The written word holds power, yet it’s rarely as straightforward as it seems on the page—a truth that resonates both in life and in “Chronovisor,” the film written, directed, and edited by Jack Auen and Kevin Walker. Walker laughed with IndieWire, admitting, “In many ways the script is objectively bad.”
Yet unlike many weak scripts, the film Walker and Auen produced is a tight, lean, gripping thriller—largely powered by authentic archival material they collected and animated on screen, much like the concept of time‑travel springs to life in their protagonist’s imagination.
As any project that attempts to use text messages as plot points discovers, rendering on‑screen text that feels cool or even intriguing is notoriously difficult.
Yet in “Chronovisor,” text drives the film’s discovery, unfolding slowly and almost hypnotically into one of its most thrilling elements. To achieve this, Auen and Walker meticulously shaped the assembly and pacing of their archival material—long before any film was shot or a cast was chosen.
The protagonist, Beatrice Courte (played by Anne Laure Sellier), leads a largely solitary existence; her deepest bonds are not with people—certainly not with the colleagues she endures dull dinners alongside—but with the philosophical and psychological texts she studies beneath the warm light of research lamps, pondering them as she wanders through New York City’s nocturnal hum.
Set against this beguiling backdrop—captured lovingly on 16mm film by cinematographer Leo Zhang and underscored with budget‑friendly excerpts from Gustav Holst’s “The Planets”—Beatrice slips into a knowledge wormhole surrounding a (genuine) device known as the Chronovisor, pushing ever deeper to determine whether it truly still exists.
A substantial portion of the film shows Beatrice poring over books and vintage magazines; text flashes on screen, highlighted in rapid succession to create the illusion of inner illumination—as if certain snippets simply catch the eye and glow, hinting at deeper significance.
Walker explained to IndieWire, “We mapped out the documentation sequence in the order information is revealed, then we cut that arrangement to Holst’s music, which gave the text passages their rhythm and cadence. This was done in pre‑production and shot digitally, allowing us to sync the edits to the music, perfect the timing, and keep film costs low—when we moved to actual film, we maintained a near one‑to‑one shooting ratio because we already knew exactly what we needed.”
Their measure‑twice, cut‑once strategy let Auen and Walker allocate their limited budget where it mattered most—filming at Johns Hopkins’ George Peabody Library (standing in for the New York Historical Society) and cultivating the film’s uncanny, almost otherworldly glow, whether from Zhang’s lighting or from their treatment of the archival imagery on screen.
Walker noted, “While countless documentaries rely solely on archival footage, we wanted to experiment with how text can be presented on film. Every formal and narrative decision, along with Beatrice’s psychological profile, grew from that initial formal choice, creating a domino effect.”
Auen added, “Kevin and I frequently discuss what draws us to an idea and makes it worth pursuing as a film, given the inevitable headaches and heartbreaks. It’s hard to pin down, but this project appealed to us narratively and cinematically, and it also offered the chance to uphold our creative and formal vision without breaking a realistic budget.”
Auen and Walker crafted the text superimpositions in the editing suite, striving to match the timing and feel of the 16mm footage until it felt right. Walker recalled, “Initially we used a Microsoft Word font; it sat apart from the image and lacked integration. After a few editing tweaks, we achieved a seamless look and thought, ‘This is going to work.’”
They meticulously curated the on‑screen text flow to guide viewers in reading it, sensing its mystery, and digging deeper just as Beatrice does. Auen explained, “We spent several months mirroring Beatrice’s journey through the film’s research—just the two of us—before shooting. That process shaped the story. All documents in the film are genuine save one, and all videos are authentic except for one.”
Walker added, “We’re leaving it open to interpretation, letting audiences decide what constitutes wheat and what is chaff.”
Whether they are manipulating on‑screen text, simulating archival material, or allowing an image to linger so viewers can project Beatrice’s psychology onto it, Walker and Auen regard their directorial role less as image‑makers and more as curators of diverse media and influences.
Auen said, “We trust our own tastes as consumers of art, literature, and media, which makes it easy for us to react and say, ‘I know what works for me.’ That’s why we drew inspiration from the film’s conspiracy, its literary sources (credited in the movie), and its music. We aimed for a cumulative build‑up that releases tension, even if no single moment can be pinpointed as the source.”
This structure is central to the suspense of “Chronovisor”; the tension builds steadily, and the release may arrive with the next page you encounter.
“Chronovisor” is currently playing in theaters.
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