Burma VJ: Reporting from a Closed Country

I first heard about the film Burma VJ on Newsnight Review.
The show was about Iran's (feminine) artistic production and its influence abroad, but towards the end they branched out to Burma. Burma VJ's Director Oskergaard said that "in principle, you could make the same project about Iran".

However, and this was mentioned in the programme, much more gets out of Iran than it does of Burma, despite Iran's reputation.
As a member of the general public, I had never seen or even heard of a film about and mostly made with images from Burma. Whereas I had seen a few Kiarostami films, heard of Iranian novels, watched Persepolis and heard Satrapi's interventions many times: Iran has had a Western face for a few years now. Burma has not.

This was why I was very keen to see the film. That, and the fact that one of my good friends' husband is from Burma and I have been hearing about the events his family has been witnessing for quite a while now.
It's very hard to hear, and even harder to understand. Not only because the events are of an extremely serious nature, but also because the media remain so silent, when we hear about Iran on an almost daily basis. Of course there's the bomb and the natural resources etc., but the media/governments' selective reports fit the situation perfectly here: silence is the Burmese rule. And not only a Buddhist one, unfortunately.

This is why the work of the VJs is so vital, and so admirable. They are risking their lives in the hope of changing a desperate situation. They are well organised and highly skilled; despite, or maybe because of, their country being almost completely cut off the rest of the world, they understand the importance of involving the international community. Their struggle is moving, and the images they smuggle out of Burma stay with you: the monks peacefully marching through the streets, protected by courageous passers-by, the students willing to risk their lives, a frail Aung San Suu Kyi bowing silently and the emotion the mere sighting of her provokes in VJ Joshua. But as I was watching these intense records of a country's suffering, the main thought which came to my mind was, what can be done?

I attended the film's UK premiere in London. It was screened with a satellite transmission of the opening celebrations somewhere else.
I must admit that I was somehow disconcerted, if not shocked, by the commercial exploitation of the film by its main sponsor. It was truly out of place and revolting. A simple company logo in the film credits and on the poster would have been enough, and more dignified. The introduction and post-screening discussion were in theory very good additions. But they seemed pointless and self-indulging: there was no need to preach the converted.
In fact it is a real issue surrounding the film: I fear that most people who see the film, especially in the UK, already have an interest in Burma. It seems crazy to compare the two but, An Inconvenient Truth had a limited shelf life: media covering of national/international events and local initiatives are the real eye openers for most people (the good old power of the 'Chinese whispers'). And the discussion could have been an interesting opportunity to talk about the implications/actions needed for change. The 'sponsor''s intentions leaned towards that direction, but he did not deliver.

The main issue, which was consistently avoided during the discussion, is that of the involvement/action power of foreign governments. I really agree with what John Pilger said in The Guardian: "the culpable indifference and complacency of wealthy nations underpins an arrogant junta". The complacency extends to documentary film sponsors.

I am not indifferent. But I do not think that there is anything I can do. I signed the petition, I gave money. But it will not help much. What is needed is, a total change of mentality from our Western world. Whilst I believe that this is happening more and more, it will be a long and difficult process, and Burma cannot wait.

Burma VJ is a precursor: the mix of real smuggled footage and scenes reconstructed from the VJs' accounts is gripping and reveals the power of cinematic construction. But their intrinsic impact is nothing compared to that of fortuitous moments of extreme filmic quality.
In suspended moments, under the lure of narrative pauses, there are shots of immense power. Aung San Suu Kyi's apparition is what cinema (and therefore, what being human) is: on the screen she is her image. And it touches our soul in a deeply unconscious, universal manner.

If the film can help in any way, it will be thanks to such sequences: they have the power to awaken the atheistic universality of reverence and our human need for justice.


© asd - 2009

Francis Bacon Exhibition, Tate Britain, London

I was pleasantly surprised with the latest Francis Bacon exhibition.
You might say 'pleasant' does not sound like the appropriate word. Screaming faces, bodies trapped in dark cages, blood and guts are hardly the most pleasant way to spend a sunny Saturday morning with your lover. Well, thanks to the Tate, our decision to 'give it a go' was rewarded and you shall stand corrected.

For the first time in quite a few recent Tate experiences, the inevitable fight-to-the-death-to-get-a-5-second-look-at-half-a-painting ordeal was bearable and almost excusable. Yes, it was crowded, yes, you had to queue, but at least there was space to move and enough curatorial food for novice thoughts, which is not always the case at Tate.

It was my first Bacon exhibition. I had never seen any of his paintings in the flesh. And I do not have a vast knowledge of his art either. I was curious, and somehow he keeps popping up in my life recently. When I realised it was on, I took it as a sign. The direction it pointed to is hard to take but I am a step closer.

What you get out of anything depends on how much you put in it. You have to be in a certain state of mind to enter Bacon's world. Either unbalanced or transcended-your-weaknesses-to-turn-them-into-strenghts sort of state. No need to point out which side I'm on.

So what did I get out of it? I understand his obsession with the representation of the Pope. Here my thoughts are necessarily biased: it is an imagery linked to cultural and spiritual burdens which I am heavily carrying.
One of my friends told me she did not enjoy it because the subject matters were alien to her. She could understand them on an intellectual level, but she did not relate to them. To her this meant his art did not work. Strangely the subject matters were not what touched me most. Another friend could not quite remember what she saw, only what it made her feel. Most of the time I am the same. I cannot remember exactly what I saw. But on a few occasions, and this was one of those (another was with a few Monets at Marmottan), the visual experience is such that the memory of the feeling cannot exist without its visual source. More than that, the feeling is the vision. So much unconscious, so much inexpressible is contained into it that it is it.
It seems to me a Jungian thing (from the little knowledge I have of his work) and a very filmic experience.

In the last few months I have become obsessed with layers and relief. I loathe smoothness; I like it thick! I was most keen on Bacon's later works and one Pope: Untitled, 1950. The Pope is not a prisoner of the cage; the lines act as proofs: he is as much outside as inside of the cage. He is a prisoner of things we cannot see and yet, they are all there in front of us. A dialogue with the invisible, through the visible.

I wish I could let it out in this way.

© asd - 2009