There would be still a third instance beyond description and narration: the story [récit]. If we attempt a provisional definition, as we have done for the other instances, still without taking into account the special importance of the talkie factor, we believe that ,e 5,ory 'n general concerns the subject-object relationship and the d e Pn,ent 'his relationship (whilst narration concerned ""uth^V Pment (he sensory-motor schema). The model of con ''"u's i's full expression, not in the sensory-motor

\Ve ecllon- hut in the 'adequation' of the subject and the object. 'He tmUS.1.' ilowever- specify what the subject and the object are in canter- •t,0nS c'nema- According to convention, what the

Ci»IIecia leCS' 's ta"efl objective, and what the character sees is cineav Jective. Such a convention has a place only in the the c^.' 0ot 'he theatre. Now it is essential that the camera sees «On,eij^atter himself: it is one and the same character who camera 'e^.sees and sometimes is seen. But it is also the same nich gives us the character seen and what the character sees. We may, then, consider the story as the development of J kinds of images, objective and subjective, their complex relaf which can go as far as antagonism, but which ought to fi1 resolution in an identity of the type Ego = Ego; identity 0f »i? character seen and who sees, but equally well identity of Ik camera/film-maker who sees the character and is what ti character sees. This identity passes through many trials whi! specifically represent the false (confusion between two character, seen, for example, in Hitchcock, or confusion in what the character sees, for example, in Ford), but ends up affirming ¡ts^r for itself by constituting the True, even if the character has to die because of it. We might say that the film begins with the distinction between the two kinds of images, and ends with their identification, their identity recognized. The variations are infinite, because both the distinction and the synthetic identity can be established in all kinds of ways. The basic conditions of cinema are none the less here, from the point of view of the veracity of every possible stpry.28

The distinction between the objective and the subjective, bui also their identification, are brought into question in another kind of story. Here again, the American Lang was the great forerunner of a critique of veracity in the story.29 And the critique was taken up and extended by Welles, starting with Citizen Kant, where the distinction between the two kinds of images tends to vanish in what the witnesses have seen, without its being possible to agree on an identity for the character ('no trespassing'), nor even an identity for the film-maker, about which Welles always had doubts, which he was to push to the limit in It's All Trut. Pasolini, for his part, drew out the consequences of this new situation in what he called 'cinema of poetry', in contrast to the so-called cinema of prose. In the cinema of poetry, the distinction between what the character saw subjectively and what the camera saw objectively vanished, not in favour of one or the other, ^ because the camera assumed a subjective presence, acquire" , internal vision, which entered into a relation of stntU**£ ('mimesis') with the character's way of seeing. It is here, accorow» to our earlier discussion, that Pasolini discovered how tlr beyond the two elements of the traditional story, the indirect story from the camera's point of view and the direct story from the character's point of view, to achieve the^B special form of a 'free indirect discourse', of a 'free, >n TH subjective'. A contamination of the two kinds of image

Th,r"",f""iake 149

. so that bizarre visions of the camera (alternation of estab'is |gnses, zoom, extraordinary angles, abnormal move-jjfferen ^^ ^ expressed the singular visions of the character, nienth latter were expressed in the former, but by bringing the and power of the false. The story no longer refers to an

^uJf the true which constitutes its veracity, but becomes a ' do-story', a p«em, a stoI7 which simulates or rather a '^SeU| tion of the story.*" Objective and subjective images lose SimU distinction, but also their identification, in favour of a new . 1'r- where they are wholly replaced, or contaminate each C'ther or are decomposed and recomposed. Pasolini brings his ° Ivsis to bear on Antonioni, Bertolucci and Godard, but the 3riein of this transformation of the story is perhaps in Lang and Welles (the study of The Immortal Story would be important here).

