Although in the ecstatic touch of bodies the sensation of where one’s own limbs begin and where the forms of one’s partner end is lost, in cinema a mostly male gaze has established itself, which almost clinically separates what has actually become indistinguishable. You need to see who is where, because this is supposedly how desires and social conditions are communicated. Bodies are cut up cinematically and divided into more or less erotic body parts. Daniela Gutmann unhinges this deadlocked and questionable logic – and in this way, she senses the genuine fluidity of the erotic act. Her approach is impressionistic in the best sense of the word. She pursues a moving cinema of collective experience, where nothing can be separated anymore. The three protagonists throw themselves into each other with the Super 8 camera. It is unclear who is holding the camera and who is being filmed, and you quickly realize that it doesn’t much matter. It’s not about the gaze, it’s about a shared experience and exploration. What is exciting about touch, namely not the gesture itself, but the feeling of skin and friction, is captured here on film. A harmonious, liberated image of sexuality emerges from the hips, breasts, thighs and arms, sometimes blurred, sometimes glistening with liquid running over the skin, and the exciting forms that open up between them. This is what making love with, in front of, and behind the camera could look like. What’s more, the camera and its image begin to dissolve with the bodies and merge into abstract forms that inspire imaginations. It’s a bit like staring into a lava lamp and suddenly realizing that you yourself are the lava. (Patrick Holzapfel)
Official Selection:
2023 Edinburgh IFF
2023 London Fringe
