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. . which makes the following one possible. And the first pfrl would have to keep montage, even if it integrated it follow'1"*? ¡mage and even into the playing of the actors. f*11^ " i was going to concern himself with properly dramatic jrisens ^ ^ ^ Terrible, Alexander Nevsky, while preserving the hcr?eS' at hievements, the non-indifference of nature and the ear-'iduation of the masses. At the most he could note that the *d period had, to date, produced only mediocre works, and sec0"t in danger, if they were not careful, of losing the Verity of the Soviet cinema. They must avoid the Soviet ,coming close to the American, which had specialized in cinema » o oersonal heroes and dramatic actions . ..

It is indeed true that the three relationships between cinema and thought are encountered together everywhere in the cinema of the movement-image: the relationship with a whole which can only be thought in a higher awareness, the relationship with a thought which can only be shaped in the subconscious unfolding of images, the sensoiy-motor relationship between world and man, nature and thought. Critical thought, hypnotic thought, action-thought. What Eisen-stein criticizes in others, and primarily in Griffith, is having badly understood the whole, because they were content with a diversity of images without reaching the constituent oppositions, having composed figures badly, because they do not achieve true metaphors or harmonics; to have reduced action to a melodrama, because they were content to have a personal hero caught in a PiiXhologjcal rather than a social situation.14 In short, they lacked MMgjectical practice andllfieoryD It is still true that American cjnema, in its own way, displayed the three fundamental relation-s 'ps. I he action-image could go from the situation to the action, or conversely, from the action to the situation; it was inseparable whiT acts of comprehension through which the hero evaluated inf WaS ^'ven 'n ^e problem or situation, or from acts of llav.rence by which he guessed what was not given (thus, as we theseSeen' l'1C ''Shtning reasoning-images of Lubitsch). And re'ati ^,S t^ou8ht in the image extended in a double direction, 'boueh °f 'ma8es with a thought whole and with figures of c'nein '. us return to an extreme example: if Hitchcock's 't'age •dPPeared to us the very culmination of the movement-'"^ntal" . ause it goes beyond the action-image towards the same '°nS irame it and constitute its linkage, but at

Nations' U,ne returns 10 the image in accordance with 'natural which make up a framework. From the image to the relation, and from the relation to the image: all the funct' thought are included in this circuit. In accordance with"!« English genius, this is definitely not a dialectic, it is a relations (which particularly explains the fact that 'susr*C replaces 'shock').1' There are, therefore, many ways in cinema can carry its relationships with thought into effect these three relationships seem to be well defined at the level of i? movement-image.

How strangely the great declarations, of Eisenstein, of Ganct ring today; we put them to one side like declarations worthy of a museum, all the hopes put into cinema, art of the masses and new thought. We can always say that cinema has drowned in the nullity of its productions. What becomes of Hitchcock's suspense. Eisenstein's shock and Gance's sublimity when they are taken up by mediocre authors? When the violence is no longer that of the image and its vibrations but that of the represented, we move into a blood-red arbitrariness. When grandeur is no longer that of the composition, but a pure and simple inflation of the represented, there is no cerebral stimulation or birth of thought. It is rather a generalized shortcoming in author and viewers. Nevertheless a current mediocrity has never prevented great painting; but it w not the same in the conditions of an industrial art, where the proportion of disgraceful works calls the most basic goals and capacities directly into question. Cinema is dying, then, from 'u quantitative mediocrity. But there is a still more important reason: the mass-art, the treatment of masses, which should n have been separable from an accession of the masses to thesta^ of true subject, has degenerated into state propaganda ana nipulation, into a kind of fascism which brought together n and Hollywood, Hollywood and Hitler. The spiritual became fascist man. As Serge Daney says, what has broug ^^ whole cinema of the movement-image into question are tn IJ political mises-en-scene, state propaganda turned tableaux 1,11 ^ the first handlings of masses of humans', and their backdr r ^ camps."1 This was the death-knell for the ambitions of 1 n( cinema': not, or not only, the mediocrity and vulgarity ot ..-ft-production but rather Leni Riefenstahl, who was not trie situation is still worse if we accept Virilio's thesis: there

,\nd *'ie diversion or alienation in an art of the masses initially kasbeen movement-image; on the contrary the move-

foundet was from the beginning linked to the organization of

^nt-mi'B „aganda, ordinary fascism, historically and essen-

war' S|'a These two joint reasons, mediocrity of products and

^ i of production, can explain a great many things. For a

^'f moment, Artaud 'believes' in cinema, and makes a number kf^ larations which seen to coincide with those of Eisenstein or e- new art, new thought. But he very quickly renounces it.

^The imbecile world of images caught as if by glue in millions of retinas will never perfect the image that has been made of it. The noetry which can emerge from it all is only a possible poetry, the

Doetry of what might be, and it is not from cinema that we should r ' ,|H expect...

