Looking at Death

Death is an idea that Godard explores in his work any number of times. With reference to Douglas Morrey’s book Jean-Luc Godard, I will briefly look at some of the recurrences of death in Godard’s films, and the significance of his preoccupation with this idea.

In Breathless, Michel Poiccard dies dramatically in the middle of the street in Paris, in a manhunt. This event, however, is foreshadowed earlier – for instance, in a moment, which seems to encapsulate the film’s uncertain tone, Michel follows a joke about a condemned man to ask, “Do you ever think about death? I think about it all the time.” Morrey quotes other instances that reference the passing of the years too quickly, the choice between grief and nothingness, and concludes that, the many premonitions lend an air of inevitability to the final event when it happens.

But in his analysis he rejects the clichéd existential interpretation of death in the film. Death is not invoked to remind us of the difficulty of the situation the lead characters face; it is not a device, therefore, to highlight human freedom and the need to take responsibility for our choices. On the contrary, Morrey quotes Maurice Blanchot, who proposes that Michel’s end is a “death without truth” His death cannot therefore be understood or overcome in any proper way, it is a symbol of that the unthinkable, which cannot be understood from within life. It echoes the failure of Michel and Patricia to communicate with each other. There is a strong sense of futility attached to it.

Whereas, in Contempt, Camille and Prokosch’s joint death in a car crash tends to appear absolutely out of the blue. Morrey agrees that it is easy to misconstrue Camille’s death as a form of punishment for her actions, her end maybe seen as being misogynistic twist to the narrative. 

However, he points out that Camille’s death does not have any narrative motivation as in Breathless, and neither is it motivated by the overall circumstance, as in Nana’s end in Vivre sa vie. Nana’s death is again foretold through her identification through Joan of Arc, but Morrey argues that her death in a shootout between Raoul and a rival pimp is not a punishment for her whoredom. He analyses the film to show that Nana is in fact a very strong, and memorable character- she is an existential heroine who engages with the real questions of life.

Death makes an appearance in La Petit Soldat as well when Bruno kills Palivoda, motivated more by emotion, than by any political belief. Bruno also echoes Michel when he asks, “Do you ever think about death”, Blanchot points out that this is the single, central question, the question of everything- the question that cannot be asked. Bruno also refers to the extraordinary sensation of photographing death.

This idea of photographing death is explored further in Here and Elsewhere, when Godard talks about footage from 1970 that features people who are no longer alive- almost all the Palestinian actors died in attacks by the Jordanian Army. Godard then says, “The film filmed the actors in danger of death”. Morrey points out, then, that this idea relates to Jean Epstein and Cocteau’s poetically melancholic ideas that, “cinema films death at work on the faces and in the bodies of actors”

In effect then, we may conclude that in analyzing death in Godard’s films, some patterns exist. For one, the death of characters is often foretold and hangs over the film like a dark cloud, many times the death is not motivated by the narrative and is a symbol for the unknowability of existence, at other times, it is a more empowered sense of death that emerges as an existential victory over life’s meaninglessness.

 - Preeti

DORT ON BRECHT/GODARD AND BRECHT

Written in 1960 and published in the Cahiers du Cinéma, Bernard Dort's text "Towards a Brechtian criticism of Cinema" exposes the Brechtian methods, aims and structures in theater and how those can be looked at in cinema, though Dort says that Brechtianism "rejects and strongly refuses all relation with the cinema in its open claim to be specifically and exclusively theatrical." Though it is specifically theatrical, since Brecht focused on theater, Brechtianism does not exclude cinema per se, and Godard proves it. Brecht's aesthetic is based on the involvement of the viewer in the story to make him an active member of the spectacle. Indeed, rather than implicating the spectator in a piece, Brecht's epic theater turns the spectator into an observer, an active thinker, by creating a distanciation or alienation effect ("Verfremdungseffekt").

Moreover, "the audience should never forget it is at the theater" and will therefore study what it is seeing and instead of being involved in something, it is made to face something of a social and political nature. Brechtian methods remind the spectator that this is a spectacle, would make sources of light visible by the audience, have billboards to indicate the time and place or to summarize action.

Brechtian theories which seem to deny cinema, actually reject its continuity and the viewer's identification with a character, which lead the viewer to become a passive watcher of the action.

