Usmar ismail biography of michael

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Restored by Cineteca di Bologna/ L’Immagine Ritrovata laboratory, in association with the Sembène Estate, Institut National de l’Audiovisuel, INA, Eclair laboratories and the Centre National de Cinématographie. Restoration funded by The Film Foundation’s World Cinema Project. 

Black Girl, or La Noire de…, was the first of Ousmane Sembène’s pictures to make a real impact in the west, and I can clearly remember the effect it had when it opened in New York in 1969, three years after it came out in Senegal. An astonishing movie—so ferocious, so haunting, and so unlike anything we’d ever seen. 
- Martin Scorsese, May 2015

I am not for “social realism” nor for a “cinema of signs” with slogans and demonstrations. For me revolutionary cinema is something else. If we managed to set up a group of cinéastes who all make cinema directed in the same direction, I believe that then we could influence a little bit of the destinies of our country. I think that the film, more than the book, can crystallize an awakening within the masses. I am personally inspired much by the example of Brecht.
- Ousmane Sembène

In 1961, shortly after Senegal declared its independence from France, Ousmane Sembène, a self-educated dockworker, assigned himself an impossible task: to create a true African cinema as a “night school” for his people. is explosive debut—a film described as the first African feature (true in spirit, if not in fact)—inspired a form of fearless, socially engaged, and uncompromising cinema across the globe. La Noire de … (Black Girl) follows a young girl lured to France by a white bourgeoisie couple, who keep her locked in their flat as a housekeeper.

From early-twentieth-century stag films to 1960s sexploitation pictures to the burst of 1970s “porno chic,” adult cinema’s vintage forms have seen reappraisal by a new generation of historians, collectors, archivists, and fans—all figures... more

From early-twentieth-century stag films to 1960s sexploitation pictures to the burst of 1970s “porno chic,” adult cinema’s vintage forms have seen reappraisal by a new generation of historians, collectors, archivists, and fans—all figures both dependent on and helping shape the archive of film history. But what is the present-day allure of these artifacts that have since become fetishized more for their age than the explicit acts they show? And what are the political implications of recovering and re-releasing rare but still-visceral adults-only texts from a less “enlightened,” pre-feminist past? David Church argues that vintage pornography retains its retrospective fascination precisely because these culturally denigrated texts have been so poorly preserved on political and aesthetic grounds. Often orphaned, mutilated, or left to rot, vintage pornography thus serves as the absent center of film preservation efforts in general. With these films’ ongoing moves from cultural emergence to concealment to rediscovery re-enacting the erotic visual strategies at their core, the archive itself performs a striptease by permitting material contact with these corporeally stimulating forms at a moment when the physicality of media objects is undergoing rapid transformation. Chapters include discussions of cinephilia and stag films, the eroticism of sexploitation ephemera, archival practices and the porn industry’s self-censorship, and an emerging generation of home video companies dedicated to preserving hardcore films. Addressing both film historians and film preservationists, this study explores the archival and historiographic lessons that vintage pornography can teach us about which materials our society chooses to keep, how we

The scene was something out of a disaster movie. Thousands of films, some of them classics by Indonesian directors like Usmar Ismail and Teguh Karya, were packed onto the shelves of the humid basement. One of the room’s two air conditioners had stopped working and remained broken. The air temperature was almost 13 degrees celsius—more than three times the recommended temperature for film storage. Some 35mm prints were so damaged the film had gone wavy, making the movie impossible to show or scan without expensive repairs. Other films were left in stacks on the ground.

“There’s no more room,” said Firdaus as he pointed to the films stored on the basement floor. The soft-spoken custodian works for less than minimum wage with one other person—cleaning the more than 2,700 reels that crowd the basement of Yayasan Pusat Perfilman Haji Usmar Ismail by hand. His job is to wipe the dust from the loose reels and the circular metal tins that house some of the 35mm prints. Some days he takes a thin blue piece of paper—called an A-D strip—and drops it on the surface of a reel of film to test its acidity.

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Firdaus showed me one of the strips. It’s about the size of rectangular confetti and strong blue. He opened one of the metal tins and exposed the decaying reel of 35mm film (Usmar’s Heboh) inside. Firdaus placed the blue strip atop the reel. It changed color, a sign that the reel is slowly succumbing to vinegar syndrome—an acidic cancer that eats away at old 35mm film, eventually rendering it unusable.

“I was here [in the 1990s],” Firdaus said. “Back then, Misbach [then chairman of Sinematek Indonesia] always wanted the temperature to always be at 7 degrees. If it went to 8, we would get chewed out the next day.”

The basement is the vault of Sinematek Indonesia—the country’s only popular film archive. The nonprofit was founded in 1975 by directors Misbach Yusa Biran and S