INTERVIEW: Patrice Leconte

In a career that has taken him from the heights of French cinema to the honors of the Academy Awards, director Patrice Leconte has always followed his own remarkable muse. For his most personal film yet, Dogora (now out on DVD), Leconte now travels to Cambodia to create a sound and image symphony of a land and its people. From the city streets to rural villages, from factories to farmlands and beyond, discover the men, women and children of this ever-surprising Southeast Asia nation at work, play and peace, all moving at the speed of life.--Aaron Hillis

When was your first trip to Cambodia, what did you discover, and why were you inspired to film your discoveries?

Patrice Leconte: The true source of Dogora was French composer Étienne Perruchon's music. I knew his suite for orchestra and choirs. He had sent it to me to introduce me to his work. When he saw how enthusiastic I was, he just gave it to me: 'Take it,' he said. 'I hope one day this Dogora will be an inspiration for a film.' And I kept that in mind. A few months later, I went to Cambodia to visit my brother, who was working there then. No other country ever moved me as much as Cambodia. All of a sudden, Perruchon's music resurfaced, and I decided to make a film through which I would express those emotions, with just images and sound. I had the guts to make Dogora thanks to Godfrey Reggio's films (Powaqqatsi and Koyaanisqatsi), built upon Philip Glass's splendid scores, and which I had liked so much.

Since there is no distinct narrative, what was your shooting philosophy in terms of both content and technique?

PL: Throughout this first stay in Cambodia, I constantly thought about this project, always looking around and conceiving some particular sequences, in relation to the differents movements of the score (the bicycle and scooter waltz, the junkyard, the carwash station, the girls on their bicycles, the hevea forest, etc.). A sequence for each movement. When I came back a year later, I knew which pictures would go with which movement. But this didn't prevent me from paying attention to everything, from being available and open to the unexpected. Technically, it was pretty simple: the crew was a four-person crew, including myself. I myself was behind the (HD) camera, and we'd travel in a minibus. I wanted to be completely free.

I read Perruchon's score was recorded first. Surprisingly, it's not Eastern-based. What did you ask of Perruchon, and could you discuss the juxtaposition between the music to the footage you shot?

PL: When I came back from the first trip and let Etienne Perruchon know about my project, he found it peculiar and weird, but he trusted me. His music, you are right, has no Eastern basis. How fortunate! If I had used Cambodian tunes for the film, it would have been horribly redundant. Dogora would have been just another documentary. The first version of Etienne's score (35 minutes) was too short. I asked him to write some additional themes (and he was very pleased to do so), but I made it clear his inspiration should not be Orient-ed.

What fascinates me about the editing is that, like in music, there are movements. And specifically, movement: one sequence groups together people driving on scooters, and another depicts bicycle riders. What led to this grouping/rhyming method, and how did you approach the editing so that a feature-length film with no dialogue wouldn't feel monotonous?

PL: As each musical movement is escorted by a "family" of images, with distinct subjects, distinct moods, ambiances, places, the risk of becoming repetitive, i.e. monotonous was fairly limited.

Dogora has been compared to other non-verbal films like Koyaanisqatsi (concerning man, nature and technology) and Baraka (about religion and spirituality). Your film, however, seems more about a sight-and-sound experience then any specific thesis. Is that a fair interpretation?

PL: I discovered Reggio's films when they were released in France, a long time ago. They were more important for me than Baraka¸ which I find less impressive. With Dogora, beyond the formal 'sight and sound' experience, my intention was not to pass on a message (this could have turned the film into a pretentious, moralizing or didactic piece), but just to share human emotions, to make people look at things in a better and different way, realize how lucky they are, we are, in the Western world, living the life we live. That's the reason why I dedicated Dogora to Lucie, my first granddaughter, who was born while we were editing the film (she is now six years old), hoping that one day, when she is older, she will want to watch Dogora. She will then realize that, on the same planet, some men, women and especially children live without being as lucky as she is. I just want her to know.

It's great that the film is being rediscovered as it was originally met with mixed critical reception. In your opinion, why do you think that was?

PL: People like to pigeonhole directors. I should have used a pseudonym, as nobody understood why a guy like me could make a film like that. As if I didn't have the right to do such a film. As if I had crossed some red line. Critics only gave my film lip service; they judged it with clumsy prejudices; they found suspect intentions. But six years later, Dogora lives on, and continues to do the rounds and create magnificent emotions. Maybe, of all my films, it's the one with the longest lifespan. Or the most constant one.

Speaking of unlike films, your oeuvre is incredibly diverse. Are there any new genres or styles you haven't yet explored in your career that you'd still like to? (Please, surprise us!)

PL: I am no longer a young man. I hope I can still shoot a few films. Among which a musical. But there is a rub: you should not copy or remake what has already been done in that genre — you should come up with something personal. I am working on it. I am working my way around it. Slowly. But I'll do it!

I'd like to add this: Dogora was the joint work of three people, Etienne Perruchon of course, myself and Joëlle Hache, who is a fabulous editor, and whose talent I have used for almost all my films. Without her, Dogora would be nothing. I wish I had been allowed to put our three names on the same line in the credits.



Posted by ahillis at May 18, 2010 10:03 AM