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The Via Crucis
of Camille - Crux 2 - Page 5
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It's only the two of us, Camille, doing her
part and me, doing the rest, from performing,
to doing the camera, setting up the lights,
doing the makeup effects and all of it in
only a few hours.
I can compare this work with that of a painter
who starts making drafts of what the painting
will be later, much, much later.
That's where I'm now, making video sketches
for a future work, sketches for the film I
want to make and for which I will need loads
of money.
Camille struggles under the whip, I want
to touch her skin, take her down, make love
to her...that will be later. I have to go
through the complete process and I have to
do it now.
How many times did we work on this since
we met? I was losing count. There were those
short sessions to train her to be the victim
of the psycho in the movie we made. There
were those sessions we had in our trips to
the tropics, three of them, there was that
session when we had to take pictures for the
movie poster... and those wonderful moments
in France.
There was that time in the tropics again,
outdoors, our last session before we started
again in the house. Ten times at least, eleven
with the previous session. 11 times when Camille
was whipped and each time for a very long
time. That's hundreds upon hundreds of lashes.
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Camille was doing well. Her performance was
better all the time, her expressions more dramatic,
her reactions more natural. She was growing
into the character. The defiance in her eyes
was constant. The character in the movie is
always defiant. She's defying her father, her
social status, her church, her world. An unusual
woman for her time when what was expected of
her was full submission to family, God, society.
A role to fulfill, to carry, to maintain.
In the ruling clases of the new world there
were three elements of power, the land, the
church, the heritage. Maricelli is under those
three. She's the daughter of the great landowner,
she's a firm candidate to carry on the lineage,
she's also a candidate for the church, either
as a mother or as a nun. Her destiny clearly
laid out for her to follow, with only two choices,
marriage or the church. Maricelli doesn't see
herself following either of them. She prefers
her freedom.
Camille could identify with this part of the
character as well. We were living a similar
experience where I laid out a plan for her life,
a plan that had me as a permanent part of it,
I was the church, the society, the family for
her. She didn't want that, she wanted her freedom.
Just as the Lyvia, the young slave of the story,
whose life was that of a captured young woman
with the only purpose of serving her master.
She wanted her freedom. Here is where another
bit of guilt comes into play. The guilt of my
gender. Thousands of years of male domination,
control, over women. And here, in front of me,
Camille, tied to a post, half naked, whipped,
the very definition of a woman being dominated
by a man.
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Lyvia
managed to pass the stolen bread and fruit
to the young girl, but in doing so she lost
the precious moments that she needed to make
her escape. The vendor was already upon her
when she started running.
Lyvia didn't manage
to go far, three soldiers were walking by,
their commander not far from them, when the
young slave run into them, the vendor running
after her, screaming: "Thief!... stop
the thief!".
The young woman
tried to avoid the soldiers but she wasn't
fast enough. On of them grabbed her arm as
she was turning away.
Lyvia
was caught. The vendor reached the group,
sweating and panting. "She stole from
me... a loaf of bread and fruit, it's under
her garment"
The soldier raised
the young woman's garment up, revealing the
hidden bag almost empty. He pulled out an
apple. "An apple? all this fuss for an
apple?", the soldier was sardonic in
his comments, looking at the vendor,"
probably a Hebrew", he thought in desdain.
"She took
more", the old man complained "she
gave it to a young girl... there". The
old man looked around but couldn't find the
girl.
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As I stroked Camille's back, I caught my reflection
in the mirror. Me, a masked man, hiding my identity,
behind Camille whose identity was not hidden,
whose body was exposed, whose womanhood was
under attack. The mirror itself was placed there
to capture the side that the camera didn't see,
the part of Camille's body that was not facing
the camera. It was for the benefit of the camera,
to have two views at the same time, but it was
also for the benefit of Camille, so she could
see herself being whipped. Camille saw her body
and what she saw, she liked.
Camille understood the character I wanted her
to play. She understood her motivations, her
search of freedom, her defiance. However, she
was having a hard time understanding was Maricelli's
fascination with martyrdom.
I explained to her that what she had witnessed
in her young life was the pain of the slaves.
She saw a number of times, accidentally at first
and willingly later, how slaves were punished.
She witnessed the horrible floggings, the pillories,
the beheadings. She compared her father's slaves
to the martyrs of old. Those martyrs that fascinated
her.
There's one important detail in the story,
I told her. She saw herself as property of her
father, better treated, of course, but property
nevertheless and it was as such that she defied
her father. She identified with one particular
rebel slave.
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