"For me, at the beginning of every film, there is always virtually nothing. You could carve this on my headstone." If it is true that Kramer stated these words, this epistolary film co-directed with Stephen Dwoskin perfectly echoes this philosophy.

With a simple shot, fixed on the sidewalk adjacent to his apartment window, Kramer opens the conversation to his counterpart who aptly responds using the same method. Camera perched on the edge of a window, scanning his gaze over the comings and goings of an ordinary day, the two men exchange reflections and observations on their work, memory, and the political state of the world, from the Gulf War to the fall of the Berlin Wall, from friends' whereabouts to the clutter that fills their kitchen tables.

It is interesting to see the number of parallels that transpire from the lives of these two men, notably the fact that they are two expat Americans, one in Berlin, the other in London. In this sense, the feeling of being uprooted, alienated in an environment that is both familiar and foreign to them, almost transcends each of the four videoletters they exchange, which ultimately contributes to a sensation of powerlessness.

Powerlessness when realizing that even an artist's life is not meant to be understood? Powerlessness in the face of a frustratingly elusive creative process? Or is it rather a sense of powerlessness stemming from the fact that there is no less nothingness at the end of a film than there was at its beginning?

Jason Todd
Artistic Director
Tënk

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