“A highly unorthodox glimpse into the past, present and future in tandem that is both captivating and slightly too ambitious for its own good.”

Art exists in dialogue with itself – every introductory course to any given medium makes it clear that no work of art can be formed without being a response to some other existing work, whether previous or concurrent. Moreover, creative individuals are more often than not in communication with one another, which is how artistic movements are started, with the spread of influence and inspiration being pivotal to the creation of meaningful, layered works. In an effort to take this concept a step further, Edgar Pêra (one of Europe’s most ambitious and intriguing experimental filmmakers) imagines a hypothetical series of correspondences between Fernando Pessoa, Portugal’s most famous writer and the self-styled poet of endless personas, and H.P. Lovecraft, the iconoclastic American author revered for his contributions to horror, aiding in the formation of the genre as we know it today. Two writers who were living and working at approximately the same time, but who spent their lives divided by an expansive ocean and likely never interacted, form the foundation for this fascinating experimental drama in which Pêra crafts a peculiar and disquieting exploration of art as he imagines it was seen from the perspective of two wildly divergent creative individuals that played an important role in the development of major literary movements, but have receded into the annals of history as mere remnants of the past. The director endeavors to use this film to bring them to life, albeit momentarily, providing us with a unique series of conversations in which he attempts to give us insights into their artistic process, how they viewed the world, and their internal quandaries, all of which the director weaves together in this highly unorthodox glimpse into the past, present and future in tandem that is both captivating and slightly too ambitious for its own good.

There is an element to discuss on the subject of Telepathic Letters that is both uncomfortable and unavoidable – this is a film in which nearly every image is generated through artificial intelligence. This technology has become a major point of contention and has essentially divided the population, some of whom find value in the concept of AI-generated art, whereas others find it insulting to even use such a word to describe something created by machinery that could never understand the extent of human creativity or the limitless nature of imagination. However, this is the exact reason why Telepathic Letters feels like such a remarkable work since it is not only entirely aware of this debate, but factors it into the narrative in fascinating ways. Pêra is not some rambunctious young upstart looking to cut corners, but rather an experimental filmmaker who has decades of experience and dozens of films under his belt, and the opportunity to work with new technology was clearly exciting, even if it presented a series of ethical questions when it comes to the use of such methods as a form of self-expression. Throughout the film, the director is able to create absolutely any image he desires, including having avatars of Pessoa and Lovecraft speak to one another. The imagery is mostly garish and awkward, and sometimes even outright hideous – but it is all entirely intentional, and Pêra constantly seems to be challenging us to look beyond the technology to see whether or not we can embrace what lies beneath. The audience is asked to attempt to move past the fact that these fascinating images are not the work of any human hand, but rather a machine – could this be the future of filmmaking? The prospect is both bleak and unlikely, and it is never clear where the director himself stands on the issue, since he doesn’t offer much in terms of a direct opinion. He views this technology as nothing more than a tool, and the ethics of its use are left open to interpretation. 

The other challenge – and perhaps the more fruitful one – is not only to question whether this technology represents the future of filmmaking but also whether we can look beyond the images and embrace what lies beneath, which is indeed the far more interesting question and one that isn’t limited to apocalyptic conversations about the use of machinery as artistic tools. We soon discover that Telepathic Letters is an extraordinarily profound film – the visual component is certainly unique, but it isn’t the only element worth discussing at length. Instead, Pêra is questioning the very nature of creation as an artistic medium in its own right – throughout the film, he uses Lovecraft and Pessoa as vessels for several brilliant artistic discussions, in which each of them engages in lengthy soliloquies about the nature of art and the necessity of creation, questioning what it means to be an artist and whether one creates for themselves or an audience, proving the central thesis that art is perpetually in dialogue with itself, done in quite a literal manner. Is self-expression worth anything if there isn’t someone to consume it, or can one be satisfied if only a single reader or viewer adores their work? Can criticism be a viable response to art, or are some opinions less valuable than others? The director poses many challenging questions, and he seems uninterested in providing answers to them, or at least giving the kinds of solutions we would anticipate.

Whether or not Pessoa and Lovecraft were aware of each other’s existence – let alone had any form of correspondence – is not clear, and is essentially irrelevant to the entire premise of Telepathic Letters, which only uses this imagined relationship as the starting point for a daring and unconventional deconstruction of art from the perspective of both the artist and the audience. The director cites this as an “unfinishable film”, a concept he doesn’t explain in its entirety, but rather introduces as a conversation for a future film (since Telepathic Letters ends with the introduction to an upcoming film that will presumably continue these same themes), and calls into question whether or not a work of art can ever truly be considered complete, especially if we factor in the interpretation given to a certain work by audiences, and how their perspective can shift meaning. Throughout the film, Pêra introduces two thematic threads that both Pessoa and Lovecraft believed to be the foundation of humanity – fear and madness – and explores how they both influence artistic expression and their examinations of the human condition, finding the intricate connections that bind the images and words that persist throughout this highly unorthodox film. We are drawn into a terrifying and hypnotic state, with the uncanny imagery instilling a sense of profound discomfort, which may be intentional but does not always feel entirely cohesive. Unconventional and impenetrable, Telepathic Letters is certainly unique – it takes the viewer on quite a bold journey, and while it can’t be considered fully convincing in every aspect, it is clear that this is only one part of an ongoing project, so any reservations will hopefully be resolved once we are given the chance to once again step into the director’s nonconformist vision of the world and get yet another fascinating glimpse into his daring perspective on art and its many surrounding ideas.