We would like to consider an aspect of this new type of story, as it appears in a quite different area. If we go to the forms which for a long time challenged fiction, we see that the cinema of reality sometimes claimed objectively to show us real settings, situations and characters, and sometimes claimed subjectively to show the ways of seeing of these characters themselves, the way in which they themselves saw their situation, their setting, their problems. In short, there was the documentary or ethnographic pole, and the investigation or reportage pole. These two poles inspired masterpieces and in any case intermingled (Flaherty on one hand, and on the other Grierson and Leacock). But, in challenging fiction, if this cinema discovered new paths, it also preserved and sublimated an ideal of truth which was dependent on cinematographic pction itself: there was what the camera sees, what the character sees, the possible antagonism and necessary resolution of the two. I the character himself retained or acquired a kind of identity fiadh 3S WaS SCen °r Saw" carnera^'rn"ma'ier a'so to h.'nl<*Cnt'ty' as ethnologist or reporter. It was very important cine ge the established fictions in favour of a reality that d0ne(ja.cou'd capture or discover. But fiction was being aban-

which ln ^avour the real, whilst retaining a model of truth

Njet PresuPP°sed fiction and was a consequence of it. What profo had shown, that the ideal of the true was the most discoveHk°n' at the heart of the rea1, had not been

** grou j y.'he cinema. The veracity of the story continued to aPplied "oed ficlion- when the ideal or model of the true was camera w° 'kf- rea'' 'l to change many things, since the as t)e'ng directed to a pre-existing real, but, in another sense, nothing had changed in the conditions of the storv. J objective and the subjective were displaced, not transfor^lS! identities were defined in a different way, but remained defj1^ the story remained truthful, really-truthful instead of fiction"«?* truthful. But the veracity of the story had not stopped bei fiction.

The break is not between fiction and reality, but in the tw. mode of story which affects both of them. A change œcun2f around the 1960s, in quite independent places, in the dir cinema of Cassavetes and Shirley Clarke, in the 'cinema of lived' of Pierre Perrault, in the 'cinéma-vérité' of Jean Rouch. Thus, when Perrault criticizes all fiction, it is in the sense that it forms a model of pre-established truth, which necessarily expresses the dominant ideas or the point of view of the colonizer even when it is forged by the film's author. Fiction is inseparable from a 'reverence' which presents it as true, in religion, in society, in cinema, in the systems of images. Never has Nietzsche's dictum, 'suppress your reverences', been so well understood as by Perrault. When Perrault is addressing his real characters of Quebec, it is not simply to eliminate fiction but to free it from the model of truth which penetrates it, and on the contrary to rediscover the pure and simple story-telling function which is opposed to this model. What is opposed to fiction is not the real; it is not the truth which is always that of the masters or colonizers; it is the story-telling function of the poor, in so far as it gives the false the power which makes it into a memory, a legend, a monster. Hence the white dolphin of Pour la suite du monde, the caribou of Le pays de la terre sans arbres and above all the luminous beast, the Dionysus of Im bête lumineuse. What cinema must grasp is not the identity of a character, whether real or fictional, throug his objective and subjective aspects. It is the becoming of the reai character when he himself starts to 'make fiction', when he ente into 'the flagrant offence of making up legends' and so con!V butes to the invention of his people. The character is insepara from a before and an after, but he reunites these in the PaS^®n from one state to the other. He himself becomes another, he begins to tell stories without ever being fictional. An film-maker for his part becomes another when there are ' ^ posed', in this way, real characters, who wholly replace his Jg fictions by their own story-telling. Both communicate 'n ^ invention of a people. I interposed on behalf of Alexis (/-^ r j^jjl jour), and the whole of Quebec, in order to get to know who

. way that to speak to myself I just have to let them 'in sUf,i -j'his is the simulation of a story, the legend and its iPe3 ohosis, free indirect discourse of Quebec, a discourse ■nCWlT1 thousand heads 'little by little'. Thus the cinema can call with a ■njma.viritf, all the more because it will have destroyed '' model of the true so as to become creator and producer of evCI?. wj|| not be a cinema of truth but the truth of cinema. trlrh' is the sense intended by Jean Rouch when he spoke of hna-verite. Just like Perrault, with reporting investigations, C'n h had begun with ethnographic films. The evolution of the authors would be difficult to explain if we restricted ourselves '"oointing out the impossibility of achieving a raw real; everybody has always known that the camera has an active effect on situations, and that characters react to the presence of the camera, and it hardly troubled Flaherty or Leacock, who already saw only false problems in it. In Rouch and Perrault, the novelty has other sources. It begins to be clearly expressed in Rouch in l*s mitres fous, when the characters in the ritual, possessed, drunk, foaming and in trances, are first shown in their daily reality where they are waiters, navvies and labourers, as they become again after the ceremony. What they were before . .. Conversely, in Moi un Noir, there are real characters who are shown through the roles of their story-telling, Dorothy Lamour the little prostitute, Lemmy Caution the unemployed man from Treichville, even if they themselves then comment on and correct the function that they have released.'2 In Jaguar, the three characters, especially the gallant', share out roles which they are made to confront like ^ many legendary powers, by the realities of their journey - the encounter with the fetishists, the organization of work, the , gold ingots which they lock away and which are useless, little h"^ V'S'11° central market, finally the invention of their Wj ,e us,ness under a title which replaces a ready-made formula tnakea w™ Capable of making legends: 'little by little the bird »lis .. . bonnet". And they will return to their country, like b^ °rs' °f exploits and lies where the least incident anothefS P°Wer' There is always passage from one state to a li0n at l'le heart of the character, as when the hunter baptizes pouUi !e '^nierican, or when the travellers in Cocorico Monsieur i»astei?"Counter the female devil. To restrict ourselves to these ceased uf^' W<? not'ce 'n ^ P'ace that the character has ^jective'i * fea' or fictional, in so far as he has ceased to be seen

