All language subtitles for Agnes.de.ci.de.la.Varda.2011.S01E02.576p.BDRip.AC3.x264-trand.2

We had to trim this tree back.

It was blocking all the light.

I set out on a series of trips,
filming here and there...

faces and words,
museums, rivers, and art.

I listened to people I met —
sometimes by chance —

AGNÈS VARDA
FROM HERE TO THERE

especially artists whose work I like.

When I returned from my first trip,

the tree already had new shoots.

I continued my travels,
by train or plane,

filming in every city,
not to file a report,

but to capture fragments,
moments, people.

The tree was coming back to life.

I came and went...

and Jean-Baptiste and I edited
the material I'd gathered.

But long before I completed
my journeys and my work,

which lasted well over a year,

the tree,
with new shoots and leaves,

had grown back all its foliage
in less than three months.

You see the process here
in under two minutes.

And viewers will see these chronicles
over several days.

So this series shoots and leaves,
so to speak.

In this episode
we'll go to Brazil, Brussels,

Stockholm, and Venice.

We'll meet the art critic Obrist
and the painter Barceló.

Though we travel far away,
our shadow remains on the ground.

I'm going to Brazil to play filmmaker.

It's not after-sales service.
We accompany our films

and visit other places
and people who welcome us.

I am indeed welcomed in Rio,

by Fabiano Canosa,
the Brazilian from New York,

and Joel Pizzini, local filmmaker.

Joel's partner is Paloma Rocha,

daughter of filmmaker
Glauber Rocha.

Paula Tesser is also here,
to accompany me and interpret.

She's a singer.

Rio de Janeiro's famous Sugarloaf.

I think of Mom, who would put sugar
on leftover bread for us.

From my room in Ipanema
I see the beach.

Here it is at 7:00 a.m...

and at noon.

A bit further down
is famous Copacabana Beach.

Here you can drink
delicious coconut milk.

My son Mathieu is here.

He's come as Mathieu Demy, actor.

Jeanne Moreau and others
are here too.

Look at the big birds.

We're here for the Rio Film Festival.

Fabiano, who once booked films
for the New York Public Theater,

has come home.

Here is the villa of Villa-Lobos,
a center for music and gatherings.

Now I devote my time

to doing retrospectives
and television shows

about Brazilians
whom I love and admire,

including Villa-Lobos,
our greatest classical composer.

Brazil produced two true geniuses
in the 20th century:

Villa-Lobos...

and especially Glauber Rocha,
my brother.

An amazing man.

The filmmaker came to fame
with a strange political film...

Black God, White Devil.

Not with a rosary, Satan...

but with a rifle in hand!

Lies! Lies!

Didn't you say he was great
only in his head?

Virgulino was great,
but he made himself small.

Lies!

Paloma handles the restoration
and promotion of her father's films.

My kids know about that too.

The filmmaker's house
is a film lover's paradise.

Here you might see
Glauber's mother, bottom right...

or his sister Ana-Lúcia.

Others come to see his films,

like Antonio das Mortes,

which impressed the jury
at the Cannes Film Festival.

Glauber represented Cinema Novo,
the Brazilian New Wave,

a mix of social documentary
and bizarre imagination.

Jacques and I got to know him
as we discovered Brazil and its music.

We went to Ouro Preto
in the state of Minas Gerais.

Jacques had a small camera,
which he lost.

Famous for his complex shots,

here he took only static shots.

We daydreamed
in this rich old gold-rush town.

And I took photographs.

Forty years later, I head to Fortaleza.

Beatriz Furtado has invited me

to meet her students

who are studying my documentaries
at the art school she runs.

I greet them by filming them.

Here is lovely Beatriz.

And another teacher. He's so handsome.

This scene in The Gleaners
where I grab trucks struck them.

People mention it wherever I go.

Questions, answers.

I watch their films.

Then there's a party for me
in an old covered market.

At Fishermen's Beach, the fishermen
also wish me good health.

Crayfish, rice, and fish

on another beach
known as Future Beach.

My new friends throw me
a good-bye dinner.

We exchange gifts.

Beatriz gives me a white shirt.

I give her calissons from Aix

and DVDs to her and Paula,

who gives me her CD.

Those two women are amazing.

We went to the market
together to look at fruit.

These are cashews.
We extract juice from the fruit

and eat the nut.

These are soursops.
The flesh inside is white.

We make everything with them:
juice, ice cream.

We hit the hardware store,

where great souvenirs can be found.

I spy statuettes on a shelf.

I'll take this one.

The explanation begins.
This is Pomba Gira.

A saint or goddess of protection.

