BFI Top 50: Pierrot le Fou, Released in 1965, Directed by Jean-Luc Godard

What I know going in

It’s a French new wave directed by Jean-Luc Godard, that’s it.

Immediate Reaction

I honestly have no idea how to respond to this movie. At no point in the movie did I have any idea what was going on. In fact, I don’t think I even understood the basic plot until I read the Wikipedia summary. Also, I fell asleep about 1/3 of the way through and woke up around 20 minutes later. Of course, I rewound the movie and picked backed up where I fell asleep, but, honestly, looking back I probably could have kept the movie going without missing much. This is not really a knock against the movie, even if you knew the plot in detail; it wouldn’t accurately describe the experience of actually watching it.

I will do my best to narrate my experience of watching the film now. At its most basic, the film concerns the characters of Marianne Renoir, played by Anna Karina, and Ferdinand Griffon, played by Jean-Paul Belmondo, who Marianne has nicknamed Pierrot. They go on a crime spree throughout the French countryside. Although is technically told in a linear manner, the way the film progresses feels like Godard snipped each reel into panels and then randomly pieced them back together. This sensation is created by Godard’s frequent use of jump cuts and very minimal use of exposition. There also several sequences in the film where the two main characters will rapidly talk back and forth about what is happening, while images quickly flash by. In addition, Godard will often zoom in on artwork, posters, and ads that are displayed throughout the film. All of these techniques lead to me feeling very disoriented and confused throughout the entire film.

Obviously, this sensation was intentional on Godard’s part. Whenever a movie is filmed in a distinct manner, I think it’s always important to ask why the director made that choice and if the style fits the characters and themes of the movie. I am having some trouble sussing out the subtext in the film. The radical and abrupt nature in which it was filmed appears to reflect the decade in which it was made. Of course, it was made in the 60’s, a period of rapid and revolutionary societal change. In addition, the film is considered one of the seminal works of the French new wave movement, a changing of the guard in cinema whose main purpose was to break all the rules previously established in filmmaking.

Therefore, I think the chaotic nature of the film is an effective reflection of the turbulent nature of the sixties. The main characters movement from boredom in a bourgeoisie society, to complete free-fall echoes Godard’s disordered style. By extension, one could argue that it also represents decade in general. From moving out of the repressiveness of the fifties to the sixties, in which everyone feels like a thousand different impulses are pulling in them all directions.

Further thoughts

What I love about film is that I find it to be the only medium capable of truly imparting a feeling, impression, or emotional state. The best films cannot be ruined by plot description, because reading a film’s story will never be able to recapitulate how the visual language of film creates and delivers a mood or emotion to a viewer. Realizing this was the key to understanding Pierrot le fou. At the beginning of the movie, Jean-Paul Belmondo’s character recites this line from an art history book:

 “Past the age of fifty, Velasquez no longer painted anything concrete and precise. He drifted through the material world, penetrating it, as the air and the dusk. In the shimmering of the shadows, he caught unawares the nuances of color which he transformed into the invisible heart of his symphony of silence . . . His only experience of the world was those mysterious copulations which united the forms and tones with a secret but inevitable movement, which no convulsions or catacylsm could ever interrupt or impede. Space reigned supreme . . . It was as if some tenuous radiation gliding over the surfaces, imbued itself of their visible emanations, modelling them and endowing them with form, carrying elsewhere a perfume, like an echo, which would thus be dispersed like an imponderable dusk, over all the surrounding planes.”

Later, Ferdinand states that he intends to create about not about specific instances or specific people, but about life and about people in general. These statements mirror Godard’s own desire to make an impressionistic movie. Unfortunately, this is the first Godard film I have seen, so I can’t comment on how much of a break it is from his previous work. However, after reading a few essays about the movie, it does seem that this film was distinct from his earlier movies, which were heavily based on Hollywood genre flicks and more concerned with plot.

In contrast, with Pierrot le Fou, Godard did not want to deal with specifics. As I detailed earlier, he wanted to make a movie that gave the viewer an impression of the 60’s. In addition, Godard had recently divorced Anna Karina during filming, which gives the film an interesting personal twist if one sees Ferdinand as a Godard stand-in. So, the film is also able to impart the emotional fallout between Karina and Godard without really dealing with the specifics of their relationship.

Why is it on the list?

