Author: thx1138

Ho meritato l'odio universale della societa' del mio tempo e mi avrebbe dato fastidio avere altri meriti agli occhi di una societa' del genere. Ma ho notato come sia ancora una volta nel cinema che ho sollevato l'indignazione piu' perfetta e piu' unanime. Si e' persino spinto il disgusto al punto di plagiarmi molto meno qui che altrove, in ogni caso fino a questo momento. La mia stessa esistenza resta, in questo ambito, un'ipotesi generalmente respinta. Mi vedo dunque posto al di sopra di tutte le leggi di genere. Eppure, come diceva Swift, <<non e' una magra soddisfazione per me presentare un'opera assolutamente al di sopra di ogni critica>>.

Guy Debord

Tratto dalla copertina del volume "Guy Debord (contro) il cinema" a cura di Enrico Ghezzi e Roberto Turigliatto; Editrice Il Castoro / La Biennale di Venezia; 2001

Dedicato a Jo e a Adamo che mi hanno fatto conoscere i testi dell'Internazionale Situazionista.

immagine tratta da http://imaginarymuseum.org/LPG/Mapsitu1.htm 

 

The increasing importance of records within popular culture has undoubtedly contributed to the interest that they have held for modern artists. They are, indeed, icons of the twentieth century, representing the pop stars that are worshipped. This is particularly true for the current generation of young artists so overtly influenced by the media.

At the beginning of the century, too, there was a considerable interest in records, if not fetishization of them. As early as 1925, artists developed an interest in records as objects. In 1922, Laszlo Moholy-Nagy advocated the use of phonograph records for purposes of production as well as reproduction. By this he meant that rather than simply using records to transcribe audio material from the ‘real’ world, they be manipulated manually to produce original as well as mimetic sounds. The following year, Moholy-Nagy elaborated on this proposal suggesting that conventional records be examined to determine what types of grooves make what types of sounds so that a phonetic groove-script alphabet could be established:

Since the grooves on the mechanically produced record are microscopic in size, we shall first have to devise a method for reducing by technological means down to the normal size of a present-day record any large-scale groove-script record that can be conveniently worked by hand. It would be desirable to make a photograph of a present-day (reproductive) record and to make a photo-clich6 or photo-engraving of the photograph by a zincographical or galvanoplastical process. Should such a record prove to be just more or less playable, the basis for subsequent work along these lines will be established.

By 1963, Czechoslovakian artist Milan Knizak had realized direct manipulation of records, but not quite as Moholy-Nagy had intended. Knizak created his Destroyed Music series by altering popular records: scratching, burning, cutting, gluing and applying adhesive tape to them. Some scratches created endless loops, with the stylus remaining stuck in one damaged groove. Other objects were reassembled from broken pieces of several different records. Knizak considers this work to be musical composition. They were intended to be played.

The idea of damaging records was manifested in a number of other works at this time, and continues today. New York artist Christian Marclay employs some of these same techniques to create his altered discs, but with more specific intention in terms of the resulting sound. In his performances, Marclay spins up to eight altered records simultaneously on individual turn-tables. He composes with several piles of records that he prepares and sorts in advance, thus knowing from what pile to select a disc for a desired effect at any time during the performance. The individual records are notated with stickers that identify specific passages and are sometimes applied to create loops. He drops the needle on to the record after the first of two stickers and when it hits the second it jumps back to the first and repeats. Sometimes the records are played at non-standard speeds. Into other records, he drills additional centre holes (off-axis), creating a wobbly effect. His Record Without a Cover is a recording of one of these performances. The studio performance is pressed onto one side of the disc. On the other, embossed lettering instructs the owner not to store the record in a protective sleeve. The scratches that result from handling enhance the quality of the sound and make each copy unique.

