Original subtitles

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 last episode...

we have Los Angeles, the painter Van der Weyden,

Avignon on the Rhone, then Mexico,

then back to Paris for skulls and vanitas.

Off we go. It'll be quite a trip.

Long hours in the air.

I really enjoy this time out of time.

I'm going to Los Angeles for a short stay.

First, I see the Pacific Ocean again...

some palm trees, Venice...

the piers...

and Santa Monica...

where my friends Patricia Knop and Zalman King live.

This is their garden.

He's a producer and director.

She's a screenwriter and former sculptress.

When she was young,

she wanted to make reality larger than life.

She used her family as models.

First, her lover Zalman.

Later her daughters and close friends.

Her parents too.

Patricia's sculpture of herself

reigns over this museum-house.

She has also collected angels of all sizes.

Birds and cats live here together peacefully.

She brings the smallest angels out for air.

She tries out some backdrops

in the form of paintings she buys at yard sales.

Patricia likes naive art.

Her daughter Chloe does too.

Armistead makes his own frames.

Another "naive" artist,

a hero of outsider art, built towers in Watts.

He was a bricklayer of Italian origin...

Simon Rodia.

The towers have been restored and fenced in.

You pay to visit them.

Forty years ago,

I remember stepping over railroad tracks to see them.

People were camped out below.

Rodia built these monuments on evenings and Sundays.

He reminds me of the postman Ferdinand Cheval,

who built his Ideal Palace with stones gathered in a wheelbarrow

on his way home from his mail route.

There's something else to see in Watts.

Past houses and housing projects,

we reach Nickerson Gardens.

These walls stand in memory of the local dead,

victims of gang warfare.

In the late 1970s in East L.A.,

I filmed murals painted for the dead of rival gangs.

Gang members were called "homeboys."

They'd paint the memorials themselves.

Here in Watts it's very different. They write.

We see only the names of those killed.

A terrible list of names and nicknames.

A monument of names.

Back to Venice, where Jim Morrison lived.

He too is gone...

but not forgotten.

There he is. Jim. Unforgettable.

Back to the palm trees...

Venice Pier, my base...

and the surrounding beaches.

In particular, a balcony where I lived for two years.

I set up a blue screen, which can receive any image.

As an echo... or a memory.

My son Mathieu and Sabine in a film.

I used the same technique on the big beach in Sète

to create a complex image with mirrors and variations.

From rowboat to plane,

from sea foam to clouds,

from sky to earth,

and from train to car to go view some paintings.

We're heading to Frankfurt, Germany...

to see an exposition of two 15th-century painters...

Rogier de la Pasture, known as Van der Weyden,

and the Master of Flemalle, also known as Robert Campin,

though experts still argue

over who painted what.

Van der Weyden's work touches me most deeply.

First, the Annunciations. This one is at the Louvre.

The Annunciation...

a major theme in sacred history and painting...

and a subtle and discreet look at male-female relationships.

The usual details are all here.

A bouquet of lilies on the floor.

The Angel's robe, his wings, his gestures.

The book the Virgin holds...

and her expression, sometimes serene, sometimes astonished.

Each painter invented variations

and degrees of distance or complicity

between the Angel and the Virgin.

From my mother I inherited a great curiosity

about this encounter between the Angel and Mary

as told by the painters.

She collected postcards, and I continued the tradition.

The Angel almost always enters from the left...

smiling, discreet, shy, respectful.

Or he arrives in mystical fashion from above.

Or he bursts in, surprising the Virgin.

The rare entrances from the right inspired master painters.

Philippe de Champaigne, Rubens...

Nicolas Poussin...

and Lorenzo Lotto...

with this unique Annunciation.

Unique because the Angel frightens the cat,

but nothing scares this Virgin.

Jan de Beer also placed a cat in this mystical scene.

But his cat is calm.

Back to Rogier Van der Weyden.

An annunciation on the Beaune Altarpiece...

The Last Judgment.

The Archangel Michael weighs the souls of the dead.

For some it's a heavy trial. They will suffer in hell.

The saved are resurrected...

and praise the Lord.

