Solomon Nagler's perhaps/We: Reading the Ruins

[ILLUSTRATION OMITTED] When Stan Brakhage writes about Maya Deren's theory of vertical montage, (1) he uses a visual metaphor that gives the impression of towers of meaning, built from layer upon layer of symbols and ideas. Solomon Nagler's film perhaps/We (2003), (2) an 11 minute colour short shot on 16mm stock, exhibits an entirely different sense of the vertical montage; one that seeks to systematically uncover layers of meaning by scraping away the trappings which would conceal them. In this respect he is embracing vertical montage, but inverting the established system. Nagler chooses to dig in and explore the secrets buried by the past, rather than attempting to erect monuments for an uncertain future. The result of this approach is a work that makes overt references to several important movements in experimental film, but leaves its own impression. The film never feels forced or unbalanced and always manages to maintain a fluid consistency. This fluidity may stem from the way that Nagler, a Canadian filmmaker, has led a somewhat nomadic existence. He is now based in Nova Scotia, but has lived and created in several cities spread across the country. He spent much of his formative time in Winnipeg, developing alongside fellow members of the vaunted Winnipeg Film Group, but has also called Vancouver and Montreal home over the years. Traces of all of these communities can be seen to manifest in a diverse body of work. A Treatise on Prairie Mysticism (2002) and a trilogy of untitled shorts (2002-2006) celebrate the surreal nature of central Canada's boundless horizons, while more recent output includes Black Salt Water Elegy (2010), a tribute to the history of the Africville community in Halifax. Throughout Nagler's work there is a quest to connect the individual with the environment, and to fuse elements from the present and the past into artifacts with roots that spread across history, rather than stemming from any particular point in time. None of this is meant to imply that Nagler is simply revisiting the past. While fellow Winnipeg artist Guy Maddin has gone to great lengths to create works that reach back into history with a fondness for the early days of cinema, Nagler elects to extrapolate on this cinema of nostalgia with his self-described Cinema of Ruins. One of the most important aspects of Nagler's oeuvre is his insistence on exploring the full-range of possibilities that film affords. Brakhage made an interesting observation about the potential of film to move forward in the digital age: Considering then the camera eye as almost obsolete, it can at last be viewed objectively and, perhaps, view-pointed with subjective depth as never before. (3) As if in response to this statement, Nagler makes a point of physically manipulating the filmic elements to create works which are directly linked with the medium he has chosen. He exploits the fragility and resilience of the celluloid to produce images that would be difficult, or impossible, to achieve with magnetic or digital video formats, and in the process exposes, as Brakhage predicts, the soul. Nagler's extensive use of hand-processing and optical printing leaves a tangible texture on his films bearing the hallmarks of human intervention. It also gives them the timeless, visual quality of relics unearthed in an archeological dig. [ILLUSTRATION OMITTED] That Nagler refers to his work as the Cinema of Ruins, reinforces the connection with archaeology. His choice of this term also shines a light on the way he uses language in his films. Upon seeing Nagler's films for the first time, the viewer tends to be struck by the omnipresence of foreign languages, and thus could be forgiven for hearing the homonym 'runes' when someone speaks of Nagler's self-descriptive term. As if to stress the unabashedly multilingual nature of perhaps/We, the director never offers any sort of translation to aid those who are unable to decipher the linguistic content. …

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