We see a shot of the keys of a synthesizer with piano music starting. The camera pans around revealing a cat stretched out on the keyboard "listening" to the music, as the title indicates. Because the cat is not content with just listening, it reacts to key moments in the music. The shots are very close in, the music is very present, the spectator shares the experience with the cat in real time. We watch the film and doubtless have the feeling or impression that the director, Chris Marker, has made a simple recording of a moment from his daily life. It is, however, a very well-constructed film (in its entirety, with a title and end credits): it is a translation of the cat's experience, of the visual effects of how the music affects him, shared through precise editing: it offers a succession of close-ups whose editing follows the rhythm of the piano, which attests to the fact that the cat appreciates and actively participates with the music: the paws moving imperceptibly, the quivering ear, the claw pressing on the keys. These shots of the animal are alternated with a shot of the loudspeaker fixed to the wall, or the flashing light of the amplifier, which the cat seems to be watching. If he suddenly wakes up unexpectedly, stares at the camera before falling asleep again, it is as if to testify to the viewer the reality of his experience. It is impossible to say whether this moment even took place, and whether the music was added after the fact in the editing or not. Nevertheless, Chris Marker gives the astonishing impression that one can enter the cat’s internal sensory world. He also offers witness to the experience of his own world through long shots of the cat lying on his cot, with photos overhead that reveal some intimate element of his life through photos, papers and cassettes. Linking the calm domestic happiness he shares with his pet through the medium of sensation. The intimate camera, the slow rhythm of the music and the shots of the animal's fur moving almost give the spectator the feeling that they only have to bring their hand closer to caress the cat, or instil in them the desire to lie back like the cat and take a musical nap.
Close-up of the cat, with its ears alert, sat on the ground. Close-up on parts of the cat, doubts about the music and the scene before revealing all in a wide shot.
The master's delight, the director himself, who stages this moment: the music that plays is recorded, it is not played live.
It is a film with credits and an ending, it is not a recording but a construction, the experience of an animal enjoying the music
If he fails and fakes, he succeeds in making the spectator want to stroke the cat, or to lie down like him, for a musical nap.
This surprising interlude entitled "cat listening to music" separates the two parts of Alexander's Tomb.
Comment
We see a shot of the keys of a synthesizer with piano music starting. The camera pans around revealing a cat stretched out on the keyboard "listening" to the music, as the title indicates.
Because the cat is not content with just listening, it reacts to key moments in the music. The shots are very close in, the music is very present, the spectator shares the experience with the cat in real time. We watch the film and doubtless have the feeling or impression that the director, Chris Marker, has made a simple recording of a moment from his daily life. It is, however, a very well-constructed film (in its entirety, with a title and end credits): it is a translation of the cat's experience, of the visual effects of how the music affects him, shared through precise editing: it offers a succession of close-ups whose editing follows the rhythm of the piano, which attests to the fact that the cat appreciates and actively participates with the music: the paws moving imperceptibly, the quivering ear, the claw pressing on the keys. These shots of the animal are alternated with a shot of the loudspeaker fixed to the wall, or the flashing light of the amplifier, which the cat seems to be watching. If he suddenly wakes up unexpectedly, stares at the camera before falling asleep again, it is as if to testify to the viewer the reality of his experience. It is impossible to say whether this moment even took place, and whether the music was added after the fact in the editing or not. Nevertheless, Chris Marker gives the astonishing impression that one can enter the cat’s internal sensory world. He also offers witness to the experience of his own world through long shots of the cat lying on his cot, with photos overhead that reveal some intimate element of his life through photos, papers and cassettes. Linking the calm domestic happiness he shares with his pet through the medium of sensation. The intimate camera, the slow rhythm of the music and the shots of the animal's fur moving almost give the spectator the feeling that they only have to bring their hand closer to caress the cat, or instil in them the desire to lie back like the cat and take a musical nap.
Close-up of the cat, with its ears alert, sat on the ground. Close-up on parts of the cat, doubts about the music and the scene before revealing all in a wide shot.
The master's delight, the director himself, who stages this moment: the music that plays is recorded, it is not played live.
It is a film with credits and an ending, it is not a recording but a construction, the experience of an animal enjoying the music
If he fails and fakes, he succeeds in making the spectator want to stroke the cat, or to lie down like him, for a musical nap.
This surprising interlude entitled "cat listening to music" separates the two parts of Alexander's Tomb.