Where and when does Paradiso, XXXI, 108 take place?
Paradiso, XXXI, 108 is taking place in Al-Naqab desert, in the south of Palestine.

From which material did you get the military pictures? Did you do editing?
The material is coming from films commissioned by the Israeli Army. They were didactic, educational propaganda films, where basically being in the army meant to look very entertaining and full of learning. The whole concept of the film is in the editing, which allowed me to subvert the material by changing the order of scenes and actions, by exasperating the iteration of mechanical activities through which these war games are questioned and seem senseless. But in some scenes the editing was kept as it is because it served the idea of the film. Also the narration in Hebrew was taken from the original material and, despite the fact that it is fictitious, it is a document that testifies to a certain state of mind.

What did you have in mind when making the soundtrack of the film?
First I was interested in the mechanical aspect of human beings, and, more specifically, of an apparatus of destruction, the army. The sound gives you the feeling of that and builds up the tension. Like the “Danse Macabre”, which is a music that already talks and reflects on human nature, as its title reveals. In a way this is what we see. While I used Haendel’s “Sarabande” for delivering a kind of melancholy for all that is going wrong with humanity, which always pays the price for being at war and creating systems that are enforcing destruction. Surely this film is showing a specific place and a specific case, but I think it is a reflection on humanity itself and on its failure. Then there are some parts in the film where we are using Suleiman Gamil’s music (“Pharaoh Funeral Process”, “Isis Looks for Osiris”) that in a certain way is the sound of this landscape. The sound of the flute is coming again and again, like the wind, it is almost what this landscape is telling: you cannot defeat me. This area of Palestine has been very affected both by using a large part of it as army bases for exercises and by creating settlements and, by doing so, changing the nature of the place. Where there is desert, in many places in the world, it has been used to exercise, to test bombs and finally destroy the landscape itself. In the material we never see the people: the enemy is always supposedly hiding behind the hills, or between ruins, but we never see it. Nevertheless the soldiers continue bombing and maneuvering and attacking again and again with their power forces. This whole thing that the enemy is not to be seen is also quite symbolic: it’s the way the Palestinians, are perceived in many aspects of their life, as non-existing and temporary. Yet the “state” is set to look for them, in a way the material testify for this ideology, they are there and not there. They are not being recognized as human beings and the army attempts at the same time to fight them, which is in itself very contradictory and prone to failure.

Is there a sequel to Paradiso, XXXI, 108? Do you have further projects dealing with this issue?
The film was born out of another project we are still editing called A Fidai Film, and in that sense what we see in Paradiso, XXXI, 108 is just one aspect of a work of sabotage that I do to archival materials. A Fidai Film deals with the looting of archives, of a culture, of an entire country, and which is still going on. The film is a visual treatment of all of this. Working with archives allows me to study images and find patterns. In A Fidai Film there are a couple of sequences where we see exercises of the army from different times, and where they attack ruins, empty of humans. There is something very strange about using old and ancient structures to exercise an occupation. Making it in some ways symbolic for the whole story of Palestine, and not only in modern times.

What’s your favourite short?
I would say Homage by Assassination by Elia Suleiman (1992). To me it is one of the best short films of all time. It is his first movie he made in New York.

What does the Festival mean to you?
I have always heard about this festival and I am very happy that my film was selected in your program. What I really love about the Clermont-Ferrand short film festival is the idea of having a place that focuses on and supports short films, which to me manage to deliver the most experimental ideas in cinema. This is both because of their length, which most of the time makes them the most difficult to produce and support, but also gives them the freedom to be independent.

Paradiso, XXXI, 108 is being shown as part of the Lab Competition L2. 

How did you get the inspiration for Pentola?
Although Pentola may seem like a pretty silly film (and it certainly is!), it stems from a very personal story. A few years ago I totally fell in love with a man, and found myself facing for the first time a thousand problems, questions and doubts that I had never faced before. In the same period, I was also obsessed with the idea of loser superheroes with useless superpowers, I don’t know why but they amused me so much. If we consider everything we don’t expect to be able to do in everyday life to be a superpower, then it means that each one of us can be a superhero in our own way. At that time I also discovered “Superman”, a song by Giovanni Truppi about how a man cheats on his girlfriend with Superman. I really wanted to tackle this theme with an ironic and light tone. Then all the ideas crossed in a very natural way and gave shape to my little Pentola.

Which animation technique(s) have you used?
Pentola is made entirely in 2D computer animation. However, I wanted to give it a very analogue and handcraft effect to make the story a little more intimate and personal.

How much are you interested in the different forms of love? Do you have further projects on this topic?
Maybe I am a bit stupid and cheesy but I think love is a wonderful thing that is always worth talking about. As long as it moves me, I think I will continue to do so.  After all, we are all just looking for something to warm us up a bit. This is what my next project will be about.

Is Pentola more about getting out of conformism or about feeling empowered and heartened by love?
I think this goes hand in hand in the film. To get out of a standardised and stagnant situation, Pentola needs the push and courage that love can give you to get out of it.

What’s your favourite short?
Hehe, I have no idea! The first one that comes to mind is Manivald by Chintis Lundgren, which blows my mind.

What does the Festival mean to you?
I am definitely super happy to be selected in this Festival edition because of the prestige it brings, of course. But at the same time I am genuinely happy for every initiative that gives space to the short film form, which is still undervalued in the world of cinema. Thank you!

Pentola is being shown as part of the Lab Competition L2.

What has inspired you for Train Again?
I found that wonderful footage of trains leaving a tunnel and approaching the camera – another time something highly reminiscent of the Brothers Lumière film Arrival of a Train at La Ciotat Station, which already had inspired my film L’Arrivée in 1997. From here it was a little step to the title Train Again – which was too similar to Kurt Kren’s 37/78 Tree Again not to dedicate the whole film to the memory of Kurt, who passed away in 1998.

How did you collect the pictures? Did you already have in mind your different sequences or did you build the sequences up afterwards, from the collected material?
I spent three Autumns, Winters and Springs in the darkroom creating that film, and during that time it grew, step by step – or if you want: station by station. It behaved like a living being, like a tree slowly growing.

Are you interested in transportation in general? Rail enthusiast? Do you have further films in mind on this theme?
No, I’m not and no further train films planned as of now.

How much did you want to construct Train Again as a travel itself? Did you give a name to the destination?
Yes, it was meant to create sensations similar to what you experience during a train ride when you look out of the window. But instead of a landscape rolling by you see bits and pieces from film history, and slowly but surely you see the complete breakdown of analog filmic representation. So the name of the destination would be “Terminal station for analog film”.

Is there any particular short film that made a special impression on you?
Yes. All the films of Pat O’Neill, especially Runs Good and Easyout. And there are several classics of the early avant-garde, the early French avant-garde in particular, like Fernand Léger’s Ballet mécanique, which I quote in Train Again, or the films by Man Ray, like Le Retour à la raison and Emak Bakia, again both quoted in Train Again.

What’s your definition of a good film?
A good film is many things at the same time, it is many layered, so to speak: It is intelligently constructed, and simultaneously highly entertaining, and hopefully with a lot of humor, too. And it should make intelligent use of the big screen, which means create an experience which can only be achieved in a cinema, and not at home on your tv-set, or on a monitor in a museum. The subcutaneous message of a good film is: We need to keep cinema alive.

Train Again is being shown as part of Lab Competition L2.