**Shortlisted for the EIFF Short Film Challenge 2016 with a World
Premier screening at The Filmhouse, Edinburgh, 6th Aug 2016.**
**Two further screenings that same month at Edinburgh Digital
Entertainment Festival.**
**English Premiere at LSFF (London Short Film Festival) in January 2017
at the Moth Club in Hackney. (We attended this screening with
the assistance of a Creative Scotland grant.) **
**European Premiere in Barcelona (17th February 2018) at an
International Super 8 screening event (Mostra de Videoclips Rodats en
Super 8) - part of the Minifestival de Música Independent de
Barcelona.**
SUPERFLY SUPER 8 circa NINETEEN SEVENTY SEVEN (2016) by Scottish
experimentalists, Sarahjane Swan & Roger Simian (Avant Kinema), was
the duo's first ever delve into Super 8 filmmaking. Shooting on TRI-X
B&W reversal film, using vintage analogue film-cameras, Swan &
Simian set out to create "the Super 8 dream of a classic Film Noir as if
made by New York No Wavers".
Directed by
Sarahjane Swan & Roger Simian
Performer: Sarahjane Swan
Cinematography & Editing:
Roger Simian & Sarahjane Swan
In
2016 we created an immersive, multi-format installation for Alchemy
Film and Moving Image Festival, called Alphonso's Jaw.
The
installation, and subsequent short film, were inspired by our
facination for two objects we discovered amongst Edinburgh University's
Anatomy Collection: (1) the cast of a disfigured face; (2) a prosthetic jaw constructed on an
early nineteenth century battlefield.
Through
some research we unearthed the story of Alphonse Luis, a young French
gunner struck by shrapnel at the Siege of Antwerp, 1832. Having
suffered horrific facial injuries, losing his lower face, Alphonse's
quality of life was eventually improved when the Surgeon-Major and
a local Belgian artist collaborated on the construction of a silver
prosthetic jaw, painted in flesh tones and adorned with whiskers.
We
uncovered historical accounts of Alphonse Luis' injury, surgery,
recuperation and rehabilitation in medical journals of the day, and
drew on these for an exploration of identity, disfigurement and
reconstruction.
In
Alphonso's Jaw we
imagine that Alphonse Luis has become dislocated from history to
exist outside of any specific time or place, trapped in eternal
convalescence, soothed by the dreams of his Battlefield Muse, who is equal
parts Night Nurse, Scheherazade and Beauty from Beauty and the
Beast. Luis' Battlefield Muse is, in turn, both horrified and fascinated by her
patient.
As
well as multiple video projections, music and sculptural elements -
which included dislocated white hands thrusting from walls
clutching crimson rose buds; numerous handcrafted prosthetic legs;
and an American army stretcher haunted by WWI shell-shock victims -
our installation included the following poem.
ALPHONSO'S JAW (8 Mins) short film by Avant Kinema
Beauty and the Silver Maskpoem by Avant KinemaMy name is Beauty.
My name is
Scheherazade.
I gorge on words,
feverishly
in the privacy of my
cell cot.
Words nourish my soul.
Each twilight I whisper
words of freedom and captivity.
I am the sadness of
lost women
and the wild boys
who forgot the fluidity
of youth
who forgot that skin
and bones
will crystalize,
shatter into
smithereens
like the Citadel of
Antwerp
under the monster
mortar fire of the
ticking clock.
Your name is Beast.
My favourite enemy, you
invade
my dreams.
You are the Beast who
imprisons me.
The shock of your
devastated jaw holds me captive until morning.
They have allowed me
one mirror.
In its shimmering skin,
I see your face. Broken.
Your face has
misbehaved.
It has smashed its
shell open
with a spoon.
Form has fractured,
symmetry ripped in two
pieces.
Did I smash the glass?
Did I smash it over and
over?
Did I splinter your
face to shards?
Your tongue is blind.
It falls, fat and
undulating,
from the hungry centre
of your lost jaw,
craving nourishment,
searching all of the
black space between stars for meaning.
I ache to have known
your lips.
Through the haze of an
enchanted glass I see
the dark forest,
your calloused hand
tending to the wild flowers.
Your jaw is a ghost.
In the negative space
above your throat
I see the trace of your
mouth's memory
sucked like smoke into
the Vortex.
The Void whispers to
me.
Restless, fidgeting, I
turn
a pawn shop ring round
my finger, thrice
and watch your face
fall apart in silhouette.
Dragged by my heels
through the dark
forest,
beyond the scratching
branches,
and twisting roots,
mauled by wild talons
and the jaws of
monstrous entities,
I see the green shimmer
of a clearing,
breathe the rose's wild
perfume,
witness the spilled
blood of its petals, burgundy against the grass.
Your mouth has vanished
into the mist, banished.
You have no words.
To hear your words I
must first
enter your eyes, as
green and deep and tempestuous as the ocean,
and become engulfed.
I must allow myself to
succumb
to the brutal
metamorphosis,
to allow myself to
become you,
to become my favourite
monster.
I fix my silver mask in
place.
I will inhabit your
skin and steal the words from your mouth.
La Belle et le
masque d'argent
poem by Avant Kinema(translation by Raymond Meyer)Je m’appelle La Belle.
Je m’appelle Scheherazade.
Fiévreusement, je me gave de mots dans l’intimité de mon lit de prison.
Les mots nourrissent mon âme.
A chaque crépuscule je murmure des mots de la liberté et de la captivité.Je suis la tristesse des femmes perdues.
Je suis la tristesse des femmes perdues.
Je suis la tristesse des femmes perdues.