Well, after viewing the film I was left in a very chaotic and confused state of mind. Therefore, I would say Godard was extremely successful in effectively conveying the nature of the times, his own psychological state after divorcing Karina, and his desire to move into a more abstract and impressionistic style of filmmaking.

BFI Top 50: Playtime, Released in 1967, Directed by Jacques Tati

What I know going in

It is a French character directed by Jacques Tati, who stars as his famous Monsiuer Hulot character. I have never seen one of Mr. Tati’s films, but I understand it is a French comedy that satirizes modern French culture. Apparently, Tati built an entire city for this film.

Immediate reaction

Playtime is a delicate comedic symphony, carefully and deliberately conducted by the maestro Jacqes Tati. I have never seen another comedy so intricate, so incredibly well-designed, and so detailed. Every scene is jam-packed with tons of extras that are all off doing their own thing, but never overpower the main action of the scene. The set design is also phenomenal. Tati had to build his own city to create the world of the movie. All of the interiors in the film are designed in a grid-like fashion. Examples include the cubicles in the office building seen near the beginning of the film and the table layout in the restaurant. In addition, most of the buildings have huge, reflective windows. Personally, this design made me feel like I was watching a museum display. In other words, I was aware of the distance between myself and the movie. This was especially evident during the scene where Monsieur Hulot runs into an old army friend, who invites him into his apartment. The viewer is never allowed inside the apartment and must watch everything unfold from the outside. Futhermore, Tati’s design made the Paris shown in the film come off as very artificial and impersonal, the “old” Paris is never really seen (the one time the Eiffel tower is seen in the film is as a reflection).

The people in the film (there aren’t really any characters aside from Monsieur Hulot and an American tourist named Barbara) initially start out by obeying the strict and mechanical layout of the buildings around them. For example, they walk in straight lines and try to maintain absolute order despite the chaos of their surroundings. Since none of these people become the focus of the film and there are absolutely no close-ups, the film becomes more about France at this specific point in time, rather any one person. Based on the slight focus applied to Barbara and Hulot, the two characters who stand out and try not to conform, Tati is imploring the viewer to not follow the straight line, to follow the curves and not conform to the impersonal nature of modern life.

Further thoughts

I’m fascinated that Tati was able to both effective comedy and a highly symbolic film. There are many sequences that function perfectly as comedic set pieces, but by digging just a little deeper, they take on new context and contribute to the film’s themes of alienation in the face of modernity. For example, when Monsieur Hulot breaks the glass door of the restaurant in the second half of the film, it is not only hilarious, but also represents the breakdown of the pretentious and exclusive attitude the restaurant was trying to put forward. Hulot destroys the very thing (glass) that has come to represent alienation and confusion in the film.

In another instance, Barbara tries to take a picture of an old woman selling flowers on a street corner. Sound simple enough right? No, an odd assortment of people keep walking into her view and an American soldier walks by and offers to take Barbara’s picture with the woman (something she probably didn’t want in the first place). Again, this sequence is very funny and one of the highlights of the film. But, if we look at the old woman as an example of the old Paris Tati is so nostalgic for, the sequence takes on a greater meaning. The dress and age of the woman stands out in contrast to the people in black and grey suits who walk by her. The shabbiness of her stand and the natural color of her flowers highlight the cold colors of the buildings around her. Through Barbara’s failure to take the old woman’s picture, Tati is lamenting the lack of that old Paris charm and how it is now impossible capture due technological advancement.

I’m going to paraphrase a review by Philip Kemp, because he has a great observation about Barbara’s scarf at the end that did not even occur to me. Like I mentioned earlier, at the beginning of the film everyone is walking in a straight line and following the path architecture and technology have set out for them. At the end of the film, everyone is walking normally. The final note on this subject comes at the end of the film when Barbara puts on the scarf Hulot has given her: “By the end, she has united the curve and the line (Hulot’s gift, a square scarf, is fitted to her round head).”

Why is it on the list?

It is rare for any film to pack so much symbolism into such simple moments, it is even rarer for a comedy to do the same, and it is perhaps a miracle that Tati was able to combine both comedic and symbolic elements so perfectly.

BFI Top 50: Close-Up, Released in 1990, Directed by Abbas Kiarostami

What I know going in

I have a vague idea that the film is about an Iranian man who pretends to be a film director and control another family. This will be the first Iranian new wave film I have seen. Recently, I watched the director’s, Abbas Kiarostami, film Certified Copy, which I found very intriguing. I am interested in seeing one of the director’s earlier films.

