In 2004, Allan went to Costa Rica, and on a drive to Nicaragua met Calvet and saw the paranoia and intensity of the man. A few years later Calvet was still haunting him so he called the artist up, and that was the beginning of a four-year journey to creating this intensely personal documentary.
Paranoia
“Self-destruction is not a bullet in the head. Self-destruction means to suffer”
If he had just held his girlfriend and son when he was about to walk out on them, he would have stayed. That one decision to turn and walk out the door instead of holding them one more time set off the rest of his life.
It is interesting to hear from someone who has pinpointed so many of the specific points in his past that caused his downfall… but it is typical of an ex-addict to have thought these things through in such a clinical, almost guiltless fashion.
He says he was the worst type of person with little guilt, and it is up to the audience to decide whether he has just really come to terms with it, or whether he has never really considered the meaning of it.
The work flashes up occasionally, like images from the psyche. Lightning flashes of muddled screaming faces, or a hopeful, smiling child with hopeful blue eyes. There is so much in the pictures, paranoia, desperation to avoid thinking too much – but the way they flash up at specific points leads our eyes straight to the elements that relate to what we have seen (such as his delusions and nightmares, and suddenly we see rodent like, toothed figures in the muddled pictures)
It is well formed in its attempt to tell his story: we see the hectic and self-destructive years (heroin, rape, prostitution) before returning to the calm foreboding of his childhood and young adulthood.
But the man is an addict, and it is very common for addicts to have a well rehearsed and almost third person attitude to their own story. This is certainly a brutally honest confessional, it is deeply personal and at times moving; but it is difficult to completely buy in to his guilt and retribution.
The director has not found a way to put any perspective on his subject (we do not hear from another person to gain other opinions on Calvet); this may have been an artistic choice, but it means that the film lacks weight. There is a sense that the director isn’t sure what he wants to get out of the film, and he is chasing shadows throughout.
He has decided to find his son.
The art is about finding a way to expel his demons and formulate an understanding of his mistakes. In that sense, this film is a direct relation to his art. It is not “about” his art, it is a part of his art. In his work he expels and arranges his issues on paper with his hands; in the film he is using his mouth to force his memories and issues out of his body.
To see a man, up close, speaking to his 18 yr-old son on the phone for the first time in over a decade, every exhalation and brow crease is filled with pathos.
The climax: just a series of grainy stills, from across a square, of a handshake between father and son.
If you feel drawn to Calvet from the outset, then this is a simple and quite touching tale of redemption, rebirth and hope. If you don’t trust him, it is an odd platform for a recovering addict to excuse his past mistakes. Unfortunately the filmmakers have not done enough to persuade discerning viewers that the former is true; and the latter, alas, seems a much more likely scenario.
It is unfussy, unobtrusive, and not forceful; it is just a camera to talk to. This can be seen as a positive thing, if you are happy for the film to justify itself as a confessional. But it is the responsibility of a filmmaker to uncover the truth behind his subject’s story, not simply to take the story on merit.
A confessional – brutally, shockingly honest. Purging.
It feels urgent at the end, as we become wrapped up in the hunt for the son. The tumbling journey along the local roads, hunting through the town, finding people in a bar who know where the family live. It is quite exhilarating.
In the end we are kept at a distance: his confession is complete, he can handle privacy again.
Q&A
Catharsis, to put things out of his head, but from the mouth instead of the hands, this time.
He had to stop hiding, because it would have killed him
Using stills means that your imagination runs wild; it is much more affecting than filming it up close.
The Q&A raise another interesting facet to the story. They have not discussed with Kevin how he will watch the film (alone, at a Premiere with friends, etc). When queried, Calvet says simply; we have not discussed that yet, we are still taking things step-by-step. The story is not finished, and a part of it is standing in the flesh before us.
Only after early screenings did he realise that he hadn’t just done this for himself; it was valuable and affecting for people with absent fathers, drug problems, etc.
