This is Not a Textual Analysis - Godard’s La Chinoise (Jacques Aumont, 1982)

This is Not a Textual Analysis (Godard’s La Chinoise)

Jacques Aumont

Let us consider a question which is usually treated as rhetorical: what allows our particular kind of critical discourse to exist in a journal like Ihzgtristiqtre et Stmiologie? * The journal’s name itself indicates the closeness and necessity, in cinema and elsewhere, of the links between semiological inquiry and the science of linguistics from which it derives its models. ‘This does not mean that cinema semiology must necessarily and exclusively be devoted to the study of codes and to formalizations which immediately turn into generalizations. I t does mean that any study of some aspect of the cinema conducted under this theoretical flag ought to contribute in as direct a way as possible to the more general task of recognizing and constituting filmic codes.

The kind of study that I am undertaking in this article might appear to be only loosely and even allusively linked to a semiological inquiry, since semiological concepts and methods are used only implicitly. Consequently, I feel that a kind of methodological preface is necessary in order to make clcar that if what I have written seems feasible, it can be so only if it enjoys the still usefully ambiguous status of a “theory of the cinema” in which the dividing lines-as regards the object of study, the way it should be tackled and the way it should be written-between aesthetics, textual analysis, and semiology as such, are not clearly drawn. During the period in which the seminal works of film theory were being written, it was politically, if not methodologically, advisable to proceed in a number of differ- cnt directions. Even today cinema “writers” retain the special privilege of being able to shift radically their tactical choices, and especially their choice of how to write, within an overall strategy which is becoming more and more clearly defined.

* This article originally appeared in French in Linguirtique ef Se‘miologie, no. 6 (Presses Universitaire de Lyon), 1978.

1 3 2 The discussion which follows therefore belongs to a particularly broad genre in our field, commonly known as “textual analysis.” This is not the place to consider the prosperity enjoyed by this genre over the past few years,’ nor to discuss whether or not it may be exhausted in the near future. Textual analyses (including some “sty- listic” studies) have played a large part in building a theory of cinema. However, there is the danger of an inevitable repetitiveness if study of the classical cinema is conducted exclusively by means of a series of film analyses.

Thus the object of the following analysis is a section ofJean-Luc Godard’s La Chinoise (72 shots lasting a total of 494 seconds).2 I t is not necessary to set out in detail all the reasons why this object was chosen, but some of its characteristics are particularly important to mention. First of all, I chose a film by Godard (made in 1967) because of a desire to relocate the point of application of critical discourse. An overwhelming proportion of semiological work (and above all studies of codes)3 is based on an implicit or explicit reference to the so-called “classical cinema”-an everchanging body of films which constitutes both a slice of cinema history, an ideological and aesthetic norm, and a certain historical stage in the development of cinematic language. Though its boundaries remain imprecise, and are sometimes fanciful, it continues to serve as a corpus that is particularly suitable for study because of its range, the ease with which one can gain access to it, and the apparent “obviousness” of the narrative and representational rules which it obeys-in other words, because of all those things which render it “classical.”

Moreover, in the 1960s Godard was undoubtedly one of the prin- cipal “modern” filmmakers who consciously undertook a systematic rewriting of the classical cinema, both through quotation and pastiche-things which were much remarked on at the time but which now seem to me less important-and also by adopting a series of procedures to block the system of representative “transparency” and the “cosmophanic” ideology that goes with it. This blocking procedure is fundamental to what will be said here. The section chosen (and more broadly, the film it belongs to and Godard’s work in general in this period) was picked because it demonstrates a displacement in relation to the classical cinema. I t is a displacement and not a break, a rejection, or a departure, since the film’s “writing” kccps classical cinema as its frame of reference.

I will focus on two major aspects of this section of La Chinoise.

First, I will look at everything that has to do with jgtrvution and denotation (or at least everything that goes to make up a denotated space and time). I t is well known that in the classical system the figurative inevitably and immediately tends towards the representa- t i ~ n a l . ~ The clearest example of this is the construction of an imaginary scene in the film which presupposes the existence of the spatial homogeneity and temporal continuity in what is represented. In this section Godard’s strategy of using and transforming the system of representaion based on the scene is clearly visible. With this strategy, the filmmaker’s activity is inevitably linked-this is the second group of phenomena which will be discussed-to the constant attempt to insert specific marks of his enunciution into the film itself. This mark- ing is a direct reference to the subjective effects of “interpellation” produced by the apparatus of the classical system, when these effects are themselves re-used and transformed, and sometimes frankly par- odied or caricatured.

I am not undertaking a “textual analysis” because it would not be possible to perform such an analysis adequately in so little space, and more crucially because my purpose here is not to set out the textual system of the film object which is under examination (in accordance with the method, which has become almost universally accepted, of breaking down its polysemy). Neither is this an analysis of particular codes, because although, when commenting on film space or the status of the spoken word, I try to make clear how certain representational codes function, my remarks, which concern the general phenomena that derive from the simultaneous play of several levels of codes, can probably not immediately be translated into codic systems.

‘33

Field, Figure, Depth

An initial rough breakdown of t‘he images shows that this section is broadly made up of four kinds of shots:

I . Shots ofJean-Pierre LPaud giving a lecture (these shots, which recur with only minor variations, contain what is essential to the narrative).

2. Shots of other actors in the same scene. 3 . Shots of actors (the same ones and different ones) who do not

4. Shots of drawings or photograph^.^ belong to the same scene.

The first problem which arises is linked to the general question of

I 3 4 denotation and figuration: what is the section’s spatial referent, what is its configuration and how do the characters take their place within it? T h e first thing that should be pointed out is the lack of any establish- ing shot which could synthesize all the available topographical infor- mation and the respective distribution of the actors. Moreover, no shot provides an image of the totality of the space in which the scene occurs, thus this totality (and therefore the filmic scene) cannot be reconstituted simply from the spatial relations shown in this section o f the film. The referential space is represented in scattered frag- ments, in shots which are completely disjointed.

The second thing that should be noted, implied by what I have just said (which presupposes the existence of a single unitary scene) is that to a certain extent the spectator is perfectly able to find his bear- ings empirically; he does so, however, by taking into account the film as a whole. Here is an example (quite literally the first that came to mind): the door through which Lkaud comes into frame, into shot and into the scene in shot I . The door is obviously functional (it can “really” be walked through) and at this point in the film the spectator has some knowledge of it since: - other actors have already been seen going through it; - it is one of a whole range of functional openings (doors and

windows) within the overall layout of the apartment in which most o f the action takes place.

This knowledge allows the spectator to be certain that the door which he glimpsed for a few frames at the beginning of shot I does in fact open on to a space which is the same as that of the room Lkaud is entering.