They bring her champagne,
cookies, and perfume.

And red roses
as a way of asking her...

Asking her to find them jobs,
resolve conflicts,

bring back straying husbands.

It's a lot of hope for five euros.

I had to go back through Rio.

Fabiano took me to
the Niterói Contemporary Art Museum.

It's like a flying saucer...

that follows the contours
of Sugarloaf Mountain.

The architect was Oscar Niemeyer.

Is he still alive?

He's still alive. He's 102.

He was married recently,
five or six years ago.

He goes to his office every day...

to tend to business
like he's always done.

Business as usual.

I discover Brazilian artists.

Antonio Dias and his diptych
For Me, For You.

Luiz Ernesto and a piece
from his series Aquarius.

Antonio Manuel.

I'll translate the title of his series:

Repression Once Again...

dated 1968.

This chair by Cildo Meireles
reminds me of Magritte's.

And this chair in a cage
by Raul Mourão intrigues me.

I think back to some
of the chairs in my life.

Ionesco's The Chairs,
which I photographed in the 1950s.

Tsilla Chelton and Jacques Mauclair
awaited guests who never arrived.

The chair Vilar
was pleased to sit in.

Pierre Étaix's chair.
"Père Lachaise."

And this chair,
one of my first photographs.

These office chairs were stacked
by Michel de Broin,

turned inward on a private meeting
of the executive board.

An igloo of shady business.

From many to few:
Van Gogh's poor chair...

and an armchair.

Two intertwined chairs
by Niki de Saint Phalle.

A couple of chairs on a beach.

Ah, how those two words ring out!

Couple. Beach.

Magritte and his chairs.

One very light:
Threatening Weather.

One very heavy: La chaise.

All aboard! Mustn't miss the opening
of the Magritte Museum...

on the Place Royale in Brussels.

There's a video preview.

Charly Herscovici created
the Magritte Foundation.

He holds the rights to the works
of the man in the bowler hat.

His collection forms
the heart of this museum.

This is Charly.

It's a party.

Violinist Michael Guttman is playing.

The reception is
at the Musée des Beaux Arts.

Among the guests
is collector Walter Vanhaerents.

Katharina Fritsch's Red Man
protects him

in this former factory
housing his large collection,

open to visitors.

In the background,
a work by Thomas Demand...

and a McDonald's mini-market,
reimagined by Tom Sachs.

A hanging piece
by Jason Rhoades.

A piece by Markus Schinwald:

a man and a woman
separated by a wall.

I had no camera to film it,

but the man's right foot
twitches nervously.

The woman doesn't move.

Here, near a long collage
by Ugo Rondinone,

is a chair by Urs Fischer.

Its shadow is gigantic...

just like David Altmejd's
collection of giants,

a recent acquisition.

Walter is happy, and so is the artist.

It's when I start building them
that it all makes sense.

Is it a warrior?

Yes, a warrior
whose arm has fallen off.

These are the new occupants
of the Vanhaerents residence.

When I was little,
I'd go to the Botanical Gardens.

It's now a cultural center and museum.

In 2009, Pierre Alechinsky
occupied the main gallery.

It was a major exposition.

Here are just a few paintings.

Whimsical graphics.

We look at them and smile...

and daydream.

At the other end,
the painter invited another artist:

Kikie Crêvecoeur.

As others engrave wood or stone
then print the images,

she engraves
four-inch-square erasers.

Each small square is the imprint

of an eraser I carved.

For this large room

with about 8,000
different eraser impressions,

I used perhaps 100 different erasers.

What's the idea behind it?

When you're on the freeway,

with trees passing by
on the side of the road,

they look kind of like barcodes.

I wish barcodes were this beautiful!

For her personal diary,
Kikie carves an eraser every day

with a drawing,
the date, and a few code words.

She prints these mini-notebook pages,
here much enlarged.

From erasers to linoleum.

This is linocut...

a fresco of trees.

First I drew,
then carved on linoleum

what nature evokes for me,
but only impressions.

I did them separately.
It took me a year.

There are sometimes
disconnects at the edges,

but sometimes things connect...

which comes from the subconscious.

I can mix them up...

so every time I show them,
I configure them differently.

I also made them into postcards.

Sending just one card
breaks up the series.

There are endless possibilities.

I'll send Kikie a tourist postcard.

I'm off again.

This city looks like
a Middle Eastern pastry...

but it's Stockholm.

They're waiting for me.

Frédéric Strauss, whom I met at
Cahiers du Cinéma.

You're my audiovisual attaché here.

Yes, and Marie is your distributor.

Marie Booberg from Folkets Bio.

