Cinematic recurrences and metempsychotic cycles are virtually one and the same in Michelangelo Frammartino’s Le Quattro Volte. Though not a single word is spoken, the mountainous region of Calabria where the story is set offers communicative noise and movement from every human, animal, vegetable, and mineral that appears in the director’s beautiful compositions. All four of those “realms” are documented equally, and the Pythagorean contemplation that comes as a result is at once dryly comic and delicately grave, earthly and metaphysical and simplistic.
Except for the occasional shot of blue jeans and a pickup truck, this is a little village that might have otherwise been stuck in the middle ages. Things move very slowly; modern conveniences aren’t very important. The long shots of rustling trees and open fields are interrupted by an old shepherd (Giuseppe Fuda), with barely enough breath left to lead his flock to pasture. The quiet solitude of watching his goats stands in stark contrast to the difficulty of watching the ill man coughing and wheezing within the weeds. Inside his home, the shepherd drinks an ashy elixir, made from dust swept from a church altar, before retiring in a sparse bedroom. Sadly, the next day the shepherd leaves his pouch of “magic” dust, which has roots in Calabria tradition, while defecating on a hillside and dies the next day, as his goats are freed by an aggressive dog, the only “professional” Frammartino used in his casting.
From the darkness of the old man’s burial, we are suddenly shown the birth of a goat, as she slides out of her mother’s womb. It begins to writhe and cry while still covered in fluids. It learns how to walk, assembles with other goats and is prepared to join the herd by a faceless man—the same man, who ignores the cries of the young goat while in the forest, thus leaving the weakling to fend for itself. Desperate, the baby cuddles up to a huge fir tree. Frammartino cuts to the same tree, covered in snow several months later. The goat, and the focus of the film, has transmigrated. We watch as the tree is stripped bare and used as part of the communal “Pita” festivities, chopped up and then used in an ancient charcoal-making process.
Le Quattro Volte begins and ends with a shot of the hut in which the charcoal is made or, more specifically, in which vegetables such as wood and straw are converted into a pure mineral. Here, everything is elliptical, and little is wasted. Frammartino’s study of the lifecycle won’t appeal to everyone, but those who give it a chance may find the vision provided in Le Quattro Volte to be an interesting and thought provoking one.
Framed at the 1.85:1 aspect ratio, Koch Lorber’s 1080p transfer isn’t reference quality stuff, but there are no significant complaints to report. There is a solid level of detail, in both close-ups and shots of Calabria’s countryside. While colors look normal, they’re never particularly vivid or bold. While black levels aren’t particularly inky, they function well. Koch Lorber has provided the film with a realistic high definition rendering.
The 5.1 TrueHD Audio doesn’t offer much dynamic range, but serves the film pretty well. There’s no real dialogue to speak of. Nature provides what atmospheric audio we receive, and that’s handled well enough. While not remarkable, it does the job.
Special features are very limited:
- Stills Gallery: five images
- Theatrical Trailer (2:07)