U p to this point in the film, this denotative procedure remains one which the classical cinema brought to its apogee (the ideological ini- plications of which, according to some writers, are very consider- able) .6 This denotation necessarily and endlessly serves to “referen- tialize” or (to stay with the spatial example for the moment) to constitute an overall textual referent which, by analogy, might be called the “lexical” referents of successive shots. (The eponymous form of the overall textual referent in the classical cinema is that of the “scene.77) There is nothing surprising in this; it might be said of any representational narrative film, at least in part. Furthermore, in the classical system, the constitution of the spatial referent is achieved by “accumulation” (without internal contradictions); the referent enters

into a simple and univocal relation with the functional narrative which is itself unique.

We do not find this kind of “accumulation” in La Chinoise and this is the first indication of what I have described as the typically Godardian approach of “rewriting. ” Here a simple referential space is used as a diegetic medium for several different and relatively autonomous stories. The following example will explain what I mean: if w e take shots 48, 50, and 52, we see that as well as the famous “paper tiger” character, the field also includes part of a blackboard, walls, a table and colors, and that this denotes them figuratively as belonging to the same isotopy as the shots in which Leaud is giving a lecture (nos. I , 3 , etc.). This is so not simply because of the internal relations within this section of film, but also because all these shots have a single spatial referent in the film as a whole. Though they are figuratively assimilated to the shots which unfold the main story line, these three shots do not represent a character in the story (moreover, one wonders whether what they represent is a character and what diegesis might be implied here; essential clues are provided more by the dialogue than by purely spatial or figurative considerations which do not of themselves allow any firm conclusion to be reached). Shot 2 , which is patently treated as an insert into the uninterrupted flow of Lkaud’s lecture (since there is no break in the sound in shots I-2-3), works more subtly but according to the same principles. At this point we can only ambiguously conclude that this shot represents the only appearance in this section of a character seen throughout the film; however, nothing here indicates his temporal or spatial position in relation to the two shots which precede and follow him.

O n e last remark: the spectator’s first understanding of the film is initiated by its spatial denotation. This discourse of spatial denotation has a dual character. O n the one hand, it takes up and reinforces the construction of a scenic space which continues to exist throughout the film; on the other hand, it produces ambiguity or uncertainty as to the status of certain shots in relation to that space. Its dual character seems to me to be still further reinforced by an clcmcntary and essential phenomenon-a kind of representation, which is common to nearly all these shots, and which consists in placing afiguve against a backgvotrnd. There is no space here to give a detailed account of the long and complex history of the figurehckground relationship in painting, and subsequently in photography and cinema. What should

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136 be recalled, however, is that the representational tradition, which comes to us from the Renaissance, and which is based on the per- spectiva avtijcialis brings with it-or did so at least a t the outset-a fairly constant “ideologeme” in placing emphasis on the human figure. This emphasis is expressed precisely by means of figures which stand out clearly against backgrounds which are painted “in perspec- tive.” From a very early date, the representational activity in pre- classical cinema (e.g., Grif€ith)7 and subsequently in classical cinema, consisted in exploiting the fictional depth of field in order to include its figures within a highly realistic set (and no longer necessarily a background). Both classical cinema and the “cinima direct” rely on depth o f field. Godard’s work, however, is characterized by a delib- erate break with the classical obsession with maximum depth of field in his use of shots composed of two discrete planes, the figure in the foreground set against the background. This predilection is emphasized by other visual elements (large, flat, simple geometric forms that are parallel to the surface of the image, strong colors) and by the high incidence of non-classical frontal shots.

What effect is produced when representation is as systematic as this? First, there is a strong iconic homogeneity--I would even call it a certain representational monotony if the word did not have pejora- tive connotations. Again, it is important to emphasize that this iconic homogeneity has very direct effects on the figurative content in creating (or, at least, reinforcing) the means of understanding these shots as denotatively linked. These shots lead us to consider all the parts of the space that are denoted in the different shots as belonging to one and the same isotopy. Rut it also fundamentally reinforces the ambiguity that I referred to above: - first, the use of a non-classical system of representation

(without simply going back to the pre-classical system, even though there are here elements of a return to Grifith)8 limits the production of effects within the scene (i-e., manifestations of spatial isotopy) to the play of a smaller number of codes than is usual. In particular, the cutting (and more generally the editing) which in many cases works in a patently classical fashion, serves to “splice together” bits of the single scene which have been disjointed by the work of figuration; - second, this system makes the shots of characters lose still

more of their scenic value by reinforcing the visual similarity between them and the various graphic or photographic inserts that are scattered throughout this section and the film as a whole. And just as

all the shots of people seem to be unified by a spatial isotopy what- ever the status of the figures in them, so the flatness and frontality common to all the shots in this section serve as another expressive factor of unification. (This becomes very clear at the end of the segment where the shots with figures (58-60, etc.) increasingly take on a value identical to that of shots 54 and 52, for example, which are photos of the Cultural Revolution-although, as will be seen, this can occur only because the figures have a rather special status.)

Moreover, this last effect is spontaneously recognized by all who view Godard’s films (it is why people so often say that they are not “really cinema”-by which they mean not made up of “real scenes”). It tends, as I have already said, to substitute a discourse which is more clearly articulated and designated for the cosmophanic obviousness of the classical cinema and the naturalness of represented space on which it is based.

Therefore, what is a t issue here is the process by which denotation occurs (spatial denotation, that is, since the “classical” ideology of vision in films consists in giving greatest weight to that kind of denotation), as it is simultaneously maintained and blocked by an ambiguity which is symptomatic of the way the whole section works.

137

Off-Screen. Reverse Shot, The Other Space

Let us now return for a moment to the shot-by-shot relations which, as we have just seen, are the mainspring of the attempt to (re)constitute the filmic scene. The best illustration is the small syntagma formed by the sequence of shots 3 to 7 since it initially appears to be based on a classical code. If we look at the series of frames 3/4a/4b/ ga/gb/gc/6a/6b/7, we can see that: - the eye-lines regularly alternate (right-leftlleft-right), - the succession of shot changes therefore implies an intersec-

tion of the eye-lines; this is implied because the sub-code of typically classical montage makes us understand these changes of shot as cuts from someone looking to someone who is being looked a t (also known as eye-line matches). When one moves from the series of frames to the film itself, this orthodox configuration is reinforced by all the gestures, faces, hands and the whole of the characters’ bodies which, inside each frame, show in what direction the character is looking and point to what is out of frame. The point of view configuration is also reinforced because the exchange of looks is reinforced by exchanges of dialogue.

r 3 8 Although this sequence generates a “normal” meaning which consists of placing the characters in relation to each other, it does not do so without a certain amount of “difficulty.” I believe there are a number of reasons for this:

