Over the course of one century in existence, the most impactful change in the history of cinema has been the switch from silent film to sound film. This was followed by the switch from physical to digital, meaning that the medium was no longer analogue and tactile but rather something intangible. Cinema is now going through another transition: the rapid evolution of artificial intelligences is questioning many structures that have been considered well established and necessary until now. Films are being presented at several cinematographic events nowadays that were produced without even the physical support of a movie camera. Nonetheless, amidst this turbulent atmosphere of change, a film like Knit’s Island has emerged; a film that is unclear about which era of cinema history it wants to inhabit but does reflect on its own identity and the humanity that lives within it through the documentary.
Knit’s Island belongs to the genre known as Machinima; those films created within or with support from video games. The directors Ekiem Barbier, Guilhem Causse and Quentin L'helgoualc'h conducted extensive research within an online video game server, spending thousands of hours getting to know its players, the people who inhabit that space and its map in ways radically different to the intended purpose of the game. On a visual level, the film proposes an aesthetic that plays with the limitations of the medium. The video game graphics, with textures that often seem unfinished, contrast with the richness of the human stories that the directors have successfully captured. This contrast highlights the inherent tension between what one sees and what one feels, leading the spectator to question the authenticity of experiences mediated by a screen.
In essence, Knit’s Island is an experiment that challenges conventional cinema categorisation. Is it a documentary, a visual essay or a digital performance? The answer is perhaps all and perhaps none of the above. The film stands in a middle ground, a hybrid space where the rules of traditional cinema blur with those of the video game and where the narration breaks down to reveal a unique sensory experience.
At a time when cinema is undergoing constant change, Knit’s Island offers no definitive answers but does pose some urgent questions about the future of this medium. It is a piece that reminds us how, even though the tools and the media are changing, cinema itself continues to be a profoundly human artform dedicated to exploring the infinite ways in which stories can be told and understood.
Nicholás N. Turchi