advertisements? In the 1970s and ’80s, I was a commercial film director, though my involvement was sporadic as I worked freelance. This experience was valuable, as Spanish commercial films allowed directors to utilize cutting-edge technology: cameras, lenses, film stocks, and lighting equipment. However, I acknowledge that this type of work primarily served as a means for me to sustain myself financially. While directing The Spirit of the Beehive in 1973, I had to completely disregard the aesthetic style of advertising.
In 1992, my movie titled “A Dream of Light” featured Antonio López Garcia as he meticulously attempted to paint a quince tree. As it turned out, this film became an exploration of the inherent challenges in art. Prior to beginning the shoot, I had accompanied Antonio on his urban landscape paintings but had never witnessed him painting a tree. So, when I embarked on making “A Dream of Light”, I didn’t have a clear idea of how it would unfold. It was an exciting journey for me, and as you pointed out, nature remains oblivious to the artist’s intentions. As a filmmaker, my role in this project was simply to mirror the timeless struggle between man and nature. The tree served as the artist’s model, with its fruits undergoing change throughout the procession of time.
Through his diligent painting of the quince tree each day, an observer might discern (as I’ve always hoped) a reflection of a unique, fundamental temporality. This isn’t the time dictated by clocks that governs our daily routines—our work and leisure—but rather, the primordial time. The time that is etched concurrently onto the quince fruit’s skin and the artist’s face.
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2024-08-23 23:54