- first, there is the fact that the sequence is constructed by a series of eye-line matches. For although this figure is highly coded, it does not assert the presence of the two characters represented as strongly as a figure like shot/reverse shot. In cutting from shot to shot, the camera does not reverse its angle (though this is always more or less implicit in the idea of a reverse shot), rather, it gives the impression of a constant lateral movement, and is therefore also from the point of view of the spectator. In other words, its point of view always remains outside the “circle” of characters; - second, one has the impression that in this sequence of five

shots the camera moves parallel to an imaginary line linking the three (or even four) characters. lo This impression is further reinforced by the strategy of shooting all the characters frontally. Here there are not simply figures set against backgrounds, as there are in the whole of the section, but there are also two intermediate links in the chain of looks and dialogue-i.e., the Wiazemski and Berto characters w h o are themselves between the two other links in the chain. Among other things, this means that in the three shots 4/5/6 these characters successively and insistently emphasize the two lateral edges of the frame. Emphasizing these areas has the effect of enlarg- ing the space in the frame (which is imaginary and in which on/off- screen are totally interchangeable designations) and therefore of drawing attention to the frontality of each individual shot. The effect is even more noticeable over a series of shots where each successive shot fills out the off-screen space of the one which precedes it, thereby suggesting a space adjacent to the preceding one. - third, the fact that the imaginary “line” joining the three

characters and the line joining the three camera positions (which is of course imaginary too) appear to be parallel is confirmed by the back and forth movements of the camera.” Looked at from the point of view of thc camera positions, the small syntagma of shots 3-7 is structured as a “mirror image.” The point a t which it comes to rest, where “reflection” begins, is the exact middle of shot 5 , the point when Berto looks out left from the frame a t a person who is not in the shot but whose presence off-screen is affirmed by all the procedures (looks, dialogue, gestures) which are constantly found here.

6 7

(It should be noted that shot 5 is the one in which the two lateral off-screen spaces are most fully brought into play. The look changes direction twice in this shot and, above all, voices are heard from the two off-screen spaces with some sound overlap as well. Wiazemski recites (off right) the famous slogan “a concrete analysis of a concrete situation”; Henri (off left) points out that this analysis depends on a number of factors @cteuvs); and Berto comments ironically, “You look like a postman Vucteur) in that cap!”) - fourth, there is a further effect which might be thought

more “formal.” This effect does not of its own accord counteract the overall scenic quality, nevertheless it contributes a great deal to the lack of “transparency” of this passage. Here the scale of the shots continually changes-beginning with a medium shot (3) and ending with a close-up (6); while in shot 7 there is a sudden return to a medium shot-thus emphasizing the arbitrariness of the succession of points of view taken up by thc camera, by activating a second code of representation-framing.

My comments apply to only part of the section and are still not precise enough. They must therefore be related immediately to the preceding point. The film brings the off-screen space into play in exactly the same dual and paradoxical way as it deploys its figures. For though it is based on a code of looks and voices whose history and ideological significance are familiar, what is in fact to be found here is something very different from the “homogeneous and unbro- ken” space that one might have expected.

O n e further, and perhaps even clearer, example of the dual and duplicitous way in which Godard continuously exploits the maximum dissociation between the space that is shown and the space that is denoted, is provided by the series of shots from 45 to 56. For this

‘4’ “lexia” emerges from a strict alternation between two sequences or t w o “motifs”: - odd-numbered shots: this is a series of shots of LCaud ending

his lecture, always framed in exactly the same way. They appear to be cut out of a single uninterrupted sequence, a single pro-filmic

- even-numbered shots: this is a series with a mixture of much more unusual elements held together (quite apart from the factors which contribute to a coherent meaning) by the existence of two spatial isotopies (the three shots of the paper tiger, nos. 48-50-52; t w o shots which are very similar, nos. 46-56).

It is clear what tactic is being adopted here. Such an extremely regular alternation of shots (shot-by-shot alternation with one totally invariable element, very little difference in length of shots, and figurative homogeneity) may not, strictly speaking, be a figure of the code, but is a formal figure very frequently found in classical film language where it has the meaning (its “lexical” value) of “simultaneity,” implying that two things are taking glace at the same time.12 Here, the us of a formal device which cannot easily be divorced from the implications of simultaneity is accompanied by a violent disruption of the relation between the two series because they do not have an identical status as far as their contribution to the scenic representation is concerned. - The first series, the shots of LCaud, work “normally” ac-

cording to the codes of realism, with the illusion of depth reinforced by the “tangible” reality of temporal continuity. (This occurs despite the unease again created by the insistent strategy of using straight-on shots, and by unobtrusively but constantly suggesting the existence o f the two lateral off-screen spaces-i.e., by both pointing to the existence of another space and emphasizing its existence by denying it.) - The second series, however, has no reality as a scene.

Though three of its shots seem to belong to the same scenic space as the shots of Lkaud, two further shots are highly ambiguous in this respect and a final shot cannot bc attributed to any scene. The isotopy of these six shots depends on the repetition of a single process, that of providing different metaphors for the political scene, not on their belonging to a common space. The meaning of this isotopy is therefore conveyed only through connotation.

This perversion of the classical alternation of shots appears even

L L moment.”

greater because not only do the two series alternate very regularly, but (as I said above) from time to time they also relate or link up through a match of looks or dialogue. There is something in the shots of Leaud that triggers off those of the second series, almost as though the second series were composed of shots of the off-screen space (which therefore, it will be recalled, are part of the same scene). Thus what characterizes the discourse in this lexical segment is a contradiction between the use of a figure of classical film language having a specific rhetorical value, the use of alternation, and the heter- ogeneity of the two series of shots which alternate.

The following working hypothesis (which will obviously have to be tried out elsewhere) is intended to take account of what occurs in all these examples (shots 3-7 and 45-56). The classical cinema articu- lates the linking of looks, especially those in alternating sequences, through hyper-coded and immutable procedures which implicitly make use of off-screen space (often by means of what has been called “suture”). l3 But here, the eye-line matches substitute for the suturing process, and these matches, from a scenic point of view, create

Julse relations between the looker and what is looked at. These false relations of seeing/seen establish a different relation to the off-screen space. This new relation is made explicit by the contradiction, mentioned above, between the regular alternation of shots and the heter- ogeneity of the two alternating series.

