Godot by the Sea: In Repetito Religare
(2023)
In Repetito Religare, a 20 minute short by Audrey Colard and Valentin Sismann, alternates between two locations: a view of shallow waves, washing over stones, and a drab room where two older men (Guy Trier and Boris Gillot) lie on cots. At the start of the film, we alternate between the two quite quickly. Whenever we see the waves, we also hear their sound, mixed with the boisterous sound of children and adults speaking in Spanish. The shots of the two men, on the other hand, are accompanied by an ominous electronic pulsing sound. When we first see them, they are both asleep, so it is implied that the happy children form part of their dreams.
These men are both quite overweight, tired-appearing, and one of them uses an oxygen tank, so they present an image of exhaustion. The walls are dirty and cracked; the one window is dirty. Many of the shots are framed symmetrically, emphasizing the idea of the two as mirror images of one another. A long piece of rope is symmetrically draped over the two cots, linking them together. They are dressed identically, seemingly prisoners. As prisoners do, they continually play games with the few objects available to them, in a desultory attempt to pass the time.
After one of the men wakes up, we see a closeup of his hand, rhythmically pulsing, like the lapping waves which we still hear in the background. It is as if he is trying to grasp onto the waves, to hold onto the images lingering from his dream.
The film is structured into eight discrete, numbered episodes, wordless choreographed sequences in which the two men symbolically enact their frustrations and longings, often timed quite precisely to the looped sounds of the children’s voices.
On the soundtrack, it seems that the adults are trying to teach the kids a few English words and songs. We hear a mother saying in Spanish that she doesn’t like speaking English, but she understands it well enough, so they seem to be a family of immigrants. Perhaps the water we see repeatedly is the ocean separating these men from their families.
The rope is central to many of these episodes. In one scene, it pulls the two men close together, in another, they seem to use the rope to reassure themselves that they are still linked, even as they inch away from one another. We also see the rope under the water, and it seems to link them to the family across the sea. (In certain shots, we can also the reflection of the waves on the ceiling of the room.)
The film develops a decidedly Beckettian flavor, and in fact, with their hopeless repetition of pointless rituals inside their prison, the two men are cousins to Vladimir and Estragon. They even, as in Waiting for Godot, clumsily try to hang themselves with the rope. However, the movement style of the film is generally more stylized than literal. The noose on the end of the rope refers to the notion of hanging, but their actions merely serve to bring the two of them together more tightly.
The film also shares the spirit of Beckett’s 1965 Film, which likewise is a wordless drama featuring an older man (Buster Keaton) confined to a shabby room, confronting memories of his family. Like Film and Waiting for Godot, In Repetito Religare effectively uses a comic acting style to convey feelings of existential despair. The exaggeration and precise timing of comic acting serve to provide a clear portrait of the despair, without allowing the viewer to indulge in sentimental wallowing.
In one episode, they wave the rope rhythmically, imitating the water, which gradually morphs into a skipping rope movement, referencing both the children and the water at once. This motion seems to make them sleepy. Going into a dream state is the one escape route left to them from their prison, the one connection with the outside world.
Through the repetition and restraint of the imagery, the film builds up a powerful sense of caged, thwarted human exhaustion. At the same time, through the restless games that the two men play, their relentless search to connect with their memories and with the outside world, the film reveals that it is really quite difficult to completely crush the human spirit, which is remarkably resilient. Throughout, the subtle and evocative sound score binds together the wave images with the sequences inside the room, a persistent reminder of the possibility of escape and freedom. In this small, confined world, using a limited palette of imagery and sounds, Colard and Sismann manage to say a great deal about human beings, and our ability to survive harsh circumstances.
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