"Scenario, actress, use of a text… All that is really meaningless as I am concerned. Film is a totality; I let my intuition guide me into it; features combine like parts of my imaginary Meccano; I never wonder about if, why, how."
Chris MarkerJuly 29, 1921 — July 29, 2012

"Scenario, actress, use of a text… All that is really meaningless as I am concerned. Film is a totality; I let my intuition guide me into it; features combine like parts of my imaginary Meccano; I never wonder about if, why, how."

Chris Marker
July 29, 1921 — July 29, 2012

Sans Soleil — dir. Chris Marker


"While we were editing La Pointe Courte in 1955, this one fellow often called Alain Resnais: Chris Marker. When he came, we saw only his leather jacket, boots, gloves, and glasses.”— Agnès Varda, The Beaches of Agnès

"While we were editing La Pointe Courte in 1955, this one fellow often called Alain Resnais: Chris Marker. When he came, we saw only his leather jacket, boots, gloves, and glasses.”
Agnès Varda, The Beaches of Agnès



He wrote me that in the suburbs of Tokyo there is a temple consecrated to cats. I wish I could convey you the simplicity—the lack of affectation of this couple who had come to place an inscribed wooden slat in the cat cemetery so their cat Tora would be protected. No she wasn’t dead, only run away. But on the day of her death no one would know how to pray for her, how to intercede with death so that he would call her by her right name. So they had to come there, both of them, under the rain, to perform the rite that would repair the web of time where it had been broken.

Sans Soleil (dir. Chris Marker — 1983)

He wrote me that in the suburbs of Tokyo there is a temple consecrated to cats. I wish I could convey you the simplicity—the lack of affectation of this couple who had come to place an inscribed wooden slat in the cat cemetery so their cat Tora would be protected. No she wasn’t dead, only run away. But on the day of her death no one would know how to pray for her, how to intercede with death so that he would call her by her right name. So they had to come there, both of them, under the rain, to perform the rite that would repair the web of time where it had been broken.

Sans Soleil (dir. Chris Marker — 1983)

07 / 30 / 2012 307   originally from truefoes   via truefoes
The Pathéorama by Chris MarkerIt was a funny-shaped object. A small tin box with irregularly rounded ends, rectangular aperture in the middle, and on the opposed side a small lens, the size of a nickel. You had to insert gently a piece of film—real film, with sprockets and all—in the upper part, then a tiny rubber wheel blocked it, and by turning the corresponding knob, the film unrolled, frame by frame. To tell the truth, each frame represented a different shot, so the whole thing looked more like a slide show than a home cinema, yet the shots were beautifully printed stills out of celebrated pictures: Chaplin’s, Ben-Hur, Abel Gance’s Napoléon… If you were rich, you could lock that small unit in a sort of magic lantern and project it on your wall (or screen, if you were very rich). I had to content myself with the minimal version: pressing my eye against the lens and watching. That forgotten contraption was called Pathéorama. You could read it in golden letters on black, with the legendary Pathé rooster singing against a rising sun.The egotistic pleasure of watching by myself images pertaining to the unfathomable realm of Movieland had very soon a dialectical by-product: when I couldn’t even imagine having anything in common with the process of filmmaking (whose basic principles were naturally far beyond my comprehension), there something of the film itself was with my reach, pieces of celluloid that were not that different from the photographic negatives when they came back from the lab. Something I could touch and feel, something of the real world. And why (insinuated my own dialectical Jiminy Cricket) couldn’t I in turn make something of the same kind? All I needed was translucent material and the right measurements. (The sprockets were there to look good; the rubber wheel ignored them.) So, with scissors, tracing paper, and glue, I managed to get a proper copy of Pathórama model tape. Then, screen by screen, I began to draw a few postures of my cat (what else?), with captions in between. And all of a sudden, the cat belonged to the same universe as the characters in Ben-Hur or Napoléon. I had gone through the looking glass. Of all my school buddies, Jonathan was the most prestigious: he was mechanically minded and quite inventive; he made up maquettes of theaters with rolling curtains and flashing lights, and a miniature big band emerging from the abyss while a cranked gramophone was playing “Hail the Conquering Hero.” So it was natural that he was the first to whom I wished to show my masterwork. I was rather pleased with the result, and I unrolled the adventures of the cat Riri, which I presented as “my movie.” Jonathan managed to get me sobered up. “Movies are supposed to move, stupid,” he said. “Nobody can do a movie with still images.”Thirty years passed. Then I made La Jetée. [x]