Marclay also makes unique objects. Cutting intricate patterns out of several records with ajeweller’s saw, he then glues the different pieces back together to construct a collaged disc. His Dialogue LP with Two Profiles, for example, fuses two profiles of faces cut from black vinyl spoken word discs onto an orange musical disc. As the record spins, music plays until the needle pops at the splice and a voice speaks when the needle passes over the black vinyl figure. The cycle then repeats, resulting in a conversation between the two figures. Other pieces use geometric designs and discs with different content. The splices in all of these records create pops that become rhythmic elements of the total piece.

San Fransisco performer Boyd Rice comes out of the punk movement of the late 1970s. Since 1977 he has released several altered recordings. Early pieces were made on tape, splicing pieces of different recordings together. One consists of every recording of Lesley Gore singing the word ‘cry.’ Later records utilized off-axis holes and instructed the listener to play ‘at any speed.’ Still other records include several sound-tracks of endless loops pressed deliberately into the record that endlessly repeat short sound effects. Listeners are encouraged to listen to these closed grooves as songs.

Boston composer Roger Miller (not the country and western singer) emerged from the new wave band, Mission of Burma. His Pop Record is an acetate pressing (used for test pressings of commercial records and not a stable enough process to withstand more than a few plays before deteriorating) on which he assembled the scratchy sounds from in-between songs of his favourite records. As the record of these ‘pops’ is played, new pops are quickly created. A protective cover becomes irrelevant because playing it actually destroys it. It is certainly not a pop record in the generally held sense of that term. As extreme as Miller’s brand of pop seems to us today, it has its precedence in Marinetti’s use of radio static in 1933.

The ideas in the air at the beginning of the century are still very much present in the work of many contemporary artists. Performance artists still use records to preserve their work. Pop artists have realized and extended the notion of concrete composition that Marinetti and his contemporaries began. In the streets of Baku, the cabarets of Zurich and Berlin and the auditoriums of Paris and Milan, artists of the early twentieth century turned music, as it had once been known, on its head. Speech became abstract and music became concrete. And today a generation of art students has seized that once sacred and magical phonograph record and profaned it to the point that the line between the fine art and popular practice of record-making is as tenuous as the grooves of Miller’s record.

dalla pagina http://www.ubu.com/papers/concannon.html 

Un movimento di filmmaker newyorkesi, costituitosi intorno alla meta' degli anni Settanta, che, piu' che un'estetica, hanno in comune certe esperienze culturali. In senso cinematografico vero e proprio, l'unico elemento che accomuna il gruppo e' il gusto per un nuovo modo di fare cinema narrativo, non propriamente sperimentale e assolutamente non "strutturale". Cio' che lo caratterizza e' extracinematografico: il frequentare certi ambienti sociali e culturali e soprattutto l'aggregazione intorno alla rock'n'roll new wave. E' la sensazione della perdita del senso della Storia: e' New York come centro dell'energia creativa. E' sulla scena musicale della meta' degli anni Settanta che ci siamo conosciuti tra di noi e abbiamo incontrato quelli che sarebbero stati poi i nostri attori. La rock'n'roll new wave era una musica da garage; cio' che contava era la voglia di suonare, la capacita' di esprimere energia, rifiutando, comtemporaneamente, il virtuosismo. Niente Jimi Hendrix ma piuttosto i Talking Heads, che allora non sapevano suonare assolutamente, ma riuscivano a dare questa idea di energia. Ci interessava fare la stessa cosa con il cinema: esprimerci senza basarci sulla tecnica; fare film in tutti i modi; cominciando col Super8, che costa cosi' poco, e lavorando con gli amici e per gli amici. Ora quella scena musicale e' sparita e comunque il movimento si e' staccato sempre di piu' da quella matrice. (..)
Io cerco di fare film che spero siano interessanti. Non calcolo il loro possibile successo al box office. Non decido coscientemente se il mio film sara' convenzionale o meno. Non sono solito sforzarmi di essere anticonvenzionale. Sono molto perplesso sul concetto di cinema indipendente nel suo complesso: non so piu' cosa significhi. Una volta significava che piccoli film potevano essere realizzati con poco denaro e percio' senza interferenze da parte di coloro che sono interessati al cinema solo per via dei soldi che si possono fare. Nel cinema ci deve essere posto per il business: il cinema e', in larga misura, business. I film piu' piccoli, che si usava chiamare indipendenti, erano dei luoghi dove si potevano esprimere le proprie idee personali, e un sacco di idee forti e nuove vennero prodotte. Ma recentemente io non so piu' cosa significhi la parola "indipendente" perche' molti produttori "indipendenti" sono interessati soltanto a costruirsi un nome e a guadagnare un sacco di soldi per lanciare le loro carriere.

