At first glance, there is a world of difference between early Jean-Luc Godard and recent James Benning. The former: adventurous narration, anxious jump cuts, ellipses and nervous camerawork. The latter: patient serialism, long takes, repetitive actions, landscape studies; ten skies, twenty cigarettes, fifty-something states.

Between À bout de souffle (Breathless, 1960) and Breathless (2024), the only links are a title, a duration, a few musical notes. In Godard’s film, we are on the edge of our seats, transfixed, on Jean-Paul Belmondo’s tail. In Benning’s, we contemplate a static shot of a quiet road. No cars. Not even the wind is blowing. We can barely make out the truck around the next curve, where the men are cutting down trees. Soon they will leave the frame, leaving the distant sound of a chainsaw. Later, the truck is gone, and we face a motionless void. Or do we? Benning’s composition is so intricate that we can sense the movement between the mountains and the vegetation, enhanced by the multiple vanishing points. The eyes wander, the mind wonders: what if the birds crossing the frame are living l’amour fou, like Michel and Patricia? What if those planes are chasing a nearby car thief? One thing is certain: the Earth is still turning, as we see in the shifting shadows. (Victor Guimarães, Viennale)

TRT: 86 min

In person: James Benning