Thursday 6 December, 2012 - 9pm

Booking essential.

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This magnificent cinematic essay charts the life, landscape and seasons of an Italian village with poetry and beauty.

Jonathan Romney, from The Independent on Sunday -
The film is an extraordinary achievement – beautiful, moving, mysterious, and, at times, extremely funny. In its self-effacing way, it’s nothing short of a miracle. One of those rare works that breaks all the rules of about what cinema “should” be, in order to demonstrate what it “can” be…the freshest and deepest film I’ve encountered in a while…the revelation of Cannes 2010.

Synopsis:
An old shepherd lives his last days in a quiet medieval village perched high on the hills of Calabria, at the southernmost tip of Italy. He herds goats under skies that most villagers have deserted long ago. He is sick, but believes that he can find his medicine in the dust he collects on the church floor, which he drinks in his water every day.

A new goat kid is born. We follow its first few tentative steps, its first games, until it gains strength and goes to pasture. Nearby, a majestic tree stirs in the mountain breeze and slowly changes through the seasons, until transformed into fuel through the ancestral work of the local Calabrian charcoal makers.

A beautiful and poetic vision of the revolving cycles of life and nature in the unbroken traditions of a timeless place, Le Quattro Volte appears as the metaphor of a soul that moves through four successive states of being.

Plus accompanying shorts programme, all UK gallery premieres.

The Hackney Armada (Larraine Worpole & Dave Draper, 2012) 6 mins

Electric Oil (Jessica Sarah Rinland, 2012) 6.5 mins

Skywriting – for Chris Marker (Jem Cohen, 2012) 12 mins

Jem Cohen writes...
A quandary: I keep telling people they must see Le Quattro Volte, but then I tell them they simply can't see it on dvd or, even worse, on a laptop. I'm not being precious or old-fashioned; it's just that some of the most vital scenes in this vital film play out via tiny, tiny figures in the farthest distance. Seen too small they might not be seen at all. Furthermore, the film's intimate embrace of time, unfolding in front of us in microcosm, unfolding around us in widest macro, would likely be bludgeoned by the small screen, where cinematic patience is so cruelly tested and so often defeated.

One of the running jokes of the film (and though resolutely calm and fiercely unsentimental, it is funny as hell) involves ants. Seen properly on a big screen, the ants and all ant-like creatures, humans included, are carefully allowed to play out their ancient fates in ways entirely down-to-earth and entirely magnificent. I loved this film and, like few others I've seen recently, it brought home the full power, and occasional necessity, of the theatrical cinematic experience. I only hope programmers and cinema-owners bring it back to the big screen whenever possible.

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