Jim Jarmusch – 1995

 

da "A User’s Guide to Détournement" di Guy Debord, Gil J Wolman; 1956

A slogan like “Plagiarism is necessary, progress implies it” is still as poorly understood, and for the same reasons, as the famous phrase about the poetry that “must be made by all.”

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dalla pagina http://www.ubu.com/film/debord.html

Guy Debord (1931-1994)

Critique de la séparation (1961)

Debord’s eighteen-minute Critique of Separation directs its experimental attentions to “the documentary.” Debord draws from a catalogue of newsreel footage and book covers, rephotographed photographs, views of Paris and its neighborhoods, and a catalogue of disabused, seemingly offhand footage of him and his friends in the porous zone comprising the café and the street. In Critique Debord makes his first tactical use of subtitles to problematize the receptions of the image and even of his own voice-over critique. He also expands the role of intertitles in an ironic vein (”One of the greatest anti-films of all time!”). Here the focus is the explicit development of the notion of “situations” and the problematics of their representation in film. He makes equally explicit, however, that his interest is not principally in a critique of film, but rather in a critique of existing conditions using film’s paradigmatic mechanisms. —From Return of the Supressed by Keith Sanborn

Hurlements en faveur de Sade, 1952

Instructions for the French Federation of Film Clubs
Clarifications on the film Hurlements en faveur de Sade

The spectacle is permanent. The importance of aesthetics still makes a very beautiful subject for pleasantries after drinking. We are leaving the cinema. The scandal is only too legitimate. I will never give explanations. Now you are all alone with our secrets. AT THE ORIGIN OF A NEW BEAUTY and later in the great liquid desert and limited to l'allee des Cygnes [the Boulevard of Swans] (all of the arts are mediocre games and change nothing) its face was discovered for the first time in this infancy that it calls its life. The specific conditions of the cinema permit the interruption of the anecdote by masses of empty silence. All the perfumes of Arabia. L'Aube de Villennes. AT THE ORIGIN OF A NEW BEAUTY. But it will no longer be in question. All of this isn't truly interesting. It is a question of losing oneself.
GUY-ERNEST DEBORD

(Published in Internationale Lettriste #2, February 1953. Translated from the French by NOT BORED!)

In Girum Imus Nocte Et Consumimur Igni, Part 1, 1978
In Girum Imus Nocte Et Consumimur Igni, Part 2, 1978

Refutation of All Judgments, 1975

Society of the Spectacle, Part 1, 1973
Society of the Spectacle, Part 2, 1973

RESOURCES:

Guy Debord in UbuWeb Sound

Guy Debord: Wikipedia Entry

This UbuWeb resource is presented in partnership with GreyLodge 

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dalla pagina http://www.bopsecrets.org/italian/index.htm

Testi in italiano  (Traduzioni in italiano di testi dell’Ufficio dei Segreti Pubblici)  Doppia riflessione (1974) Avviso riguardo la societa' dominante e coloro che la contestano (1974) La societa' del situazionismo (1976) La realizzazione e la soppressione della religione (1977) Lettera aperta al gruppo “Libertaire” di Tokio  (1977) La breccia in Iran (1979) Banalita' (1979) La guerra e lo spettacolo (1991) Sul film di Renè Viènet: Può la dialettica spezzare i mattoni? (1992) Due saggi critici sul buddismo impegnato (1993 & 1999) Confessioni di un garbato nemico dello stato (1997):       parte 1       parte 2       parte 3 Corrispondenza sulla questione della religione (1997-2000) Introduzione ai film di Guy Debord (2003) Riflessioni sulla sollevazione in Francia (2006) Documenti della sollevazione anti-CPE in Francia (2006)