V or to see subjectively: it is a character who goes over crossings and frontiers because he invents as a real character becomes all the more real because he has been better at inven Dionysos is a great synthesis by Rouch: the image of indu society which brings together a Hungarian mechanic, an Iy' Coast riveter, a West Indian metalworker, a Turkish carpenu>?^ German woman mechanic, plunges into a before that is Dionv haunted by the three maenads, the white, the black and »|J yellow, but this before is also an after, like the post-industrfcj horizon where one worker has become a flautist, another tambourine player, cellist, soprano, forming the Dionysij« cortège which reaches the forest of Meudon. The 'ciné-trance" and its music are a temporalization of the image which never stays in the present, continually crossing the limit in both directions, all driven by a teacher who turns out to be a forger, nothing buta forger, the power of the false of Dionysus himself. If the real-fictional alternative is so completely surpassed it is because the camera instead of marking out a fictional or real present, constantly reattaches the character to the before and after which constitute a direct time-image. The character must first of all be real if he is to affirm fiction as a power and not as a model: he has to start to tell stories in order to affirm himself all the more as real and not fictional. The character is continually becoming another, and is no longer separable from this becoming which merges with a people.

But what we are saying about the character is also valid in the second place, and in particular, for the film-maker himself. He too becomes another, in so far as he takes real characters as intercessors and replaces his fictions by their own story-telling, but, conversely, gives these story-tellings the shape of legends, carrying out their 'making into legend'. Rouch makes his own free indirect discourse at the same time as his characters maK^ that of Africa. Perrault makes his own free indirect discourse the sametime as his characters make that of Quebec, ^ere undoubtedly a big difference in situation between Perrault a Rouch, a difference which is not simply personal but cinen» graphic and formal. For Perrault, the concern is to belong to. dominated people, and to rediscover a lost and repf ^ collective identity. For Rouch, it is a matter of getting out o^ dominant civilization and reaching the premises of an< identity. Hence the possibility of misunderstandings two authors. Nevertheless each one as a film-maker sets <» ^ the same slender material, camera on the shoulde zed tape-recorder; they must become others, with their 5ynC^on' ^ ^^ same time as their characters must become cha^^^selves. The famous formula, 'what is suitable for the others tary js that one knows who one is and whom one is jocu^f ceases to be valid. The Ego = Ego form of identity (or its fUn>in8' form, them = them) ceases to be valid for the degen an(j for the film-maker, in the real as well as in the • What allows itself to be glimpsed instead, by profound fiction^ Rimbaud's 'I is another' \Je est un entre]: Godard said h'^in relation to Rouch; not only for the characters themselves, but for the film-maker who 'white just like Rimbaud, himself declares that I is another', that is, me a black." When Rimbaud exclaims, 'I am of inferior race for all eternity ... I am a beast, a negro . •'. it's 'n t^e course of passing through a whole series of forgers, 'Merchant you are a negro, magistrate you are a negro, general you are a negro, mangy old emperor you are a negro ...', up to that highest power of the false which means that a black must himself become black, through his white roles, whilst the white here finds a chance of becoming black too (i can be saved ...'). And, for his part, Perrault has no less a need to become another so as to join his own people. This is no longer Birth of a Nation, but constitution or reconstitution of a people, where the film-maker and his characters become others together and the one through the other, a collectivity which gradually wins from place to place, from person to person, from intercessor to intercessor. I am a caribou, an original ... 'I is another' is the formation of a story which simulates, of a simulation of a story or a story of simulation which deposes the form of the truthful «ory. Poetry is what Pasolini held up against prose, but which can . found in the place that he did not look for it, in the domain of a enema presented as direct.54

