(nostalgia) at Tate Modern

Nostalgia is one of my favourite words. It’s of Greek origin: nostos+algos. nostos=the travel of returning home, algos=pain. Beautiful word; proper title to a strangely beautiful film.
I always try to discover some of the many exciting things happening in London. A few days ago, I received an email concerning the screening of a Holis Frampton film, rare to be found, at Tate Modern. One of my professors, Rachel Moore, would present a talk after the screening. To support Goldsmiths and to redeem myself for handing in my paper in plastic cover (which Rachel hates), I decided to go. It proved a good decision.
I am at the Starr Auditorium at Tate Modern, waiting not for Godot but for Holis Frampton’s (nostalgia), which is supposed to be a kind of landmark in film history. Rachel will give a talk after the screening. I walked here from Charing X, not a small walk you might say, but a lovely one indeed. I love being part of the city, coming to cool places like the Tate and walking by the Thames. I know I will miss this city when I am back in Athens. But what you gonna do? This is how things are, you make choices. A walk by Thames or a walk in the beach? Southbank or Thisseio? London or Athens? Anyway, the film is about to begin, I guess. People keep arriving, it seems it will be full. I’ve spotted two guys from my Cinema class and right now a late-thirties/early-forties couple just entered, holding their five year old asleep daughter in their arms. Oh, these Art lovers...
The above was what I wrote in my notebook as I was waiting for the film to begin. I copied it here because I find it very relevant with the essence of Frampton’s film. (nostalgia) is about Holis Frampton’s transformation from photographer to filmmaker. This transformation is represented in the film by the process of photographs transformed to ashes. They are a selection of Frampton’s photographs, each one accompanied by a story. A voice over tells us the story of each picture while it is burned in front of our eyes but soon we discover that the story we hear refers to the following photograph. Furthermore, although it is a first person narration (I took this picture in...), it is not Frampton’s voice but that of Mark Snow.
Through these small ‘deceits’, Frampton comments on the nature of cinema. The power of fire to destroy and to redeem; the necessity of leaving something behind when you move on. To be free one must give a little part of himself. Here comes my connection to the film. Sitting still for 36 minutes, mesmerized, watching pictures turned into ashes, and later drinking wine from proper wine glasses (Hear, hear English Department) at the small reception following the talk I couldn’t help thinking about my own nostalgia, for things left behind, some of them to be found again, others lost forever. Frampton put the title into brackets and actually was considering of having no title at all, so as not to preconceive the audience. Well, as far as I am concerned, I believe that this was an excellent choice of a title. Beautiful, simple, to the point.