Perhaps there is a third reason, oddly capable of restoring hope in a possibility of thinking in cinema through cinema. We must study the case of Artaud more closely, because it may well be of crucial importance. For, during the brief period that he believed, Artaud seems at first sight to take up the great themes of the movement-image in its relations with thought. He says specifically that cinema must avoid two pitfalls, abstract experimental cinema, which was developing at the time, and commercial figurative cinema, which Hollywood was imposing. He says that cinema is a matter of neuro-physiological vibrations, and that the 'mage must produce a shock, a nerve-wave which gives rise to thought, 'for thought is a matron who has not always existed'. Thought has no other reason to function than its own birth, always the repetition of its own birth, secret and profound. He 'l at 'mage thus has as object the functioning of thought, ^ that the functioning of thought is also the real subject which in th^F* 'maSes- He adds that the dream as it appears

European cinema inspired by surrealism, is an interesting istoo°Xlmat'°n',)ut '"adequate in relation to this goal: the dream moreeasy a solution to the 'problem' of thought. Artaud believes urritin 'n ,n aPProPriateness between cinema and automatic all an^ hS ® as we understand that automatic writing is not at iogethe n(c of composition, but a higher control which brings thought Crh'l,Cal an<' conscious thought and the unconscious in •he dream Sp,ritual automaton (which is very different from Unton$c' 1 'ch brings together a censure or repression with an '°us made up of impulses). He adds that his point of view is much ahead of its time and is in danger of being misui»J stood, even by the surrealists, to which his relations r' Germaine Dulac testify, as she goes back and forth fro jM abstract cinema to a dream-cinema. "*

At first sight, there is nothing to bring these declaratio I Artaud into conflict with those of Eisenstein: from the ima thought there is shock or vibration, which must give rig«-thought in thought; from thought to the image, there is the fin. which must be realized in a kind of internal monologue (rath, than in a dream), capable of giving us the shock again. And vm there is something quite different in Artaud: a recognition of powerlessness, which does not yet have a bearing on cinema bin on the contrary defines the real object-subject of cinema. What cinema advances is not the power of thought but its 'impower' and thought has never had any other problem. It is precisely thi$ which is much more important than the dream: this difficulty of being, this powerlessness at the heart of thought. What the enemies of cinema criticized it for (like Georges Duhamel, 'I can no longer think what I want, the moving images are substituted for my own thoughts'), is just what Artaud makes into the dark glory and profundity of cinema. In fact, the problem for him is not of a simple inhibition that the cinema would bring to us from the outside, but of this central inhibition, of this internal collapse and fossilization, of this 'theft of thoughts' of which thought is a constant agent and victim. Artaud would stop believing in the cinema when he considered that cinema was sidetracking and could produce only the abstract or the figurative or the dream. But he believes in the cinema as long as he considers that cinema» essentially suited to reveal this powerlessness to think at the he®11 of thought. If we consider Artaud's actual scripts, the vampirtj® 32, the madman in La révolte du boucher, and especially the suic w case in Dix-huit secondes, the hero 'has become incapable achieving his thoughts', 'he is reduced to only seeing a para" . images within him, an excess of contradictory images', his sp has been stolen'. The spiritual or mental automaton is no lo defined by the logical possibility of a thought which ^¡g,, formally deduce his ideas from each other.21 But no . t through the physical power of a thought that would be plac ^ circuit with the automatic image.

The spiritual become the Mummy, this dismantled, paralysed, petrified- ^ jj instance which testifies to 'the impossibility of thinking "jjj thought'.22 It could be said that expressionism had alrea y with all this, theft of thoughts, splitting in two of us fa"1 hypnotic petrification, hallucination, raging schizo-pcrS°"a 'put, here again, we are in danger of misconstruing pfiren'^ gjnality: it is no longer thought which confronts Arta"®. ^ unconscious, dream, sexuality or death, as in rePresS'on'jSIT1 (and also in surrealism), it is all these determin-e*PreS^rj1jch confront thought as higher 'problem', or which a"°" -nto re|ation with the undeterminable, the unreferable." el or the Mummy, is no longer the irreducible core of the which thought comes up against, on the contrary, it is the enter

"of thought, 'the reverse side of thoughts', which itself is what dreams come up against and rebound, break. Whilst expressionism makes wakefulness pass through a nocturnal treatment, Artaud makes dream pass through a diurnal treatment. Artaud's vigilambulist, in Dix-huit secondes or Im coquille et le clergyman is the opposite of the expressionist somnambulist.

