Phantom Love

Nina Menkes' surrealist film, Phantom Love, starts without any hint of stillness. Black and white images. Beautifully framed. Body parts, moving back and forth. Like a mantra. Hypnotic. Are they moving, or are they being moved? (As might corpses swaying to the rolling motion of a train, for instance.) The camera pans back slightly. We see they are lovers. But the woman's eyes are distant. She gazes over his shoulder. Eventually, she closes them.

The long opening sequence has already put the viewer in a contemplative mood, in spite of its carnality. Lulu, the main protagonist, subsequently draws us into her self-observation. We travel down her psychological corridors to experience pain, then resolutions. Exquisitely composed monochrome. Brutal police. TV footage of Iraq. The woman silhouetted with her cat against the window.

Using psychological symbols presents a filmmaker with a dilemma. Dismantle conventional linear narrative too much and the viewer can become perplexed or alienated: do it too subtly and they may miss the point. Bunuel's ants escaping from a hole in the hand (Un chien andalou) can seem offputting or obscure. But a similar suggestion (that decay is just beneath the surface) in Danny Boyle's 28 Days Later, can easily be missed because audiences focus too much on the story. Directors like David Lynch (Mulholland Drive, Lost Highway) have helped wean audiences towards surrealism and the opportunities offered by cinema to explore subconscious worlds. Cinema-lovers tire of formulaic films and find more interest in the challenges presented by works like Phantom Love.

But Menkes has two strong advantages. Firstly, her poetry is beautiful to watch. Any distressing representations - those of ordinary life - the endless stresses and struggles of relationships, difficult family ties, even the noise of the TV - are gradually transformed and overpowered by the hypnotic, dreamlike images of her inner consciousness. Secondly, the process, unlike the negative message of surrealists such as Bunuel, is transformative. Like Cocteau's Beauty and the Beast, Lulu is finding a goodness inside ugliness, rather than expending vast effort to prove the emptiness of the bourgeoisie, society or the Church.

Phantom Love is a voyage. A woman's journey into the depths of her being. What was it Jung said about other people: Everything that irritates us about others can lead us to a better understanding of ourselves. And the 'others' in Lulu's life are just that. Her sister is medicated to the point where we wonder why she isn't already institutionalised. Mother is intrusive. Probably gets it from her dad. Even Lulu's lover, although a bit of a stud, is a sh*t.

Lulu works in a casino. But pressures are becoming too much to bear. She files her nails obsessively - the same nails, so impersonal at the roulette table, that rest gently and kindly on the sweat-beaded shoulder of her vigorous lover. As she examines elements that screw up her life, Lulu makes the inner journey to resolve them.

I asked Menkes where the idea for her film had originated. She told me of months working with a shaman in Israel. Using lucid dreaming and trance. She had to experience the cleansing of her own psychological demons - an exhausting business by her own account - before she could express the process in her art. "I was quite ill, physically, for much of the seven months," she says. But the result is an intimacy with the process and images that seem to have a subconscious impact.

She says: "People who are willing to watch the film and endure the pain, and the duration of the pain, and the darkness, will themselves experience a sort of mini version of my process: the film will 'vibrate' with the areas in the viewer that are blocked and painful and the viewer can then work with that in himself, or not." I don't know what Menkes went through with her shamen, but the process is believable, both for Lulu and for us. Modern neuro-linguistics stresses that, 'the map is not the territory' - in other words, if you don't like what you perceive, start by changing your perception of it. The ancient Egyptian and Tibetan 'books of the dead' talk of similar processes to transform monsters into benefactors - much like Beauty and a Beast.

Menkes urges us to stick with it and claims, "those who do will have an experience that is meaningful and lasting." Strangely, among the welter of films I am watch in the course of the Edinburgh International Film Festival, it is the images from Phantom Love that continually haunt me. Why? Even if you just take stills from this movie, there are fantasy scenes that could earn a place in any art gallery. Levitation and explosion into light. A snake in a repeating corridor. A bridge she always tries to cross.

Menkes' stuff is hard work. And demands to be taken seriously. But somehow it does feel like time very well spent. Phantom Love is the sort of work that keeps cinema alive. Uncompromisingly. As art - and not just as the digestion aid for popcorn. Is it possible to identify with Lulu who eventually achieves the stillness inside she yearns for? Evocative, challenging and very rewarding, Phantom Love gripped me with such intensity I probably would have jumped if a pin had fallen.

