El sol del membrillo

As other viewers have stated this is a MUST SEE for directors, writers, editors. So much done with so little makes this a perfect example of how a good movie is something which cannot be expressed in a song or in a book or in a painting. This story can only be expressed as a movie. You may never watch it again which is fine, you only need to watch it once. You don't even have to like it but it is a great asset to any aspiring film-maker. It will widen your understanding of what is unique to a film and what film has inherently which no other art-form has. A bonus is that it gives you a nice example of how a full feature length movie can be made with a tiny budget and one location.

If you can find this film, and can take slow-moving cinema, definitely pick it up. I came to it via Spirit of the Beehive, Victor Erice's first film, made in 1973. This film was his third, made nearly twenty years later. It's somewhat sad that such a marvelous artist as Erice has only produced three films in almost thirty years now, but I think Quince Tree of the Sun works in one way as a forgiveness for that fact. This film teaches nothing if not patience, not only in the viewer, but in the artist. It is a documentary about a painter who spends September through December painting a quince tree. Not a picture of one, mind you, or even one he has memorized. He sets up an elaborate system so that he can paint the tree as it exists before him. We see him working well at first, with the sun hitting the tree and its fruit exactly how the painter wishes. But then the weather becomes uncooperative for a long period of time. It's cloudy or rainy, and the sun is not working the way that it's supposed to. By the time it becomes sunny again, the Earth has moved, and all hope of painting it in the way he originally intedended is squandered. Of course he can't just wait until the next year. The fruit and leaves will be different.

During the film, there are several discussions about art and life. All are interesting. Too bad the subtitles on the Facets video are kind of hard to read at times. There is a lot to get out of it, surely more than I did in one viewing. A second viewing is definitely in order if I have time before I have to return the video. It is one of those films that suggests that there is a ton more under the surface that will take just a tiny bit of digging. Of course, this film would bore the socks off of 99% or more of the population. I definitely suggest it to fans of Spirit of the Beehive. Also, fans of Andrei Tarkovsky should check it out, this and Spirit of the Beehive. I generally think of Tarkovsky as the most original of all film artists, but Erice may be the most similar. He's a very good auteur for Tarkovsky fans because he is similar, but he has a remarkable essence all his own. Perhaps I would consider him above Tarkovsky, if only Erice would make more films. But, as this film has delicately taught me, an artist must work at his own pace. 9/10.

Film documentary about Spanish painter Antonio Lopez artistic creation process. It is a rare, difficult ant very interesting movie. It takes some time for the spectator to came in. When you get it you will capable of enjoy the film and the painter, his friends, wife and way of painting. You will love the sun and the quince too. And I am sure you finally will become a Lopez and director Victor Erice fan.

But El sol del membrillo is not at all a commercial movie. This original film won one of the awards at Cannes Festival of Cinema. Erice was lucky to direct this picture. Because the only think that impede him make more often movies is find an adequate producer. And he did it hear. He made three movies in 20 years. Something similar that occurs with Terrence Malick.

Erice is the Spanish pair of masterpieces fortunate author El espíritu de la colmena (1973) and El Sur (1983). His work way, so distant of current fashions, and his thoroughly were the Spanish Academy of Cinema causes to prefer send to the Oscar Award'1983 another easier movie El Sur instead. At last the Oscar to the best foreign film went to Bergman' Fanny and Alexander.

Victor Erice made three films in his life. His first, The Spirit of the Beehive, is considered among the most important Spanish film in the last fourty years, his second, El Sur, is coming close to it, and his third, this film, is equally impressive. The film is following a painter who is trying to paint a tree. The great thing about the film is that you see the artist's struggle trying to capture the image of that tree and transform it into ART. If you like painting, if you think you will become an artist, if you ever saw movie's like ALain Resnais 'Van Gogh', or Derek Jarman's 'Carrevagio', go and see this brilliant film.

A documentary of a painter, painting, "Dream of Light" is at the same time a work of fiction. That's how it seems to go whenever a documentary takes narrative form: even the most straightforward story can only come about by shaping; and where you have shaping, fiction will get in, like dust – you can't keep it out. You might as well welcome it (fiction, that is, not dust so much); consider it a feature, not a bug.

As you watch the artist in Victor Erice's film set up his painting apparatus, you may wonder where all his meticulousness is to lead. He is painting en plein air, but no Impressionist he; he carries Academic studio practice out of doors, and the lengths he goes to might give even some Academicians the quivers. The more you see of his method, the more there is to question; but given no explanation all you can do is watch and wait.

The time is summer, the subject is a quince tree in the garden. The painter, an elderly gent, goes about his work without hesitation or hurry: his confidence is palpable; it seems he knows what he's doing. The garden where he sets up is tiny, cramped between the wall to the street and the wall of his house. He starts by constructing a box- like frame around his tree. He puts dabs of white paint, then more and more of them, on branch and twig, leaf and fruit: a constellation of dots. A taut white string traverses and segments his field of vision, and a plumb-line, defining the vertical, segments it again. He locks and marks the position of his easel's legs, and the height of the rail on which his canvas rests. When he takes up his stance to paint, he drives nails into the ground marking where his feet go. His purpose, with all this marking and measuring, is to find his place, over the course of the work – each day to find the exact place where he left off the previous day, despite all the changes brought on by weather, accident, or growth of the tree. He's in it for the long haul: you can almost hear him saying, I mean to fight it out on this line if it takes all summer.

Given the artist's structural, architectural set-up, you might think when he finally addressed himself to his canvas he'd first reach to the structure of his subject: that his brush in a stroke or two would find the spine in the quince's mottled trunk, or the essential geometry in its tangle of limbs. Or alternatively that he'd lay on areas of color, or of light and dark, to establish his picture's space, then work to refine it toward completion. What you wouldn't guess is that he'd begin, as he does, with cautious, abruptly punctuated strokes, to draw, in ghost gray, a short segment of a branch, as it presents itself to him near front and center of his tree – with a stubby bit of twig extending up from it; and a forlorn little leaf, half-folded back upon itself. More like something from the margin of a sketchbook, this botanical detail floats, alone, in the middle of his blank white canvas: floats there for days it seems, as he works at an inchworm crawl, with rubbing and corrections, to get the bark ridges just right, the texture. This is drawing; and please, sir, when will we have painting?

Are we even supposed to ask? Whether the artist ever used this method before, and whether it proved successful, we can't know. Has he set himself up to fail? Erice quiets us with the sensual calm that holds the scene and all in it. And the very definiteness of the old man's activity wants to persuade us that all will be well. So does his whole demeanor: he wears such a lived-in face; and is too absorbed in what he's doing to put on a show for us. Visitors drop by; conversation is desultory, a bit of reminiscence mixed in; the tip-tap of workers' hammers somewhere off. Summer seems endless, though it's passing away. The camera, like a patient naturalist, observes, does not interrogate – and the artist-subject, being asked no questions, answers none, but simply goes about his business.