By Julian Lucas
In April this year, Melbourne filmmaker Julian Lucas went on holiday to Japan. His camera came with him. The result is the film Bloom.
He discovered a peculiar sense of quiet, desolation, and loneliness among the people. In a country so packed with lights and trains and crowds and experiences, from the theatrical to the serene to patently bizarre, Bloom captures this lovely dichotomy between the people and the cities they inhabit. Inside the noise and the chaos, Julian captures people alone, wandering the streets, buried in telephones – a dull, menacing and peaceful nothingness below the surface.
What’s most inspiring about the footage is the way that it doesn’t struggle or form its way into any kind of narrative – Julian just lets the film be exactly what it is. But in that loose process, which is unlikely an accident, there’s this dizzying repetition that tells us something quite profound about Japanese culture. The score, too, by Matt Hadley, dances with the vision. At times intense and jarring, edited cleverly to interplay with the captured audio. At times serene and beautiful, with layered synths and string lines that dance softly up and down the keyboard.
“I wanted the soundtrack to be it’s own character,” says Julian. “I wanted the viewer to be as audibly stimulated as they are visually. And I wanted sounds from the real world to contribute to the rhythm and pacing of the piece.”