Immediate Reaction

To be honest, this write-up is about a week late. I actually left Close-Up feeling a bit underwhelmed and I could not find an angle to start the discussing the film. Unfortunately, the movie didn’t quite hit me emotionally. I found hard to get engaged with the film, because the majority of it is taken up by the court trial of HossainSabzian. He is being tried for fraud for pretending to be the Iranian director Mohsen Makhmalbaf. During the trial, the camera remains almost completely still, focusing only Sabzian’s face and moving only when the older brother of the family he deceived or the judge begins talking. While in theory, a movie composed mainly of the close-up of one man sounds interesting, I can imagine viewing the emotional arc solely by the small changes in a man’s face would be quite riveting. However, the scenes in the courtroom appeared to be in standard definition or were out of focus, or my copy of the film was messed up. Therefore, I found hard to read Sabzian’s face. Maybe this is point? Maybe we aren’t really meant to get a true “close-up” on Sabzian. Perhaps he is supposed to remain an enigma and maybe this is a commentary on the blending of fiction and reality that happens when viewing any film. That’s my best guess.

From a more academic standpoint, mulling over the film, I realized that I did find Sabzian’s plight quite affecting. I’m sure most of the people who end up seeking out this film are as passionate about cinema as our main subject. Who among us has never dreamed of meeting a famous director, nevertheless actually becoming one? That is why when Sabzian begins to pass himself off as Makhmalbaf, some might call him crazy, but I see a man who will never have the chance to truly express his love for film, and, who, in complete desperation, latches on to the trust of a family and for a brief moment gets to live his dream. That is truly a deeply human, tragic, and inspiring story. Unfortunately, I felt all of this retroactively.

In addition, I have no idea what is reality and what is fiction in this movie. I can’t find the original article online, so maybe the whole story was made up? Maybe it’s all real? The way the film is structured, the scenes in the courtroom and at the prison are definitely presented as reality. There is clear difference to the scenes of the family’s house, which have been reenacted. However, it is possible that courtroom scenes were staged as well. This confusion and inability on my part to separate fact from fiction is definitely intentional, as it mirrors Sabzian’s passion for cinema and his eventual steps toward crossing the line from cinema as fiction to cinema as reality.

Ultimately, I will probably need to watch the film again. I felt the same way about Kiarostami’s Certified Copy, but I have been itching to view again to dissect it some more.

Further Thoughts

The more I read about the film the more confused I get. Apparently, I was right to distrust the courtroom scenes. I had a feeling that dialogue felt a little bit too eloquent. It turns out that Kiarostami basically wrote a script for Sabzian to go off of during the trial. The director claims it was based on actual discussions he had Sabzian, but it adds yet another wrinkle to this reality-bending movie. In addition, the tearful apology by Sabzian to the family he toyed with, was all staged. The family felt that Sabzian had gotten off easy at the trial and wanted nothing to do with him afterward. This does add a kind of insane meta-layer to the whole affair. Sabzian becomes obsessed with fiction to the point where he tries to change his own life, and those of an unassuming family, by becoming a director. Kiarostami, an established director, tries to massage reality into following a typical film narrative by “directing” Sabzian during the courtroom scenes. Sabzian’s and Kiarostami’s actions complement each other by following opposite paths.

Why is this film on the list?

Even though I did not get much of a visceral, emotional reaction from the film, I found it fascinating to think and read about. It has taken me around two weeks to write up this little review, a testament to the layered nature of the film. I would be highly surprised if I see another film that so thoroughly blurs the line between fiction and actual reality.

BFI Top 50: The Battle of Algiers, Released in 1966, Directed by Gillo Pontecorvo

What I know going in

The film details the revolution that took place in North Africa against colonial France during the 50’s. Great film about terrorism or the greatest film about terrorism? I also forgot to mention that I have listened to Ennio Morricone’s score for the film several times (which is great by the way and totally different from his work on various spaghetti westerns).

Immediate thoughts

It is very tempting to completely vilify the French colonialists in the movie. The Arab portion of the city is blocked off and the residents are forced into work during a strike (highly evocative of the Jewish ghettos and forced labor camps of World War II). Random house’s full of civilians are destroyed. Numerous people are subjected to brutal torture (electrocution, burning, waterboarding, and hanging by the limbs to name a few), and it is unknown if the subjects are actually involved in the conflict as the scenes are given no context. Needless to say, these scenes are probably even more relevant today than they were during the time of the film’s release. With the release of the horrible pictures from Abu Ghraib, the film serves as a reminder that the issues surrounding torture have existed for a very long time and remained unsolved.