This same gesture expresses pain

for this Mary shedding tears for Christ.

From crucifixion to deposition,

Van der Weyden conveys sorrow.

Sorrow that goes beyond sacred history.

Human sorrow.

In France, on a street in Provence, a pietà.

Christ's body is arched, as in the famous Avignon Pietà,

now in the Louvre.

This painting by Enguerrand Quarton

was originally at the charterhouse in Villeneuve-lès-Avignon...

as was his Coronation of the Virgin.

His representation of holy Jerusalem

bears a strong resemblance to Avignon's ramparts.

From the Rhône we see Villeneuve on one side...

Avignon on the other.

I'll never forget the first theater festivals here...

dazzling evenings at the Palais des Papes,

Jean Vilar's innovative work.

I can't help but remember.

On the famous Pont d'Avignon, people still dance in circles...

as does the merry-go-round outside the Opera Theater...

where Le Chanteur de Mexico is playing.

My daughter Rosalie did the costumes

and Christophe Vallaux designed the sets.

Mathieu Abelli sings the title role.

Jump cut: I'm in Mexico City,

a complex megalopolis.

Altitude and pollution. But I feel only curiosity.

I head first to a market...

the best spot to see people, life,

browsers, buyers.

I like this crowd.

There's movement and color...

and suddenly a face.

Some of my films are being presented. That's why I'm here.

I tell them I feel loved and at home in all the world's cinematheques.

I say it modestly, with pleasure.

They spoil me. They've lent me a car...

a driver, Tito...

and an interpreter, Jorge.

I'm in a beautiful hotel, decorated with antiques.

Here are Jorge and my assistant Elodie.

It's Saturday. There's a lovely wedding.

They made a mistake.

They gave Elodie a bridal bath suite.

She shows it to me.

I ask her to pose. She agrees.

Meanwhile, Jorge tickles the keys of the bar piano.

I film the breakfast buffet.

This abundance is quite scandalous.

There are thousands of unemployed and poor in Mexico.

On the streets we see people scraping by...

doing what they can.

There's also the Guadalajara Film Festival.

Now that I'm old...

everyone tends to give me awards and trophies.

I'm also invited to speak at universities.

A discussion about documentaries

led by filmmaker Juan Carlos Rulfo.

In any case...

you need film, you need video...

you need equipment.

Then we dine on the hill and continue talking cinema

with the festival staff.

Though some say it's better to die than miss the Morelia Film Festival.

Like filmmaker Carlos Reygadas...

who's been causing a sensation at Cannes since 2005.

We're on our way to see him in his village of Ocotitlán.

In the distance is Popocatepetl Volcano.

They say flying saucers land there.

I'm actually a lawyer.

I studied military justice, the right to use force

and engage in armed conflict.

I worked for the European Commission in Belgium,

then for the Mexican Foreign Service,

doing preparatory work for the International Criminal Court.

The Brussels film museum is a great place.

I'd go see two films a day.

I liked my work, but I didn't like the lifestyle it imposes.

Cinema was kind of an excuse to change my life.

At a certain point, especially when I wanted kids,

I decided to come home to Mexico.

Mexico is a wonderful place to raise children.

Your film Japón really hit me hard.

It's a film about despair and solitude.

The man's solitude, and the old woman's.

She tells us so much about being old.

She really made an impression on me.

What made you choose such a dark subject for your first film?

There's a man who wants to die.

He's in a situation where he wants to kill himself,

commit suicide.

For him it's a clear, active, considered, rational choice.

Why live?

I think that question, which I've been asking myself --

or used to ask myself --

ever since I was very young,

inspired the film.

You dared to film one of the most extraordinary love scenes in film.

How did it come about? Was it meant to happen?

Was it written that way?

What I'd like is to have intercourse with you.

It's more complicated than that, but that's basically it.

I'd like to if you'd like to.

- You mean casual sex? - Excuse me?

You tell me.

I mean... sexual relations.

It's important for me right now.

But don't you see I'm very old?

It doesn't matter.

We needed a woman for the role. We found her in the village.