In spite of a superficial similarity of words, there is, therefore, an absolute opposition between Artaud's project and a conception such as Eisenstein's. It is indeed a matter, as Artaud puts it, 'of bringing cinema together with the innermost reality of the brain', but this innermost reality is not the Whole, but on the contrary a fissure, a crack." As long as he believes in cinema, he credits it, not with the power of making us think the whole, but on the contrary with a 'dissociative force' which would introduce a figure of nothingness', a 'hole in appearances'. As long as he believes in cinema, he credits it, not with the power of returning to images, and linking them according to the demands of an internal monologue and the rhythm of metaphors, but of un linking' them, according to multiple voices, internal diaries, always a voice in another voice. In short, it is the totality of enia-thought relations that Artaud overturns: on the one hand other h '°,1Rer a whole thinkable through montage, on the •hro' if"1' 'here is no longer an internal monologue utterable ¿sen • ',nia8e- might be said that Artaud turns round shotkSk|nS ar8ument: if it is true that thought depends on a only tk Slves hirth to it (the nerve, the brain matter), it can

Poiverles t,ling' the fact t,ult we are not yet tfl'nkin8> the which neSS to 'hink the whole and to think oneself, thought 'hough ¡S f.ys fossilized, dislocated, collapsed. A being of a univer VS| r *1 'S a'ways lo come is what Heidegger discovered in ^r°hleni V hut H is what Artaud lived as the most singular • h,s own problem." Between Heidegger and Artaud,

Maurice Blanchot was able to give the fundamental questU*] what makes us think, what forces us to think, back to A Si? what forces us to think is 'the inpower [impouvoir] of though figure of nothingness, the inexistence of a whole which coi Li«®l thought. What Blanchot diagnoses everywhere in literat • particularly clear in cinema: on the one hand the presence'of * unthinkable in thought, which would be both its source ** barrier; on the other hand the presence to infinity of anotkli thinker in the thinker, who shatters every monologue 0f thinking self.

But the question is: in what respect does all this essentially concern the cinema? It is perhaps the question for literature or philosophy, or even psychiatry. But in what respect is it t|,e question for the cinema; that is, a question that touches on m specificity, on its difference from other disciplines? The cinema does not in fact deal with this question in the same way, although it is encountered elsewhere with other means of expression. B\ what means does cinema approach this question of thought, iis fundamental powerlessness and the consequences of this? It is true that bad cinema (and sometimes good) limits itself to a dream state induced in the viewer, or - as has been the subject of frequent analysis - to an imaginary participation. But the essence of cinema — which is not the majority of films — has thought as its higher purpose, nothing but thought and its functioning. In this regard, the strength of Jean-Louis Schefer's book is in having replied to the question: in what respect and how is cinema concerned with a thought whose essential character is not yet t° be? He says that the cinematographic image, as soon as it takes on its aberration of movement, carries out a suspension of the worldor affects the visible with a disturbance, which, far from making thought visible, as Eisenstein wanted, are on the contrary direc" to what does not let itself be thought in thought, and equally what does not let itself be seen in vision. This is perbaps 'crime', as he believes, but simply the power of the false, that thought, in cinema, is brought face to face with 1» ^ impossibility, and yet draws from this a higher power adds that the condition of cinema has only one equivalen^^ imaginary participation but the rain when you leave tn ' ¡s torium; not dream, but the blackness and insomnia, ^plet' close to Artaud. His conception of cinema now finds a c ^ n0i match in the work of Garrel: the dancing grains whit"1 .onof made to be seen, the luminous dust which is not a prefigura

. flakes of snow and blankets of soot.2fi Provided that we bodieS> 11 ersuasively that such works, far from being boring or can present the most entertaining, lively and disquieting abstraC^at tan be done in cinema. As well as the great scene with II and the white flour piling up, at the end of Dreyer's the m« g^efe,- proposes the example of the beginning of Vflm^yr'wa's c0bweb Castle (Macbeth): the grey, the steam and the constitute 'a whole this side of the image', which is not a "i'51 ed veil put in front of things, but 'a thought, without body H without image'. This was also the case with Welles's Macbeth, ^ere the indiscernibility of earth and water, sky and land, good and evil constituted a 'prehistory of consciousness' (Bazin) which roduced the thought of its own impossibility. Was this not already the mists of Odessa, despite Eisenstein's intentions? According to Schefer, it is the suspension of the world, rather than movement, which gives the visible to thought, not as its object, but as an act which is constantly arising and being revealed in thought: 'not that it is here a matter of thought become visible, the visible is affected and irremediably infected by the initial incoherence of thought, this inchoate quality'. This is the description of the ordinary man in cinema: the spiritual automaton, mechanical man', 'experimental dummy', Cartesian diver in us, unknown body which we have only at the back of our heads whose age is neither ours nor that of our childhood, but a little time in the pure state.

