(Originally published in Cinema Canada, July/August 1986)

No Voice Over offers us an existential view of the world where action is difficult because everything is indefinite and in a state of constant change. Reality is a fluid concept different from one minute to the next, and is also subjective, differing from person to person. Because of this, real communication is impossible. Despite all our efforts, to a large extent we are isolated from each other.

Director Colin Campbell deliberately structures the tape loosely. Effectively, there is no real beginning or end; nothing gets done, and nothing is stable. Moca, one of the main characters, buys a postcard of a mummy, which turns out to be a mummified hawk. This apparently trivial revelation, in conjunction with her mother’s recent demise, leads her to abandon her painting and her work with a journal, and head off to South America to practice archeology (because you can reach yourself by “tangibly touching the past”). Meanwhile, her best friend and sometime lover, Miranda, takes off for Italy. Upon arrival she receives a letter-tape from Moca, and becomes so obsessed with the contents that she cannot write the script she was going to do. The video ends with Miranda missing a plane to Japan, the place of her next assignment.

Because of the indeterminacy of reality, our physical and mental isolation is evidenced through the use of the letter-tapes sent by the various characters. The tapes are conceptualized twice, once when composed and once when listened to. Because words are limited and their interpretation depends on many factors, the intended message will never be exactly the same as the one received. The difficulty of communication is emphasized in the video by the problem Moca and Miranda have relating. As the woman have a warm relationship, effectively communicated on the tape, the problem is noticeable. Moca supposes she sees Miranda in South Africa, and believes the apparition may somehow be real. When she tries to describe the aura around Miranda’s face, however, she cannot do it. “Not exactly a halo,” she stammers, “more like a fire… I don’t know. I thought you were in danger…. I don’t know.”

But film language at once makes communication possible by allowing us a common code yet at the same time limits the filmmaker’s versatility in his communication. In this tape, Campbell oversteps the rules to make us aware of them, and to allow himself more freedom. For instance, when Miranda sends out some script ideas, the concepts in her mind are reflected on the screen. She talks about the Goodyear blimp and we see it. Then she says, “On the other hand, I’m losing faith in this idea,” and the image disappears.

Campbell manages to give reality to the mind’s eye because he doesn’t believe in a unifying objective reality.