‘4’

Diegesis and Cinewriting

Let us now pursue this line of discussion by coming back, for a moment, to the effect of “the strange” created by shot 2. It is a shot of a character (identified as “Serge” in the film as a whole) that does not appear spatially linked to the two shots of another character (Lkaud) between which it occurs. To define the effect of “the strange‘‘ more closely one might describe it as a hesitation between three equally probable descriptions of the status of the shot. These might be: - a representation of the character, Serge, as part of the lecture

scene; - a subjective insert attributable to one of the other characters; - or, a displaced “diegetic insert” or, perhaps, a sort of

“memory” of Serge at some other point in the diegesis. l4

Further ambiguity arises if one looks at the relations inside this particular section of film in terms of their connotation and not just a t

r42 the process of spatio-temporal denotation. Serge is writing on a blackboard; he starts at the two edges and gradually works toward the middle in a fairly well-known quotation from Mayakovsky. The relation between what comes before and after the shot will depend on which of the many connotations of the quotation one wishes to stress. Thus, without claiming to be able to give an account of all the possible meanings of this shot, the connotation “artisticness” is immediately introduced into Serge’s characterization as an “artist.”lS The name Mayakovsky, itself implied by an earlier connotation, connotes the revolutionary USSR of the 1920s, as compared to China of the Cultural Revolution. Finally, a further connotation of the shot is the allusion that allusions are being made, thereby linking this shot to numerous other quotations throughout both this section and the film.

The “strange” relation between shot 2 and the shots on either side of it can be explained in terms similar to those used above in a different case, as a contradiction between a spatial relation (one of denotation) based on ambiguity, and an over-determined semantic relation (one of connotation). One might say (and this is something which can be tested only after the textual system of the whole film has been examined) that the ambiguities of the scene, and the lack of a spatio- temporal link which it suggests, emphasize the connotations in shot 2, thus producing a sort of double discourse-some of the connotations can be read as an indirect (and ironic) commentary on the narrative line that carries the sequence forward (i.e., the lecture).

I want to emphasize the extent to which this principle is a constant in Godard’s films where it is gcncrally found in thc form ofallusion or pastiche. The Godardian allusion serves to bring to bear on the action another and perhaps parallel point of view. One further example, though it occurs a little outside the section I have chosen, is shot 74. Here Anne Wiazemski is shown reading a copy of Pikin- Infovrnation (Peking News) in front of the blackboard on which are pinned fashion drawings torn out of Elk. Immediately a powerful double discourse is set up because this single shot contains everything that represents the split between the characters’ bourgeois class origins (fashion as a trivial exercise of taste) and a proletarian class position (at the least a voluntarist one). Many instances of the same device could be pointed to, not the least of which is the Vivaldi- esque muzak punctuating the sound track. l6

Thus throughout this section of the film an off-screen discourse is

established, with its own recurring features and its own isotopies; it most frequently works by metaphor. In this way, when Juliet Berto embodies Vietnam (shot 8, partly repeated in shots 46 and 56) in what is a fairly complete metaphor, her image includes an implicit allusion to Mao’s famous description of American capitalism as a “paper tiger” (an allusion which is explicit in shot 7), and a further implicit allusion to various slogans likening American soldiers to the SS (the double “s” picked out of the word “ E s s o ” ) . ~ ~ The same process of metaphorization occurs in many other shots in this section: Batman and Sergeant Fury (shots 10-11 and following), or the toy armored tank (shot 67)-accompanied by “You’re in the Army Now”-being bombarded by copies of the Little Red Book (shot 7 2 ) . What is important is that the (discontinuous) “syntagmas” which these isotopies bring into play are not exclusively to be found in the shots which do not form part of the scene, or whose status in that respect is ambiguous; rather, they cut across those shots which define the lecture scene. (So when LCaud reads the Little Red Book, his quotation enters into a “sequence” formed both by the implicit allusion contained in the image of the American paper tiger, and the figuration of/allusion to the Cultural Revolution in shot 54.)

Thus we return to the idea touched on earlier, namely, that this section of the film constantly and coherently functions by means of a dual discursive system; the distinction between these two systems is less a definition of two different kinds of shot than something which occurs within shots. I shall explain what I mean by looking a t the match between shot 7 and shot 8. At first, it appears that shot 7 denotes exclusively the scene whereas shot 8 refers us to a set of metaphors established by the film. However certain factors run counter to this overly simple division: - firstj nothing completely prevents us assigning the space

shown in shot 8 to the scene as a continuation of the shot 3-7 sequence. In fact the presence of the same actress (Berto) off-screen in shot 7 and on-screen in shot 8 strengthens the impression of such a continuation. Furthermore, the fact that the cut is from Lkaud’s face and pointing finger provides proof for the spectator (my second point) and also for the viewers within the film, that there are other people imagined off-screen in shot 7 (however much uncertainty there may be about them) who can therefore be imagined off-screen in shot 8. This possibility is also encouraged by the fact that Berto is filmed against a flat background in accordance with the system that

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I44 prevails elsewhere in the scene (even though here the background is not as clearly denoted as belonging to the apartment as it is in shots

- second, as I have just said, other links between these two shots are suggested. These links occur through the use of allusion and metaphor mentioned earlier (the paper tiger, shown in shot 8, referred to in shot 7, and the metaphoric figuration of Vietnam included in the series of flag emblems stuck on LCaud’s glasses in shot 7 linking up with that of the FLN in shot 43, etc.).

42 and 44)-

T o sum up: I . This section of the film is organized around two principles of

coherence (two isotopies), one of which is figurative and spatial, and the other semantic.

2. These two principles are at work in all the shots, even if some shots relate more to the first principle (the sequence from shots 3 to 7) and others more to the second (TO to 41).

3. Though the production of syntagmas belonging to one or the other of these two isotopies may be done in an obvious and clearly legible way, it is not simply carried out by using the classical editing sub-codes (in particular, the so-called “metonymic code of montage”) which is rendered inappropriate here by shots 7-8 and also by the “match” between shots 7 and 33.

4. The syntagmas produced here are no longer exclusively based on the logic of the classical film scene but on a dual and concomitant logic, which weakens or denies the metonymic status of the match; the production of these syntagmas goes hand in hand with a relative autonomization of the shots which might be called closure.

We can now express these same ideas in another way. In the text w e are dealing with, the spectator sees a certain number of explicit references to the film’s own production. Admittedly, this is not a very original observation- the “film about film” idea is extremely dated. It became a commonplace of a whole era of (mainly Euro- pean) film history which quickly ossified into a set of stereotyped camera tricks. Showing the camera in the image is of course the old- est and most common trick (e.g., Vertov).

