It is a fragmentary and poetic film, where close-ups and exploration of faces have a privileged role. It is also a film about love and loss, death and birth. And above all, it is a film about making cinema where we get a chance to take part in the experiences of the director who is making a film.

We propose to start from watching this excerpt and commenting on it because it shows exactly the same situation which we are going to shoot, although in this case there are two characters. They are both next to a window; she is seen from the side, in the beginning almost with her back turned towards the source of light; he is facing the window. The window is solely a source of light, we can’t see anything outside. In fact, there is barely any visual reference to the space. By contrast, the sound, which conceals the conversation between the characters, has a very real and concrete spatial presence.

We will start from describing the light. What is it like? We will see that it is soft, dappled, diffused; it doesn’t cast shadows and isn’t outlined on the faces. It is a rather cold, whitish light; it looks winter-like.

We will pause for a while to focus on two shots of her in particular because they let us observe transformations of her face in relation to the variations of incoming light provoked by the movements of the actress:  What is her face like when at the beginning of the first shot she is looking to the side, towards our right? How does it change when she bows her head? And when she looks towards the window? We might use a very cinematographic term to describe it: we may want to say that her face ‘catches’ light. It is also nice to observe how the light is being reflected on her hair and how it sparkles in her eyes. These shots are replete with nuance and subtle variations! It could be interesting to make some stills and compare the variations of light and face in still images.

How could we describe the light on the face of the actor? Perhaps we would say that it is more intense, direct and flat as well.

We can observe that these are close-ups, shot with medium optics (certainly that of 50 mm or a bit more similar to a telephoto lens) and a very shallow depth of field: it is focused on a very small section of the shot. We can begin analysing it from the very start of the close-up of her: while her nose, cheek, eyelashes and hair are well focused, the line of her shoulder is already blurry. And all what surrounds the characters is a flow, a space without any reference, totally blurry.

Manuela and Olmo meet after many years. The film is set in two time periods: in the present, in winter, Olmo and Manuela are in their thirties; in the past, in summer, fifteen years ago, when they fell in love for the first time.

This sequence depicts the moment when Manuela is thinking about a letter that she is writing to Olmo, where she explains him why she feels that they can’t be together any more.

In two shots of Manuela in the room we see and feel the passage of time. From one shot to the other the light subtly changes its tone. These two shots are of great delicacy, they require us to sharpen our attention because only then we can perceive all the nuance.

In the first of the shots, we can see how the light cuts out the silhouette of Manuela and lights up her eye behind her nose, while the half of the face which is closer to the camera is left in shadows, in a certain way she is framed by this line of light, which outlines her silhouette, and by her hair which is also cut out by the light.

In the second shot the light is colder and more diffused. We can also observe a slight variation due to the Manuela´s backward movement, leaning back in the chair. This slight change casts a shadow on her cheek and the darkness of her face seems to place even more emphasis on the sparkle in her eye.

You can find documents on the making of the film in the Inside Cinema website.

The Way South is a journey of van der Keuken from Amsterdam to Cairo, passing by Paris, Drôme, Rome and Calabria. On his way the filmmaker collects images of places and people he sees.

In this excerpt van der Keuken creates a portrait of Alí on the train leaving from Paris. He was on the sick leave due to the motorcycle accident and is about to come back to work at a car factory in the outskirts of the city.

It is a portrait in constant motion and the light varies within the shot transforming the face of the portrayed. We could examine attentively each of the three shots with a special focus on the third one: a precious shot, more extreme close-up than the previous ones, in which intermittent light (intense golden tone of dawn alternating with complete darkness) transforms the face and the shot. The sound intensifies the emotion of the portrait. We could try to find adjectives to describe the light: golden, warm, intermittent, gentle…

It is also particularly interesting to analyse the voice of the filmmaker which we can hear at the beginning. Just in two brief and simple phrases he reinstates the value of the being on the way at this hour of the day and at the exact moment for Alí (and the filmmaker himself): ‘The first train of the day. Alí goes to work once again.’

After ten years without any news from her father, Pamela (the girl with wavy hair) finally meets him again. She goes with a friend. After a walk around botanical garden they catch skytrain to go home. They travel in silence, immersed in their thoughts.

Shots of them alternate with travelling shots of the exterior: people who know Paris are likely to recognise the metro route: line 6, crossing above Seine between Quai de la Gare and Bercy.

In a similar fashion as in Alí portrait, here the light is intense and golden, although this time it is sunset and the shadows are more bluish. Here as well an important role is played by intermittent light and shadows, almost as if it were heartbeats which cinematographically correspond to the internal emotional state of the main character who has just met her father.

It is interesting to observe a wide range of shots and how the light varies when the metro position changes in relation to the sun, which is so low, that for a moment it lights up little more than the figures of the main characters. For a short while – as at the beginning – almost orange colour of the light glows in their hair, from behind. In other moments the light pours pointedly at them and bathes their faces.

Especially intense moment is the one when two metros go past each other, it generates very special rhythm of the movement and light.

In an interview Mia Hansen-Løve explained that they shot this sequence in not more than half an hour, repeating various routes back and forth several times. Since they didn’t have a permission to shoot, they had to be swift and discreet. It was very important to her to film the stretch of the metro route above Seine, where she has travelled many times. To a certain extent, it is in this route where her passion to become a filmmaker was born: looking through the window how the world parades at different moments of the day and in different light; imagining stories of the people who were travelling with her in the same metro carriage…

In From the East Chantal Akerman traces a journey from the East Germany to Moscow passing by the Baltic States and Poland (where were native places and landscapes of her family). From the end of the summer till the harshest winter the filmmaker films, in her own words, ‘everything what changes slowly during the journey: the faces and the landscapes’. Practically the whole film consists of long shots which are shot in travelling (always from the right to the left) as well as of static shots, usually portraits in the interiors of homes.

That is also the case in this portrait which consists of only one shot: a woman at the table after having a cup of coffee (which she might have just had with the filmmaker), warm light is pouring through the window. We should delicately examine this shot. The composition is masterful, almost pictorial.

What colour is the light? How would we describe its intensity and texture? At what position might be the sun in the sky? Could we tell by intuition at what hour of the day was this shot filmed?

We are dealing here with a portrait in the context: we see the character at her home, surrounded by her personal belongings.

What does the light through the window light up most? What is left in the shadows? It would be very nice to focus our attention, for example, on the gleam of the ring while the hand is resting on the table, right on the shiny whiteness of the tablecloth.

It would be equally interesting to observe how the warmth and at the same time softness of the light bathes the shot in familiar and pleasant tone, calm and peaceful, and adds intimacy to the portrait.

Aside from the work on the light, it is worthwhile to mention the role played by the camera, which is slightly lifted in relation to the figure. This viewpoint allows us to see almost the whole table, including two coffee cups, which in a certain way hint at conversation and the afternoon shared by the portrayed woman and the filmmaker. It is just as precious to examine carefully all the other elements in the room: furniture, lamp, huge radio, window, plants…

After examining the excerpt and commenting on it we could ask ourselves: who would we like to make a similar portrait of? where would we film it? at what time of the day?