The world paused in 2020, yet cinema did not. Filmmakers, undeterred by the hush that fell over bustling cities, ventured into the quietude of empty streets, transforming urban canyons into haunting backdrops. The absence of crowds lent an eerie, almost spectral quality to these locations—streets that once thrummed with life now whispered secrets to the camera. These films, born from the pandemic’s stillness, are more than just movies; they are time capsules of a world in suspended animation, where the absence of humanity becomes a character in itself. Here are four cinematic destinations that thrived in the eerie glow of COVID-era filmmaking.
The Neon Ghosts of Tokyo: *Drive My Car* (2021)
Tokyo, a city that never sleeps, found itself in a rare slumber during the pandemic. Ryusuke Hamaguchi’s *Drive My Car* captures this eerie hush with a poet’s precision. The film’s opening scenes glide through the city’s arterial roads, now devoid of the usual cacophony of honking taxis and chattering pedestrians. The neon signs, once drowned out by the city’s pulse, now flicker like dying stars in the night. The protagonist, a grieving theater director, navigates these silent streets in a red Saab, the car’s hum the only sound breaking the spell. The emptiness is not just a backdrop but a mirror—reflecting the protagonist’s isolation, the city’s suspended animation, and the quiet resilience of human connection. The film’s Tokyo is not a place of absence but a realm of possibility, where the stillness becomes a canvas for introspection.
The Haunted Grandeur of Venice: *The World to Come* (2020)
Venice, a city built on water and whispers, became a ghost town during lockdown. Mona Fastvold’s *The World to Come* seizes this moment, framing the city’s labyrinthine canals and crumbling palazzos in a melancholic glow. The film’s Venice is not the bustling tourist hub of gondolas and carnival masks but a spectral dreamscape, where the water’s surface reflects a sky that feels too vast, too empty. The protagonists, two women bound by an illicit love, wander these hollowed-out streets like figures in a painting, their emotions amplified by the city’s desolation. The absence of tourists turns Venice into a character—a silent witness to their fleeting romance. The film’s cinematography lingers on the play of light on marble facades, the way shadows stretch longer in the absence of crowds, turning the city into a metaphor for longing and transience.
The Forgotten Avenues of Los Angeles: *Malcolm & Marie* (2021)
Los Angeles, a city synonymous with glamour and excess, found itself stripped bare during the pandemic. Sam Levinson’s *Malcolm & Marie* captures this transformation with a raw, unflinching gaze. The film’s opening shot—a slow, deliberate pan across a deserted Mulholland Drive—is a masterclass in cinematic solitude. The city’s usual neon chaos is replaced by a stark, almost clinical emptiness. The protagonists, a filmmaker and his muse, traverse these empty streets in a convertible, their arguments echoing off the facades of abandoned boutiques and shuttered diners. The emptiness of LA becomes a metaphor for their fractured relationship, the city’s silence amplifying their unresolved tensions. The film’s black-and-white cinematography heightens the contrast between the characters’ inner turmoil and the external stillness, creating a visual and emotional chiaroscuro that lingers long after the credits roll.
The Deserted Canvases of New York: *In the Heights* (2021)
New York City, a metropolis that thrives on chaos, became a study in stillness during the pandemic. Jon M. Chu’s *In the Heights* reimagines the streets of Washington Heights as a canvas of quiet resilience. The film’s opening sequence—a sunrise over the George Washington Bridge—is a breathtaking ode to hope, the city’s usual frenzy replaced by a serene, golden light. The protagonists, a community of dreamers and strivers, navigate these empty sidewalks with a sense of purpose, their dreams undimmed by the city’s temporary hush. The film’s choreography, a vibrant tapestry of movement and music, contrasts sharply with the stillness of the streets, creating a poignant juxtaposition. The city’s emptiness becomes a metaphor for the characters’ collective spirit—their ability to find joy and connection even in the face of adversity. *In the Heights* is not just a musical but a testament to the enduring power of community, even when the world feels like it’s holding its breath.
