J

Deep into the forest, a man lives alone in a small white house. Maybe he is a fake recluse, because his unkempt beard is the only hermit thing about him. Through this habits and his work as a cartographer, despite himself, he seems to call forth the presence of a world that would open and complete his own. Gaetano Liberti films this appearance through a simple focal length change. As a sweet and silent presence, she appears, sitting right behind our man, as if she had been there all along. Her eyes are already playing. J could be the story of a blast of air through the branches, and could be proof that the sun had never disappeared. It is also a matter of viewpoint: what’s the right distance to look at those fragments of life that alone justify all the days that have passed? Solitude is a fragile rhythm; once that rhythm is disturbed, connections come loose, new ones are forged and time unveils its depths. No sooner has the calm of birch trees filmed in black and white spread than a pool ball followed by a twirling camera catches our eyes. In the middle of the night, the contrasting blue of a submarine simulator shows up unexpectedly: other abstract spaces, possibly empty, yet fascinating to our character. In Gaetano Liberti’s first film, the whole world shivers when two people get close. The shock wave spreads out, willingly disclosing grey, disappointing areas. When values cancel each other out, looks are forgotten, J takes on a new, unconscious rhythm: it is the only way we can write our inner maps. (VP)