Bureau
of Public Secrets, PO
Box 1044, Berkeley
CA 94701, USA

www.bopsecrets.org  
knabb@bopsecrets.org

xxx 

Man Ray; Ritratto immaginario di Sade 

file linkz da http://streptos-music.noblogs.org/:

zip files:

P P Pasolini – Mamma Roma ; Accattone (ita)

txt files: 

F Kafka – Il processo (ita) 

H G Welles – Dr. Moreau (eng)

D A F De Sade – Les 120 journees de Sodome (fra)

Ramm:Ell:Zee – Alpha's last bet 1st draft (eng) 

pdf files:

J G Ballard – Crash (ita) 

xxx 

 

testi contenuti:

situationist_international_cinema_and_revolution.txt

situationist_international_the_role_of_godard.txt

godard_jean-luc_jlg_jlg.txt

gibson_william_new_rose_hotel.txt

greenaway_peter_a_walk_through_h.txt

dick_phillip_k_do_androids_dream_of_electric_sheep.txt

ellis_bret_easton_less_than_zero.txt

 

altri testi da Streptos Music:

chandler_raymond_the_big_sleep.txt

debord_guy_society_of_the_spectacle.txt

qui potete scaricare l’ articolo su William Burroughs: Those crazy “cut-ups” (dalla rivista Bright Light Film Journal)

qui potete vedere i films di William S. Burroughs Brion Gysin e Antony Balch

 

Jean-Luc Godard

In Images We Trust

Hal Hartley: I saw your self-portrait film (JLG/JLG) yesterday afternoon and I wanted to bring someone with me. As it turned out, I brought my friend Martin Donovan, who's an actor I've worked with quite often. He knows I have a high regard for your work, but he hasn't seen that much of it. His initial response was, well, he laughed almost continuously.

Jean-Luc Godard: (laughs)

Hal Hartley: And he came out feeling you were the funniest person he'd seen since Groucho Marx.

Jean-Luc Godard: I think it's a compliment

Hal Hartley: Well, I thought it was. Regardless of whatever else your films might be doing, to me it seems you have a sense of humor that people don't talk about enough. I was curious about the things that make you laugh.

Jean-Luc Godard: Why you can laugh at, I mean, just the fact that you are a human being. Living, it can be sad too. I like both slapstick and contradiction. Like philosophers. It makes me laugh when you bring two things together which have nothing to do with one another. In movies, comedy and tragedy are all the same. I'm a great admirer of Jerry Lewis for this very reason. Especially the very last one, Smorgasbord. And the other one he made just before, it was a flop here–called Hardly Working. I think laughter comes because things are hardly working.

Hal Hartley: I see (humor) in the smallest things: in the self portrait, you sitting down at the desk to write out your thoughts; or in Helas pour moi the girl dropping the bike; or in any number of things. That's what I go to the movies for I'm finding, that kind of activity.

Jean-Luc Godard: That came from the beginning. It was moving. Movies. It can't be done in theater of in a novel. It's action. Action can make you laugh. but just because you are glad. Even if there is no meaning.

Hal Hartley: Is that your home in JLG/JLG?

Jean-Luc Godard: That's my apartment, yes.

Hal Hartley: In your work since the mid-80's there seems to be a serene but rigorous contemplation of nature. Not only is it something different from your earlier work, but it has something I don't see in anyone else's work–this intensity. Was there a certain point at which you recognized this too? Do you think it has anything in particular to do with age?

