To Each His Own Cinema aka Chacun son cinéma (2007)

A collective film of 33 shorts directed by different directors about their feeling about Cinema.


TO EACH HIS OWN CINEMA is a 2007 collection of 3-minute shorts by some 36 directors around the world on the theme of what cinema means to them. So many auteurs already make films about films inasmuch as they allude to classics, but here most of the shorts are actually set in cinemas, with audiences in rows of seating. You'll need to have a decent familiarity with the art-house canon before watching this, though. It's fascinating how so many of the directors, regardless of what continent they hailed from, choose to have French New Wave films playing in the background as their stories are told.

It opens with Raymond Depardon's "Open-Air Cinema", where a crowd of Egyptians watched an outdoor projection in Alexandria, and in spite of the unusual writing and the women's veils, they seem to be just like us. Zhang Yimou later does much the same in a Chinese village. One of the remarkable aspects of this collection are the similar ideas. Two stories deal with thieves stealing purses in dark cinemas. Three deal with the blind and how they perceive cinema. Many look back to childhood/earlier eras. Hou Hsiao-Hsien's short recreates 1950s Taiwan on an elaborate set to show the typical visit to a cinema of his youth. Amos Gitai's film juxtaposes 1930s viewers of Yiddish cinema, a vibrant tradition destroyed by the Holocaust, with a modern Israeli audience in wartime. Youssef Chahine's looks back at his first visit to Cannes 47 years before.

Some of the films deal with serious political themes: Amos Gitai on the Israeli-Arab relations, David Croneberg on anti-semitism ,and Bille August with Danish-immigrant relations. However, there are also a number of overtly funny shorts, like Takeshi Kitano's, where a working man's chance to unwind by watching a film keeps getting interrupted by problems with the projector. In Lars Van Trier's contribution, Jacques Franz plays an annoying businessman who can't stop bragging about his success, though the extreme gore and violence that follows makes for very black humour. Elia Suleiman's is Buster Keatonish physical comedy in the modern world.

Some shorts are notable for continuing an aesthetic that the director had already established in an earlier film. Kaurismäki's short is his usual style of an ostensibly contemporary setting, but with 1950s rock music and working class people who speak utterly deadpan. (Unusually, however, it uses none of his typical troupe of actors.) Abbas Kiarostami's "Where is My Romeo?" is a sort of follow-up to his experimental film SHIRIN, which showed only the faces of numerous women as they watched a classic Iranian tale of love; here these women are watching "Romeo and Juliet" instead.

Another director of that ilk is Wong Kar-Wai – his film manages to evoke intense feelings of desire and memory with a few almost abstract shots of people in a dark theater, like glowing orange and red strokes on a black canvas, a few intertitles, and dialogue from Godard's "Alphaville": wonderful. Except Wong, all the other Chinese(-speaking) directors show rather wistful visions of the past, including Zhang Yimou, Chen Kaige and Taiwan's Hou Hsiao-Hsien. Taiwan's Tsai Ming-Liang is the most original among them: In characteristically perfect compositions and hypnotic pace, he imagines his childhood family having a picnic in a movie theater – as if the cinema is a repository of a home long lost. "It's a dream", and not without irony.

alking about wistful – I like much of Theo Angelopoulos' work, but not that certain underlying pompousness, that "Look at me – I'm a poet!" attitude. Here he has an aged, dignified Jeanne Moreau recite her text from the final scene of Antonioni's "La notte", then addressed to Marcello Mastroianni, to – an actor playing Mastroianni's ghost. Aw, no, Theo! There's just one Marcello, remember? Put his picture on a wall, show him in a scene, but don't replace him with someone else! This is a dedication that backfires. But it is on the foil of such serious arty attempts that other contributions shine, like Lars Von Trier. I had expected something conceptually more intriguing from him, but maybe it is conceptually intriguing to, in the company of illustrious artists, deliver something that is just gross. Trier addresses one of the most serious issues of watching movies: the idiots you're watching them with. He offers an ultimate example of that character, and the ultimate solution. My laugh-out-loud moment. A similar moment of resistance to good taste is Cronenberg's "The suicide of the last jew in the last cinema of the world" – there's not much more to it than the title indicates, but it's fun for one reason. I think the very first film the director ever showed in Cannes was one of his early experimental features, and it just tanked. These early works consisted of dialogue-free scenes with bizarre voice-overs, and Cronenberg uses this form again here. That is irony.

And Raoul Ruiz is the man. At his best, he combines Godard's literacy with a reluctant love for storytelling and rich, surprising visuals. Here, he has read Marcel Mauss' "Essai sur le don". A blind man tells how a missionary, a man of God, gave a radio and a movie projector to some Indians. They ritually transform these gifts into ceremonial exchange items and sacrifices. When they give them back to the westerners, they turn them into blind atheists, thus taking away from them both God and the images. And that's just one level of what is happening in these mind-boggling three minutes. Roman Polanski's recurring themes are sex, random cruelty, misleading conclusions and awkward situations – and they are all present here, in this little joke about an elderly couple watching an erotic film. It's quite literal – you could tell it to your friends at a party – but nicely executed. (And why does everyone, except the groaning man, wear glasses?) Abbas Kiarostami's entry is a sketch for "Shirin", his follow-up feature, using the same concept: You do not see the movie, but the reaction of the Iranian women watching it. The film being Zeffirelli's "Romeo and Juliet", the paradigmatic tale of forbidden love, their emotional reactions are powerful and evocative. It makes me long to see "Shirin". And as for the rest, see for yourself.