Book Review: Dear God, the Parthenon is still broken by Yorgos Lanthimos
All photo credits go to @Yorgos Lanthimos.
Written by Alexander Loukopoulos
Yorgos Lanthimos holds his cards close to his chest. Though he has certainly been a subject of much conversation this past year with the release of his award-winning film Poor Things, the latest addition to his oeuvre is Dear God, the Parthenon is still broken, an intimate collection of stills and behind-the-scenes photography from the 2023 film that both complement and diverge from the source material. What complements his intrepid cinematic endeavor in this collection is sublime—the colors, costumes, and widened frames. But where this collection diverges - the foldouts, documentation of the construction of set pieces, and function as a work independent of the film—is where it truly fascinates.
All photo credits go to @Yorgos Lanthimos.
Poor Things moves at a voracious pace, so much so that it can sometimes be difficult to take in the beauty that each frame offers. Fortunately for fans of the film, the lifeblood of Poor Things spills over into Dear God, the Parthenon is still broken like a pebble fountain. In this monograph, Lanthimos’s handcrafted vision of the late-19th century can now be appreciated from a different perspective, one that allows viewers to bask in the world he has created. It is this meditative quality found in each photograph that separates the book from the film. Thanks to Lanthimos’s meticulous direction, even the seemingly trite slices of these characters’ lives are pregnant with emotion. Black and white coalesce into a tranquil sea of grays. Deep shadows rub elbows with saturated colors. Lighting, composition, tone—everything here has a purpose.
All photo credits go to @Yorgos Lanthimos.
These photos are treasures in themselves. But when viewed together, a unique conflict arises: throughout the book, readers are given glimpses of the film set—but only just. Pages are dominated by imagery that harks back to the film; though sometimes, the façade cracks. This is especially evident in the magnificent foldouts within the book, which reveal images of the sets—recreations of locations like London, Lisbon, Marseille, and a cruise ship. Those brief moments where viewers gain access to the inner-workings of the film build tension by reminding them that, despite how fantastical this on-screen world may seem, its existence is manufactured, rooted in a world that is nowhere near as glamorous. This tension is so palpable that the book stands alone as its own narrative; Dear God, the Parthenon is still broken is a metaphysical journey where Poor Things is a physical one.
All photo credits go to @Yorgos Lanthimos.
With Dear God, the Parthenon is still broken, Lanthimos builds an aura of mystery around himself and his work. He wears his auteur status like a badge of honor and uses bizarre imagery and metaphor to convey deeper messages, ones that may not be as accessible as those of his fellow filmmakers. By design, his work is something that needs to be unraveled, dissected, and studied. Dear God, the Parthenon is still broken is the tactile version of this practice, an extension of Lanthimos’s arena of simultaneous comprehension and confusion.
As appreciators of his work, this means that the world of Bella Baxter is no longer confined to the silver screen. It can now be observed from multiple angles, creating a dimensionality that most companion pieces fail to achieve. Hiding as much as it reveals, Dear God, the Parthenon is still broken is an invitation to rediscover the world that Lanthimos has created. In doing so, we may just learn more about our own—how it too is a world of inconsistency and wonder. Like Bella Baxter, we are thrust into the wild to experience life again for the first time. Surely our adventures will be just as eventful as hers.
All photo credits go to @Yorgos Lanthimos.
