Adrien Merigeau loves space. Out of all the animators I’ve referred to this month – Koji Morimoto, Robert Valley, Nobuteru Yuki – he stands out as an artist who brings a multi-medial dynamism to his representations of space. This dynamism can be seen in his old works, like Old Fangs and Cecilia and Her Selfhood, but Genius Loci takes it to a new level. Here, space is an ever-evolving beast. Sometimes there’s perspective, sometimes it’s just pure isometry – other times, the lines bleed into watercolour strokes that radically alter your perception of the objects on the screen. Huge parts of the screen vanish into chunks of white negative space. One cut has three different types of perspective, all forming the background.
The instability of the film’s visual landscape creates a sense of disjointedness. It is truly out-of-body, and effectively conveys how unreliable our senses can be as translators of reality. What is “real”, or what is “present”, extends as far as they can take us, which is really not far. And as Reine, our heroine, wanders the city at night, the landscape warps to reflect her own limited grasp on the world around her. This comes to a head when she runs into her friend, Rosie, whom she implicitly has a crush on. At first, the conversation between the two flows like water – their chemistry is clear through both the acting and the vocal performances. The animation is also at its most stable: the character designs are “on-model” and the colours are rich and deep and warm. But then Rosie mentions a concert – and like a switch, the lines start to dissassociate. The drawings start to disassemble. The colours become cooler and sporadic. The blank white space returns. There is a disconnect between Reine and Rosie. Reine just wants more time with her friend, but Rosie has obligations. She has a world that she must fit Reine into. The two love each other, but misunderstand each other. Communication breaks down and Reine flees.
This sequence in the film is far and away its most evocative – which is impressive, in a film absolutely leaden with riveting imagery. For me, it taps into my personal anxieties about connection. Specifically, that off-kilter sensation I sometimes have when I’m with people I’m not close to – the sense that I’m talking across a gulf and that they can hear me, but can’t hear me. And the sense that I am also not hearing them. The sequence perfectly captures the way conversations rupture – not through huge dramatic shifts, but subtle inflections and implications. The fragility of those rare moments of intimacy.
Adrien Merigeau is one of my favourite directors working today. His films are so ambitious, relishing in the variety of mediums available at their disposal. I can’t overstate how impressive this film’s execution is, and how it emotionally guts you with the simplest fears. This isn’t the last you’ll hear of Genius Loci on this blog, or of its director. Merigeau and his team have carved out a truly fascinating niche for themselves and I am giddily looking forward to what they do next.
Catch a Falling Star 