Panna zázracnica

Interpretation of artistic creation only serves to reduce the object of interpretation to a collection of weightless words that are subject to the life experiences and limited capacities of the interpreter.  If it is such a bankrupt practice then why do I find myself feebly attempting it week after week whenever I take in a film that triggers some part of my subconscious mind and creates an unbendable affinity toward the material?  Is it out of such a strong positive feeling toward the work that I feel a need to try and express my appreciation in any way I am capable?  I suppose it could be caused by selfishness, egotistical self gratification, and the desire to show the world that I was able to feel inspired by a difficult piece of underappreciated art that they would likely never see, and if they did most of them certainly wouldn’t feel as strongly about the work nor be able to garner the same “objective” meaning.  I suppose in any case I had created this dumping ground for my feeble minded attempts at writing about films that I have found to be amazing and since it is here I might as well put some words on it.  Does knowing the bankruptcy in one’s actions and admitting one’s deficiencies somehow grant reprieve for the sins of feeble art interpretation?  It probably makes me a bigger sinner than someone who doesn’t know any better, but artists have their own selfish reasons for creating art that may not be known even to them and I have unquantifiable reasons for trying to write about it.

Panna Zazracnica is an incredible piece of filmmaking.  It is beautiful, poetic, dark, hilarious, surreal, and manages to simultaneously lament the less than ideal conditions under which art must be created and criticize the less than noble selfishness of the artist.  When a group of artists and intellectuals encounter divine beauty it triggers a dichotomy of destructiveness and creativity in them.  The misguided passion is intense and drives as much self doubt as it does creative inspiration.  These conflicting forces torture the artist and they don’t know whether to self destruct to gain the attention and affections of this “miraculous virgin” or destroy her and devour whatever is left.  Though they try to live apart from the war that surrounds them, they cannot help but be indirectly influenced by the harshness of reality.  They are all so busy with their own selfish shenanigans that they are unable to see the pain in the eyes of Anabella, whom they think that they love completely.  She is the muse of their creation but they are so preoccupied in their own worlds that they are incapable of learning from the truth that she provides, that we inherently know everything we need to know about pure artistic expression as a child and those who make it their life’s work spend most of their time trying to recapture that which adulthood has made them forget.

The opening shot of a plaster cast of a woman’s face and a tortured voice screaming “Anabella!” would indicate that the troop of “orphans” had one more unseen member driving the camera.  The material felt like a deeply personal lamentation of a filmmaker whose confidence in their art is shaken because of the less than ideal conditions in which it has to be created.  Filmmaking is not a cheap method of self expression and anyone willing to throw themselves completely in to the art would surely have to deal with the realities of financial backing, government regulation, and our basic human needs and desires.  I suppose the trick is finding the right balance without compromising your vision more than it has to be, even if you have doubts about how genuine your vision actually is.  Every great artist probably should carry some doubt their work, it helps drive them toward a purity of vision.

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