Jean-Luc Godard: It's coming back to my homeland, both French and Swiss, because at Lake Geneva, one side is French and the other is Swiss. My maternal grandfather had a house on the French side and my father's parents were on the Swiss. We would cross the lake just sometimes to go to lunch. I have two countries, this lake and Paris. Going from one exile to the other one. There are two kinds of homeland: one that is given is like a negative, and one that you have to conquer is like the positive.

Hal Hartley: To me, the nature in your films seems to be the visible aspect of something quite spiritual. It has that kind of impact for me.

Jean-Luc Godard: If I may say so, it is just an image. It's like the body. And words and action in movies are the spirit or the mind. And these days the body is almost completely forgotten. In the beginning the body–nature–was more part of the action. It has no meaning today if you put Clint Eastwood in the mountains in Nevada. It has nothing to do with the story. It has just been decided by agents or lawyers. And before the war, and just after the war, it still had a meaning. Now it has disappeared. On TV you can't show landscapes. You just can't. Even a postcard is better. (Landscapes) are too close to painting. And TV has nothing to do with painting. It's just transmission. And you can't transmit a landscape, happily enough.

Hal Hartley: When I was making Trust , I was working with quite a small budget–

Jean-Luc Godard: What was your budget?

Hal Hartley: $700,000.

Jean-Luc Godard: Yes, it is a low budget. When I have a low budget I always try to make it a lesson in economy. I learned from Rossellini that you are rich even if you have a little money. If you have $300,000 to shoot a cigarette on a table, it's an enormous amount of money. Maybe that's why my movies are the way they are. But it's the only way I can make a living. Because my movies are not successful, they are not shown. So I make a living from the budget.

Hal Hartley: With Trust, as with every picture I have made, I asked myself, "How does a human body fit into this?" And I extended this exercise to the point where the question was: "How do I make a landscape shot that's still a picture of a human body?" I don't know if I succeeded, but it did focus my attention. Anyway, ( Trust ) is a movie I like on TV, and it has no landscapes.

Jean-Luc Godard: No, TV can't. Even with painting, even abstract paintings, you need the incoming of, light on the canvas. There are different kinds of painting, some with lights and some without, but still if you look at any painting here (in the light) and then over here (out of the light) it's an entirely different thing. The consciousness of this came to the Impressionists and I'm very interested in that. I've decided that what interests me most is that you can only capture the light at a certain time. But after that, five minutes after that, then it's a different thing. So if you don't have the right aperture, you've missed it. Of course, you can correct it in the lab. But not really. So it's a feeling of light. And this coming of the light has to do with the subject too. Because the light goes through, through the character and the action and what you describe. That's why I said yesterday to someone that the landscapes–the tree or the road–the ones I know of, finally they are the only characters I know really. The human characters I don't know. So there is both something I know and something I don't know. And I put them together.

Hal Hartley: I like to think I'm learning to commit myself more to that moment of choosing the f-stop. Making that choice at the moment.

Jean-Luc Godard: At the moment of the light. The position for me is the place now to put the camera. It's very easy. It's to be in front of light. I would never do a shot like that (makes framing gesture towards the back of the room, away from the windows) because the light is here. Because you go to where the light is coming from. Like in the Bible. The shepherds were going in the direction of the star. And then the characters are found in the shade with the light behind them. And you approach the shade. With electronics, this is disappearing a little. Because there is no light in electronincs. There is lightening. But lightening is not real light. So when the film stock disappears, the matter–because movies are matter–(disappears). The laws of this have been established by Newton, Einstein, and others: there is a correspondence between light and matter, and light is matter. And energy. So when I go in front of the light–go towards it–it is because it brings me energy. That's all.

Hal Hartley: What changes will occur if that matter, the film, goes away and we begin seeing electronically? Will it change the way we look?

Jean-Luc Godard: I won't be there. It will be new. I don't know. I like it when it's new, but the way it's going is not that kind of newness. It's bureaucracy. I mean, Hollywood was invented by hoodlums from central Europe. And today a Hollywood lawyer is not a hoodlum. He's a bureaucrat.

Hal Hartley: I take it you'd prefer him to be a hoodlum.

