Programme note first published on ScottishFilms.com (now defunct)
You have to begin to lose your memory, if only in bits and pieces, to realise that memory is what makes our lives. Life without memory is no life at all, just as an intelligence without the possibility of expression is not really an intelligence. Our memory is our coherence, our reason, our feeling, even our action, Without it, we are nothing.
(Luis Buñuel in his autobiography My Last Sigh, 1983)
In 2010, after years of recovery from a stroke that caused severe memory loss and aphasia, musician Edwyn Collins released his comeback album Losing Sleep. It caught the attention of filmmakers James Hall and Edward Lovelace, who collaborated with Collins to make a documentary chronicling his recent journey. The result is a film that starts out as a poetic, atmospheric video essay, evoking metaphors about the human condition through vast landscapes and natural imagery, and continuing into a subtle, slow-paced observation of its subject, careful not to intrude, interspersed with archive and reconstruction footage.
Cinema has a long tradition of negotiating the relationship between memory and identity and it is arguably one of the most effective mediums to do so. Think of Wim Wenders’ Wings of Desire, an examination of cultural and national identity and memory, its poetic explorations held together by a setting of historical importance. For The Possibilities Are Endless, most of the footage was filmed near Collins’ home in the Scottish coastal village of Helmsdale, which has been of great importance to the artist throughout his life. Helmsdale is used as an anchor point throughout the film, becoming a vital character in Collins' road to recovery and a piece of the puzzle to restore his memory. With this as its palpable core, the film then explores Collins’ past and present through impressions and emotions. The guidance of archive footage and recordings, his wife Grace Maxwell’s love and support, and the post-stroke years, allow Collins to piece together his past and discover who he is now, and so too is the audience allowed to reconsider their image of the musician.
Early on in the film, his simple yet sincere voice-over – “My memory is too precious. What can I do about it?” – provides us with a way into his psyche and struggle in the first stages of recovery, yet simultaneously they also place human mortality and existence into perspective through the contrast between his uncertain condition and his reflections. The impressionistic landscape imagery is shot with a sense of fragility, translating the early days after Collins’ stroke, in which the expectations were at best a likelihood of lasting mental and physical damage. Yet throughout this, the film draws deeply on the love between Edwyn and Grace, and the latter’s courage and dedication to her partner, despite being continuously confronted with the possible loss of the man she used to know and love.
The questions raised through this personal account are manifold. Considering the relation between memory and identity, fame and on-screen personas versus the daily and domestic, and the abundance of recorded imagery to look back to, both the film’s subjects and the audience have to question how we define ourselves through memory. How can Collins remember himself without being able to remember at all; how can he define himself based on facts he has no recollection of, while being loved by someone who does remember and having a public image he does not comprehend?
It is therefore important to note that towards the end, the film creates more clarity and does not look back in longing, as we see Collins' and Maxwell’s life in the present, having emerged with a positive outlook and a return to musicianship, and the film accomplishes this without needless sentimentality – a feat that is aided by the sparse but effective soundtrack composed by Collins himself.
In the early stages of development, Hall and Lovelace considered whether they could make an entire film about Collins’ road to recovery and his memories without ever showing him in it. While the first part of the film certainly proves that this was a worthwhile and challenging path to explore – the under-water scenes are as effective as any to bring the audience close to the confusion, confinement, and fear both Collins and Maxwell went through – it is eventually the balance between the dreamy landscapes, the footage of Orange Juice performances and interviews, the reconstructed scenes of Collins' younger years (played by his son William), and the recent accounts of Grace and Collins' domestic life and his road to recovery, that has enabled this film to create an in-depth portrait of the musician’s journey while also dealing with universal questions surrounding memory, identity, and love.
You have to begin to lose your memory, if only in bits and pieces, to realise that memory is what makes our lives. Life without memory is no life at all, just as an intelligence without the possibility of expression is not really an intelligence. Our memory is our coherence, our reason, our feeling, even our action, Without it, we are nothing.
(Luis Buñuel in his autobiography My Last Sigh, 1983)
In 2010, after years of recovery from a stroke that caused severe memory loss and aphasia, musician Edwyn Collins released his comeback album Losing Sleep. It caught the attention of filmmakers James Hall and Edward Lovelace, who collaborated with Collins to make a documentary chronicling his recent journey. The result is a film that starts out as a poetic, atmospheric video essay, evoking metaphors about the human condition through vast landscapes and natural imagery, and continuing into a subtle, slow-paced observation of its subject, careful not to intrude, interspersed with archive and reconstruction footage.
Cinema has a long tradition of negotiating the relationship between memory and identity and it is arguably one of the most effective mediums to do so. Think of Wim Wenders’ Wings of Desire, an examination of cultural and national identity and memory, its poetic explorations held together by a setting of historical importance. For The Possibilities Are Endless, most of the footage was filmed near Collins’ home in the Scottish coastal village of Helmsdale, which has been of great importance to the artist throughout his life. Helmsdale is used as an anchor point throughout the film, becoming a vital character in Collins' road to recovery and a piece of the puzzle to restore his memory. With this as its palpable core, the film then explores Collins’ past and present through impressions and emotions. The guidance of archive footage and recordings, his wife Grace Maxwell’s love and support, and the post-stroke years, allow Collins to piece together his past and discover who he is now, and so too is the audience allowed to reconsider their image of the musician.
Early on in the film, his simple yet sincere voice-over – “My memory is too precious. What can I do about it?” – provides us with a way into his psyche and struggle in the first stages of recovery, yet simultaneously they also place human mortality and existence into perspective through the contrast between his uncertain condition and his reflections. The impressionistic landscape imagery is shot with a sense of fragility, translating the early days after Collins’ stroke, in which the expectations were at best a likelihood of lasting mental and physical damage. Yet throughout this, the film draws deeply on the love between Edwyn and Grace, and the latter’s courage and dedication to her partner, despite being continuously confronted with the possible loss of the man she used to know and love.
The questions raised through this personal account are manifold. Considering the relation between memory and identity, fame and on-screen personas versus the daily and domestic, and the abundance of recorded imagery to look back to, both the film’s subjects and the audience have to question how we define ourselves through memory. How can Collins remember himself without being able to remember at all; how can he define himself based on facts he has no recollection of, while being loved by someone who does remember and having a public image he does not comprehend?
It is therefore important to note that towards the end, the film creates more clarity and does not look back in longing, as we see Collins' and Maxwell’s life in the present, having emerged with a positive outlook and a return to musicianship, and the film accomplishes this without needless sentimentality – a feat that is aided by the sparse but effective soundtrack composed by Collins himself.
In the early stages of development, Hall and Lovelace considered whether they could make an entire film about Collins’ road to recovery and his memories without ever showing him in it. While the first part of the film certainly proves that this was a worthwhile and challenging path to explore – the under-water scenes are as effective as any to bring the audience close to the confusion, confinement, and fear both Collins and Maxwell went through – it is eventually the balance between the dreamy landscapes, the footage of Orange Juice performances and interviews, the reconstructed scenes of Collins' younger years (played by his son William), and the recent accounts of Grace and Collins' domestic life and his road to recovery, that has enabled this film to create an in-depth portrait of the musician’s journey while also dealing with universal questions surrounding memory, identity, and love.