Rem Koolhaas, the eponymous protagonist of "REM". Image © Tomas Koolhaas
In the canon of great Dutch architects sit a number of renowned practitioners, from Berlage to Van Berkel. Rem Koolhaas—the grandson of architect Dirk Roosenburg and son of author and thinker Anton Koolhaas—stands above all others and has, over the course of a career spanning four decades, sought to redefine the role of the architect from a regional autarch to a truly globally-active shaper of worlds – be they real or imagined. A new film conceived and produced by Tomas Koolhaas, the LA-based son of its eponymous protagonist, attempts to biographically represent the work of OMA by “expos[ing] the human experience of [its] architecture through dynamic film.” No tall order.
© Tomas Koolhaas
Tomas, who has been critical of films about architecture which are “made up of talking-head interviews interspersed [by] static, lifeless shots of empty structures,” suggested that REM would be “the first documentary to comprehensively explore the human conditions in and around [OMA’s] buildings.” Based on this vision—and, to a lesser degree, the nigh-on cult following which the practice has garnered—over a hundred Kickstarter backers pledged just over $30,000 to part-fund its production. REM, which has been four years in the making, premiered last week at the 73rd Venice Film Festival.
“New York City is the beginning, you could say. The foundation of everything else.” This city, unlike most others, has a certain foundational resonance for Koolhaas. Following his studies at London’s Architectural Association in 1972, he relocated to start working on Delirious New York, a retroactive manifesto for the city. This seminal book, which studies the unique metropolitan urban condition of the city to posit it “as the arena for the terminal stage of Western civilisation,” has since taken on almost mythological status. The stage for the film is set: this is a deadly serious affair, and one which will require your full attention.
CCTV (China). Image © Tomas Koolhaas
If you’re looking for insights into the persona of the protagonist, you’ll be disappointed. Yes – Koolhaas sometimes flies Transavia, a budget-level subsidiary of KLM. He wears Prada, and a lot of it. He doesn’t use an iPhone. But a human-interest story, similar to that of Nathaniel Kahn’s My Architect (a highly personal journey to get to know his father, Louis Kahn), was never going to be the deal, here – and thank goodness. It’s clear that REM has been a formidable challenge behind the lens. Tomas has created a powerful cinematic experience, the quality of which is comparatively unparallelled in the world of architectural films. The film neatly sculpts the story of Koolhaas into a tight, rigorously edited narrative and the persona which emerges is at once charismatic, enigmatic, and reticent.
De Rotterdam is Europe's largest residential building. Image © Tomas Koolhaas
A certain degree of reticence is to be expected. For a filmmaker-turned-journalist, and a journalist-turned-architect, Koolhaas has more experience than most in recognising the power, and danger, of publicity. The Dutch translation for “editor” is redacteur – a word which, once Anglicised, references the process of “redaction” or, in its most extreme definition, “censorship.” REM sharply focuses in on a collection of grand narratives—building in the Middle East, for example; the media, villas, the countryside, the 14th International Architecture Exhibition in Venice—while others moments, such as the workings of his practice and the ways in which he collaborates with others (we see people like Marina Abramovic and Hans-Ulrich Obrist, albeit briefly), dissolve into a bokeh blur. If you accept that the story being told is revealing itself in a very particular way, frustrations are few; if not, scenes can often feel curtailed and all too brief.
Koolhaas swimming. Image © Tomas Koolhaas
From two techniques—the overarching voice of the architect himself, which spans almost the entire feature, and his portrayal by Tomas, his son—derives the film’s sense of authenticity. As we shadow Koolhaas across the globe, we become particularly au fait with the back of his head and shoulders – a conscious cinematic tactic which imbues the film with a sustained sense of momentum that it might otherwise lack. For the most part Koolhaas is moving, and we move with him. Occasionally scenes show him in meetings (audio redacted and often through a glazed partition), or we follow him through a construction site. Sometimes we hear people talk about him while Koolhaas himself, aside from incidental glances, never directly addresses the lens.
