Pauline P. Raybaud
A scriptless film is the result of a residency at Gasworks Gallery London, where the duration of the residency and the site's location had to enter in consideration of the film's making, without the use of semantic language.
Our research was thus directed by the space and the atmosphere offered by the lost coast of the Thames river. To the notion of time had to be added the rising of the tide, and the whole experience laid in performing without narrative, based on the sole encountering with the place, that would open up to us only while the early rising sun, being overflowed and impenetrable at night.
Excerpt of The Scriptless Film
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The performers are therefore swifting in-between cold wanderings and frozen movements, responding to the early hours and the winter's first wind, echoing a forgotten space that is revealed only in a gifted period of time and rendered palpable only through the performer's corporal merging with it, and the capture of it all.
The editing is what gives this film its content, recreating a whole sonore space where the viewer can wander, his senses in alert, in search for a narrative that would be his own, based on the sole hearing and psychic associating of the diffracted sound fragments, and sounds of silence.
A poem was later created to accompany the film in the gallery's space.
A scriptless film
Poem by P. Raybaud
The Tide Raises the Tide Falls.
Placing the body within a space.
Leaving space for movement.
Time for movement.
And keeping a moment of it all: space, time, body.
This project was raised up along the tide of an unknown place, some called the “zone”, some made their own.
In a “script-less” film, it is hard not to tell a story, hard to merge yourself deep enough within the space to forget the thread.
Identity.
The traveller is on his way. To where? From where?
Again, it is hard not to tell the story.
The traveller went away, to close himself within his own, finding his place, his own.
Questioning his body, space, and time.
Perhaps it is impossible not to narrate, when it comes to questioning.
Lush green landscape,
Growth and chaos,
Spirituality and modern world.
Some words were heard, but the gathering was disparate.
The story unfolded itself in the spotlight of its inner cacophonies, pulled apart by several voices struggling to speak for one.
Colours,
Sounds,
Vibrancies.
Details added.
External,
Personal,
Sound of glass.
In somn, some distracted eyes captured some distorted moments, some voices took over the inner thread, just like in a head, and the bodies followed, back, and forth, like the waves,
Like the waves, trying to keep the rhythm in silence, to keep the story unsaid.