This exercise in structure, endurance, and memory feels of the same world as Akerman’s Hotel Monterey, though this is much more engaging and successful. I love this, actually. It is incredibly minimal, featuring shots in and around New York City while Akerman interjects by reading letters that her mother sent her while Chantal was living in NYC. We never hear any of Chantal’s replies to her mother, so we have to fill in the gaps between each of her mother’s texts, which creates a loose narrative that is surprisingly fun to try and hold together. The film especially hits home for college students or anyone who has recently moved away from home. All of my contact with my mother sounds just like the letters in this film. The letters take care not to offend, but also have a sense of bitterness in them. Her mother seems to think that all Chantal should be doing while she is away is thinking about her family and writing to them daily. It isn’t enough to only hear from her once a week.
The footage of the city creates a lonely atmosphere in the film, but it has a bold presence that consumes the letters. Often, the sound of the city noise drowns out Chantal’s voice, letting us know who is in charge. Chantal was living in this beast of a city, and even her contact with her family is interrupted by the chaos of it all. Since I had to watch this film with subtitles, it added another layer to this, as the translation of the letters and the sights of New York competed for my attention. The footage was uneventful and monotonous, but I was never anything but hypnotized by every shot of the cars, subways, high rises, prostitutes, cab drivers, and hundreds of civilians. The final shot, a long, languid take from a ferry boat, is stellar. It begins in the city and tracks out until the entire downtown is visible. Birds chase the camera out of the city, and low clouds usher in to fog up what was once crystal clear. It feels like the departure that Akerman’s mother was hoping for, but it is probably just a visit to the Statue of Liberty, another distraction of the location. The letters cease to exist in the film’s final twenty minutes, which makes the closing segment eerily quiet. A sense of complete alienation settles in, and then a harsh cut to black.