Even though my own political ideals make me sympathetic with the goal of the Algerian resistance, the film still forced me to deal with the totality and messiness of the situation. I believe even the film supports overthrow of the French, but that doesn’t stop Gillo Pontecorvo (the director) from depicting the atrocities committed by the rebels. This includes gunning down random policemen (who, up to that point, may not have done anything against the native Algerians), and bombing completely innocent people in café’s and horse racetracks. Three women who commit the café bombing are shown hesitating before placing their bombs, clearly showing that they know what they are doing is wrong. The greatest strength of the film is its ability to remain even-handed in its depiction of both sides of the conflict.

To remain so balanced, the film is shot in a style reminiscent of Italian neo-realism. The camera weaves through throngs of people, down countless back alleys, and into the run down apartments of the oppressed Algerians. Its gritty black-and-white immediacy forced me to deal with the human toll of the violence depicted. Every action has a horrible consequence. Each bombing that takes place is followed by the piling-up of several bloodied and mutilated bodies.

Further thoughts

Reading through my Facebook feed the other day, I a comment left by one of my friends caught my eye. "You make mistakes because you're focusing on the target and not your actions." Having just watched the Battle of Algiers, this comment got me thinking. The comment perfectly sums up why all of the horrific violence is allowed to happen throughout the movie. The French police and paratroopers stop seeing the rebels as human and make horrible moral compromises justified by their need to keep control of the country. The rebels are so focused on their goal of liberation that the innocent lives their attacks take are a simple afterthought. The Battle of Algiers represents what happens when people become so dedicated to a cause that they lose their humanity. As Jean Martin's Colonel Mathieu states: "No, gentlemen, believe me, it is a vicious circle."

In addition, I realized that during my viewing of the film, around the halfway point, I began to feel a sense of extreme unease. It wasn't disgust or shock, but a quiet, creeping sense of dread. At a certain point, the endless sequence of bombing, shootings, and torture started to simultaneously numb and unnerve me. Knowing that this type of violence is currently going on in countries such as Syria, and will probably continue long after I pass away, made me want to stop watching and try to think of something positive.

Does it belong on the list?

Yes, if you define a great movie as one that remains relevant far past the time of its release, this is perhaps the greatest movie ever made.

BFI Top 50: City Lights, Released in 1931, Directed by Charlie Chaplin

What I know going in

The film is Charlie Chaplin’s last silent movie and was made during a time when sound film had essentially taken over. It is considered by many to be the last, great silent movie.

Immediate reaction

I think I watched this movie in the wrong setting (alone, around midnight, by myself) to truly appreciate it. While I did find the movie amusing, I never found it uproariously funny, which is odd because it is considered one of the greatest comedies of all time. I watched Buster Keaton’s Steamboat Bill Jr. in a theater, with a decent amount of people, and with live piano accompaniment. I highly enjoyed that movie and laughed out loud numerous times along with the audience. It is somewhat difficult for me to put myself in that kind of mood to appreciate silent film. If I had seen City Lights in a setting similar to the one I saw Steamboat Bill Jr. in, I may have found the film more enjoyable.

City Lights is the first Charlie Chaplin film I have seen and I kind of can’t believe that someone who looks like Chaplin even exists, let alone was allowed to become one the of biggest stars in the history of film. He is an incredibly tiny person, not only height, but also in overall mass (a fact which is used to great effect during the boxing scenes). Of course, he also flits about the city in his famous tramp outfit, which includes a bowler hat, a bamboo cane, tattered pants, and a suit coat. This bizarre combination of clothing gives Chaplin the appearance of a sophisticated hobo. His infamous mustache and painted-on eyebrows further contribute to Chaplin’s utterly bizarre appearance. 