Therefore, because of that, one can say that it excludes cinema. But how can a film still be considered Brechtian since in its nature cinema can seem contradictory to the Brechtian philosophy? Can a film not exist as an autonomous language?

Any film author can choose what he wants to deal with in a movie, and it can deal with its own process, a part of alienation coming from Brecht - cinema can chose to reflect cinema and remind the viewer that this is a film we are watching.

In accordance with this perspective, elements of Brechtianism can be found in many of Godard's films, whether it be in "Le Mépris" which deals with the making of a film (film inside a film, "metafilm"). In fact, the credit sequence is given in a voice-over in the opening scene and in the first scene we see a camera filming.

Le Mépris — Opening Scene

Le Mépris — Shooting scene

Another example would be "Week End" where the actors actually comment on the film, such as Roland: "What a rotten film. All we meet are crazy people." The intertitles offer a running commentary on the action: “A film adrift in the cosmos’’ — “A film found on a dump’’—“The Lewis Carroll Way’’—“From French Revolution to Gaullist weekends: freedom is violence.’

In his essay, Dort suggests when giving the example of Dudow's 1932 "Kuhle Wampe" that a modern viewer wouldn't grasp the message conveyed in the film since it doesn't know the German political and historical references that appear throughout the film.

However, Godard does give us the information necessary to understand the location and time the film is taking place in, though the questions it asks remain timeless in certain cases like in "Vivre Sa Vie".

The most obvious Brechtian element would be the fact that it is divided into twelve parts -"tableaux" - each chapter having a title and a small resume of what is to come, but also like as a commentary of what is to come.

Vivre Sa Vie — First three tableaux

Also, the music used throughout the film is more of a commentary to the film itself and what is happening in the film rather than music "simply" appearing at the peak moments of sadness, to make sure that the audience understands "this is a sad moment", like in most films.

The fact that the music keeps repeating itself also comments on the lack of free will of Nana's character. The movie is divided into tableaux, which breaks with the continuity of film, as we are reminded that it is a film we are watching. Godard also said "“Why twelve, I donʼt know; but in tableaux to emphasize the theatrical, Brechtian side", clearly an strong influence in his films.

Godard's Use of Light

In our last class, Sam said something that I had discovered as I was working on my final paper regarding light; it is not about the amount of light but the right light. This is the crux of my final paper. As I was investigating various art movements devoted to light and refining my paper topic, I concluded that this point, the right light, is most pertinent to a discussion of Godard. As we know, even in his black and white films, he utilized natural light and did not rely on the industrial lighting standard for filmmaking. Because my final paper focuses on two specific examples of Godard’s relationship to light, (Alphaville and Passion) in this post I will focus briefly on some of the ways in which Godard uses light to communicate major themes in the films Contempt, Weekend and L’Eloge de L’Amour, namely sexuality, consumerism and memory.

Light in Contempt exists in many forms but what makes it specific to the film is its use to emphasize the sexuality of Brigitte Bardot. From the tinted red and blue to the reflection off the sea or as her backdrop, whether intentional or not, light’s main function is to draw more attention to and accentuate Bardot’s sex appeal.

(But Godard’s use of the natural light of Capri makes the film’s look unforgettably beautiful whether Bardot is in the scene or not.)

Weekend has a different relationship to light. It looks duller or washed out compared to Contempt.

And while so much of it takes place outside or among nature, the dullness remains. It is this dullness which adds to the feelings of alienation or enhances Godard’s critique of consumerism. (Think Marx's alienation theory)The absence of light corresponds to the absence of joy and the ugliness of the main characters. The world that the characters live in, reminiscent of a warzone, feels somehow other than our world when the muted light is taken into account. In this way, his use of light warns the audience of the consequences of consumerism. One lingering question is the role of the fires in Weekend; how can they be understood in relation to light?

Finally, L’Eloge de L’Amour, which uses light so cleverly and skillfully. In this film, Godard often obscures the faces of the main characters.  He again uses light to emphasize a characterization in the film, in this case memory. He actually obscures and manipulates the film through his treatment of light to communicate his points.

