Sednaoui spends the time waiting for, then searching out, a mysterious painting, in a lightly avant-garde story she leads with subtle, languid range, that pairs Leon Jean-Marie’s persistent, curious, string-forward score.
Cry of the City shares its title with the partially remembered Robert Siodmak noir from 1948, a film in its design and making so fastidiously monochromatic that it would have probably looked black and white shot in colour.
In Claudio Marcotulli’s kaleidoscopic Zenú, Ignacio (Marcotulli) is a musician creatively blocked by the incessant whistling of the trains that pass his canalside house. A local fisherman (Jose Payes) is a sage if elliptical voice: “this net is not mine,” he explains when Ignacio, in questioning his claim of a productive morning’s fishing, remarks on its emptiness.
The great French critic André Bazin, commenting on the 1951 film Where No Vultures Fly [Henry Watt, UK], observed of one of its sequences, during which a boy is pursued by a lioness, that the entirety of its tension was imbued by a single shot: of the boy and the lioness together, undeniably occupying the same space and thereby authenticating the action. Likewise, here it is in seeing Nascimento's confrontation with Scheuer’s strange incarnate limb, reaching into being, that charges a peculi...