He only learnt about artists like Pollock and Basquiat because people compared him to them, and he felt silly saying he didn’t know who they were.
Paranoia
“Self-destruction is not a bullet in the head. Self-destruction means to suffer”
If he had just held his girlfriend and son when he was about to walk out on them, he would have stayed. That one decision to turn and walk out the door instead of holding them one more time set off the rest of his life.
It is interesting to hear from someone who has pinpointed so many of the specific points in his past that caused his downfall… but it is typical of an ex-addict to have thought these things through in such a clinical, almost guiltless fashion.
He says he was the worst type of person with little guilt, and it is up to the audience to decide whether he has just really come to terms with it, or whether he has never really considered the meaning of it.
The work flashes up occasionally, like images from the psyche. Lightning flashes of muddled screaming faces, or a hopeful, smiling child with hopeful blue eyes. There is so much in the pictures, paranoia, desperation to avoid thinking too much – but the way they flash up at specific points leads our eyes straight to the elements that relate to what we have seen (such as his delusions and nightmares, and suddenly we see rodent like, toothed figures in the muddled pictures)
It is well formed in its attempt to tell his story: we see the hectic and self-destructive years (heroin, rape, prostitution) before returning to the calm foreboding of his childhood and young adulthood.
But the man is an addict, and it is very common for addicts to have a well rehearsed and almost third person attitude to their own story. This is certainly a brutally honest confessional, it is deeply personal and at times moving; but it is difficult to completely buy in to his guilt and retribution.
The director has not found a way to put any perspective on his subject (we do not hear from another person to gain other opinions on Calvet); this may have been an artistic choice, but it means that the film lacks weight. There is a sense that the director isn’t sure what he wants to get out of the film, and he is chasing shadows throughout.
He has decided to find his son.
The art is about finding a way to expel his demons and formulate an understanding of his mistakes. In that sense, this film is a direct relation to his art. It is not “about” his art, it is a part of his art. In his work he expels and arranges his issues on paper with his hands; in the film he is using his mouth to force his memories and issues out of his body.
To see a man, up close, speaking to his 18 yr-old son on the phone for the first time in over a decade, every exhalation and brow crease is filled with pathos.
The climax: just a series of grainy stills, from across a square, of a handshake between father and son.
If you feel drawn to Calvet from the outset, then this is a simple and quite touching tale of redemption, rebirth and hope. If you don’t trust him, it is an odd platform for a recovering addict to excuse his past mistakes. Unfortunately the filmmakers have not done enough to persuade discerning viewers that the former is true; and the latter, alas, seems a much more likely scenario.
It is unfussy, unobtrusive, and not forceful; it is just a camera to talk to. This can be seen as a positive thing, if you are happy for the film to justify itself as a confessional. But it is the responsibility of a filmmaker to uncover the truth behind his subject’s story, not simply to take the story on merit.
A confessional – brutally, shockingly honest. Purging.
It feels urgent at the end, as we become wrapped up in the hunt for the son. The tumbling journey along the local roads, hunting through the town, finding people in a bar who know where the family live. It is quite exhilarating.
In the end we are kept at a distance: his confession is complete, he can handle privacy again.
Q&A
Catharsis, to put things out of his head, but from the mouth instead of the hands, this time.
He had to stop hiding, because it would have killed him
Using stills means that your imagination runs wild; it is much more affecting than filming it up close.
The Q&A raise another interesting facet to the story. They have not discussed with Kevin how he will watch the film (alone, at a Premiere with friends, etc). When queried, Calvet says simply; we have not discussed that yet, we are still taking things step-by-step. The story is not finished, and a part of it is standing in the flesh before us.
Only after early screenings did he realise that he hadn’t just done this for himself; it was valuable and affecting for people with absent fathers, drug problems, etc.
He only learnt about artists like Pollock and Basquiat because people compared him to them, and he felt silly saying he didn’t know who they were.
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