Nothing Happens

I’m not bound by anything
this place does not have conditions
for movement
nothing will stir
or roar past
no one can fly

from Nothing Happens

Andrei Monastyrski

Dimitri Venkov’s most recent film Nothing Happens was inspired by the epic poem written by Andrei Monasyrski. Apparently, the poem was originally published with one stanza per page in five volumes. This massive meditation on nothingness at first appears to be an expansive statement of pure nihilism, but as the work progresses, the words, the ideas, begin to take on a sort of zen-like reflection on being – and nothingness – in the world. With a cadence like chanting, the words begin to lose their meaning and associations. They become a conduit to what is.

Monasyrski’s practice as an artist and poet over the years has kept this idea fundamental. As he described it, “… there was always an effort to free ourselves from these texts, from the accumulated symbols. All subsequent actions were built on this effort in order to break through to the level of direct perception, to empty action.”

In Nothing Happens (the film) Venkov presents the viewer with a number of shots of places around Istanbul, few with any contextual markers short of “this is a street,” “this is a building, “these are cars,” and other seemingly mundane objects and textures of the city. Each shot runs from about one to five minutes from the point of view of a stationary camera. From Venkov’s point of view. The structuralist imperative of the film carries an rigor, akin to James Benning, but without any apparent markers as to why one shot should move on the next. Of course, the basic visual connections of the urban landscape allow the viewer to connect the disparate images of this city symphony. A symphony, I my add, that uses only diagetic sound, either what you see on screen – a car driving by for example – or what is off screen – often the sounds of cars. Most of the shots are at night. There are few people to be seen. Vehicles come and go. Buildings, houses, towers, commercial spaces are often lit by streetlights, blue shadows giving them depth. In essence, nothing happens.

But as one watches, one becomes aware of the little things – movements, sounds, the urban spaces still and unperturbable. The essence of this nothingness becomes a place to get lost. The city becomes a labyrinth of experience and reflection.

There is one sequence that breaks the spell. In this one, Venkov and his camera person look on an open air café, where a bunch of folks are drinking, eating, talking, flirting. One woman sees that they are being filmed, brings it to the attention of her friends, crosses the street and confronts Venkov on what he is doing. Venkov explains that they are visitors to Istanbul, just documenting the place, the people, with no malicious intention. A common enough mistruth used by artists to diffuse wrought situations. But this little moment of voyeuristic drama, with a moment of breaking the fourth wall, emphasizes and questions the nature of the viewer’s and Venkov’s point of view. One can imagine Venkov and his cameraman caught looking from their “hideout” in a van or parked car. But what if the whole sequence has been staged? The perfectly composed party scene has a disruption with the discovery by one of the characters that they are being spied upon, she confronts the offenders and then goes back to the “stasis” of the party. There’s no reason to believe the “reality” of the situation apart from believing the reality of the previous shots because they have a documentary-like feel. And whether the interaction was something that happened without direction or was a scripted act, both can still be considered “real.” And if it was a scripted and acted, did it “really” happen? Did nothing happen? It’s just a question of your point of view.

Venkov himself is an expat, living in Turkey with no intention of going back to his former homeland, Russia, until Putin and the current regime are no longer in charge. He may be an expat for quite a while. Nothing Happens says nothing about his state of being in the world, but much about his being-ness in the world. The sequences that comprise the film are all from a point of view. His. I was here. I shot this. If it has associated meaning with his state of being in the world, the viewer will never know. But, even without context, without layering any assumptive meaning on the images, one can imagine being, if only for a few moments, being in Venkov’s shoes. Something happens, even if it’s nothing.

Here’s another reflection on nothing happening by one of my favorite bands, the Mekons.

Last Dance

Mekons

The dance floor’s nearly empty now
Everyone’s gone home
We’re fragmented and broken up
Like love affairs
And as if seeing you for the first time
Something whispered
Looking at you in desperation
Knowing nothing ever happens

I wanted to say fall in love
I wanted to say fall in love with me
I wanted to say fall in love
It’ll be alright

So beautiful, you were waltzing
Little frozen rivers all covered with snow
All fragmented and broken up
Oh, weIl I guess it’s time to go

I wanted to say fall in love
I wanted to say fall in love with me
I wanted to say fall in love
It’ll be alright

You were waltzing
Little frozen rivers all covered with snow
All fragmented and broken up
Oh, weIl I guess it’s time to go
But as if seeing you for the first time
Something whispered
Looking at you in desperation
Knowing nothing ever happens

I wanted to say fall in love
I wanted to say fall in love with me
I wanted to say fall in love
It’ll be alright

You were waltzing…

You can view Nothing Happens and other films by Dimitri Venkov at his website – https://www.dimitrivenkov.com/films