The boxing scene is where the movie really picked up for me. Chaplin enters a boxing match to make money for his blind sweetheart. He has arranged the match beforehand with his opponent to where they will both go easy on each other and split the winnings 50/50. Unfortunately, his opponent is wanted by the police and has to bolt before the match. Chaplin is then matched up with a more imposing opponent. Chaplin attempts to flirt/seduce/charm in his opponent in one of the funnier scenes. I haven’t watched a whole lot of movies from this time period, but I did find it interesting that the film was essentially making gay jokes. I don’t know if other films from this period used similar humor. If not, I do have to give the film points for willing to go there. This of course leads, to the funniest scene in the movie, Chaplin’s boxing match. The match becomes some type of weird, comic ballet. The ref stands between the two boxers as they circle around each other, Chaplin flails about grabbing onto anything he can, and the two boxers get up and then fall back down several times.

I also found the ending to be very movie, and I was even a bit surprised that ended on a somewhat ambiguous note. Chaplin, completely dejected at this point, bumps into the blind woman whose eye surgery he paid for. Initially, she makes fun of him, but soon realizes that he was her past suitor. She then states “Yes, I can see know.” The film ends with Chaplin smiling down at her. It has been called one of the greatest and most moving ending in movie history, and I completely agree.

Further thoughts

The film also works perfectly as a social satire. It was released in 1931, during the great depression. It was probably very reassuring to audiences that the millionaire character was depressed, suicidal, and alcoholic. The millionaire only enjoys being around The Tramp when he is drunk. He is able to see past the exterior of The Tramp’s situation and actually enjoys spending time with him. When he is sober, he looks down on the Tramp just like everyone else. The Tramp and the blind girl, while both struggling to get by, are spiritually fulfilled. The girl’s blindness allows her to judge people on their actions, not on their appearance. This leads to her reacceptance of the Tramp when they meet outside her flower shop.

The film also portrays city life as manic and chaotic. This can be seen in Chaplin’s performance as he flails wildly about trying to come up with money for the girl. He rushes from being a street cleaner during a parade of horses and elephants to participating in an underground boxing match. Each character in the boxing scene probably has their own sad story for how they ended up there. Chaplin is able to engage with the crushing reality of the time and keep the film comic and sweet.

Why is it on the list?

Like I mentioned earlier, the films works as a social satire. I also can’t think of many other films, outside of Chaplin’s, that not only positively portray the homeless, but have one as their central character. As the last great silent film, it also signaled the end of era. Since I have not seen any of Chaplin’s other films, I can’t comment on how this one holds in comparison to the others.

BFI Top 50: Ugetsu Monogatari, Released in 1953, Directed by Kenji Mizoguchi

What I know going in

I know the film mainly consists of still photographs with voiceover, with one scene being a notable exception. I have listened to people talk about the film, so I know it has to do with the slippery nature of memory and time travel. I also know that the film was the inspiration for 12 Monkeys, directed by Terry Gilliam and also involving time travel to stop a viral outbreak. The film is considered one the landmark works of French New Wave, and this will be the first FNW film I have seen. I am not really sure how the odd composition of the film will work, but I am excited to find out.

My immediate reaction

Well… that was totally unlike anything I have seen before. I will give the movie, I have never seen a movie remotely resembling this, and I don’t think I ever will. I’m not even sure if this is a movie, or maybe it’s the most filmic of any movie ever. Technically speaking, a movie is a continuous stream of pictures that are designed to give the illusion of movement, a moving picture if you will. Although the movie is a series of still photographs, it is still able to effectively convey what is going on. The movie begins with the destruction of the world, which is conveyed through picture of a destroyed Paris during World War II. This is already suggestive of the recursive nature of the film’s narrative. As we will see at the end of the film, what has been observed once will happen again. The narrator then speaks of a child who has the image of a beautiful woman and a man dying burned into his brain. This image is so strong that the protagonist is used by a shadowy group, who only speaks German (maybe implying that they are responsible for the war?), to travel back in time. The protagonist then begins slip through time and repeatedly encounters the same woman over and over again.

Here is where the message of the movie began to gel for me. The protagonist appears to be unable to stay with the woman from the past. To me, this represents the frustration of relying on memory to recall past events. Once we stop experiencing a certain moment, we can no longer come back to it, and only the most significant, powerful, and important events of our lives have any hope of being recalled. But, even these powerful moments can be distorted as we forget the tiny details. Ultimately, the protagonist is able to return to the memory of his childhood, but is killed by his captors, completing the image from his childhood. He is essentially punished for trying to live in the past. Try as we might, we can never return the past, whether that be through time travel or through our own memories, what’s done is done and it can never be returned to.

