QUICK’N DIRTY: LIVE FROM VENICE
Guided by a personal quest to locate the Water of Life, Shah Ismail (Huseyn Nasirov) tries to survive the apocalypse that surrounds him. The animation is yellow with fire: hues showing the inferno in this animated world. The story, slow and stoic, follows the protagonist across lingering frames as he takes his voyages, external and internal, to the place of fruition.
Schematically, Sermon to the Void bears a similar flow and style to La Jetée (Chris Marker, 1962) in that it is a dystopian project told through mostly still images. There are long shots of mountains, with glistening echoey music hanging over the stillness. What this movie offers is a meditative, euphoric experience, allowing the viewer to focus on their breath as much as they do the visuals. That said, some audience members might find it disconcerting, especially as much of it is single shots of paintings lost for protracted lengths of time.
As an animated vehicle, Sermon to the Void provides an interesting tapestry incorporates detail and contrast. There are vast valleys of green and red, with one solitary character blinking in the middle. True, the movie incorporates smatterings of Azerbaijani voiced by actors, but by and large the work is a silent one. In some ways, the structure of the work feels reminiscent of a graphic novel Frank Miller might have written during the 1990s: large landscapes of kaleidoscopic , highly saturated colours cementing the backdrop.
Yet it is to the movie’s credit that it suits the motion picture format. One lowly figure walks across red mounds of rock, evocative of Mars, suggesting a long fall into the realm of despair. Orange serves as a motif. “We are particles of the same sun,” cries out one character, offering the director’s perspective that nature and humanity are an extension of one another. There is a recurring image: a person sitting in a mass of yellow flowers, evocative of Van Gogh’s paintings.
The changes from flower backdrop to mountainy terrain aids the world building, bringing texture and contrast to the geography director Hilal Baydarov intends on bringing to the public. It’s a deeply tangible universe, as you can practically touch the foliage. Much of it is exquisite to encounter, a melange of textures put onto the big screen. “We have art not to die from the truth,” recites a voiceover, igniting the central philosophy the film holds.
Deeply artful, and balanced by a determination for truth, Shah Ismail has a voyage that mirrors the viewer. Viewers become fully immersed in this cinematic experiment. From beginning to end, the perception is determined by the process, and not by the end-product. Perhaps the most impressive still is that of plants dissolving into a mess of blob, utilising editing techniques in order to create confusion amidst the pictorial geography. Like the rest of the feature, it’s a continuing, lingering painting, pieced together by a sense of journey and patience.
“I heard that you were a legend,” one person says to Shah Ismail, suggesting a past life was more fruitful for many. It’s easy to discern some of the agony that befell many creatives during the Covid pandemic. Some of Baydarov’s hurt showcases on the big screen. Sermon to the Void is small, wispy, stoical and yet with filled emotion. Considering the scale of the paintings shown here, it would be best to watch this work in the movie theatre.
Sermon to the Void just premiered in the 82nd edition of the Venice International Film Festival.
