Special folder FIFF 2018
Le Regard Libre N° 38 - Loris S. Musumeci
«You'll see, he's adorable,» I was told by the press office. And so it proved. Brazilian director Eduardo Nunes puts all his tenderness into the delicate images and precise sounds of’Unicorn (Unicórnio), which he presented at the Fribourg International Film Festival. Meeting over coffee at the Ancienne Gare, the festival's headquarters.
Le Regard Libre: What motivated you to make Unicorn?
Eduardo Nunes: The origin of the film lies in two short stories by the Brazilian poet Hilda Hilst. I read them for the first time when I was a teenager. To tell the truth, at the time I didn't understand them at all, so deep and subtle were the words. Yet I was touched by his writing. Nevertheless, the idea of adapting the two short stories to film had not yet occurred to me. After my first feature film, I was planning to make a film inspired by La Mort heureuse, Albert Camus's first novel, which remained unfinished. Although I already had a French producer, the film was never made due to a combination of circumstances. Then, during a trip to Europe, I read Hilda Hilst again, and the inspiration came to me: my next film would take its subject from this woman I loved so much.
Was this inspiration a sign of destiny?
Yes, almost. But the real sign of destiny was the huge unicorn statue (he shows the photograph on his phone) I saw in a store in Venice! And I was just reading La Licorne by Hilda Hilst. Once back in Brazil, I wrote a draft script in four days.
Read also | Unicorn, a unique film
Let's turn to the film itself. You open it with a short but powerful question: «Are you sad? - No, I'm lonely.»
Yes, the girl isn't unhappy, as she says; she's just lonely. It's her solitude that makes her a character, and her taste for knowledge through the senses. She spends her time in nature, touching fruit and observing ants.
The film is philosophical and mysterious. In the dialogues between this young girl and her father, we find very evocative sayings like «People always want and expect happy faces.» What do you mean by that?
Alongside the production of’Unicorn, I gave a course on Persona, Ingmar Berman's famous film. I used to tell my students that the filmmaker had commented on the title at the time, explaining that «persona» meant mask in Latin. He went on to say that «persona» was the mask people wore to talk to others; in short, the "mask" of a person. persona was the borrowing of another personality from others. I found this theory well-suited to the father's character, isolated from the world and disillusioned. He sees people as playing a role and expects others to do the same, crowding out the audacity of being oneself.
As well as providing food for thought, your film also makes people dream.
Yes, my aim was really to leave room for the imagination and question reality. Where is the dream? Where is reality? You might even wonder whether the green mountain where the young girl lives is a dream or a fictitious story told by her father, or whether it's the hospital in which the father is staying that is imaginary. I wanted to open several doors and leave space.
You speak of space, I would speak of emptiness; especially in your technical work. The screen is much wider than normal. But also, the characters appear in one corner of the image and everything else is empty.
The void you note in the film's photography signifies silence. Silence destabilizes, just as emptiness creates imbalance in images.
What does this void mean?
Perhaps it signifies the emptiness the characters feel within themselves. Faced with the question of the meaning of their lives, they find only silence.
Silence is certainly important, but so are sounds, especially those of nature. What link do you want to show between nature and human beings?
Nature is often equated with freedom. Space seems infinite. The air is pure and inexhaustible. Yet nature can also be seen as a prison for the film's main protagonist.
Are you thinking of a psychological prison?
Yes, this is particularly noticeable in the insomnia sequences. Sleep is impossible, as nature imposes its own distressing noises and darkness. It can be totally oppressive.
Does the unicorn that gives the film its title embody freedom in the midst of nature?
How interesting! I hadn't necessarily thought of it that way. After all, nature isn't just a prison, especially for the young girl who isn't necessarily sad, as we said, but simply lonely. In any case, this unicorn remains a mystery, and I leave it up to everyone to interpret the role she plays.
Since you leave so much freedom to the viewer, I'll share a sentiment with you: I found the film to be like a piece of classical music, particularly in its rhythm. The beginning is slow and peaceful, then the film speeds up until it reaches a quasi-explosive boiling point. What do you think?
It's funny that you should share this thought with me. It reminds me of my final year project in film studies, the theme of which was music and cinema. Not to be confused with music in cinema, but cinema as music. You can compose a film in the same way you compose music. Likewise, you can feel a film the way you feel a piece of music, and that's what makes them so artistically powerful.
Indeed, your film can be felt in the importance you give to color, rhythm and sound, without of course being a mishmash of sounds and images without order or meaning.
I'd even go so far as to say that it feels more than it understands. I believe in the cinema of the senses. If my film is a success, people should be able to appreciate it without necessarily understanding it; even subtitles become contingent.
I'd say that your film isn't empty at all; on the contrary, it uses emptiness.
The empty space technique in cinema is similar to that used in abstract painting. Faced with a painting with colors and empty spaces in white, you don't really know what it means. But you can feel it.
Why did you choose to make a film that might be considered «complicated»?
In fact, I didn't set out to make a complicated film. I simply wanted to tell a story based on the two short stories by Hilda Hilst that had touched me. In all humility, I tried to convey a film in a slightly different way, and to bring a little beauty to the screen.
And you succeeded.
Write to the author: loris.musumeci@leregardlibre.com
Photo credit: Loris S. Musumeci for Le Regard Libre
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