Swiss filmmaker Fabrice Aragno premiered his latest work, The Lake [+leggi anche:
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intervista: Fabrice Aragno |
scheda film], in the main competition of the Locarno Film Festival. The Lake explores the symbolic power of Lake Geneva, blending the aesthetics of painting with cinematic storytelling to elicit invisible emotions. Cineuropa talked to Aragno about the process of creating the film, his decision to capture the raw unpredictability of the environment, and the profound influence of Jean-Luc Godard on both the project and his approach to directing.

Cineuropa: You blur the line between fiction and documentary in The Lake. Was that intentional?
Fabrice Aragno: I didn’t have a specific intention for this project. I just try to stay true to my own sensibility, the same way I did when working with Jean-Luc Godard or in my previous films. It’s always about expressing things in my own way. Initially, I was asked to create a piece for a museum about a painter who paints Lake Geneva. Many famous artists, like Gustave Courbet, JMW Turner, and even Albrecht Dürer, have painted the lake. Dürer even depicted it in Melencolia I, and this idea fascinated me. When asked to make something cinematic, I realised I could use the lake as a painting. Many of Godard’s films were shot near it, but only from the shore. What struck me was how these painters used the lake to express invisible emotions, internal feelings that are difficult to convey. They made them visible through their art. The lake, with its truth of light, weather and changing moments, became a symbol for that. But this film wasn’t just about the lake; I wanted to bring in characters, like a painter would – people who become part of the image. It’s similar to Caspar Friedrich’s romantic painting of a man standing on a mountain, looking out at a vast landscape. The character in the painting connects the viewer to the emotions conveyed. My aim was to place people inside this landscape, to merge them with it. At first, the project felt like an impulse, a desire to dive into the painting, to experience the colours and movements of the lake in a visceral way.

How did you approach the technical aspects of filming on a small boat?
We had a small crew: two cinematographers, one with an assistant for focus, and I handled the sound. We had new microphones, which helped the production quality. The unpredictable weather, light and sound added excitement. One day, we filmed a scene without knowing what the weather would bring, which led to a surreal, spontaneous feeling. It was all about capturing those subtle moments of light, shadow and presence.

How did the filmmaking experience affect the emotional tone of the feature?
The experience of being on the boat, surrounded by the unpredictable weather and constantly shifting light, deeply impacted the emotional tone. It was less about creating a controlled narrative and more about responding to what was happening in the moment. The environment became an active participant, influencing the emotional flow of the film. We were constantly immersed in the present, just letting the moments unfold.

How long was the project in development for?
I began working on it in 2016 while also collaborating with Godard on The Image Book [+leggi anche:
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scheda film] in 2018. In 2019, I made the short Lakeside Suite and presented it at IFFR. After some rejections, I abandoned the traditional script for a "non-script", more like a collage of ideas, and presented it to Cannes’ Cinéfondation. The process was also affected by COVID-19 and the loss of Godard in 2022.

When did the process pick up pace?
I started working with the actors in 2023, and that’s when the real five-day race took place. The race is a real event with two people on a boat, and you can’t stop without assistance. After two days of racing, you feel drained, and your body takes over, sharpening your senses. You’re not a character any more, just a human being – an animal man or animal woman. It’s a raw, authentic feeling.

You were with Godard during his final days. How did that impact your work?
I was with him until the end. He passed on his own terms, and in those final moments, he was still focused on cinema. He explained his last film script to me as if it were another project. It was intimate and made me rethink everything, especially my own film. After his passing, I decided to abandon my old script and work with my notes, which felt more aligned with the project. What I learned from him is to trust in the moment and allow things to unfold, instead of controlling them. This approach shaped my own filmmaking process.