The title recalls a line from Resnais' classic, Last Year in Marienbad. The woman 'A' says, "You're like some phantom waiting for me to come." In Resnais' work, whether the protagonists find fulfilment is a decision of interpretation by the viewer, or perhaps the male protagonist. For Menkes' Lulu, it depends on herself.

As a fan of Ms. Menkes' films, I didn't quite know what to expect from her new feature film, Phantom Love. I have been a fan since seeing her six previous works--Soft Warrior, Great Sadness of Zohara, Magdalena Viraga, Queen of Diamonds, Bloody Child, and Massakre. What I love about Nina's work is that it is utterly brave, bold, and original! Nina dares to tap into something spiritual, mystic, subconscious...something undefinable, something magical... Her new film, Phantom Love, a stunning feature shot in black and white 35MM, seems even more daring and unique. From the opening frame, Nina steadies her shots with a hand-held, "raw" edge. She abandons some of her more formal static shots in favor of a roaming eye...an eye that seems to dig down into her subject, dig a hole...pierce and burrow into the depths of the alienation and repression of her female characters. Her central character, a blackjack dealer living in Los Angeles, is somewhat reminiscent of Firdaus from Queen of Diamonds; but unlike Firdaus, this protagonist struggles with "family problems" such as an overbearing mother and psychotic sister. At one point, the "sister" disappears and seems to fuse into the psychic space of the protagonist/blackjack dealer. Typical of Nina's work, specific elements can be debated...and often the literal is less important than the subconscious space or the internal sensations awakened from a particular sequence... In the end, it seems a weight had been lifted as butterflies encircled the main character and she stood naked in the window of her medieval-style apartment. Perhaps this is a sign of hope...perhaps Nina will simple leave it up to the viewer to decide... No matter, I have rarely been so moved from viewing a film... Way to go girl!!!

Why did I waste my money on this on the last day of Sundance? I want a refund... Can I have my $16 back? While I was watching this film I kept waiting for something to happen, nothing did happen. The only way I even knew what it was supposed to be about was by reading the plot, which was not really like the film. why did the director zoom in with their handy cam and then zoom out? It was not very artistic. Why did the director show Lulu filing her nails for fifteen minutes? Why is it when the actors tried to speak they sounded like they were reading? Or was that the point? I felt like Phantom Love had no story at all, and to be honest I felt like my friends vacation videos had a much higher entertainment value than this film.

This film was so disappointing. From the blurb that made me decide to see Phantom Love (why is it called this?)I had expected something arty and thoughtful with beautiful imagery. It did have some interesting images but these often seemed random and made no sense. In fact they seemed like they were inserted to fill in time. In the end the effect was listless.

I believe the film was meant to be atmospheric, but it just wasn't. The lack of a coherent plot did not help matters. You might say it was mysterious, but I think it was just incoherent with no atmosphere.

The main character seemed to be disturbed but the plot did not draw me in enough to care about her situation. Without looking at the cast list I would not have known that you see the main character as a child. The film has very little context for the time, place or character. I am not a prude but the sex scenes (there were several) seemed pointless and confused me further, I recognised Lulu but I was not sure if it was the same man, different men, a lover, her husband or was she a prostitute. It was only when I saw the credits that I discovered the hairy back was meant to belong to her lover. This film did manage to make what should have been shocking (dream sequences involving Lulu's mother) seem a bit boring.

The nail filing actually made more sense, as it did give some indication of Lulu's emotional state. I will not fault the actors as I don't they had a lot to work on.

I do not know if the lack of context or flow in the film was because of ineptitude or because it was pretentious but the end result was dull.

I can't be bothered talking about it anymore.

This is the type of film I am predisposed to love. I have watched it twice (trying, I was trying...and I don't know why) and outside of the Tarkovsky homage I hate it. It is an enigma wrapped in pretension and convolution parading as cool wit and genius. The problem with the ethereal, ephemeral or whatever style of film one might be inclined to call these pictures is they can go wrong in a hurry.. It is not easy being Tarkovsky, Weerasethakul or Lynch...it isn't. Case in point. Granted there are a few moments to appreciate in this art-house tire-fire but those moments are few and far between and always fleeting. Maybe if Nina Mekas could have shaved about 70 minutes off of the 87 minute running time she may have had something. Unfortunately, all 87 minutes are present and counted for, but all the viewer will be left with is anger.