I’m catching up on the news that Theo Angelopoulos died last week. Hit by a motorcycle. Now that the “last of the European modernists” (as he’s often called) is dead, where does that leave us?

Like kids searching for a father we never knew?

(Watch it all here.)

(In case you were wondering where Bela Tarr’s later style came from…)

Or the father they thought they knew:

But never did.


(Watch all four clips at once if you can.)

Angelopoulos was perhaps the premier filmmaker of the Event, the crossed-out god whose traces, fragments, ruins, relics leave us perplexed, staring into the yawning gap of His/Her withdrawal.

(Who is “us”, you ask? The ones he leaves wandering.)






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