The Pathéorama
by Chris Marker

It was a funny-shaped object. A small tin box with irregularly rounded ends, rectangular aperture in the middle, and on the opposed side a small lens, the size of a nickel. You had to insert gently a piece of film—real film, with sprockets and all—in the upper part, then a tiny rubber wheel blocked it, and by turning the corresponding knob, the film unrolled, frame by frame. To tell the truth, each frame represented a different shot, so the whole thing looked more like a slide show than a home cinema, yet the shots were beautifully printed stills out of celebrated pictures: Chaplin’s, Ben-Hur, Abel Gance’s Napoléon… If you were rich, you could lock that small unit in a sort of magic lantern and project it on your wall (or screen, if you were very rich). I had to content myself with the minimal version: pressing my eye against the lens and watching. That forgotten contraption was called Pathéorama. You could read it in golden letters on black, with the legendary Pathé rooster singing against a rising sun.

The egotistic pleasure of watching by myself images pertaining to the unfathomable realm of Movieland had very soon a dialectical by-product: when I couldn’t even imagine having anything in common with the process of filmmaking (whose basic principles were naturally far beyond my comprehension), there something of the film itself was with my reach, pieces of celluloid that were not that different from the photographic negatives when they came back from the lab. Something I could touch and feel, something of the real world. And why (insinuated my own dialectical Jiminy Cricket) couldn’t I in turn make something of the same kind? All I needed was translucent material and the right measurements. (The sprockets were there to look good; the rubber wheel ignored them.) So, with scissors, tracing paper, and glue, I managed to get a proper copy of Pathórama model tape. Then, screen by screen, I began to draw a few postures of my cat (what else?), with captions in between. And all of a sudden, the cat belonged to the same universe as the characters in Ben-Hur or Napoléon. I had gone through the looking glass.

Of all my school buddies, Jonathan was the most prestigious: he was mechanically minded and quite inventive; he made up maquettes of theaters with rolling curtains and flashing lights, and a miniature big band emerging from the abyss while a cranked gramophone was playing “Hail the Conquering Hero.” So it was natural that he was the first to whom I wished to show my masterwork. I was rather pleased with the result, and I unrolled the adventures of the cat Riri, which I presented as “my movie.” Jonathan managed to get me sobered up. “Movies are supposed to move, stupid,” he said. “Nobody can do a movie with still images.”

Thirty years passed. Then I made La Jetée. [x]

Chris MarkerFilm
keyframedaily:

Remembering Chris Marker, 1921 - 2012.

keyframedaily:

Remembering Chris Marker, 1921 - 2012.

Chris Marker:(
07 / 30 / 2012 863   originally from bbook   via keyframedaily
"We do not have cats, cats have us. Cats are our Gods, the most expansive and approachable of Gods, that goes without saying." — Chris Marker

"We do not have cats, cats have us. Cats are our Gods, the most expansive and approachable of Gods, that goes without saying." — Chris Marker

Alain Resnais on Chris Marker (born July 29, 1921)
"Chris Marker is the prototype of the 19th Century man. He managed to achieve a synthesis of all appetites and obligations without ever sacrificing any of them to the others. In fact a theory is making the rounds, and not without some grounds, that Marker could be an extra-terrestrial. He looks like a human, but perhaps he comes from the future or from another planet… There are some very bizarre clues. He is never sick or ill, he is not sensitive to cold, and he doesn’t seem to need any sleep."

Alain Resnais on Chris Marker (born July 29, 1921)

"Chris Marker is the prototype of the 19th Century man. He managed to achieve a synthesis of all appetites and obligations without ever sacrificing any of them to the others. In fact a theory is making the rounds, and not without some grounds, that Marker could be an extra-terrestrial. He looks like a human, but perhaps he comes from the future or from another planet… There are some very bizarre clues. He is never sick or ill, he is not sensitive to cold, and he doesn’t seem to need any sleep."

Chris MarkerFilmIcons

On the set of Ran.

A.K.Akira KurosawaRanChris MarkerFilm
La jetée // dir. Chris Marker

La jetée // dir. Chris Marker