It’s hard to imagine that a documentary about concrete could ever make it past a pitch. Yet director Victor Kossakovsky has managed the impossible in an innovative, if languid, manner.
★★★☆☆
In the tradition of his elemental profile Aquarela (2018), Kossakovsky uses concrete in his documentary Architecton as the seed for a wider discussion on the fragility of creation, environmental existentialism and the erosion of beauty in craftsmanship. You might want to swap out the popcorn for a cheese board and wine pairing, as this film grapples with monolithic themes made for the philosophic viewer. It’s slightly tough to chew on, but the ambition to experiment with the documentary genre, usually bound by tried and tested formulas, is enough to elevate this meditation above its heady conceit.
Concrete is not the sexiest concept on first impression, yet Architecton is an optically engrossing film. Gobsmacking slow-mo, 4k, close ups of cascading pebbles, torn-out buildings and land corrupted by industry make up the bulk of the documentary. Independent from narration or narrative, Architecton is heavy on the geologist porn as a means to summon the majesty of mountains, quarries and stone in general.
It isn’t all scopophilic feasting, however, as Kossakovsky also introduces architect Michele de Lucchi working in his misty garden. He directs two labourers to construct a stone circle on his lawn, a threshold which, once completed, may never be broken. All the while, mangled buildings from war-torn countries, presented in ethereal drone footage in the film’s opening, brood beneath Lucchi’s experiment and the splendid footage on offer.
This drone cinematography works as a statement of intent. Kossakovsky relishes in the slowness of the drone, which creeps in and out of the cavities of apartment blocks, not a ticking watch in sight. It is languid but purposeful, forcing the viewer to observe every granule of concrete and dust on screen. It is here and in Lucchi’s experiment where Kossakovsky ponders most clearly, namely about the rapid destruction instigated by construction. Concrete, for him and Lucchi, spelled the death of beauty and permanence in architecture. Brutalism fans will be displeased.
Yet the film is most meditative in its extravagant landslide footage. This is Guy Ritchie-style slow-mo, an unapologetic spectacle where the high-frame rate splintering of a pebble induces a stoner lucidity, shattering, intended to crack viewer’s minds like the falling stones. All the natural footage, mostly of this type, is breathtaking—Kossakovsky and cinematographer Ben Bernhard have achieved a technical miracle. Yet the shiny perfection of a screensaver comes to mind, suppressing intended throes of reverence with the familiar frustration of waiting for an update to download.
However, taking steps back from the trite viewing experience reminds that Architecton is a marvel in its field. The documentary genre is rarely allowed to experiment, instead chained to a post of purpose. Meant to educate, entertain or maybe shock, documentary is typically structurally limited to keep it within the bounds of reality. To produce something closer to a thought exercise as Kossakovsky does is radical, even if the end result doesn’t quite pay off.
The Verdict
Dense themes about impermanence, time and nature in Architecton get lost in the palpable sense of awe Kossakovsky wrings out of the viewer. Feeling impressed if slightly indifferent by the film’s end, then, is expected. But as an entry in a genre thought of as dry, confined to facts and BBC Four, Architecton stands as a monolithic experiment, probing questions about the rigidity of genre rather than construction.
Words by Barney Nuttall
Architecton is in UK cinemas now.
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