Godard maintains a command of light even when the film is in black and white. Nothing is not sharp unless he chooses. The power of Paris as the "city of lights" is not diminished when captured in black and white. (There may be a statement here about Paris for the wealthy vs. the Paris of the worker from the two images below, as one remains crisp and the other is covered in darkness.) Memory is explored and exposed in Godard's use of light.

Godard uses light is such a deliberate way that enhances the overall themes of his films and illuminates the subtelties of his point of view. I continue to investigate his search for the right light…

Godard and the Sea

According to Morrey, Eloge de l’Amour represents, to some extent, a critique of history and memory.[1] If examined alongside Contempt, this insight explains or confirms Godard’s shift from reliance on or reverence for history (if we think about the plot of Contempt) to a questioning of the role or function of history in Eloge de l’Amour. And while this analysis seems reasonable, I wonder how it is expressed filmically. (Apart from the narrative structure or plot.)

Contempt may be understood, as he says in Godard on Godard, as “the story of castaways…survivors of the shipwreck of modernity.”[2] This brings the question to water; if we think about his representations of the sea, in at least three films from his early, middle and late periods, we can see how his ideas about history and memory (and maybe by extension film and filmmaking) changed or developed in filmic terms.

In Contempt, the sea is filmed as a fact. If a person chose the crew’s exact shooting location, the sea itself would probably look the same now as it did then. The quality that he captured was unaffected by anything else, purposely. (Not true of the outdoor stone steps painted blue/yellow and therefore a deliberate decision.) The sea’s relation to history was similarly evident. It was for Godard the same sea that Homer described in The Odyssey.  And as the viewer sees it, it is unending and unaltered.

When Godard made Passion almost 20 years later, he had a different method for representing the sea. In fact the idea of representation was even used differently in these middle stage films. He was not hiding from representation nor alluding to it. He confronted what he was trying to represent (the film the viewer sees) with the mechanisms and machinations of filmmaking (the world of the film within the film) until they were united. The sea in Passion is a pool of water inspired by either (or a mix of both) Ingres’ Small Bather and/or Delacroix’s Entry of the Crusaders into Constantinople. (Note the unavoidable historical relevance in representing the paintings.) This image of the sea is not the sea but it is not trying to be the sea either. It is an acknowledged and embraced reproduction of the sea. And while the sea of Contempt is no more than a representation of the sea as well, it is not aware or does not force the viewer to be aware of its representative nature.

Finally, Eloge de l’Amour, coming 20 years after Passion, shows the viewer the sea once more. But this sea is different from both before it. This sea is both altered and a fact, albeit of memory. It is not the sea that anyone would see realistically if standing in front of it. It is a blatant representation of the sea but also includes one’s memory of the sea. It is not afraid to exist apart from the facts of water reflecting light because that it not all the Godard is showing; there is also the presence of the memory in this sea. History and memory and their relationships are being explored in this sea. This is not my sea, maybe not your sea but it is how someone remembered the sea sometime. It is a wholly different approach to representation, to filmmaking, than Godard has used before. Somehow this sea is both a reproduction and a representation; it includes elements from Contempt and Passion while adding something altogether new.

This view is a view unburdened by history since it is not aligned with history; it is changeable to whoever might remember. Or is it burdened by history since history informs the memory? I am not sure what exactly these analyses yield. But I can see now that Godard’s explorations of history and memory are filmically reflected in his life’s work and the changes that are evident over the course of his career seem to be more like developments of the same themes. Now the gap seems more narrow between his early, mid and late stage films; development is expected but these thoughtful experiments are clearly characteristic of Godard.

Sienna

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[1] Morrey, Jean-Luc Godard, 231.

[2] Godard, Godard on Godard, 201.

Godard as Godard: Analyzing Surrogates in Breathless and Contempt

Within the discourse of cinephilia, authorship and domestic relations, there exists another element of Godard’s work that has been highly prophetic.  Embedded within the exploration of the Author with a capital “A”, the presence of self-identification is readily apparent.  Whereas most theorists cite Godard’s relationship with Anna Karina as a defining foundation of his films, I find that his depictions of self are more robust and influential.  In short, Godard repeatedly represents himself as a surrogate assumed by his male protagonists.  Various tiers of literary criticism, including Lacanian mirror stage theory, the doppelganger and the myth of Narcissus, support this assumption.  In contrast to Roland Barthes, Godard is not only the originator of the work, he is noticeably intertwined within the oeuvre.  This reflective quality is noticeable via detailed analysis of the protagonists in Breathless and Contempt.