We were lucky to find Magdalena. She's amazing.

Of course I explained it all to her before filming.

I knew she was modest and that it would be hard for her,

but she'd also promised me she'd do it.

I told the man...

"You just tell her to do like this,

to assume the position,

and you take it from there."

And I told the woman, "Do what he asks you to."

Here is Reygadas with his wife Natalia

and their children, Elazar and Ruth.

Tell Agnes your name.

I'm a father.

Mainly. Though I do love to make films.

But I do other things too.

Such as?

I'm building a house at the moment.

And I play soccer.

With a team? We saw a field.

Yes, here in the village.

What's the team called?

Ocotitlán, the name of this place.

Do you play other villages?

Sure, the whole region.

What position do you play?

I'm the center midfielder.

That's great.

On the way back to Mexico City,

I'm still thinking about Reygadas.

Traffic is always heavy.

We're going to Frida Kahlo's house.

I always enjoy coming here.

It's a festival of color.

Frida lived here with the famous painter Diego Rivera.

She herself was a great and remarkable artist too.

In this museum we see Frida's personal things,

her collections, her bedspread, her pillows.

There are several paintings too,

but you can't film or take pictures of them.

Far from the museum,

the world of Frida's paintings is a violent one.

It reflects her tormented health and her wounds of every kind.

It's both realistic and imaginary.

Frida is loved for her paintings and through her paintings.

She's wholly present there.

The blue in her courtyard

came long after the indigo blue of the Tuareg...

and before Yves Klein's copyrighted blue.

Here it illuminates the portrait I took of Alfredo.

Off we go, Alfredo at the wheel.

"God's love is wonderful," they sing.

The flea market has everything -- like everywhere.

Local things too.

I find a bird and a cat in a style I like.

Shall I wrap them up?

Twenty years earlier...

I'd brought home these animals,

a specialty of the village of Tonalá.

I'd like to see the craftsmen again.

Off we go, Alfredo at the wheel.

There are shops and workshops,

but nothing resembles what I'm looking for.

In the only place with animals, I inquire.

"Now it's shiny enamel.

Quicker to make," says the saleswoman.

She proudly sells plates

with traditional bird motifs.

Tonalá thanks us for visiting.

TONALÁ THANKS YOU FOR VISITING

We're off to see an unusual factory:

Jumex. Mexican juices.

It's known for its collection of contemporary art.

Michel Blancsube welcomes us.

A fruit juice company. Quite well-known.

Eugenio López Alonso collects contemporary art.

He's the only son of Jumex's owner and founder.

I came here in February 2001 to install a work

that Eugenio López Alonso had bought:

the oval billiard table by Gabriel Orozco.

Gabriel Orozco recently had an exposition at the Pompidou.

His skinny car was there --

the one that made him famous --

and many other pieces.

Feels like Mexico.

To install the billiard table,

bringing over a French guy from the Marseille museum was cheaper

than bringing over the two English guys who built it.

So the Mexican collector...

opted for the French guy.

I came here for a six-month trial.

I've been here almost nine years.

The gallery entrance is down this old factory alley.

In 2006, he had the good idea

of letting me curate exhibitions culled from his collection.

I'm eager to see the collection, but the timing's bad.

They're in between exhibitions.

I'm disappointed at spending 90 minutes in heavy traffic

just to see crates!

I can show you some two-dimensional works.

A photo by Santiago Sierra.

He paid a guy to spend 360 hours squeezed in there.

He says that with money you can get anyone to do anything.

I think that kind of provocation has its limits.

Ah, a Boltanski!

From the 1980s, one of his famous Monuments.

Beautiful!

We just filmed him at length at his expo at the Grand Palais.

I think I read these were photos he hadn't used,

so he cut them up and recycled them

in his Monuments.

Here are two elements from a Matthew Barney triptych

to be shown in a museum you may know of: Schaulager.

Yes, in fact at the Schaulager,

I saw a Matthew Barney exposition. I didn't film anything...

but I photographed a large piece by Barney...

a small Cranach near a dirt pile...

and Matthew himself.

Back to Mexico City.

