“Who Are You In The Wild?”
Photo: Madara Gritāne
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As already mentioned, the filming seems to be very dynamic because it is present almost everywhere, noting not only central but also peripheral events. How big was your team? How mobile did you have to be to record what’s going on?
Of the four days, the team was one day. I accompanied the old master Daina Kļava with the other camera, because a concert of wind orchestras and also poetry readings were planned. I think – what I’m there alone, we’re better two – one is filming, watching, the other filming, talking. Other than this one day, it’s my solo job. And solo in the sense that the commissioner and producer Henrik Elias Sergner said that a film had to be made, but that was the only prescription. Everything else – what and how I do – was one hundred percent freedom, which is the best conditions you can get into.
Cyril Ece says in the film, “I don’t have many places where I’ve been able to achieve such a gripping intimacy with myself and others, and that’s me.” Wild. ” The film creates similar feelings – we, the viewers, get unusually close, as if we are part of what is happening. By creating “Who Are You in the Wild?”
It is a spontaneous reaction to it. I really wonder – the young people I filmed there, who expressed their thoughts about how they felt there, mentioned the words “closeness to nature”, “intimacy” and “security”. It really surprises me because
In my feelings, this unaccustomed nature of the Drusta area is one of the scariest in Latvian nature. I have a feeling that staying there a few nights alone could be quite a dark event.
Probably because of the fact that you have to travel far, there are fewer and fewer houses left when approaching the destination, the roads are those with good grass on both sides.
When you get there, it is clear that you are no longer the crown of nature, that now you have slipped quietly like a mouse and then tried to get out.
I made the film with this feeling – in a play, but in a rather dark play. When these people, who had seen the whole event, saw the film, they said “interestingly, it seemed a much brighter event to us”. Okay, that’s a good vision, but mine is dark. Maybe that is my predestination about Latvia’s nature, because I feel it as threatening and dark, and not so calm and calm. I address the same theme in my upcoming feature film, Sacrifice. There is no quiet, nurturing, intimate place in Latvia either.
The film shows a procedural impression, with all the characters in the film taking part in one big event. I also read on the exhibition website – “The Wild is a procedural event.” How challenging is it for the director to portray such a processuality, in principle a meta-processuality in a film?
These are the points in the plan – you come back every time and try to detect what has changed. What is the tree in which the plant swings or does the leaves hold or fall? Is there still a terrible glow, or has the fog already begun?
What was most interesting to me was seeing the change in the faces of the people who lingered the most in the wild.
For the first time, they are walking with wines, they are smoking all the time – in such a city bubble they are floating through their nature. Then they dig up the ditches, some kind of savage appears there. Then they swing on the moss carpet by the lake – they can smell the city even less. He arrives in two months and a savage is already on his face – those eyes are tired, overheated, but more archaic. It was very interesting to watch the change, and it was the people who felt the change the most.
But how did the heroes of this film crystallize – the people we see the most?
Only by reacting spontaneously. There is an event, someone is more visible in him, someone is less visible. You turn to it and then follow the same event while editing, don’t try to escape from your instinctive decisions made during filming.
Can the condition of the film be divided into sections, sections?
At one point I was even thinking of separating them with titles and also calling them scenes – there is a scene of glow and an atonal scene, a scene of the morning, but I figured out – what to prescribe now for things that are also felt. However, they can be allowed to live without such a detectable boundary. It’s also easy to assemble – you watch the material and you know – I’ll have this and that picture, and if you just make them, maybe a prefix will appear, but very rarely. When you make them, you also know – this will go very well in the next one through it. They find their place automatically. I always think in small scenes and then I string them in some way, but even when I try to get out of it, in the end it turns out that there are scenes.
The film begins with steam, which can be both lunchtime and mid-summer, and is slowly approaching twilight. However, this one day, which we seem to see, is made up of a longer period of the film. Was it decided to make this film like one day?
No, if you follow the instinctive impulses that come from your own consciousness, then it is possible that the same formulas that exist elsewhere in nature are repeated there. Obviously, we start with something calm. Sometimes you can start with something explosive, but in this case I started with calm. Then something takes effect. Then there is the sun in the south, it is terribly hot – it was also reflected in the film. Then everything cools down slowly, water is found, some voices are followed, night falls. None of this is special. Such representations for the season or the day of representation occur only by intuitively following one’s own impulses. That was also why I was interested –
if there are no precepts, then it is very cool to follow your own internal precepts, which reveal themselves without even asking.
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