© Tomas Koolhaas
Nevertheless, REM constructs the most intimate portrait of the architect so far – not only in terms of how the narrative is delivered but also visually so. We learn, for example, that for Koolhaas exercise is a sociological undertaking. “Nothing is more revealing than seeing how people move in or near the water,” he states. A protracted, almost hypnotic scene attests to this: first we’re with Koolhaas swimming in a pool, before cutting to him leaping out of a boat in an ocean somewhere and swimming some more, before we jump abruptly to a dramatic face-on profile of the man in question – his piercing eyes framed by a furrowed brow and crescents below. Sudden and unexpected scene changes throughout mean that the film has no geographical anchor, nor a steady sense of where we sit in time. It feels as though we’re at the whim of his dizzying schedule and, as a result, the film feels almost timeless.
Seattle Public Library (USA). Image © Tomas Koolhaas
The observational power of Koolhaas’ practice is revealed in three short scenes in which Tomas revisits three of OMA’s groundbreaking projects: one public building, the Seattle Public Library, and two private villas in France – the Maison à Bordeaux, and the Villa dall’Ava in Paris. In Seattle the scene focuses on two homeless men, Phil and Mark, who use the building as both a retreat to pass the time and a place feel connected. “I’m sure it’s not any science or proven fact, but I think that some environments induce or are conducive to calming people” Mark, rather poignantly, suggests. This scene, which above all satisfies Tomas’ ambition to explore the human conditions in and around the buildings, is one of the more successful. Rather than capturing stationary shots of the library—an all too easy move when photographing architecture—the journey we take is a personal one, and one which treats a small box piano room with the same attention as the iconic atria.
Villa dall'Ava (France). Image © Tomas Koolhaas
The Maison à Bordeaux, one of OMA’s groundbreaking private houses, is presented with the same level of careful consideration. Completed in 1998, the building has visibly worn – concrete surfaces are slightly stained and the grass around is overgrown. One of its original residents, the father of Louise Lemoine who was physically disabled, has since passed away, and the house and its inhabitants have gradually restructured it for different patterns of living. An interview with Lemoine (who created the 2013 film Koolhaas Houselife alongside her collaborator Ila Bêka), in which she describes a domestic condition at once comfortable and “challenging,” is both beautiful and telling. Here, too, Koolhaas appears at his most relaxed and open and, perhaps, most satisfied.
Rem Koolhaas in Venice (2014). Image © Tomas Koolhaas
Fundamentals and Absorbing Modernity 1914-2014—the two vast exhibitions he curated and controlled for the 14th International Architecture Exhibition in Venice—were immense undertakings, and the film palpably reveals the strain that they caused. One scene, in which Koolhaas is encased by journalists in advance of the opening, is particularly notable: the soundtrack, a majestic unbroken score by Murray Hidary, gives way as a television reporter asks him to describe what visitors to the Biennale will see. Looking to the floor and wiping his brow in despair, Koolhaas replies: “Sorry, I can’t answer that question. Just read the text.”
Whereas frustration ultimately melts into acceptance (he eventually answers the question, having been posed for the umpteenth time), it highlights one of the broader themes of the film and one which he addresses unambiguously: the matter of celebrity. “The dilemma,” Koolhaas states, “is whether you can use it or not.” While he recognises that the success of OMA is in large part down to its global exposure this has, in turn, fed an ever more voracious demand for his work, his opinions, and his presence.
Should REM, therefore, be read as the “official” retelling of Koolhaas’ professional life? A unique opportunity for both Tomas Koolhaas and Rem himself to redact—a necessary process, admittedly, in a seventy-minute film—and reformulate the narrative of a career which has been discussed, criticised, and lauded more than any other living architect? Perhaps this is the case. If so, it makes the film all the richer for it.
Koolhaas surveying the desert – the final scene of "REM". Image © Tomas Koolhaas
Sig Nordal 