Murals. Graffiti artists.

From reflections in the street...

to the optical effects of Olafur Eliasson.

We're in the new university museum...

the MUAC.

There's a lot to see,

because Mexican collectors show their acquisitions here.

Rafael Sámano, museum coordinator, explains.

I recognize him from the front row of the cinematheque every night.

Here he is with Dan Graham's one-way mirrors.

How does it work? Can we see you from the other side?

No, it's a mirror.

But how does it reflect on the other side?

- There's a birefractive film. - Exactly.

There's a mirror that's like a Gesell dome

used in police interrogations.

From police to army is just a few steps.

A large piece by Thomas Hirschhorn.

He took globes and daubed on military camouflage.

Above them, he placed photos of soldiers wounded in Iraq.

A form invented for this terrible reality.

Nearby, a wall of greenery and fluorescent lights

by Anglo-Mexican artist Melanie Smith.

Her children are here.

She posed for me too.

This woman too is an artist in her own way:

Rosario, the woman in pink.

She looks like she's dressed for the stage.

Actually, starting at dawn,

she cleans the entrance to the Tlalpan market.

I admire her striving for elegance and her courtesy to passersby

and to those who buy her homemade flans

and her knitted booties.

I knit booties.

How much are they?

85 and 120.

It's a local market. Everyone knows everyone.

They're playing Brisca.

The club cards look like chilies.

I follow the chilies till I reach a woman

who makes the best mole in Mexico, according to Paula Verde.

They say this is the best mole in town.

Of course it's the best.

You believe it?

Of course I believe it.

People come from all over to buy it at your store.

You know that? - Yes.

Mole powder...

to be added to chicken broth,

is made with 15 ingredients,

including a small chili pepper called piquín.

What's that?

Piquín chili.

It has mulato, ancho, and pasilla chilies...

almonds, raisins, peanuts, sesame seeds...

plantains...

onions...

pumpkin seeds...

bread crumbs...

pepper, cumin, cinnamon...

and chocolate.

- You make it yourself? - Yes, at home.

How do you say "recipe"? Is it your recipe?

Yes. My grandmother's recipe, my mother's, the whole family's.

It's a tradition.

The Popular Art Museum is a delight.

A tree of life. Naive art.

Not everything is bucolic.

Here's a demon rapist

with an avenging Virtue.

The theme of death inspires everyone's imagination.

Little skeletons are everywhere:

as railway workers, road workers, and cangaceiros.

In the shop, you can buy skulls.

There's a wide selection.

And skeleton dolls in local dress.

I brought back some dry skeletons

for my courtyard in winter.

And a little traveling fold-up bar.

Mexicans create objects and make jokes to tame death.

Back home the approach is different...

less playful.

Woman and death...

flesh and bone.

Recurring themes...

as seen by the old school...

or by Marina Abramović.

These works were at the Fondation Pierre Berge-Yves Saint Laurent.

At the Maillol Museum, the same subject,

as depicted from first-century Pompeii onward.

Vanitas vanitatum, omnia vanitas...

All is vanity.

The Latin inscription is clear:

"After man come the worms,

after the worms comes the stench."

Cezanne took a classic approach.

Daniel Spoerri chose distance and humor

by combining a kitschy lion tapestry and a real skeleton.

The hunter, no doubt.

A little lounge coffin with feet made of skulls.

The moon we're walking on here...

is Miquel Barceló's skull.

Annette Messager provided commentary on her own skull.

They're black or dark-brown gloves.

In the gloves I've inserted

colored pencils like fingernails.

They're sharp and pointed,

like long fingernails sticking out.

I assembled them to form a large head.

A skull.

Niki de Saint Phalle's skull doesn't seem deadly to me.

She brings in lace and a heart.

I immediately associate her skull

with her Nanas, so full of heart and curves.

This beautiful sprawling "nana" by Aristide Maillol

takes on its full meaning here.

Chance brought these skulls -- including this one by Yan Pei-Ming --

and disincarnate visions of humanity to the Maillol Museum.

Maillol himself celebrated life by sculpting in stone

the flesh of women's bodies.