Godard’s films are interesting precisely because he goes beyond using facile devices of this kind. Instead of including an image of the camera in the shot (such images do not generally affect the way the film scene functions), he usually prefers to work on thefrurning. (The frame, unlike thc spacc represented by the shot, which is necessarily

imaginary in character, has an almost tangible relation to production.) In other words, the most important thing that this film offers is not a transformation of the nature of what is represented (though it is that as well), nor is it a new and different attitude toward what is off- screen. Rather, and much more radically, it proposes a non-classical relation to the other’s space-i.e., the spectator’s. I have already mentioned the strategy of straight-on shooting; this is accented both by the tension between figures and background, and by the systematic use of lateral off-screen looks, contrasted with several “direct looks” at the camera. All these things interpellate the spectator by designating his position from inside the frame in a manner which is quite different from that of classical suture. Further disjunctions of image and sound (which I will come back to) or the more subtle and radical interventions in the other’s space (the spectator’s) by means of a modification in the parameters of figuration do not insure verisi- militude from one shot to the next. For example, as I mentioned above, between shot 3 and shot 7 one moves through an interchange of alternating looks, gestures and voices; but when we return to Leaud in shot 7 he has been transformed and so has the set. He was standing, he is now sitting, and the famous emblematic glasses have appeared from nowhere on the table,ls while on the blackboard a copy of the newspaper Garde Rouge (Red Guard) has been pinned up. All these things are practically impossible to explain from the point of view of the scenic structure (even taking into account the length- 5 1 seconds-of the three shots during which Lkaud remains off- screen). Again, the same effect is even more undeniably produced between shots 9 and 45. This time it is a quotation from Stalin that has been written on the blackboard. Above all, the fact that Lkaud is wearing different clothes prevents these shots from being read as continuous. Another important element is L e a d ’ s finger pointing at the foreground in shots 7 and 9 (and the remark which accompanies this gesture in the latter shot since that too is deictic: “And now for a few facts since the truth is among them”). All these features point to Godard’s tactic of engaging the spectator in two ways, both as a semi-classical knonck in a film scene and, a t the same time, as a (mi- metic) representation of enunciation itself.

O n e ought to devote more space than I have available here to a detailed consideration of the dual nature of the Godard text. Here are a few more suggestions that might also be followed up:

I45

- first, one can now begin to give a slightly more adequate

146 account of the equally “strange” way this text is segmented. O n the one hand, it is as though each shot were already “autonomous” in character (which I attempted to describe when referring above to closure); on the other hand, the film appears to add unobtrusive, demarcating features to the various broad syntagmas, and these show h o w the connotative isotopy affects the principle of scenic representation. (For example, the match between shots 9 and 45 which suggests that both the clear discontinuity which is emphasized here, and the whole approach underlying it, are for the most part conscious with Godard.) l9

- second, the effect of “closure” and the accompanying production of syntagmatic chains which are not primarily based on the filmic scene, bring to mind the analogous procedures, developed by Eisenstein, of the frugrnent and the global representation which he used to place one thing in relation to another.20 I mentioned both Grifith and Eisenstein here not so much in order to give Godard a place in the history of the cinema (or to include him in some kind of pan- theon) as to point to certain elements of the classical cinema which recur, though not to the same degree, in the work of these three filmmakers, and others. - finally, we find an interesting phenomenon relating to the

relative position of the filmmaker, the referent and the spectator, and to the truth-value of the representation. The suspicion gradually arises that the entire process of representation is false, the undermin- ing o f the scene having a contagious effect. A condensed and theoretical expression of this kind of false or deceptive representation is found in the shots of the horseman and the Indian in Vent d’Est.

Voice and Speech

In the samples we have just seen there is one point which has not really been discussed even though it is of major importance to problems o f film space: the question of enunciation, or the way the spectator is interpellated by means of speech (parole).

A survey of thc voice-track in this section of the film reveals that three questions need to be asked: - does what is said have anything to do with the scenic repre-

sentation? - to whom are the words spoken? - are they spoken by a character within the diegesis?

These are the same questions in slightly modified form that we previously posed in relation to the visual elements of representation, especially the look. The way the look acts as a means of suturing- the part it plays both in constituting the scene, in ensuring conformity to a specific code of editing and also to a specific relation with the spectator-have, in general, been relatively well studied. But the same cannot be said of the role of speech. Here we touch on, albeit in a very unsophisticated way, the extreme conceptual weakness of the total empiricism which was characteristic of early attempts to con- struct a theory of the cinema. The only distinction in common use is the “on-screedoff-screen” distinction which is very vague and which can only be applied to a limited number of situations. Thus this distinction can only be applied with any rigor to “dialogue,” to speech which belongs to the diegesis. The speech of a character in the story is the only kind which is truly “on-screen.” For this reason voice on-screen/voice off-screen is often considered to be the sound equivalent of on-screedoff-screen.

But though this description is not totally useless, what has just been said above shows that it is totally inadequate. To attempt a rigorous analysis of speech in a film implies that at least two further considerations should be taken into account. First there will be words which have nothing to do with the film scene (such as “commen- taries” for example). In addition, speech in the cinema, like the look, is part of a network of character-to-character relations and a means of addressing the spectator more or less directly, not simply a “means of expression.” This means that the voice which is the source of this speech must also be taken into account. Even though the need for these considerations may be recognized, it does not take us very far toward formalizing what takes place. Thus in a recent article,21 in an attempt to describe the various “voices” in a film, Serge Daney rightly proposes taking into account not just the presence or absence on the screen of someone who is supposed to be the source of speech but also two further criteria. He wishes to ask whether a voice-off has an effect on the image on the screen and whether a person who speaks on-screen is actually seen speaking. Using these different criteria, Daney then goes on to label four types of voice which he calls (in English) “off,” “in,” “out” and “through.” I will not go into Daney’s suggestions in greater detail because, though they represent a qualitative leap from the traditional on/off distinction, they themselves pose further problems. Leaving aside the fact that it is some-

I48 what arbitrary to give an on-screen voice (his “in”) an almost totally opposite meaning from the one it traditionally receives, these four categories simply do not exhaust all the possibilities in the use of speech.

I would be extremely hard put to provide a useful and totally op- erational classification here, for a great deal more work is needed before this would be possible (investigation of sound in the cinema lags considerably behind investigation of the image). But I believe that such a classification would, at the very least, have to take account of the following criteria: - what is the status of the speaker? Does he or she belong to

the diegesis or the production of the film? - if the speaker belongs to the diegesis, is he present (or is his

presence attested to) in the scene? And if so how (on-screedoff- screen) ? - do the words spoken have an effect on the image? Are they

“directed at” what is shown? (This is one of the several important considerations to be taken into account in relation to the cutting.) - how are the words shown being spoken (and how, espe-

cially, does this affect the way the actors’ bodies are shown)? (This brief survey shows why the problem is so complicated: these criteria are undoubtedly not the only possible ones which might be used, and furthermore they fail to provide clear-cut distinctions. In addition, the various combinations of all the possible positions are far from being equally probable. Here again the scenic structure gives rise to certain kinds of configurations which are more or less stable but which cannot simply be reduced to the problem of what is off- screen .) 22

In the section of film I am analyzing I will not supply either an exhaustive catalog or a perfect description of all the words spoken. As with the editing codes, I am essentially interested in pointing to Godard’s somewhat decentered position in relation to classical prac- tices.

