Junkopia

'Junkopia (1981)' is only my second film from Chris Marker – after the breathtaking, poetic 'La Jetée (1962)' – but the two works are not all that dissimilar. Indeed, out of a purely documentary framework, Marker (with co-directors John Chapman and Frank Simeone) seems to have constructed a work of science-fiction. Like his previous masterwork, 'Junkopia' exists without dialogue (and, in this case, characters) and also eschews movement (though not as dramatically as the other film's still images), both by the camera and its subjects. There is one marked exception to this rule. Just as 'La Jetée' climaxed in an unforgettable shot of a woman's eyes fluttering open, Marker ends this film by swiftly and unexpectedly zooming out from a model ship floating in the ocean, startlingly reinforcing the vast, alienating landscape that is his subject. In fact, "alien" is an ideal adjective to describe the film. Michel Krasna's electronic score wails insistently on the soundtrack, as eerily disconcerting as Kubrick's use of Ligeti's "Atmospheres" in '2001: A Space Odyssey (1968).'

'Junkopia' opens into a landscape that, peculiarly, struck me as otherwordly. Man-made sculptures – first an aeroplane, then a montage of figures assembled from junk – roost in the depths of the ocean, anchored in a body of water that seems infinitely vast and deep. The soundtrack blends synthesised music with atmospheric sound effects; a radio transmission appears to source from a sculpture of a lunar module, emphasising the directors' focus on what seems a genuinely alien environment. Birds flutter occasionally across the frame, but life otherwise seems muted: aside from his leftover junk, humans seemingly have no part in this unfamiliar specter of reality. But then the film pulls its most intriguing twist. Alternate angles of the sculptures reveal their close proximity to civilisation – beside bustling roadways, nestled before the looming skyline of a metropolis. We are in San Francisco. The surreal landscape was that of our own making, the detritus of human existence hugging the fringes of nature. For five minutes, we were looking at the human world through someone else's eyes.

Unlike most of Chris Marker's films, "Junkopia" has absolutely no dialog or voice-over text. We just see images of strange, weather-beaten sculptures randomly gathered on a windy seashore, reminiscent of familiar animals and objects, and which we gradually perceive to be made of common debris that were washed ashore in Emeryville beach, in the San Francisco area (where Marker was filming the "Vertigo" episode in "Sans Soleil"). The electronic music -- mixing radio waves, Arielle Dombasle's singing voice and synthesizers -- only adds to the eerie, otherworldly feeling, as if those figures belonged to a post-hecatomb Easter Island. It surely deserves to be seen (it's only 6 minutes long) and is available online at the very interesting ubu.com site.

what is 'Junkopia' about? it's not easy to talk about, because it begins as an advertising about its director, Chris Marker, but it soon becomes something else, some strange form of art. we see a lot of junk, from destroyed planes to the ruins of farms. so 'Junkopia' is exactly what we expect from a movie with such a title: we see a lot of junk. why should Chris Marker make a movie about junk? maybe, what he tries to say, is that we care too much about things with no importance at all. we give too much value on money and we think only at the things we can do with money. that's the hidden message of 'junkopia', I guess, it's about how we waste our lives.

A series of sculptures made from metal and wood located in the water and on land and accompanied by an eerily faint and chanting soundtrack with some natural audio effects to simulate some of the noises that might be associated with the creations. Some, like birds, people wheels and aeroplanes are more recognisable. Others more abstract as if abandoned or incomplete. Yards away from this silent theme park the hustle and bustle of a big city and it's arteries thrives, anachronistically, but in a sort of harmony. It could easily be a tale of before and after - but which way round? It's presented as if these were exhibits in an exhibition. A collection of edited shots from two angles of the same San Francisco harbour that uses no gimmicks, narration or animation. It allows the images to speak (or not) for themselves and we can take what we want from it.