In the taxi,
they speak of Ingmar Bergman.

This is the theater where he directed
when he wasn't filming.

And in that building over there,

there was an auction
where all his things were sold

just the night before I arrived.

Marie is still shaken up about it...

like everyone in cinema.

I like my room here,
with its three windows

overlooking the harbor.

Marie talks about the auction.
She brought me the catalog.

The prices are in kronor.

Everything was for sale:

his bed, his bedspread...

his Eames chair...

and several houses on Fårö Island...

including the one he lived in.

And his cars.

Chairs and more chairs. A piano.

That night I thought about the sale
and Bergman's children,

some close to him,
some not as close.

How did they feel about
this decision regarding his estate?

Did any of them have a broker
buy back their childhood armoire,

the one with the squeaky door?

Or their chair...

or a little pewter jug?

Hello.

Into my hotel room walks the journalist
from Film & TV magazine.

She speaks English and French.

I'm Christina.

I'm a journalist in Stockholm.
- Have a seat.

I like to make films too.

I'm curious.

I hesitate to ask...

but have you been ill?

No, I haven't been ill.

- Is it a punk look?
- No.

Two or three years earlier...

I'd gone through
a few emotional ordeals.

It was a hard time in my life.

Everything was changing.
I was getting divorced.

With so many divorces,
if women all lost their hair

there'd be a lot of bald women!

I have a lover.

He's very important to me.

When this happened...

I panicked.

The worst part for me

was the feeling of not knowing...

if he'd stay with me.

Christina tells me
her lover is a cameraman.

They made a film together

about the importance of hair
to the way a face looks.

Look.

Christina looked at herself

and tried to understand
how others saw her.

She looked closely

at hair and hairstyles.

Then she discovered
people liked her this way.

She strolls along happily by herself...

when she meets another woman...

bald like herself.

Two's company...

and soon there's a crowd.

Thank you, Christina,
for letting me use excerpts

from your story and your film.

You're unique...

though that's relative.

She tells me she makes documentaries
but must also make a living,

so she's a journalist.

It was my turn to sit on the sofa.

A photograph was taken,
and the interview began.

And another photograph
for a magazine.

Marie organized
the release of my Beaches.

Hostesses handed out goody bags.

I remember the nice meal
at the embassy.

Marie and Fred took me back

and shared their story with me.

I was invited because I'd written
about Bergman's films.

Then we went our separate ways.

We each had our own life,
me in Paris, Marie in Stockholm.

Nearly a year later
I wrote her an e-mail

asking if we might
see each other in Cannes again.

I'd been thinking of her
and wanted to see her again.

Did you change your life
before seeing her?

I started thinking about it,

but the change came later.

That's really it.

It's too strong not to act on, right?

Yeah.

Hopefully they're in seventh heaven.

It's back to the sky for me.

A sky by the painter Canaletto,

the Grand Canal in Venice,
and Vivaldi.

A classic tour:
the Grand Canal and Vivaldi.

I can't resist the desire
to revisit the tourist spots.

In 2003, Hans Ulrich Obrist,

along with Molly Nesbit
and Rirkrit Tiravanija,

created a project
called Utopia Station.

Hans invited me to join other artists.

Each would bring a poster
and a work of art.

It would take a whole film
to tell you about Hans Ulrich,

globetrotter
and contemporary art detector.

I follow him around
and listen to him talk about his projects.

He's codirector
of the Serpentine Gallery in London.

They have temporary pavilions.

This one is by SANAA.

It's a reflection of the world
and its reflections.

It's a source of chaos.

Hans edits, for Agnès b.,

a publication in the form
of small posters, Point d'Ironie.

Parreno and Rirkrit see Hans
as a ventriloquist's dummy.

And I filmed him silent.
How silly of me!

He speaks so well.

I forgot to mention he's Swiss.

Thanks to him,
at the Venice Biennial...

I set up three screens
for the first time.

I'd long dreamed of doing that.

We had to find the right angle

and place the projectors
and speakers.

It took 1,500 pounds of potatoes
to cover the ground

up to the screens.

I didn't have the room
or a wide-angle lens

to film all three screens,

so I filmed them two at a time.

I was thrilled to find myself
among Yoko Ono...

Jonas Mekas...

Laurence Weiner
passing by in the background...

and Christian Boltanski,
long a favorite of mine.

My potato costume didn't go unnoticed.
That was the point.

I'd been to Venice in years past,

a number of times
for the film festival.

Once, with Sandrine Bonnaire

for Vagabond,

I brought back a Golden Lion.

And more recently

for The Beaches of Agnès.