Most analytical writings make clear mention of the cinematic references within Breathless.  The film represents a clear homage to the American and Italian cinema of the late 40’s and 50’s.  Nonetheless, little is mentioned about the obvious similarities between Michel, the Jean-Paul Belmondo character and the “Young Turk” that was Godard.  A drifter, at times petty criminal, interested in exploring the fringes of Parisian living - this description is equally applicable to Michel and/or Godard as filmmaker.  It is not difficult to imagine Godard undergoing the same pressures and obstacles that are encountered by Michel.  Even more to the point, it is likely that Godard would view his protagonist as an extension of his own personality and exploits.  Dudley Andrew highlights the tempestuous demeanor of Breathless era Godard when he writes “One finds in his writings and memoirs of this period a winning mixture of the brash, pugnacious smart ass (proud of petty thefts from stores, from friends) and of the young romantic, dreaming of the purity of artistic expression.” (4, 5).  Hence, Godard and Michel as drifters and dreamers.


Several ironies are also noticeable within this assumption.  Most noticeably, Godard plays the “newspaper witness” in Breathless.  Upon viewing Michel’s image on the front page of the paper, he proceeds to the nearest police officer to report his sighting.  In recognizing Belmondo’s face, it quotes a similar scene in which Michel observes the image of Humphrey Bogart. Just as Michel appears to visualize his own persona within that of Bogie, it is equally plausible that Godard recognizes the image of Michel as an extension of his own identity.  The fact that he reports the sighting opens further interpretations in regards to the status of both Godard and Michel – two figures who were previously unrecognizable, yet who were developing notice within the public view.

In Contempt, this personal connection becomes even more obvious.  Paul, a screenwriter, mimics Godardian aura more closely than any previous work.  Once again, the “contempt” between Piccoli and Bardot supposedly refer to tension between Godard and Karina.  However, the personal aspects of Paul are more closely tied to Godard as filmmaker.  Noticeably, throughout the course of the film, Paul appears torn between two spheres of influence.  First, the pompous film producer, Prokosch, who writes the checks and has little interest in cinema as art.  Secondly, by Fritz Lang, the creative visionary who defines cinema vis a vis his mere presence.  Once again, it is not difficult to consider how Godard the filmmaker was split between these two forces – an industry force that generates income and, in doing so, commands decision making power and an identifiable, God-like character straight from the chapters of cinema history.


The irony in Contempt rests in Paul’s rewriting of the Odyssey.  Throughout his career, Godard was renowned for quoting classical works of literature.  In this case, it is the Godardian surrogate who must assume the task of rewriting Homer’s classic tale.  This bold responsibility is parallel to Godard consciously winking at himself.  He quotes classic material. However, his cinematic surrogate is afforded the opportunity to author the classics.  This rewriting manifests itself in the last shot of the film when the camera pans to the image of the empty horizon.  The narrator discusses the plausibility of returning home versus the potential to remain at sea and, by extension, continue the adventure.  The conflict that Paul faces reflects the same journey that consumed Godard – to be hopelessly trapped between the industry of movies and the art of cinema.  Ultimately, Paul and Godard are depicted with the same appeal as a character from Greek mythology.  Honorable, voyagers of a ten year journey…cineastes without a definitive home.

echeverria

The American Influence on Character Construction and Cesare Zavattini

In Breathless, we saw Humphrey Bogart in Jean Paul Belmondo’s Michel Poiccard. Then last week in Alphaville, we saw Eddie Constantine’s Lemmy Caution revisit some of Bogart’s characteristics, particularly regarding smoking.

This got me thinking about the American influence on characters in Godard’s films, a topic that I have been wondering about since our Cesare Zavattini readings. (I will come back to Zavattini soon.) While watching Alphaville, I recognized the first man Lemmy Caution must find. His real name is Akim Tamiroff and he was a character actor in a number of American films including two Preston Sturges films, Orson Welles’ Touch of Evil and Ocean’s Eleven with Frank Sinatra and Dean Martin. (In the second photo, Tamiroff is the 5^th head from the left, next to Peter Lawford.)