If w e again look briefly at the examples discussed earlier, we find that shots 3 to 7 are linked by eye-line matches, as I have already pointed out, and also the regularity of the use of speech. All the words spoken are attributed to characters in the action, divided between those who are on-screen and those who are off-screen; what is said allows them to communicate with each other. The only noteworthy point (and it is superfluous in view of what the image shows) con-

cerns the match between shots 6 and 7 whose ambiguity has already been discussed (very obvious eye-line matching coinciding with an equally obvious break in what is represented). The match on the sound-track is absolutely perfect-shot 6, Wiazemski asks a question; shot 7, Lkaud replies-thereby emphasizing the deceptive nature of the shots but also the falseness of the “spatial leap.”

The sound-track also intervenes discriminately in shots, or in syntagmas, that are inserted in various ways into the speech Lkaud is making. Thus in shot 2, when what we see appears so extraordinary, the f x t that there is no break whatsoever in the sound-track should logically make us decide that shot 2 is part of what is going on in shots I and 3 . However, 1 believe that this is simply shifting the problem. Though the sound is continuous, this of itself (i.e., without supporting visual evidence) cannot be sufficient to denote that shots 1 /2 /3 succeed one another logically in a simple reversal of what is on-screen and off-screen.The relative ambiguity of shot 2 is simply translated into sound terms (in what way does Lkaud’s voice affect the image?); it is complicated by a possible new relation since Lkaud has reached the point in his lecture where he is maintaining that Lumigre was “one of the last Impressionist painters”23 (recall that Serge is, among other things, a painter).

Conversely, it is a remarkable fact that all the “metaphorical” shots (setting aside for a moment those after shot 57 which I will discuss later) have their own sound which, as in shot 8, is sometimes silence. (I will not discuss the additional elements of “the strange” such as the gun-radio which begins to work “for real” in shot 44.) The immediate effect of strict coincidence between sound and image in the way these shots are divided up is to reinforce paradoxically the autonomy of, for example, each of the shots which alternate, as has bem shewn, with shots s f Lkaud (shots 46 to 56). I t is paradoxical because on the one hand it is an effective realization of metaphoric representation in the classical fashion (space and depth and synchro- nized sound), but on the other hand it makes any relation between these shots and the action in the shots of LCaud (45 to 5 s ) seem even more improbable, even though the shots of Lkaud would appear to require them in the manner dictated by the use of what is off-screen in the classical cinema. I do not think it an exaggeration to say that in classical film language shot 46 and those like it could rightly be understood only as micro-representations included in the lecture scene (in space and in time), while the very nature of what is denoted (in

‘49

1 5 0 particular the recurrence of a blackboard both behind Lkaud and behind the “paper tiger”) more or less prevents this from happening. Thus the sound plays its part in preventing those shots from being understood in any strict way as part of the same scene.

Finally, one or two remarks must be made about the “sentence” which runs from shot 58 to the end of the section. Visually there is a more or less regular alternation between shots of Lkaud (60, etc.) and o f Berto (58, etc.), both of whom are framed in full face close-up against a white background in very short shots (with a few inserts: an aircraft carrier, a miniature tank, and a crowd of Chinese). In terms of the sound, one of Mao’s famous slogans is recited (and r e - ~ i t e d ) , ~ ~ in monotonous staccato by the voices of Lkaud and Berto (the alternation continues from the 1 2 seconds of shots 61-62 in which they are not seen). The image already clearly indicates that here the two actors no longer exactly represent the characters they were in the preceding scene. In addition to the way they are shot, which I mentioned a moment ago (a sort of “photomat” effect which rules out its incorporation into any kind of scenic representation, instead flattening the figures against the background), there are modi- fications in the way the actors themselves look (Berto wears a Chi- nese army cap, Lkaud a dark ‘T-shirt instead of his ordinary shirt); these prevent a reference back to the “lecture giving” scene. Despite their own metaphoric impact (which is confined to the P.L.A. cap) these shots, from the representational point of view, form part of the series which includes both the short sketches (the Vietnam “character,” the paper tiger “character,” the tank, the aircraft carrier) and the graphic and photographic figures (respectively shots TO/ I I and 43, and shots 54, 62). But it is clear that here, with these phrases spoken in a depersonalized and staccato fashion, not by a “voice” but by the purely mechanical puppets from which they emanate, it is the sound that defines all the lexical content of shots 58-72 as a fairly direct mise en sc&e of filmic enunciation. All the parameters are brought together here (close-ups, frontal shooting, the fixed and un- changing gaze of the camera, abstraction of the figures in relation to the scene, sound broken up in such a way as to prevent its seeming natural, even to the point where it does not appear to come from a voice) so as to constitute the most direct address from a film to a spectator that could be imagined. But it is a direct address which also corresponds least to the “normal” classical film spectator’s situation because the spectator is deprived of any relation to a scenic represen ta tiori. 25

If I had to summarize what is to be learned from this section of L a Chinoise it would be that the discourse of a film may take any number of forms and that this is something the hegemony of the classical cinema tends to make us forget. (The classical cinema continues to survive very nicely despite regular pronouncements of its imminent death.) Eisenstein attempted to establish his global representations by the maximum exploitation of all metaphorical possibilities (and more generally the connotations) of sound and image in film. Godard chose a different approach or, more accurately, he did not choose a single approach so much as all approaches.

T o sketch out these two extremes: one is to work within the principle of the scenic representation in which speech (discourse) is attributed to characters by observing the classical figurative and editing codes; these are the only codes able to give fictional life to the characters and thus to guarantee that diegetic speech will emanate from their voices. This is approximately what takes place in the sequence of shots 1-7 (only “approximately” because there are disruptions and ambiguities as we have seen). The best example of the opposite approach is the final “sentence” that has just been discussed, in which precisely the same figurative and editing codes are used to generate the most radical disruption of the filmic representational scene that one could imagine-one of the results being, as has been said, that the non-diegetic nature of the speech is emphasized.

