Film Review Of ‘The Natural History of Destruction’

(This review will stop now, so those of you who care about such things can take advantage of it to buy the film’s NFT because, which cannot be a worse investment than the stock market at the moment.)

Do? Ok, where were we? Oh yes, we also learn that Zero Contact has been shot in 17 countries, although the reason why it should be important because the film is hardly a world in the world in the 80 -day style as well but rather A portrait of farms and personal parts. When there is a photo of someone’s courtyard, it is positively a thrill. Then there is the idea that the sound mix apparently uses ASMR (Autonomous Sensory Response Response), although the only tingling viewers are likely to live will come from the relief that occurs when the film is finished. Finally, there is the idea that this represents a new genre, “distant sequences” (compared to “Found Fetging”), which is really, really, really suffocated in the egg.

The fact that the film presents a kind of scenario seems almost a reflection afterwards. He revolves around a video call conference designed by Hart (think Elon Musk, only with a real charisma), who does not leave the fact that he died of preventing him from putting the intrigue in motion. The call presents five people from various places, one of which is the separate son of Finley, Sam (Chris Brochu). It seems that Finley, who had been ousted from his own business shortly before his death, implored them beyond the grave for reactive “the quantinum initiative”, which apparently implies teleportation, before the end of the world. Or something like that. Let’s just say that “the machine runs on Dark Matter Reactor” is one of the most coherent lines of the script.

The film is not entirely a talkfest. Very bad things happen to some of the online participants during the call thanks to mysterious intruders, perhaps because they were upset not to be invited to participate (a bit like many of my loved ones). Even more horribly, from time to time, the appellants are suspended and we are subject to repeated listening to “Escape (the song by Pina Colada)”, which represents the polar opposite of the ASMR.

As Finley, Hopkins displays his usual magnetism, even taking advantage of one of his own musical compositions on the piano. He delivers monologues alternately worried and perplexed throughout, although his tendency to look at almost elsewhere than directly in the camera. However, it is a pleasure to listen to him to expose on subjects such as the breathtaking effects of reading Aldous Huxley in this elegant voice.

With no less than 10 minutes of end credits which include behind -the -scenes images intended to impress us with the complexity of the implementation of the project, zero contact is only the first episode of a trilogy, the other two parts Who are now filming. Would it be impolia to emphasize that the vast majority of us relieved to spend our days doing nothing but screens?

In the film’s press notes, an extremely scholarly Loznitsa speaks in a thoughtful way of the relationship between the original text and the film he made. But most viewers are unlikely to have access to this diegeis. In the film, his deliberate erasure of all kinds of author of an author is even more frustrating since he is one of the most famous international filmmakers of international renown, apart from the former actor producer Volodymyr Zelenskyy. Loznitsa took positions in principle in public on the way in which the West addressed war (he resigned from the European Academy of the film for his refusal to call him such) and the “cancellation” of Russian artists (He is against), addressed Russian aggression in Ukraine in his 2018 fictitious feature film Donbass and served many stories to tackle cruelty and corruption in Soviet and post-Soviet regimes (in fog, a sweet creature).

The fact that this film is the first artistic contribution from Loznitsa since the Russian invasion in February 2022 could be a pure accident in history and planning. But that seems a little bit disappointing, above all, given the way in which the connection is abstract and strictly inferential with what has just happened in Mariupol, not to mention Aleppo and other cities insends recently.

It may seem chic, but it is a feeling that I could not shake throughout the natural history of destruction, which is also a fascinating experience. Published with fluidity by the regular collaborator of Loznitsa, Danielius Kokanauskis, and by using digital technology to make the equipment as virgin as new images yesterday, in particular rare colored sequences, at a strictly aesthetic level, the documentary is unwilling. It starts with German plans in the 1930s to make their daily life, to eat in cafes, to walk in boulevards in cities of Postcard-Pretty, to any chocolate box architecture and a Occasional preview of banners with Swastikas. There are abundant and rarely shown aerial views of cities which probably seem completely different today to judge by the subsequent plans of devastated landscapes, where masonry shards that were staggered remain in the middle of lots of rubble, ruins and corpses arranged for collection.

In the median section, between the passages before and after, we see the destruction from the point of view of the planes, crying masses of small truncated bombs which, in some of the night images, create explosions of fireworks, really the flowers difficulty. There are plans of workers’ ammunition in the factory that are at stake, many of them with rosie the Riveter biffhets, sometimes exploiting their machine with photos pinned by cinema stars. It is these little human details of anonymous life, people drawing carts of possession while walking barefoot or dancing in the streets, which really happen to you – much more than the exciting words of the British Prime Minister Winston Churchill, seen here, Giving here one of his war approaches and survey of Blitz’s damage to London.

Personally, as a long -standing resident in London, I couldn’t help but try to determine the bombed cathedrals belonging to which city and to feel frustrated not to know if it was supposed to be Liverpool Street or Lubeck . But then it strikes you that it doesn’t really matter – the pain and loss felt in the two places were just as deep, and trying to create a mental cartography of destruction is not the work within reach hand here.

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