As we know, Sinatra had been Godard’s original choice for Paul Javal in Contempt. Michel Piccoli, the man who ended up playing Paul Javal, references Dean Martin in Some Came Running, a film starring Sinatra.  (Paul is referring to wearing his hat in the bathtub and Martin’s character never took his hat off, even in the bathroom. To see the clip of Dean Martin in Some Came Running, in the bathroom with his hat on go to http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XDaVg_JZrbg&feature=related at about the 6:30 mark—it’s in German here though!)

In the photo above, Brigitte Bardot’s Camille is wearing a black wig similar to the hairstyle of Anna Karina in Vivre sa Vie. Karina’s Nana is quite similar in her overall look to Louise Brooks, the silent movie actress. (And while it is true that Brooks worked with GW Pabst in German films, she remained a contract player at Paramount where she originated her look.)

 

  

Keeping these American influences in mind, I return to Zavattini who said in his A Thesis on Neo-Realism “whereas we are attracted by the truth, by the reality which touches us and which we want to know and understand directly and thoroughly, the Americans continue to satisfy themselves with a sweetened version of truth produced through transposition.” (Zavattini, 69) This condemnation brings up a series of questions:

Would it be accurate to describe Godard’s relationship to the American cinema as a secondary relationship, a step removed from any primary responsibility since he is not American and does not make films in America?

If we can say that his is a secondary relationship, is it that removal which allows his characters to be inspired yet their American influences to be lacking, if we agree with Zavattini?

Is American film redeemable to someone like Zavattini through Godard’s films?

Is there a way in which the American aversion to truth is helpful with regards to Godard’s filmmaking?

If American filmmaking is “undergoing a crisis” (Zavattini 69) yet adding to the films of Godard, how can we reconcile the state of American films? Does this reflect in any way poorly on Godard to someone like Zavattini?

If American films are integral to non-American films, how can we understand Zavattini’s observations which suggest a concrete separation of international cinema?

Sienna

Le Mépris and Authorship

Le Mépris is a good work to use as a test case for auteur theory (la politique des auteurs) and Astruc’s la caméra-stylo. Although it is not the only film directed by Godard with a literary source, it is the one that stays closest to its source material, a novel by Alberto Moravia (Il Disprezzo). Yet, it is hard for me to imagine anyone who has read the book, as I have, and seen the film to claim that the “author” of Le Mépris is Moravia. Il Disprezzo is a work by Moravia, and Le Mépris is a work by Godard. Here I would repeat the comment made by the ex-Surrealist poet Louis Aragon about the film at the time of its release: “I’ve seen [the] novel of today. At the cinema … It’s called Contempt, the novelist is someone named Godard” (qt. in Richard Brody, Everything is Cinema, p. 172). At the same time, what is fascinating is that while the author of the film is undoubtedly Godard, Godard himself acknowledges and explores his works relation to a whole series of other texts, including, of course, the novel upon which it is based. Is this because – as a postmodernist might say – there is no originality, everything has already been said, everything has already been done, et al.? I would say "no", and precisely because Le Mépris, for all its intertextual references, is original – and retains this originality nearly fifty years after its initial release. (The film's exploration of quotation and translation – of quotation as translation – is uniquely Godardian. This doesn't mean it can't be imitated, but the imitation remains precisely that: Godard without Godard.) Godard’s use of citation and allusion is not an acknowledgment that the expressive potential of art has been exhausted; instead, his citations and allusions affirm the enduring power of art, always waiting another chance to provoke, to excite, to disturb. As Leo Bersani and Ulysse Dutoit observe, “Godard quotes inordinately in his films – through passages projected onto the screen, or through characters who recite bits of literary texts, or directly from books.” And this citational practice works to liberate the texts that he quotes, allowing them to remain in process or in movement. “By citationally picking at literature, he de-monumentalizes it, therefore resurrecting it from the death of finished being, and allows it to circulate – unfinished, always being made – within the open time of film” (Forms of Being, p. 65). Unfinished, always being made, open: all keys to Godard’s particular form of art. All characteristics that we can attribute to the author referred to as "Godard" – a figure who doesn't precede or transcend his art works but who emerges, comes into being, alongside them. (And, if any reminder is necessary, all characteristics described by Eco in "Poetics of the Open Work.")

S I-G