by TWY

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With Chronicle, Straub-Huillet intensified the one desire of their œuvre, in which the cinema will serve as a container and a witness to the great art of humanity, in this case, the music and life of J.S. Bach. At first glance, it seems that there is nothing particular to see in the film’s lengthy sequences of performance: the movements of musicians who dressed in appropriate costumes, each shot rigorously as a single, one-take unit, but I only found myself to be infinitely immersed. The reason? The absolute precision, the pleasure of seeing the camera pulling back as the string quartet joins in at the end of the Brandenburg Concerto, in the films’ first sequence, after discovering the shot of a pair of hands playing the solo on a harpsichord. 

The cinema is both at lost of its manipulate tricks, and triumphs at pure beauty and expressiveness. The cinema serves the music, humbly and with dignity, the only thing to see is the whole. We must listen, Straub-Huillet demanded our attention, as in their literary adaptations where reading (the texts in the subtitle, of course) becomes as essential as seeing. No drama or episodes to be staged here, the gravity of the film lies in the gentle touch of Anna Magdalena (played by Christiane Lang-Drewanz), who, in one of the verbal intermezzos between performances, reaches for the shoulder of Gustav Leonhardt (playing J.S., her husband), as he recites one of Bach’s letter. Filmed behind the two actors, this sublime gesture of lyricism, this music of silence, announces the love which is beyond the duo of musicians, transcends the history bygone in depiction/fabrication, and all of a sudden, possesses the universality of all human race. As with Bach’s music, these are the truth being told, beyond the facts and beyond cinema.

TWY
July 24th, 2020

More words after a second viewing:

For a reason unknown to this viewer here, CHRONICLE is a miracle put on film. In Struab-Huillet’s selection of Bach’s music, a mythical construction of rhythm and speed forms, so seemingly simple yet the secret is entirely felt, despite not being obvious at least on first viewing, that of its study of a musical space (Straub-Huillet strategically included, in the final part of the film, Bach’s discovery of the mysterious sonic design of an opera house); in the staging of performances; the scene of nature revealed (or not) through the many windows; the deep-focus; the dynamic between the solo and the tutti (that we must also credit J.S. Bach, of course); and, like what Rivette did with theater in his film, a sort of fugue-like relationship between the film’s two directors: Straub-Huillet as the film’s directors, and Gustav Leonhardt as the conductor of his group of musicians, recording live, with only one microphone, in the most rigorous fashion. And to those who said this is simply “music being performed on film”, you’ll be glad to hear that you are NOT wrong, but what’s wrong is that you forgot to add that this is some of the greatest music ever put on film! To quote Jonas Mekas’s review of Jacques Demy’s non-music musical Lola, “What more do you want?!”

TWY
July 30th, 2020