British auteur Terence Davies has recently provided the trailer for the 59th edition of the Viennale, which is celebrating his life and work. In the form of a short film called But Why?
Davies’ is one of my favourites in British Film with Jean Luc-Goddard praising him as one of few good British filmmakers (although I disagree with this sentiment as Davies’ is one of many excellent British filmmakers).
However, I am deeply interested in this specific piece of content, less than two minutes long and more a poem with some visual elements than a narrative film, I believe its worth some analysis.
I accend the stairs, I descend the stairs
But Why? All is still. Still as Glass
Was there once a purpose, Was there once a Goal
Did I love a mum and did I love a soul?
Family Yes! Mother Always
Fires in the parlours, reflected in the polished wood
Sighs at Midnight, her apron, her soft warm hands
All the ephemeral of love
She stands there ironing my small shirt, then Hankies too
But all is gone now, buried under memories’ thick silk
I ascend the stairs, I descend the stairs
BUT WHY?
It is a beautiful poem, which is unsurprising by the poetic nature of Davies’ previous work and he has a voice in narration as proven by Of time and the City 2008. However the content of the poem is very interesting. Essentially an ode to his mother as the camera shows a man viewing what appears to be his childhood home. These are recurring themes in his past work, often exploring his memories and childhood experiences, but matriarchal characters are always lionised in his work, demonstrated as caring, perfect women.
His original trilogy of films share the story of a man who lives with his mother into adulthood and is left alone when she passes away and I wonder if this poem might be a retelling of this story, a man sharing his fond memories of his mother only to painfully reflect on how much he misses them. The interesting area is the way it deals with memory as scenes of the home fade in and out and he refers to “Memories Thick Silk”. Like the visual of the stairs and the aging of the protagonist. It is fascinating how he turns something as mundane as walking up and down stairs into an existential motif.
What I find really touching about the poem however is the benign things he remembers about his mother. There is no big gesture or memory of a specific good deed she completed, instead it is the little things he loves about her. How she kept the house warm, late night sighs and her hands. This really hits home the truthfulness of the work. That makes the audience remember the loved ones that are important to them.
T H E N A I V E F I L M M A K E R 