My analysis is, of course, unsatisfactory as it stands. This is not because it is incomplete. All analyses of films are by their very nature interminable and must always remain “lacking” in relation to the text which enables them to function as metalanguage. However, the shortcomings of this particular analysis are more likely to be found in its Failure to be completely precise in defining the scene, which I have proposed as an essential cnncept in the way filrr, representation and film narrative work. The hypothesis which I have attempted to illustrate here is that the scene is the privileged form of the relation of the spectator to the filmic representation and enunciation (a form which theoretically could be described in terms of a much more elaborate codic system). The scene is a symbolic form, found throughout the history of narrative, representational cinema (even though it is much older than the cinema). Every filmic system takes its meas- ure in relation to the scene.

Translated by Jill Forbes

1 5 1

I . Its prosperity may be gauged from a glance at Roger Odin’s pamphlet Dix annkes d’anafyses textuefles de j l m s , special number of Linguistique et Skmiologie (Lyon, 1977), and from Michel Marie’s article “Analyse textuelle” in the anthology entitled Lectures d u j f m (Paris, 1976).

2 . This section occurs towards the end of the second of the five reels in the 35mm version. The study which follows was carried out under excellent conditions on an editing table which belongs to the DPpartement d’Etudes et Recherches Cine- matographiques at the UniversitP de Paris 111, using a print generously made available by the CinPmathkque universitaire. I would like to thank both the people who run those two institutions and the students of the Centre AmCricain d’Etudes CinCmatographiques in Paris whose attention and criticisms have formed an essential part ofthis piece ofwork.

3 . In addition to Metz’s well-known “large syntagmatic code,” see also Alain Ber- gala’s Initiation u la skmiofogie du k i t en images (Paris, 1977) for an attempt to provide a more systematic and formal description of editing codes in which “montage is regarded . . . as a code which functions across a number of texts . . . which are related to classical narrative.

4. Figuration and representation are understood here in the sense given to them by Jean-Louis Schefer in Scknographie d’un tableau (Paris, 1969) and subsequent critics, Louis Marin (especially in Discours de f a j g u r e published in Critique [Nov. 1969) and reprinted in Etudes Skmiologiques [Paris, 19721) and Jean-Pierre Oudart (L’EJeet de rkel in Cahiers du cinkma, no. 228 [April 19711). I t will be recalled that, in this view, figuration is held to be the product of specific pictorial codes (particularly those of figurative analogy) which creates an effect of reality, while representation is what creates fiction out of figuration . . . and the passage from figuration to representation which takes place as a result of the inscription of the position of the subject-spectator in the picture (in the representational systems deriving from the Quattrocento) has the subjective outcome of creating an effect of reality (i.e., the belief that figures have a referent in the real and exist). O f course, when one talks of an “effect of reality” in the cinema, this is not simply a reference to pictorial codes since the editing codes have a particularly crucial importance in this respect also.

5 . Since this classification might initially seem somewhat Rorgesian, I should emphasize that it has been arrived at by means of a series of successive divisions and sub-divisions.

6. See also especially the conceptual analysis by Serge Daney, “Voir=Suppose savoir” in Cahiers du cinkma, no. 240, pp. 7-9, which is somewhat methodologically unorthodox but extremely perceptive.

7. O n the creation of depth of field in Griffith’s films see my article “Griffith, le cadre et la figure” in Raymond Bellour, ed., L e Cinkma amkricain: Analyses textu- e f f e s , vol. I (Paris: Flammarion, 1980).

8 . In fact, Griffith’s system of representation is fairly complex. As I have said above,

it was in his films that depth of field first came to be used as a form o f realism thereby creating a discourse (most histories of the cinema attribute this discovery to Griffith). But, paradoxically, Griffith at the same time makes very individual use o f the positioning of actors in his shots (in the foreground, in medium-shot), and this is something the classical cinema was to forget. If one recalls that shooting from directly in front is also typical o f Griffith, it may indeed be said that shots 3 or 7/9 in this section of Godard’s film are very “like Grifith.”

I53

y. T h e English “reverse shot” is even more explicit than the French “contre- champ.”

10. T h e fourth character (“Henri”) is never seen in this section of the film, but he is seen elsewhere, and he is clearly pointed to as present off-screen (see below). I have, o f course, left in abeyance the question raised in shot 7 of whether Serge belongs to this same scene. O n e further element of ambiguity might also be noted. At the end o f shot I and the beginning of shot 3 (frames Ib and 3a) LPaud looks out of frame right-i.e., where there is nothing to look at, or , at least, where n o link between one look and another can be made. This is what creates ambiguity, for one wonders whether he is looking at Serge (which would be logical in relation to shot 2), o r whether he is looking at Henri (which is suggested by the fact that Heriri is clearly heard off-screen at that moment).

I I . Indeed, i t is more or less certain that without these lateral movements no impression of “parallelism” would be possible or , at least, that such a question would not arise. It is, in particular, clear that Henri cannot be imagined “aligned” with the two girls (see also the direction Berto looks in frame gb). What is important here, o f course, is not so much to reconstitute a hypothetical referential “truth” as to emphasize how ambiguous the film is here (and how far removed it is from the classical system).

12. Thus for Metz a montage of alternating shots is a “code of expression” “in relation to the film considered as a whole,” but in isolation “it provides a unit of signification, if one understands by this that it already has a signifier side (the alternating disposition o f images) and a signified side (the indication that the cor- responding actions are simultaneous). ” Laripage and Ciriema, trans. Donna Jean Umiker-Sebeok (The Hague: Mouton, 1974)~ pp. 248-245). Anne Souriau’s “Suc- cession et simultaneitk dans le film” (in L’Utiiversfilmiqcre (Paris, 1953), p. 67 et seq .) contains similar obscrvaticiils, chougli their general application is not pursued.

1 3 . T h e term “suture” was coined by Jacques-Alain Miller to designate “the relation o f the subject to the chain of its discourse” described as “the general relation of the element which is lacking to its structure, in the form of a stand-in” (Cahiers poirr I’Annlysc, no. I Dan.-Feb. 19661, p. 41; tram. Jacqueline Rose, Screen 18, no. 4 [Winter 1977-783, pp. 25-26). In the field of cinema, “suture” has been used by Jean-Pierre Oudart to describe a way of articulating film (from shot to shot) which represetits the film/spectator relation, arid which is based on the production o f a structural figure in the off-screen space that is fixed in the spectator’s imagi- nation (the Absent One) (see also J.-P. Oudart, “La Suture” in Caliiers du h b n a , spectators was that they had hoped for “full speech” (pavole p k i n e ) among charac-

no. 2 1 1 [April 19691, pp. 36-39; trans. Kari Hanet, Screen 18, no. 4 [Winter 1977- 781, PP. 35-40).

Though the figure, the “form,” is different, the principle at work here is not very unlike that of the “potential sequence” analysed by Metz in another of Godard’s films: Pierrot le Fou (see also Essais sur la Signijcation au cinima [Paris: Klincksieck, 19681, pp. 213-215).

