Murie for fifteen years (Pelechian, a rare artist, had offered us, in 1993, the ten all-powerful minutes of Life, where he approached the mystery of the faces of women giving birth), this Nature was composed from the exponential imagination of the world, as available on television and, increasingly dizzyingly, on the Internet. If the film begins in an almost parodic way, associating Beethoven with sublime snow-capped peaks and thus approaching a collection of wallpapers passed through a black and white filter, it increases in power according to this logic of the backlash that the Armenian filmmaker has often explored: the immobility of the heights is followed by the outrageous movement of a series of natural disasters filmed by amateurs and whose sequence creates a hypnotic effect, before the eye is brutally attracted by the human silhouettes which stand out here and there, in the midst of the fight once morest death which is unfurling.
Colossal assembly work, nature is also an impressive plastic enterprise which confronts the digital grain of low definition images torn off in extremis from a ferocious reality with the organicity of matter unleashed by the laws of physics. The predilection for the shape of the wave (it was already the incredible opening of the Seasons) recalls that Pelechian is the filmmaker of metamorphosis, whether it is a question of passing from the gaseous state to the liquid state, from life to death, from paradise to hell, each thing being reversible by the grace of a medium who has the power to ignore the order of things.
