Undoubtedly, Angelopoulos is one of the great artists in European cinema. He seeks to capture the whole history of his nation and of his people on a cinematic canvas with a lyrical and painterly approach. Undoubtedly, Angelopoulos's films are also a shock to anyone accustomed to the pace of modern American cinema. It feels like he's re-inventing cinema. There are graceful panning and tracking shots over beautifully realised tableaux. Shots that run for several minutes. There are no close-ups. It often feels like Angelopoulos has eschewed narrative, and is telling a story with just two tools: images and music.
The Weeping Meadow begins as a group of refugees tell the story of their expulsion from Odessa to Thessaloniki in 1919, by the shore of a river. It ends with a mother grieving over the body of her son by the same river, probably in 1949. In between there's little real narrative, just haunting shots of villages and cities, and groups of people running back and forth, and music. Often it feels like sepia historic photographs have been brought subtly to life.
The film is a breathtaking antidote to much of what passes for international cinema today. It also became, for me, harder and harder to take, as it became increasingly obvious that the characters are not really characters in a drama, but metaphors in a great historical process. By the end, for me, it felt dis-satisfyingly schematic, and yet there are images that will haunt you for years, and a feeling that Angelopoulos has found a way to distill the fraught years of European history from the First World War to the Cold War into an extraordinary cinematic vision.
The music of Eleni Karaindrou is very beautiful, and will resonate long after the film has finished. In many ways, the music really is the soul of this film. The cinematography of Andreas Sinanos is elegant and beautifully lit.
The Weeping Meadow begins as a group of refugees tell the story of their expulsion from Odessa to Thessaloniki in 1919, by the shore of a river. It ends with a mother grieving over the body of her son by the same river, probably in 1949. In between there's little real narrative, just haunting shots of villages and cities, and groups of people running back and forth, and music. Often it feels like sepia historic photographs have been brought subtly to life.
The film is a breathtaking antidote to much of what passes for international cinema today. It also became, for me, harder and harder to take, as it became increasingly obvious that the characters are not really characters in a drama, but metaphors in a great historical process. By the end, for me, it felt dis-satisfyingly schematic, and yet there are images that will haunt you for years, and a feeling that Angelopoulos has found a way to distill the fraught years of European history from the First World War to the Cold War into an extraordinary cinematic vision.
The music of Eleni Karaindrou is very beautiful, and will resonate long after the film has finished. In many ways, the music really is the soul of this film. The cinematography of Andreas Sinanos is elegant and beautifully lit.