The wonderful team who helped me
make the film was there,

all dressed to the nines.

Once again I arrive via the lagoon.

When you look closely,

things become very beautiful.

A chic bash for the opening
of the former customs house

that François Pinault turned
into a contemporary art museum.

We see Charles Ray's
Boy With Frog.

A boy with frog...
and police protection.

Frédéric Mitterrand,
Minister of Culture,

Olivier d'Arvor,
from Culture France,

and even André
from the club Le Baron.

I make my way
through the thicket of guests

and head for the walls.

A wall with art collectors,
the Lemaîtres...

and what I did with it.

A wall with my friend
Véronique Bérard...

whose portrait I'd shot years earlier.

The French Pavilion is crowded again

for Claude Lévêque...

and his cages for black flags...

or for visitors.

The Arsenal hosts
Haegue Yang's cheeky shadows.

The work is entitled
Pre- and Post-Copulatory Positions.

A drowned man. No one saves him.

This is Death of a Collector
by Elmgreen and Dragset.

We're in the Nordic Pavilion.

And now we're in Japan.

One of Murakami's shattered walls.

Shozo Shimamoto's unstable floor.

In the Spanish Pavilion
there are paintings. At last!

Miquel Barceló — what a pleasure!

Paintings inspired by Mali...

with a very elaborate texture.

I painted upside-down.

I put the canvas on the ceiling
and painted up there

to create a stalactite effect.

So when you look at it,
these spikes jump out at you.

At 20, I painted myself
as a young dog.

Now I paint myself
as a mature gorilla.

As soon as I painted it,
I knew it was me.

This gorilla's not in nature.
He's not in the forest.

He's sitting in my studio.

This is my studio.

These are all paint spots
from other paintings.

Paint spots on the floor.

This is Miquel's studio in Paris.

I made that cardboard gorilla
over there with this.

That albino gorilla.

There's still some cardboard in it.

It was probably the leg of a chair.

Here's another strange scraper.

I make all these things
for scraping.

Each scrapes in its own way.

They plow through the fresh paint.

I've used them a lot.

I can squish the prongs together
or spread them apart.

You can't find these anywhere.
I make them myself.

What for?

- To do this, for example.
- Is that a wave?

A wave that bites.
You can see its teeth.

It's a wave
that became a crocodile skull.

Have you seen real ones?

Yes, Mali has many swamps
full of caimans.

He may be the only painter who knows
all about caimans and termites.

Right now in Africa,
paper and sketchbooks

are being devoured
by termites at my place.

They've eaten enormous
quantities of paper.

- These came from Africa?
- Yes.

- Will you use this?
- Yes.

I don't know how yet.
But it's beautiful.

No human hand
could create anything like this.

It's like the topography
of where I live in Africa.

- You go back often?
- Every year.

My place would be here,
at the edge of the cliff.

This is the Dogon Plateau.

My house is here.

I paint there a lot.

He also paints a lot in Majorca.

I was born here in Felanitx,

near this burned match.

And I live here in Farrutx.

This is where the planes fly in.

I felt a bit trapped there.

When I was 16, I'd have given

my left little toe
to have been born in New York.

Not anymore.

I used to paint lots of tomatoes.

I liked how strange they were.

They're like masks.

They have so many holes
and crannies.

I like these entry points, these holes.

Like pathways
to the center of the earth,

each of these tomatoes.

They're almost like flowers.

This is like a river between them,

with bell peppers or kakis
or something.

In summer of 2010,

Barceló shows his work in Avignon.

An elephant standing on its trunk
announces the exhibition.

In Avignon,
the show is in three places.

We needed a totem.

I wanted to make something
with the morphology of a tree,

so it would blend into the town

and its trees.

Across the square,
is the Petit Palais Museum.

I like its collection.

Jacob's Ladder by Nicolas Dipre.

I found a recumbent statue,
decapitated during the Revolution.

This head fit it perfectly.

It was wonderful. It was its mask.

So I gave the poor soul a new face.

But it's a fish face!

Sure, but it's a face.
A nice face.

Barceló is also
at the Avignon Foundation

of his gallery owner Yvon Lambert.

I paint portraits of fish

like one would paint family portraits.

I know the morphology of fish.
I've fished since I was born.

Clay is a form of paint.
I love it. It's like flesh.

It remembers a caress,
a punch, or a scratch.

He and choreographer Josef Nadj
created a performance piece...

Paso Doble.

Paso Doble is a staging

of my lexicon in clay painting.

Nadj is a dancer.
He talked me into doing it myself.

I said,
"I'll do it if you'll do it with me."