Soundrack. Sound-Track. Sound. Track.
The disassembly game makes me wonder – what is the “soundtrack” into which sound and track were melted. What is this track of sound – this unknown component added to the movie the day it became a talkie?
Accompanying the sequence of moving images, the soundtrack tries to react to the represented world. This entity, often musical, interprets (and is there any other way?) the visual image – It clarifies it and signifies it. It is a dependent entity, as though of second rate, that had we disconnected from its visual image would be received as a disconnection – a reference with no source.
The soundtrack always acts as an intention to something else. A soundtrack in itself is like form with no substance, pure metaphysics, an entity that is the contour of an invisible image.
But, is the soundtrack indeed a secondary component? What becomes of the image that remains at the contour? What happens to this image when the soundtrack is removed?
In this video is a character, moving to a hidden rhythm (Inside Climate, Michal Zehavi). Its movement is musical, mute. We see a musician without an instrument. Without the music itself, so it seems. The soundtrack is mute, but the image is immersed in it. The music is still everpresent. The rhythm is present on the character's face and in its gestures. In the separation of sound the mute choreography of music remains.
It is the mute choreography of the body, but not of the living body alone. Arthur Ganson, a mechanical choreographer, assembles orchestrated machines, creating a delicate moving dance rhythm out of the crudeness of the mechanism.
Out of the heavy cumbersome mechanics emerges a contemplated drift, a ballet of movement and grace – machines arranged into a well orchestrated dance.
For Ganson the constant pendulum movement – at times planned, at times random – creates the poetic choreography of these crafted creations. Assembled in iron and steel, the machines move to a lost mechanical contour, an unheard sound track. They exemplify without a sound – or yet to the mechanical rattling of their mechanisms – their inner music, rewinding over and over, like that hidden wind-up bird of Murakami's.
What is that orchestrated machine? Why it is that which stands always at the basis of any soundtrack experience: The movement – movement of camera, the rattling – rattling of film.
As for Zehavi or Ganson the mute movement conceals its inner music, so is the camera's movement stored as silent choreography in the photographed image. The muted music does not disappear the inner musicality of the act of creation.
Like the silent-rattling machines living and enlivening the inner music to which they were created, so does the cinematographic creation embodies the musical choreography in which it was created. Thus, cinema is created from the musicality of the director-cinematographer, and the cinematographic creation is intrinsically immersed in this choreography.
What is this choreography? Why it is the choreography of the soul. Thus by the ending of Antonioni's Professione: Reporter, the camera slides from the bed where the reporter lay towards the barred window, slipping through the bars. Enigmatically hovering, the camera moves outwards, embodying the movement of the soul floating free through the window.
In this mystic, nearly silent image – as though oblivious to the noises of the world around – the hovering choreography of the camera is a the soul's flight to silent music.