My Favourite Filmmaker from the 16th Century

Even though cinematic art is tied to technological advancements and concrete tools, I believe it was an intrinsic part of the human creative psyche long before its technical realization. It was merely waiting for the means to manifest. However, the availability of cinematic tools by the late 19th century didn’t immediately lead to authentic cinematic creations. Genuine cinematic innovation was not yet in vogue. Cinema had to intertwine itself with its artistic kins: theater, literature, painting, and photography. It was a baby in the world of art, borrowing from many art forms before discovering its unique voice – a voice it might still be searching for. To achieve it, the medium hinted at by the Lumiere Brothers‘ early frames, needed a rediscovery of its essence for filmmakers to authentically bring it back to the surface. But this was a bit time-consuming process, undertaken by only a handful of true cinematic pioneers throughout history. Moreover, many filmmakers insistently embrace the idea of cinema as a grand canvas uniting various artistic disciplines. But, then, there were outliers like Robert Bresson who claimed that cinema should speak its own language, stripping away the excess and focusing solely on image, sound, and rhythm. He rejected the trend of flashy concept-driven films and instead wove a simple thread through every aspect of his works – acting, settings, stories, and visuals. His Notes on the Cinematograph can be considered a sacred text to decipher his approach and decode the art of film, which reminds us that cinematic art essentially revolves around the notion of orchestrating moving images and sounds into a particular rhythm.

Long before filmmakers like Bresson made their mark, a visionary from the 16th century was already plunging into the depths of cinematic thought without any breathing apparatus. The painter, Pieter Bruegel the Elder, possessed an intensely cinematic imagination. You can easily spot this in some of his works. Bruegel weaves individual occurrences into expansive panoramic scenes, none taking center stage, all seemingly inconsequential, yet together, they mirror a single structure. Just like scenes in films. These seemingly small moments can be threaded by viewers to form diverse storylines. Like creating sequences in films. He grants his audience autonomy, yet subtly guides them. He plants his intended focal point somewhere in the panoramic vista, camouflaged as unimportant. Whether we catch it or not, whether we make connections or not, the heart of the matter resides there along with the ebb and flow of everyday life across the entire canvas. It’s as if everything is in motion or poised to move momentarily. Like a film.

Here is his The Census at Bethlehem which I had the chance to see at the Royal Museums of Fine Arts of Belgium:

At that time, painters were all about giving Bible stories a fresh spin. Bruegel hops on that trend, showing off a biblical scene with his signature genius. He took the whole Bethlehem Census passage from the Bible and plopped it right into his own time and turf. Mary and Joseph, the stars of the show, ended up as tiny players in the bustling scenes of daily life. And there is a whole bunch of stuff going on, just waiting for us to dive in and discover.

Here is another one, The Hunters in the Snow, that I have seen at the Kunsthistorisches Museum in Vienna:

A daily ritual again in this painting: on a winter day hunters back empty-handed, and villagers hustle around in the background. No need for deep analysis or symbolic fuss. It’s like a raw film scene, perhaps an opening shot that leaves us wondering: Where are we? Who are these folks? What’s their deal? A world unfolding with unanswered questions stirring feelings within.

So, as you might notice Bruegel challenges the visual tools of his era. To me, his works transcend mere paintings, they’re essentially cinematic pieces yearning for a different medium as it feels like a filmmaker’s vision trapped in a snapshot. If he had access to a camera, I imagine he’d have harnessed it to amplify his creative brilliance. I can’t help but ponder how his visionary concepts might translate using today’s advanced techniques. It’s possible they might diverge from his established visual style, framing, compositions, and color palettes. Because these elements are essentially mirroring his viewpoint on the art of painting. But imagining Bruegel as a filmmaker, I envision an entirely distinct output—still rooted in his distinctive blend of daily life and specific incidents presented intertwined. Perhaps we could think of Robert Altman‘s approach in the film Nashville (1975) as an example, where diverse small incidents revolve around one big main event. I can’t say for sure if Altman took inspiration from Bruegel, but what I do know is that his artworks have left their mark on numerous filmmakers, and I’m perfectly fine being counted among them: While I hold a deep appreciation for his painting style, I’m captivated by the cinematic essence concealed within his paintings. He is not merely a painter who inspires me; he is one of my favourite filmmakers, even if he never steps behind the camera.

Significant events while composing this post: spotting a strand of hair in my friend’s meal, sealing my lips, and letting him savor it down (I was the cooker, after all).