In sort of the tradition of Sans Soleil, a narrator and a mysterious, unshown character wander around London searching for what they already expect to find: lack of absolution and a post-modern depression. There's more of a narrative thread in this one than Chris Marker's epic travelogue, but many of the concerns are the same: the way space, time, memory, history, and geography are collapsed and immutable when viewed from the perspective of an erring camera. Robinson wants to be a spy, but James Bond is a Western fiction more disturbing than its happy endings. They want to visit Sherlock forest, but it's closed off by private property. Most architecture (Keiller is an architect) and photography is extremely rectilinear, and nowhere the two characters stay are very comfortable. Such speaks to the isolation of a spectator of London, a space not built linearly or really quite as open to tourism as other large city centers.
The story here is quite blink-and-you'll-miss-it. Robinson in Space is a visual essay that is familiar with academia and theory, and yet I've read too many responses to this that complain about it being an insufficient tour guide. Be aware that this is not a map of London (in the theoretical sense), but a deconstruction of it. People interested in discovering more about the mainstream culture and history of London are better off renting something else.
--PolarisDiB
The story here is quite blink-and-you'll-miss-it. Robinson in Space is a visual essay that is familiar with academia and theory, and yet I've read too many responses to this that complain about it being an insufficient tour guide. Be aware that this is not a map of London (in the theoretical sense), but a deconstruction of it. People interested in discovering more about the mainstream culture and history of London are better off renting something else.
--PolarisDiB