Jean-Luc Godard: Of course. No, I have a great admiration for those Hollywood hoodlums. Like Harry Cohn, head of Colombia when he was discovering Kim Novak. Or Howard Hughes.

Hal Hartley: Thalberg…

Jean-Luc Godard: Even Thalberg. Thalberg was a genious. As I said in my first Histoire(s) du Cinema , he was the only one that was able to think at 30 pictures a day.

Hal Hartley: This notion of changing technology interests me. I work on a computer now, and it's not been easy to adjust. I still prefer to have my hands on film when I'm editing.

Jean-Luc Godard: A computer for what?

Hal Hartley: For editing.

Jean-Luc Godard: Oh, yes, those kinds of things. I think it would be nice for me for the time being because at least you can do it at home, and you are sure that with almost no money you can do it in your kitchen. So it's a way of being secure. But it depends. The projector will soon disappear. The camera, not really. OK, it depends… it depends on change.

Hal Hartley: Back at the cutting room, we've come to think the most interesting thing about all this is the possibility of changing notions of distribution. The distribution of electronic information.

Jean-Luc Godard: I read an article where they say you can choose a movie from (your) hotel room. You can choose a (D.W.) Griffith (film), and then after that you can have a pizza. But, you know, probably, there won't be any Griffith. You can see any movie you want to see! But no! There is no Griffith!

Hal Hartley: But think about filmmakers distributing their films themselves, directly from the computer.

Jean-Luc Godard: I won't like it. I don't believe it will be a huge screen. It's not done for that. And anyway, in Europe, the houses and the apartments are getting smaller. So there is no need to increase the screen because the apartment is becoming smaller.

Hal Hartley: But I'm intrigued. Perhaps I'm just optimistic.

Jean-Luc Godard: Projection will disappear. And the possibility that was given by motion pictures will be missed. The possibility of there being a real audience–a group of people who have nothing in common, but, at a certain time of the day or the week, are able to look with other unknown neighbors at something bigger than they are. To look at their problems in big. Not in small. Because if it's small, you can't… It was big, so it was evident. And in the beginning there was not even talking. There was no need for that. Because it was more evident if there was no talking. Only in sports does there remain this fervor, which can even become violent. There's this desire to see something big.

Hal Hartley: But collectively.

Jean-Luc Godard: Yes, collectively.

Hal Hartley: The excitement is in the crowd.

Jean-Luc Godard: Yes, but in the movies it is different. You can be with other people, which is ideal, or you can be alone. But to be alone with other people, and not to forget yourself within yourself. And when there's 100 people around you can't really forget yourself. Now, this will disappear, obviously.

Hal Hartley: That's sad.

Jean-Luc Godard: Yes, it's sad for us. But now at my age I understand how sad it must have been for some directors or actors at the time the talkies began. Because, really, a whole continent disappeared.

Hal Hartley: In part "2B" of Histoire(s) du Cinema you say to, I guess it's Serge Daney…

Jean-Luc Godard: Yes. It was about five years ago, before he was getting sick.

Hal Hartley: You tell him how you think the history of cinema is the greatest history that can be told because it can project.

Jean-Luc Godard: It's the only one. It's the only way to do history.

Hal Hartley: A bit further on in the same episode, there's a female voice reciting something to the effect that, the strange thing about the living dead of this world is that their reflections and their sensations come from before.

Jean-Luc Godard: Because there is a new world coming and this new world is very rude. This new world which is being born is cynical and amnesiac. And it has eliminated perspective. And its escape point…

Hal Hartley: The vanishing point?

Jean-Luc Godard: Yes, but, no. That's right–its escape point, its vision of a future. So we are in the twentieth or the twenty-first century, but all the thinking, if you speak to one of those people keen on technology–you see that all their thinking is two centuries old. In cinema, you can show this. Einstein was a contemporary of Stravinsky. But he was also a contemporary of Griffith and Feuillade. If we think today the way TV is ordering us to think, we think of Einstein as someone modern. Stravinsky is modern music, but it came at the time of Birth of a Nation, which is an old movie. All our thinking constitutes the new world, but all our thoughts are older and older.

