Flight in bright sadness Takis Canellopoulos made the same film throughout his career. What did not happen, did not happen, did not happen. A film about non-love, unhappiness, unluck. The film is about a missed opportunity that fate gives every person once in a lifetime, but only the most courageous and determined can use. And there is no doubt that they will be right. But in any case, then you will only have to remember about this missed opportunity, with longing and sadness blaming yourself for what did not happen.
However, it was this sadness that became the object of research for the Greek director, it was she who inspired him to work and forced him to paint amazing, albeit breathing cold, pictures again and again. It is to draw, because Canellopoulos' films are the least reminiscent of cinema itself. Rather, they are like changing slides in the projector, each of which you want to look closely, absorbing the melancholic atmosphere, immersed in the velvet waves of incomprehensible longing, catching consonant tones inside yourself.
Such feelings evoke all the director’s films, perhaps with the exception of the debut film “Ouranos”, but “Interlude” became the quintessence of his creative manner. It has accumulated all its advantages and disadvantages, becoming a kind of hallmark of this very unusual film artist.
In fact, there is no plot as such, no intrigue, no drama. It is even surprising that the prototype of “Interlude” was a theatrical play by British playwright Noel Coward, known for his “witty dialogues”. Canellopoulos' film has no dialogue, nor action, at all. He operates a completely different instrumentation, the main components of which are the magical music of Nikos Mamagakis and the subtle camera work of Stamatis Tripos, the director’s permanent co-author. One gets the impression (and perhaps it did) that each frame was carefully and meticulously arranged to make the greatest impression on the viewer. Therefore, there is almost no movement in the film - it destroys the magic of the frozen frame.
Here I want to make a digression and recall a completely unique scene from Canellopoulos’ last film Sonya: two naked bodies of unhappy lovers who were frozen for a long minute. But the angle is chosen so perfectly that this scene for a long time fades into memory, taking the place of one of the brightest erotic film episodes.
There is no eroticism in Interlude. And it seems that it would be superfluous here. But black and white footage from the film like a slideshow constantly appear before the mental eye: a table on a deserted beach; cyclists driving around a lonely couple; a walk on the night promenade; a female figure in the window of a departing train; a man remaining on the platform ... And the thought to which, slowly but surely, this whole series of marvelously beautiful frames leads us is not a new thought, yet expressed by Ecclesiastes.
But in this “hustle” there are still seconds that remain with a person until death, and maybe after. Is it sad that they have remained encapsulated moments that did not unfold into reality? After all, they give the opportunity not only to mentally return to them again and again, but to deploy them at their own discretion, as the heroine does in the second part of the picture. Extend them as you want, admire them in new and new angles. Yes, of course, this is pure escapism. All of Canellopoulos’ work is a vivid example of escape from reality into a solipsic world created by his own imagination. But, gods! This world is so beautiful. I don’t want to leave it!
It is probably no coincidence that in any of the films of the Greek director, the action (sorry, of course, non-action) does not take place in the summer. Early spring, autumn, winter - in the dreary landscapes he is comfortable, and this comfort he skillfully conveys to the viewer. Who, too, probably somewhere something once did not happen, did not happen, did not grow. Kanellopoulos suggests not to sprinkle salt on wounds, not to stir a needle that has been planted in the heart, but to relax and sadden, dreaming of what has not come true. Soft, safe, undecided. But, sinking into the endless sadness of Interlude, one involuntarily agrees with its author – perhaps, however, art is not always obliged to call, excite, excite, etc., etc., etc. Sometimes art should be soothing, comforting and sympathetic. And hide ideas in a distant box. Until better times. Like Interlude does. At the same time, locking this box on a strong lock.