Impressions of a Movie Buff:: October 2008

While most people see Blu-ray technology as being best suited for the latest blockbusters, I have always been more interested in what it can do for older pictures. In fact, even though 35mm films benefit enormously as well, my first thought when high-definition disc formats were announced was, “70mm films are finally going to look amazing in home theaters!” Keep in mind, the last major motion picture to be shot entirely in 70mm was Kenneth Branagh's adaptation of Hamlet twelve years ago, but the imagery of just about any well preserved 70mm film is capable of blowing away that of today's digital HD cameras. This may be hard to fathom for those who have never seen a 70mm film projected, but the proof has finally arrived.

Though several 70mm films have been released on Blu-ray already, including 2001: A Space Odyssey, Patton, and Grand Prix; none has been given the level of attention and care afforded to Ron Fricke's Baraka (1992). Most Blu-ray releases are digitized at 4K resolution from a 35mm source, but Baraka was digitized at a staggering 8K resolution from the original Todd-AO 65mm negative (the extra 5mm on 70mm film stock is for the soundtrack). The digitization process alone, done on a frame-by-frame basis, took three weeks to complete. Then the restoration artists went over each frame again, color correcting and digitally removing artifacts and damage sustained by the negative over the years. The result is simply brilliant; without question the Baraka Blu-ray introduces a visual fidelity heretofore unseen on disc.

Fortunately, Baraka is more than just an impressive home theater demo, it also serves as a fine example of pure cinema. Much like Godfrey Reggio's “Qatsi” trilogy (1982's Koyaanisqatsi, 1988's Powaqqatsi, and 2002's Naqoyqatsi), and Fricke's own 1985 IMAX feature, Chronos, Baraka is a non-narrative film. Audiences will find no characters here, nor any semblance of plot or words of spoken dialogue. Instead, for 96 minutes, we are immersed in beautiful images, haunting music, and the unique sounds of various environments. This style of motion picture has no roots in the stage or the written word, it is unique to the medium of film; thus the term “pure cinema”. Baraka happens to be one of the best examples, along with the work of Reggio, Stan Brakhage, Dziga Vertov, etc.

Perhaps Reggio's own words about his “Qatsi” trilogy best describe the intent of non-narrative/pure cinema films:

“What I decided to do in making these films is to rip out all the foreground of a traditional film – the foreground being the actors, the characterization, the plot, the story – I tried to take the background, all of that that's supported like wallpaper, move that up to the foreground, make that the subject, ennoble it with the virtues of portraiture, and make that the presence.”

Ultimately, Koyaanisqatsi was a stunning directorial debut for Reggio, but it also marked Ron Fricke's start in the industry, as he was both cinematographer and editor on the piece. It is a wonderful film, to be sure, and it shares a very similar style with Baraka, including many shots of natural and man-made landscapes, along with a liberal use of time-lapse photography. Its title translates to “life out of balance” in the Hopi language, just as the titles of the two subsequent films in the series mean “life in transformation” and “life as war”. Those small phrases provide a framework for the images, an overriding theme for each film. Koyaanisqatsi, for example, deals with humanity and their creations being at odds with the natural world.

Taking a page from Reggio's book, Baraka is a word that means “blessing” in several languages, including Kiswahili. Indeed, the film begins with the faith rituals of various cultures around the world on display. Even the opening shots – tranquil mountains, a bathing snow monkey, a solar eclipse – seem to suggest that a spiritual journey is to come. First we visit a temple in Nepal, then we see Tibetan monks, Turkish whirling dervishes, Christians and Orthodox Jews in Jerusalem, Zen priests in Japan, Muslims at the Kaaba in Mecca, the dances of the Maasai tribe in Africa, and the Kayapo, a group of Indians who call the Brazilian rainforest home. Perhaps the most fascinating display of faith in Baraka is the Kecak chant, performed by Balinese men at a temple in Indonesia.

By juxtaposing these religions, the film invites us to open our minds while embracing our differences. The devout of one religion may claim the followers of another to be heathens, but who among us can say which culture has it right? Baraka shows us that faith is universal, knows no boundaries, and should be celebrated in its many forms; inspiring hope, not hatred.

Through Fricke's lens, the veil is also lifted on cultural practices based around death. A group of Aborigines in Australia perform a Pukamani funeral dance. In another striking sequence, we witness the burning of a corpse on the Ganges river in India, and in one of the most incredibly beautiful parts of the film, we pass through the Masoleum of Shah-e-Cheragh in Iran.

Unfortunately, the cruelty of mankind can not be glossed over. Auschwitz in Poland, with the discarded shoes of innocent victims and their pictures up on the wall. The Killing Fields in Cambodia; a torture chamber, hills of skulls, and more pictures of frightened faces, forever etched in time. Remnants of the Gulf War; a destroyed convoy, burning oil fields. These sequences are difficult to forget.

Memorable moments abound in Baraka, even if most of them are far from uplifting. This is life as it is lived. A meditating monk dressed in traditional robes looks entirely out of place on a busy street in Tokyo, as if the rest of the world has gotten into a huge rush and forgotten a simpler time. Hundreds of young women spend their days making cigarettes, for little pay, at an Indonesian factory. Baby chicks are sent along a conveyor belt, sorted by sex; males being tossed down chutes to die, and females having their beaks burned off. Children care for even younger children in the streets of Brazil, having been abandoned by their parents. These kids were never given a chance, which makes their suffering tragic indeed. In a lighter moment, we see hundreds of people trying to cross a street at Shibuya Station, and it is both funny and fascinating thanks to time-lapse photography.

To make Baraka, Ron Fricke designed a special camera best suited for the job ahead. It could be controlled by computers, allowing the crew to scout a location, set up the camera, and mathematically calculate a program for the time-lapse shots in which the camera would also pan. Obviously, with time-lapse, a lot can (and often did) go wrong to ruin a good sequence. In fact, Baraka: A Closer Look on the Blu-ray disc reveals that the small crew, during their twenty-four country, six continent journey, faced plenty of difficulties. From customs issues at the airports and swarms of flies in Africa, to more serious problems, like a plane that nearly crashed and the Singaporian assistant cameraman nearly dying from a lack of oxygen over Mount Everest. Baraka was a more difficult film to make than it may appear, and surprisingly it only cost $4 million (a lot of which was probably due to the expensive 65mm film stock).

Whatever the hardships involved, Fricke and crew made a terrific movie. For many, Baraka is the pinnacle of non-narrative films (for others it may be Koyaanisqatsi, 1929's The Man with the Movie Camera, or something else). It is easy to see why. Baraka is at once gorgeous and unsightly, poetic and troubling. Not unlike the world itself. Amazingly, Ron Fricke believes his best film is still ahead of him. He and his crew are back at work on Samsara, a new 70mm picture to be released in 2009, about which Fricke says:

"I feel that my work has evolved through Koyaanisqatsi, Chronos and Baraka. Both technically and philosophically I am ready to delve even deeper into my favorite theme: humanity's relationship to the eternal."

Anyone else excited? At the very least, the quality of this disc should have everyone salivating over the possibilities for future 70mm releases on Blu-ray. David Lean's Lawrence of Arabia? Jacques Tati's Playtime? William Wyler's Ben-Hur? Sergei Bondarchuk's War and Peace? Bring them all on, I say.