Hal Hartley: Sometimes I think our aims are still old. All the discoveries seem to be discoveries of means. I think perhaps I'm conservative in that way. I wonder if there is anything to discover. I mean, things that are not superficial. We discover and invent new ways of finding out the same old things.

Jean-Luc Godard: There is no more discovery. Not since the beginning of this century. There are new gadgets. New important gadgets.

Hal Hartley: Towards the end of JLG/JLG you talk a little about the desire to become universal.

Jean-Luc Godard: It's a sentence I took from an old French philospher. If I'm speaking it means that in one way or another when I say, "I'm cold" it belongs to me: I'm cold. But just by saying this it becomes general.

Hal Hartley: It struck me that perhaps yourself as legend is a bit of a bore to you and maybe a hindrance to work.

Jean-Luc Godard: Yes sometimes the way it is used. The way we are obliged to (be one). But now I am still able to make work. It is part of my making a living out of it, so it's a bit OK. That's my way. I think I'm innocently representing a certain belief in motion pictures, and, well OK. Even with a small video we will always be able to do a small movie with friends and to show it to someone. You won't get the Oscar for it. But, after all, why are you writing and why are you filming? So it will be possible. And I've always said that to make movies, to make images and sound, is possible by one way or another. And it has not to be ruled by the Pharaohs of Egypt, the Pharaohs from Hollywood or wherever. I have tried very hard to make even a small budget picture here. It always fails. Over a dozen times. And now I know why. It was only because I wanted to be in control of the money. To spend it the way I wanted. It was like my father when I asked him for money. He would say, "Tell me what you want to do and I will buy it." And I said, "No, I want the money."

Hal Hartley: Is your solitude very important to you?

Jean-Luc Godard: Yes, it's too much though. It's part of my character, but now it's too much. Especially in Switzerland, but in Paris too. Because I don't like Paris or being in big cities. But then when you are out in the land, OK, you have the land but you are alone with it. And sometimes it is too much.

Hal Hartley: That quality of nature in films which I brought up before, especially since Hail Mary, Nouvelle Vague and Helas Pour Moi–

Jean-Luc Godard: Now it's over. It comes in periods of ten or twelve years. Because now, the place where we are living in Switzerland, we call it a studio. This place near the lake is Studio One, this other place is Studio Two. We have been everywhere–

Hal Hartley: I like that about the films. The recurrence of certain places, images, even sounds. And, as an audience, you develop a sort of relationship to these things, these elements of the work. Like in Helas pour moi you use that excellent big piano chord and it shows up again in JLG/JLG. I like that continuity. Do you ever watch your films with audiences?

Jean-Luc Godard: (shrugs "no")

Hal Hartley: You watch films alone all the time?

Jean-Luc Godard: Well, since we are far from the town, and (even) in the town of Switzerland, it's mainly American pictures. In Paris maybe it's a little more democratic. You can see a little American or Egyptian movie if you want. Or old movies. Something that I like in movies, and I dislike too, is that they can't be projected well. But movies will continue one way or another. Maybe on video. Even on video games. You have to look at it, if you have children, or if you are linked to children, because it's new for them. This has not disappeared; the look of a child who is discovering the world, whatever it is. But the way we have done pictures has to be disappeared.

Hal Hartley: Eventually? Or immediately?

Jean-Luc Godard: It doesn't matter. But we never thought that it would disappear. The silent film, it was cut at the age of thirty.

Hal Hartley: I think that's it. (The interview is scheduled to end at 10 AM.) It's five to ten.

Jean-Luc Godard: It's OK, if you want more…

Hal Hartley: Well, sure, if we don't have to go?

Jean-Luc Godard: Or, I don't know. If you would like to have dinner with… do you know Tom Luddy?

