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© M.Glawogger © M.Glawogger
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press-state of the nation.pdf
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STATE OF A NATION
STATE OF THE NATION
Michael Glawogger set off alone, armed with a bag containing his camera and sound recording equipment, to travel round Austria – using country roads and generally staying close to the border. He started conversations, asked questions, or simply remained silent. Many people answered him, some asked their own questions, a few refused to say anything. There was much talk of the new government, the monarchy, the EU, Jörg Haider, sheep and cattle, and seaside holidays abroad. Personal remarks blended with political views, so that a nosebleed came to be mentioned in the same breath as the new currency, and the plight of the lovelorn individual grew out of the status of the family in modern-day society.
Michael Glawogger on the first episode of the film A Journey
It seemed to me from the start that this film would have to be an investigation, a voyage to the very heart of the country, in quest of the answer to a single question: why? Why the purported change of course? What’s it all about?
I decided that hitchhiking was the best way to travel, for the simple reason that the other people would choose me, not vice versa. True, they would be a particular kind of people – the kind who give hitchhikers a lift.
What sort of people are they? Exclusively do-gooders? All men? (In the latter case, that proved to be broadly true: only three out of sixty or more who gave me a lift were women.) Otherwise, though, all I can really say is that they were just people who stopped when they saw me standing at the roadside – on an impulse maybe.
No more and no less.
To some extent it turned out the way I had imagined it. In my preliminary outline I had written: ”You spend some time together within a confined space and talk about the obvious topics of conversation.” Which were, as expected, Austria, the situation, politics in a broad sense. But on many occasions also personal matters. I started conversations, asked questions or just remained silent. Many people answered me, some asked their own questions, a few refused to say anything. Many people just talked about whatever came into their heads: the new government, the EU, Ville Valo, Wolfgang Schüssel, sheep and cattle and holidays by the sea. It seems to me now that my contribution to ”The State of the Nation” is a documentation of confusion. It captures causal cross-correlations between private and political issues, so that a nosebleed came to be mentioned in the same breath as the new currency, an extra-marital affair had something to do with running up debts, and the plight of the lovelorn individual grew out of the status of the family in modern-day society. The longer I was on the road, the simpler the film became. At first I travelled with another hitchhiker whose job was to get people talking. I wanted the conversations to continue in roadside restaurants and pubs, in boarding houses, hotels and waiting rooms. I had planned to make detours across the border, and so on. I tried it all, and I changed my mind.
The film now consists of two kinds of shots: people driving and talking; and Austria slipping past the car window.
A dank and cold and snowy countryside, a radiant, fogbound, sombre, moonlit Austria.
And then: a hand, asking people to stop.
© M.Glawogger © M.Glawogger
PRESS RELEASE DOWNLOAD:
press-state of the nation.pdf
PRESS RELEASE:
STATE OF A NATION
STATE OF THE NATION
Michael Glawogger set off alone, armed with a bag containing his camera and sound recording equipment, to travel round Austria – using country roads and generally staying close to the border. He started conversations, asked questions, or simply remained silent. Many people answered him, some asked their own questions, a few refused to say anything. There was much talk of the new government, the monarchy, the EU, Jörg Haider, sheep and cattle, and seaside holidays abroad. Personal remarks blended with political views, so that a nosebleed came to be mentioned in the same breath as the new currency, and the plight of the lovelorn individual grew out of the status of the family in modern-day society.
Michael Glawogger on the first episode of the film A Journey
It seemed to me from the start that this film would have to be an investigation, a voyage to the very heart of the country, in quest of the answer to a single question: why? Why the purported change of course? What’s it all about?
I decided that hitchhiking was the best way to travel, for the simple reason that the other people would choose me, not vice versa. True, they would be a particular kind of people – the kind who give hitchhikers a lift.
What sort of people are they? Exclusively do-gooders? All men? (In the latter case, that proved to be broadly true: only three out of sixty or more who gave me a lift were women.) Otherwise, though, all I can really say is that they were just people who stopped when they saw me standing at the roadside – on an impulse maybe.
No more and no less.
To some extent it turned out the way I had imagined it. In my preliminary outline I had written: ”You spend some time together within a confined space and talk about the obvious topics of conversation.” Which were, as expected, Austria, the situation, politics in a broad sense. But on many occasions also personal matters. I started conversations, asked questions or just remained silent. Many people answered me, some asked their own questions, a few refused to say anything. Many people just talked about whatever came into their heads: the new government, the EU, Ville Valo, Wolfgang Schüssel, sheep and cattle and holidays by the sea. It seems to me now that my contribution to ”The State of the Nation” is a documentation of confusion. It captures causal cross-correlations between private and political issues, so that a nosebleed came to be mentioned in the same breath as the new currency, an extra-marital affair had something to do with running up debts, and the plight of the lovelorn individual grew out of the status of the family in modern-day society. The longer I was on the road, the simpler the film became. At first I travelled with another hitchhiker whose job was to get people talking. I wanted the conversations to continue in roadside restaurants and pubs, in boarding houses, hotels and waiting rooms. I had planned to make detours across the border, and so on. I tried it all, and I changed my mind.
The film now consists of two kinds of shots: people driving and talking; and Austria slipping past the car window.
A dank and cold and snowy countryside, a radiant, fogbound, sombre, moonlit Austria.
And then: a hand, asking people to stop.