Cities are places of man-made structures. The attractions they have often lead us to perceiving them as beautiful, which they may not be. But when a city does not have picturesque features, how can it be described in a way that conveys the beauty that it does have, which may be unconventional or indefinable? That’s the tricky part.
In 1963, Joris Ivens produced a short documentary film about the city of Valparaiso in Chile, called …à Valparaiso (meaning, to Valparaiso). It has no dialogue, just narration. The screenplay for the narration, originally in French, was written by Chris Marker (born Christian-François Bouche-Villeneuve). It is part description, part prose poem. When I looked closer at it, I realized that many of the lines rhyme. And it flows along the haunting, abstract score by Gustavo Becerra.
All I know, is that listening to his words made me want to go there. I found it so intriguing that I looked up the screenplay’s text. Reading it, I felt the same strange nostalgia that I felt when I’ve watched the film.
…à Valparaiso
à Valparaiso
“On top, a cluster of villages, one per hill… 42 hills, 42 villages. Another world. Two worlds linked by ramps, stairways, funiculars. What we mispronounce as Valparaiso is Val Para – Iso, the Vale of Paradise. Paradise for the sailors who named it, or the last stop before it. The sun works wonders every noon. The women parade in full sail. Bridges end in the sky. All the houses are triangular. Stairs stop halfway… you either climb or fly. Poverty isn’t itself in the sun, nor are funiculars. This is the city’s lie. Its lie is the sun, its truth the sea.”
— Chris Marker
Did you notice, the way he starts, and comes back to, the imagery of the sea? The entire screenplay is like that. It’s about the sea, and about the sun, that are tied together in the city by the staircases and funiculars. What an oddly beautiful piece of writing to discover in, of all places, a documentary.
SEVEN CIRCUMSTANCES 
Cities are places of man-made structures. The attractions they have often lead us to perceiving them as beautiful, which they may not be. But when a city does not have picturesque features, how can it be described in a way that conveys the beauty that it does have, which may be unconventional or indefinable? That’s the tricky part.
In 1963, Joris Ivens produced a short documentary film about the city of Valparaiso in Chile, called …à Valparaiso (meaning, to Valparaiso). It has no dialogue, just narration. The screenplay for the narration, originally in French, was written by Chris Marker (born Christian-François Bouche-Villeneuve). It is part description, part prose poem. When I looked closer at it, I realized that many of the lines rhyme. And it flows along the haunting, abstract score by Gustavo Becerra.
All I know, is that listening to his words made me want to go there. I found it so intriguing that I looked up the screenplay’s text. Reading it, I felt the same strange nostalgia that I felt when I’ve watched the film.
…à Valparaiso
à Valparaiso
“On top, a cluster of villages, one per hill… 42 hills, 42 villages. Another world.
Two worlds linked by ramps, stairways, funiculars.
What we mispronounce as Valparaiso is Val Para – Iso, the Vale of Paradise. Paradise for the sailors who named it,
or the last stop before it.
The sun works wonders every noon. The women parade in full sail.
Bridges end in the sky.
All the houses are triangular.
Stairs stop halfway… you either climb or fly.
Poverty isn’t itself in the sun, nor are funiculars.
This is the city’s lie.
Its lie is the sun, its truth the sea.”
— Chris Marker
Did you notice, the way he starts, and comes back to, the imagery of the sea? The entire screenplay is like that. It’s about the sea, and about the sun, that are tied together in the city by the staircases and funiculars. What an oddly beautiful piece of writing to discover in, of all places, a documentary.
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