Hal Hartley: Tom Luddy? No.

Jean-Luc Godard: No? You don't? I'm having dinner with him. If you want to join us, he will be pleased. I will be pleased too. If you want to talk more informally. Because you are a director. You are coming to me. I know that I am old, because even if I think I'm younger than everyone–but that's true–my way of hoping and continuing is that I am always in a younger position than the other one. We are equal at your first film. And now I have a feeling, I don't know you of course–but what I am saying is, if you have made three or four films, my feeling is, he is older than me because I am still making my first movie. That helps me. It is nothing insulting, you understand.

Hal Hartley: Not at all.

Jean-Luc Godard: To see you come here, when I saw your name, it reminds me when I was in Venice in competition with a movie called A Married Woman and Antonioni was coming in with Red Desert. And I knew I would be beaten 6-0 6-0 6-0. He told me I am older than him still. But I will get younger.

Hal Hartley: My new film is called Amateur , actually. And it's a title used in that regard. An urge, you know, to see new. Yes, younger.

Jean-Luc Godard: Is this the one that was not taken in Cannes this year?

Hal Hartley: It was in the Director's Fortnight.

Jean-Luc Godard: Is it the one refused by Gilles Jacob?

Hal Hartley: I guess.

Jean-Luc Godard: Anne-Marie Mieville is one too.

Hal Hartley: Oh?

Jean-Luc Godard: Her film was refused by Gilles Jacob, yes.

Hal Hartley: Is it in any of the other categories?

Jean-Luc Godard: No. In a way, she was relieved, shocked by the refusal, but relieved by the refusal.

Hal Hartley: I'm often uncertain of what's expected of a movie. More and more, even with a measure of success, I'm not sure what it is people are seeing when they see a movie I've made.

Jean-Luc Godard: Well the trouble with Hollywood is that it has poisoned us. If you see a poster of a movie it is mainly the picture of a woman and a man. Always a love story. Yes. But it shouldn't be that way. It should be another (way).

Hal Hartley: There's got to be more.

Jean-Luc Godard: More things to see through. It's not astounding that it is more difficult. We are losing our own capacity because we are poisoned in one way or another. What I like in pictures whether by an old director or a young director is when I have the feeling he or she is really using the capacity of film.

Hal Hartley: That's what I feel I have to get to. Just looking without all the other needs of a movie. I mean, you've talked about this as clearly as anyone over the years. I don't mean to flatter you, because I think it's something you know. But I think your pictures bring out, underline the very fact, that we have this capacity to see with our eyes. And that this is a very amazing thing. I'd like to get there. I think maybe my first attempts at making moving pictures when I was like nineteen years old, in Super-8, did bring about this sense of mystery. The excitement of just getting an image of anything–a reflection in glass–to me that was the most exciting thing.

Jean-Luc Godard: You have to continue and discover the grammar of things, of what we can see.

Hal Hartley: Any particular reason why you decided to make a self portrait now?

Jean-Luc Godard: Self-portraits have been done in painting, but never in music or literature. It has no meaning, it makes no sense. And in movies I was wondering if it could. And how.

Hal Hartley: I guess it can. (Martin) Donovan came away from the film yesterday and said he felt like he had just spent a day with this stranger.

Jean-Luc Godard: Yes. It's a compliment. You can have a feeling of daytime. And that's why I put "a self portrait in December". If it was in July it would have been different. More or less the same kind of movie but not at all the same pictures. Not the same lake, not the same tree.

Hal Hartley: Not the same thoughts.

Jean-Luc Godard: Certainly not the same thoughts. These are the thoughts of this day.

Hal Hartley: Your father was a doctor?

Jean-Luc Godard: An ordinary doctor. A general practitioner. Which is less and less happening today. There are specialists.

Hal Hartley: Everybody's a specialist.

Jean-Luc Godard: Yes, everybody's a specialist, except of himself. 

 

la foto di Godard e stata scattatta da Robert Altman a New York City nell'aprile del 1970.