In Shirley Clarke or Cassavetes, an analogous phenomenon •hem" °nte a^a'n many differences. It is as if the three great cfj es Were turning and forming their combinations; the 'he f\tteT 'S conl'nually passing the frontier between the real and film ctl"nal (the power of the false, the story-telling function), the be'afte .r lo reach what the character was 'before' and will mcessa P ' together the before and the after in the

■Hage). ' Passage from one state to the other (the direct time-already ■ , ^coining of the film-maker and of his character °nRS to a people, to a community, to a minority whose °n they practise and set free (free, indirect discourse).

With Shirley Clarke's The Connexion, the levels of organic, lJ mingle, because the roles of drug-addicts refer to pre-exisSl characters who themselves refer alternatively to their role. AnT^I A Portrait of Jason it is the passage which must be grasped in ajj possible 'distances', in relation to the character and to his rol»? but always internal distances, as if the white camera had slid; ^ the great black forger; the 'I is another' of Shirley Clarke cons in this: that the film that she wanted to make about herself beca»* the one she made about Jason. What has to be filmed is the frontier, on condition that this is equally crossed by the fil^. maker in one direction and by the real character in the opposite direction: time is necessary here; a certain time is necessary which constitutes an integral part of the film.*5 This is what Cassavetes was already saying in Shadows and then Faces', what constitutes part of the film is interesting oneself in the people more than in the film, in the 'human problems' more than in the 'problems of mise-en-scbie', so that the people do not pass over to the side of the camera without the camera having passed over to the side of the people. In Shadows it is the two white Negroes who constitute the frontier, and its perpetual crossing in a double reality which is no longer distinguishable from the film. The frontier can be grasped only in flight, when we no longer know where it passes, between the white and the black, but also between the film and the non-film; it is characteristic of film to be always outside its marks, breaking with 'the right distance', always overflowing 'the reserved zone' where we would have liked to hold it in space and time.''6

We will see how Godard draws a generalized method of the image from this; where something ends, where something else begins, what a frontier is and how to see it, but through crossing and displacing it endlessly. In Masculin féminin, the fiction«" interview with the characters and the real interview with t actors mix together so that they seem to be speaking to each otn» and to speak for themselves, by speaking to the film-maker, method can be developed only where the camera is consta / reaching a before or an after in the characters which consti the real, at the very point where story-telîing is set in motion- ^ know what they were before being placed in the after . . .',M France tour détour deux enfants already makes useo j as a principle; 'Him before, and the story after, or him a^ter(Jebt the story before.' Godard, who has often acknowledged his^ to Rouch, increasingly emphasizes this point: the image the before and the after; it thus has to bring together in ¡nc'u . ,he conditions of a new, direct time-image, instead of this *a> (|ie present 'as in bad films'. It is under these conditions bei^ 'ntjme.iiriage that the same transformation involves the of 'he p fiction and the cinema of reality and blurs their ^•fr"1 nces; in 'he same movement, descriptions become pure, I optical and sound, narrations falsifying and stories, ^"ulations. The whole cinema becomes a free, indirect dis-S,n1 rse operating in reality. The forger and his power, the n maker and his character, or the reverse, since they only exist ' ueh this community which allows them to say 'we, creators of truth' This is a third time-image, distinct from those we saw in the revious chapter. The two earlier ones essentially concerned the order of time, that is, the coexistence of relations or the simultaneity of the elements internal to time. The third concerns the series of time, which brings together the before and the after in a becoming, instead of separating them; its paradox is to introduce an enduring interval in the moment itself.™ The three time-images all break with indirect representation, but also shatter the empirical continuation of time, the chronological succession, the separation of the before and the after. They are thus connected with each other and interpenetrate (Welles, Resnais, Godard, Robbe-Grillet), but allow the distinction of their signs to subsist in a particular work.

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