The Short Films Of Carlos Gananian

i had a chance to catch akai at the chicago independent horror film festival. i can agree with the description given above. it was quite beautiful to look at. what he was trying to say with the ending wasn't very clear to me; perhaps i just didn't follow the narative very well. however it was definitely good enough for me to be interested in seeing his other work.

MAJOR SPOILERS HERE:











My take throughout was that the vampire was very conflicted with his own nature throughout, which is why he stayed indoors at all times, the lengthy baths after killing, and why he bottled the excess blood of his victims - it saved him from having to kill more often than absolutely necessary. The final kill was exceptionally violent and when he saw what he had done once the bloodlust passed he was so repulsed by his own actions that he walked out into the dawn to commit suicide. It's a great image that really captures the central conflict here, dawn normally representing hope and the only hope for the vamp being his own death.











Spoilers over.

So is there anyway to actually see these?

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Zt1PFqscWlo Just trailers of his works. Each shot really is beautiful though . . .

I'll write him and see if they're on DVD.

Gananian is one of our greatest talents. His film "Akai" will screen in the 2nd Fantastic Film Festival of Porto Alegre, the first of the genre in Brazil. The Festival goes from October 17-22, and "Akai" screening is october 18, at 20:30 P.M.

Okay, got word from Gananian and while the shorts are not on DVD yet, they are currently putting together a release that will include all the shorts plus some behind the scenes material. He really wants people to see these, though, so he said if anybody wants them to tell me and then I'll forward your information directly to him and he'll work something out with you ...

I might be wrong but the following poem has something to tell about the film.

Os ombros suportam o mundo

Chega um tempo em que não se diz mais: meu Deus.
Tempo de absoluta depuração.
Tempo em que não se diz mais: meu amor.
Porque o amor resultou inútil.
E os olhos não choram.
E as mãos tecem apenas o rude trabalho.
E o coração está seco.

Em vão mulheres batem à porta, não abrirás.
Ficaste sozinho, a luz apagou-se,
mas na sombra teus olhos resplandecem enormes.
És todo certeza, já não sabes sofrer.
E nada esperas de teus amigos.

Pouco importa venha a velhice, que é a velhice?
Teus ombros suportam o mundo
e ele não pesa mais que a mão de uma criança.
As guerras, as fomes, as discussões dentro dos edifícios
provam apenas que a vida prossege
e nem todos se libertaram ainda.
Alguns, achando bárbaro o espetáculo,
prefeririam (os delicados) morrer.
Chegou um tempo em que não adianta morrer.
Chegou um tempo em que a vida é uma ordem.
A vida apenas, sem mistificação.

YOur Shoulders Hold Up The World

A time comes when we no longer can say:
my God.
A time of total cleaning up.
A time when we no longer can say: my love.
Because love proved useless.
And the eyes don't cry.
And the hands do only rough work.
And the heart is dry.
They knock at our door in vain, we won't open.
We remain alone, the light turned off,
and our enormous eyes shine in the dark.
It is obvious we no longer know how to suffer.
And we want nothing from our friends.

Who cares if old age comes, what is old age?
Our shoulders are holding up the world
and it's lighter than a child's hand.
Wars, famine, family fights inside buildings
prove only that life goes on
and not everybody has freed themselves yet.
Some (the delicate ones) judging the spectacle cruel
will prefer to die.
A time comes when death doesn't help.
A time comes when life is an order.
Just life, without any escapes.

- Carlos Drummond de Andrade