Sans Soleil: A Film Review

December 25, 2013

by Mason Lancianese

During my time in a creative writing class at Tunxis, my eyes were opened wider to the idea of creative expression and how it motivates us as artists. The following review is for the 1983 film Sans Soleil, a film made by French avant-garde filmmaker Chris Marker, who died just last year. Essentially, the basic premise is what would fit the description of any average travel video made today on their smartphone. But back then, this was a breakthrough in autobiographical cinema, and it shows how we can create grand art out of something so simple. A nice goal for us artists, I would say.

Like any decently-educated cinephile, I was saddened at the passing of filmmaker Chris Marker in 2012. Having only seen La Jetée by that time, I grieved based on how insanely original I found that film to be, and it further inspired me to seek out his other work to pay tribute. Well, as all of us cinephiles who vow to watch a canonical filmmaker’s filmography can most likely sympathize, things in my life got in the way and that idea was derailed, replaced by other distractions or duties.

It wasn’t until I purchased the discounted Criterion Blu-ray containing Marker’s two greatest works that my goal was reinstated. I watched La Jetée again, loving it even more, and then I moved onto the other film in the package, Sans Soleil. And let me tell you, watching this so long after Marker’s death was akin to being hit with realization in the form of a bag of bricks, as I had just then understood how not only was a great talent lost last year, but a great man in general.

Made up of footage Marker had shot during his trips to Tokyo and Guinea-Bissau, Sans Soleil could have easily been passed off as a pretty collage that would play on flat-screens in the background of a New Age establishment. But no, Marker makes it something even more, something that exceeds far beyond that in terms of aesthetic pleasure and intellectual stimulation. He employs a woman to dictate letters he had sent out that tell of the observations he noted in his travels as a constant narration for the visuals, which at times goes from being deeply ponderous to humbly autobiographical. Either way, the results are nothing short of amazing.

In its bare essence, what makes Sans Soleil such a truly transcendent film for me is it showing how perceptive Marker really was. Even though his words are being spoken by someone else, the sheer wisdom and range of vocabulary in his writing alone is something I could have listened to for another hour or so, as long as his entrancing footage was present to accompany it. On an interesting side-note, watching this made me think back to Koyaanisqatsi, another expansive, documentary-like film released around the same time. Noticing similarities among the vast differences, I came to the conclusion if that film was the world being overseen and chronicled by God, then Sans Soleil is the world being condensed and commented on by one of his creations — and Marker was a worthy mortal to do the job. I usually don’t fret over not digesting enough of an artist’s work before they pass on, but watching this is one of those rare instances where I wish I had gotten to know the artist beforehand so that I would know full well how gifted they were and be happy that they are still around. As it stands now, Sans Soleil is the best travelogue I’ve ever seen and one of the best films period, encapsulating nearly everything about human nature as well as what made Marker such a wonderful artist and all-around person.

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