I have never seen a single Sofia Coppola film. This might be surprising for someone reading this book review. Of course, I know her presence and work, but I have not seen the movies for any outward reason. I probably know more about her as a person and a cult hero than I do about her films. There is a list of essential films that I have not seen or studied. I do not consider myself a cinephile, but I enjoy film, particularly horror. This last statement may broadly explain why I have not crossed paths with Coppola. For the record, I have only seen one Wes Anderson film in passing. I have also not seen any Spike Jonze films. I understand that these filmmakers are part of a network of the ’90s and early 2000s that have shaped, along with Quentin Tarantino, Kathryn Bigelow (huge Near Dark fan, though 80s), and Paul Thomas Anderson (films I have seen), the American cinematic experience. There are others, of course. In more contemporary cinema, I am more versed with Jordan Peele and Panos Cosmatos (not American, but you get the point) than with Yorgos Lanthimos, whose films I have also never seen.
The book was sent to me by MACK, the publisher of her book Sofia Coppola Archive 1999-2023. I do not remember asking for it, but it might be that the team at MACK thought I should see it. It could have been a mistake, but extra books are always welcome. Upon a cursory look over emails exchanged, it was not mentioned. That said, I try to look at as much as possible, and this book, from what I have seen on social media and various stockists, has been a raging success. I vaguely remember seeing the book launch in New York online with lines of fans stretched around the corner. Coppola’s fan base is sincere. I also run across her when I browse Japanese books from afar. It is not lost on me that her film Lost in Translation was filmed there; it appears that her love of Japan likely adds to her status in the country.
There is a contingent of publishers working to bring the cinema book back into view. What I suggest by cinema books are the books that use film stills, production notes, and various ephemera from cinema to create a book experience. From the perspective of someone looking at the publishing market with some interest, I have seen an uptick in the genre again, particularly through MACK and their relationship with A24. Their recent book on Yorgos Lanthimos is a photography book, but it fulfills an interest in the worlds that cross over between publishing, photography, and film. From the photobook angle, the market, like many Hollywood blockbusters, has hit a lull—some of this, like filmmaking, results from overproliferation and saturation. Arguably, there is also a lack of money for more esoteric projects that push the boundaries of both mediums, and this leads to the repetition of big hits, which in themselves become a pastiche of their own former glory. Publishing and filmmaking could use a more varied approach. Within that context, it is understandable that MACK has begun to invest more energy in other genres besides photobooks, and this book is proof that it has been a successful intuition.
Not having seen Coppola’s films has not distracted me from enjoying the book. I know of her movies and was surprised to have no working knowledge of about 1-2 illustrated in the book. I have read the numerous letters, anecdotal commentary in the book, and commentary about her experiences with people, from actors to cinematographers and writers like Jeffrey Eugenides. I made mental notes about her Japanese friends from Hysteric Glamour, who have produced some fantastic books in the past, from Masahisa Fukase to Osamu Wataya. It has been interesting to trawl through the material, having only a surface idea of the movies themselves. What I value in considerable measure with the book is seeing the process of note-making, polaroids, and various ephemera. For me, the book does read like an archival dive. Instead, I read it as presented in a scrapbook form, a vastly underrated medium as it is situated just outside of diary-making, journaling, and the photobook itself. Great scrapbooks have been made privately, but there are also scrapbooks from known artists like Walther Pfeiffer, Timothy Prus, Donovan Wylie, and the author Dennis Cooper that have illuminated the format. The recent book and exhibition by Matthieu Orléan is a prime example of the scrapbook’s importance. Scrapbooks are interior readings from the artist, often formed on a type of automatism or way of archaeologically digging into the patterns of the subconscious.
In Coppola’s case, Archive feels slightly more like note-taking and re-examining material built up from her time on set; the energy of that experience is implicit in the work. There is a dynamism in its collation. Though I am not overly interested in specific actors (except Bill M) throughout the book, nor am I a fanboy, but I see its purpose, its importance to her fan base, and also to overviewing her career. For fans of her films, this will be gold dust. The cult of personality surrounding her and her actors will be something of value.
From the photographic standpoint, which this does not purport to be, I am less interested in the photographs, though I find some whimsy in seeing how often people are caught in a state of lying down everywhere. It must be truly exhausting. All tongue-in-cheek humor aside, the photographs are secondary to the holistic experience, which is the purpose of such an offering. For a book that I did not intend to engage with, it has been fun trying to parse out Coppola’s world, and at least I do not have to see her solely through the lens of Godfather III anymore, having found some experience in looking over her work open-mindedly. I recommend this to people interested in her work and those considering archival rummaging. If you come at this from photography or the photobook, it might be found as something it is not. If you hit it from the archive or scrapbook angle, it is pretty rewarding.
