Western Sunburn derives its power from the plunge it makes into the roots of the American myth in order to pulverize its iconic figures.

Buoyed by Radwan Ghazi Moumneh's haunting music, the film opens with a countdown to the beginning of a projection, before gradually revealing the streaks of black-and-white film obstructing the entire frame. Then, a herd of oxen rolling down a hillside followed by cowboys on their horses occupy both screen space and the entire ten-minute film. These few shots are slowed and jerked by interventions on the film itself, but also suspended by freeze-frames that go so far as to burn and liquefy the support on which they rest.

The Western is linked to the conquest of America, and through literature and film it propagates a justification for the occupation of territories. Western Sunburn looks at this stranglehold from the point of view of those undergoing domination, and what it reveals beneath the surface of the images is a field of ruins: enslaved animals, despoiled territory, conquered imaginations. Karl Lemieux's gesture is akin to a pagan ritual. By burning representations of this power, isn't he trying to reverse the curse attached to the birth of America? And so, almost twenty years after it was made, the overexposed image at the end suddenly seems to me to open up the film to other possible modes of relationship that present themselves to us now.

Sylvain L'Espérance
Filmmaker