Further thoughts

The procession of still images and the voiceover narration give the movie an almost documentary-like feel. Like this footage has been sent back time to warn us about what may come to pass if we continue in our current direction.

I’m going to be honest here; I have found a lot of the film to be impenetrable beyond my initial thoughts. Reading other analyses has not really helped that much. It has pointed out that the film was made around the time of the Cuban Missile Crisis, and of course during the Cold War. This does give the film some extra heft as a warning about what will happen if the nuclear arms race is allowed to continue. Humans may become just like the animals seen in the museum, lifeless and on display.

I have not yet mentioned the brief scene of actual movement in the film. During a montage of the girl waking up, she briefly blinks her eyes. For one brief moment, we can truly experience the beauty of this moment. This reveals the true power of film, through film and beyond our own memory, we can reshape the past and achieve some type of truth, even if it incredibly brief.

Why is it on the list?

Like I said earlier, the film is defiantly unlike anything else I have seen. It examines the nature of memory, the power of film, the cycle of time, and the implications of the Cold War. That it does all of these in less than 30 minutes and without most of tools cinema makes use of, makes it inclusion easily defendable.

BFI Top 50: La Jetée, Released in 1962, Directed by Chris Marker

What I know going in

I know the film mainly consists of still photographs with voiceover, with one scene being a notable exception. I have listened to people talk about the film, so I know it has to do with the slippery nature of memory and time travel. I also know that the film was the inspiration for 12 Monkeys, directed by Terry Gilliam and also involving time travel to stop a viral outbreak. The film is considered one the landmark works of French New Wave, and this will be the first FNW film I have seen. I am not really sure how the odd composition of the film will work, but I am excited to find out.

My immediate reaction

Well… that was totally unlike anything I have seen before. I will give the movie, I have never seen a movie remotely resembling this, and I don’t think I ever will. I’m not even sure if this is a movie, or maybe it’s the most filmic of any movie ever. Technically speaking, a movie is a continuous stream of pictures that are designed to give the illusion of movement, a moving picture if you will. Although the movie is a series of still photographs, it is still able to effectively convey what is going on. The movie begins with the destruction of the world, which is conveyed through picture of a destroyed Paris during World War II. This is already suggestive of the recursive nature of the film’s narrative. As we will see at the end of the film, what has been observed once will happen again. The narrator then speaks of a child who has the image of a beautiful woman and a man dying burned into his brain. This image is so strong that the protagonist is used by a shadowy group, who only speaks German (maybe implying that they are responsible for the war?), to travel back in time. The protagonist then begins slip through time and repeatedly encounters the same woman over and over again.

Here is where the message of the movie began to gel for me. The protagonist appears to be unable to stay with the woman from the past. To me, this represents the frustration of relying on memory to recall past events. Once we stop experiencing a certain moment, we can no longer come back to it, and only the most significant, powerful, and important events of our lives have any hope of being recalled. But, even these powerful moments can be distorted as we forget the tiny details. Ultimately, the protagonist is able to return to the memory of his childhood, but is killed by his captors, completing the image from his childhood. He is essentially punished for trying to live in the past. Try as we might, we can never return the past, whether that be through time travel or through our own memories, what’s done is done and it can never be returned to.

Further thoughts

The procession of still images and the voiceover narration give the movie an almost documentary-like feel. Like this footage has been sent back time to warn us about what may come to pass if we continue in our current direction.

I’m going to be honest here; I have found a lot of the film to be impenetrable beyond my initial thoughts. Reading other analyses has not really helped that much. It has pointed out that the film was made around the time of the Cuban Missile Crisis, and of course during the Cold War. This does give the film some extra heft as a warning about what will happen if the nuclear arms race is allowed to continue. Humans may become just like the animals seen in the museum, lifeless and on display.

I have not yet mentioned the brief scene of actual movement in the film. During a montage of the girl waking up, she briefly blinks her eyes. For one brief moment, we can truly experience the beauty of this moment. This reveals the true power of film, through film and beyond our own memory, we can reshape the past and achieve some type of truth, even if it incredibly brief.

Why is it on the list?

Like I said earlier, the film is defiantly unlike anything else I have seen. It examines the nature of memory, the power of film, the cycle of time, and the implications of the Cold War. That it does all of these in less than 30 minutes and without most of tools cinema makes use of, makes it inclusion easily defendable.