Dark And Light - John Et Jehn

It’s a monochromatic scene. A beautiful, raven haired woman sits across from an equally beautiful, raven haired man. Light shines in at right angles. Shadows creep across the tiles. Coffee sits, and stirs, waiting for something to happen. There’s music buzzing in the background. We could be in Paris, but we’re not. The scene is being set.

Cut to a low angle, mid shot of a woman shaking her hair and murmuring into a microphone. Her gaunt hips sway.

“We begin in France,” she says, her voice accented with the passions of Paris. But she’s from Angouleme. “We were a couple for six months,” he says, interjecting her story. They speak as one unified body, constantly shifting its shape to meet in the middle. “We were a couple before we were a band. It was obvious to make music together.”

We begin in London. The comparative heat seeps through the slender gaps in the door. Casual observers swarm in and out like flies; we sit, we talk, we converse. The world buzzes around us. We are still.

“We were really bored at the beginning,” she says. “When you want to get away from a small city, your music is your weapon,” he finishes. They are in London, burning bright with the light of five candles, arranged haphazardly on coffee tables. “The music became more and more serious,” he continues. She interjects, “It was like a machine that started roiling and now it can’t stop.”

Cut to a mid angle, long shot of two lovers. They face each other. One holds a guitar between his legs. The girl bends as she presses into the keyboard. Their mouths open wide as they sing. Her hair falls over her eyes.

“When you know how to speak about yourself, you know how to speak about the world,” he says without egotism, “We aren’t gothic. We like black and white which is really related to Goddard and the ‘nouvelle vague’. I guess it’s not obvious. It’s something we like to do, and we appreciate it. If people can recognise it, it’s great. If not, it’s cool.”