As an artist, but not particularly as a poet. Elsewhere in the story we see him painting, making collages, arid throwing into the garbage can a “sculpture” which is, in fact, a replica of Picasso’s famous “bull’s head-bicycle handlebars” (yet another implicit allusion).

It provides a contrast when, in particular, it is heard over the series of boards bearing the words “The . . . imperialists . . . are . . . still . . . alive” (“Les im- pkrialistes sont encore vivants”) that appear on the screen.

Though it is not an allusion, it should also be added that the word “gas” (essence) is replaced by the word “napalm” in the image of the gas station, and here the meaning is relatively clear. As is well known, the Exxori company, which makes Esso, was also one of the major suppliers of napalm to the Atnerican army in Vietnam. Thus the word “napalm” (or more precisely the substitution of “napalm” for “gas”) functions as the signifier in a connotation whose signified (Ex- xon’s responsibility in the war) includes a further implicit allusion.

Once again, this statement needs some qualification. The table is off-screen in shots I and 3 , so from the point of view of what might be considered likely there is nothing which prevents the glasses also having been there on the table off- screen. But this possibility becomes extremely unlikely because of- the fact that the glasses bear no relation whatsoever to the content of what LCaud says during the first three shots (when he talks ofLumiPre, MPlies and distanciation in Brecht).

Without wishing to claim either that the author of a film has a special right to say what it is about, or that a film may be explained by the way it is made, I believe it is useful to recall how Godard described his work on La Chinoise: “ I think that I was trying to achieve a certain order or coherence. And I achieved one kind rather than another. But it was very difficult to edit. We shot the film . . . in the order we shot it! I usually shoot in order of the sequences, in continuity. . . . But for the first time ?n this film no assumptions were made in the order of the shooting. O f course, I did sometimes know that two shots would have to go together when I shot them-for example, two shots of one discussion, though that isn’t always the case in fact. Rut most of the shots were independent and were joined up afterwards-which means that they are no longer independent but have become united even if they aren’t coherent” (Interview in Cahiers du cinema, no. 194 [Oct. 196717 PP. 18-19),

I carinot give a full account of these procedures and all that they imply in this article, and I therefore refer the reader to Eisenstein’s own writings, especially to those in Au-dela des Pfoiles (vol. I of the French edition of the Oeuvres [Paris, 1974]), to the Russian originals of the fanlous collection entitled Film Form (the English version having a distinct tendency to oversimplify the matter), and, above

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all, to the posthumous Montage 1937 where these two concepts are constantly used (though they may not always be clearly defined). See also my Montage Eisenstein (Paris: Editions Albatros, 1979).

Serge Daney, “L’Orgue et l’aspirateur (la voix off et quelques autres)” (“The Organ and the Vacuum Cleaner [The Voice-Off and Other Voices]”), in Cahiers du cinima, nos. 278-279 (Aug.-Sept. 1977), pp. 19-26. See also R. Odin, “A pro- pos d’un couple dc concepts (itdoff).” Linguistique et similogie, no. 6 (1978), and the relevant section of A. Gardii-s, D. Chateau and F. Jost, Nouveau linima, Nou- velle simiologie (Paris: Editions IO/ 18, 1979).

When one poses the problem of speech and assumes that it originates from a voice, one ought also to go on-with slightly more precision than is usual in the traditional and almost automatic references to “point of view editing”-to tackle the question “who is looking?” I shall very quickly explain what I mean in relation to one example. The criteria which concern vocal knoncis should be matched with parallel criteria relating to graphic and emblematic inscriptions, at least in this particular film. One of the things it would be very fruitful to consider would be whether these inscriptions are looked at by someone in the film-and this would also mean that all the “ambiguities,” like those described in the construction of the scenic representation, could then be brought out, (One brief example which is, unfortunately, not to be found in the section of the film I have studied, is the cover of the journal Cahiers Marxistes-Lininistes, which has black lettering on a red ground. This cover is seen in its entirety as a quotation, then partially by framing simply the word “Marx,” and finally held in the hand of one of the characters. Thus by turns it is a functional object, the filmmaker’s ex machina intervention, and both of those things at once.)

It should be pointed out that this paradoxical theory which, contrary to received historical opinion, credits MClies with having invented the docutnentary film and Lumiere with having invented the fiction film, comes from Godard himself, and he expounded his ideas in public when he spoke during the I,umii.re retrospective at the CinkmathPque FranCaise in January 1966 (Godard on Codurd, trans. Tom Milne [New York: The Viking Press, 19721, pp. 234-237).

“All progressive wars are just and all wars which stand in the way of progress are unjust. We Communists are fighting against all the unjust wars which itnpede progress but we are not against progressive wars.” Reprinted in Perit J 2 i w R o q e (Little Red Book), 1st ed., 1966, p. 68.

But it does not deprive the spectator either of narrative o r of represcntation as do (or attempt to) many of the “alternative” or “underground” films which may be more radical than Godard’s, but which are certainly less disturbing in terms of enunciation and interpellation. These effects are stronger when they refer to a scene, even if that scene is not represented as such. Many of the early spectators of Lu Chinoise felt frustrated in being deprived of a scenic representation in this way, as seen by the violent accusations that were leveled against Godard in 1967, especially by “Maoists” who accused him of having caricatured the class struggle by reducing it to a series of speeches that are simply intoned independently of the critiaue thev contained. Probablv what disatmointed and DerhaDs even umet these

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ters who believed in what they were saying. (Such “full speech” is often taken to be the gauge of truthfulness. In my earlier discussion I pointed to the spectator’s sense that something was false about the whole representation. Within a given psychological tradition of the adequation of the subject to itself, this sense of falseness becomes truly unbearable.)

a. The frame enlargements numbered 3a, 4a, sa, 6a, 7a, are the first frames of their respective shots. Those numbered Ib, 3b, 4b, gc, 6b, 7b, are the last frames of their respective shots. The duration of each shot is indicated in parentheses.

b. Shot 9 is centered like shot 7b (6”). c. 10/12l14/16/, . .40: very short shots: 4 images. d. I X / I ~ / I ~ / I ~ / . . .41: veryshortshots:4images. e. Shot 44 is centered like shot 42 (16”).

f. Shot 56: like shot 46 (19”). Shots 47/49/51/53/55: like shot 45 (13”; 34”; 7”; 4”; I”).

Shots 63/65/68/70: like shot 58 (each is one sec. shorter). Shots 64/66/69/71: like shot 60 (id.) Shots 67 and 72: American tank, scale niodel ( I ” and 4” respectively).

This is Not a Textual Analysis - Godard’s La Chinoise (Jacques Aumont, 1982)

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