If this experience of thought essentially (but not exclusively) concerns modern c inema, it is first as a result of the change which affects the image: the image has ceased to be sensory-motor. If rtaud is a forerunner, from a specifically cinematographic Perspective, it is because he points to 'real psychic situations vis W/Cn traPPed thought looks for a subtle way out', 'purely ^"situations whose drama would flow from a knock made for oftJ>es; n out. if we may put it this way, in the very substance a high^i6 sensory-motor break finds its condition at fan Cr i e'an<* 'lse'f comes back to a break in the link between who ''1C Wor'd- I be sensory-motor break makes man a seer and co V mse'f struck by something intolerable in the world, the '.°nie(l by something unthinkable in thought. Between Kereits ou8bt undergoes a strange fossilization, which is as it the ^)W.er'essness to function, to be, its dispossession of itself thcH f or "'s not 'n the name of a better or truer world K n captures the intolerable in this world, but, on the contrary, it is because this world is intolerable that it can no U think a world or think itself. The intolerable is no longera injustice, but the permanent state of a daily banality. Man himself a world other than the one in which he experien " ** intolerable and feels himself trapped. The spiritual automa» f in the psychic situation of the seer, who sees better and fu l* than he can react, that is, think. Which, then, is the subtle wav** To believe, not in a different world, but in a link between man 111 the world, in love or life, to believe in this as in the impossible ""kî unthinkable, which none the less cannot but be thought: 'sotn*. thing possible, otherwise 1 will suffocate'. It is this belief tha makes the unthought the specific power of thought, through the absurd, by virtue of the absurd. Artaud never understood powerlessness to think as a simple inferiority which would strike us in relation to thought. It is part of thought, so that we should make our way of thinking from it, without claiming to be restoring an all-powerful thought. We should rather make use of this powerlessness to believe in life, and to discover the identity of thought and life: 'I think of life, all the systems that I shall be able to build will never match my cries of a man engaged in remaking his life ..." Was there in Artaud an affinity with Dreyer? Was Dreyer an Artaud to whom reason would have been 'restored', once again by virtue of the absurd? Drouzy has noted Dreyer's great psychic crisis, his schizophrenic journey.28 But, even more to the point, Véronique Tacquin has been ahle to show how the mummy (the spiritual automaton) haunts his last films. This was already true of Vampyr, where the mummy appeared as the diabolic force of the world, the Vampire itself, but also as the uncertain hero, who does not know what to think and dreams h'! own fossilization. In Ordet, the mummy has become thought use . the young, dead, cataleptic woman: it is the madman of the 'an"j who restores her to life and love, precisely because he has cea w to lie mad, that is, to believe himself to be another world, because he now knows what believing means . . . Gertrud n develops all the implications and the new relation bet jJ cinema and thought: the 'psychic' situation which repUte ^ sensory-motor situations; the perpetual break of the link wi ^ world, the perpetual hole in appearances, embodied in .jV continuity; the grasping of the intolerable even in the ev . and insignificant (the long scene in tracking shot that C'er'' |(jng. not be able to bear, the schoolboys coming rhythmical > like robots, to thank the poet for having taught them the encounter with the unthinkable which cannot even freed0 sung, to the point of Gertrud's passing-out; the spoke"' 'mummifying' of the heroine, who becomes fo*i|izatl°0f belief as thought of the unthinkable ('Have I been conSt'^0 |,ut I have loved. Have I been beautiful? No but I have *°UngHave ' been in life? No but I have loved.'). In all these joved Qtrtrud inaugurates a new cinema, whose sequel will be resPe7r|li,s Europe 5/. Rossellini expresses his position in relation . tj,e |ess human the world is, the more it is the artist's duty l° believe and produce belief in a relation between man and the rid because the world is made by men.2" The heroine of Europe 5/"a mummy radiating tenderness.

it is clear from the outset that cinema had a special relationship with belief. There is a Catholic quality to cinema (there are many explicitly Catholic authors, even in America, and those who are not have complex relationships with Catholicism). Is there not in Catholicism a grand mise-eti-.scene, but also, in the cinema, a cult which takes over the circuit of the cathedrals, as Elie Faure said?*" Cinema seems wholly within Nietzsche's formula: 'How we are still pious.' Or better, from the outset, Christianity and revolution, the Christian faith and revolutionary faith, were the two poles which attracted the art of the masses. For the cinematographic image, in contrast to the theatre, showed us the link between the man and the world. Hence it developed either in the direction of a transformation of the world by man, or in the discovery of an internal and higher world that man himself was ... It cannot be said today that these two poles of cinema have become weakened: •"ertain Catholic quality has continued to inspire a great number authors, and revolutionary passion has passed into third world What has changed is, however, the crucial point, and or R 'S aS mucb difference between the Catholicism of Rossellini qualit"eSS°n' an<* tbal as between the revolutionary

I he"(>i '1a or Giiney, and those of Eisenstein. dono*i m(K'ern fact's 'hat we no longer believe in this world. We as if even believe in the events which happen to us, love, death, 's <he °"ly ba'f concerned us. It is not we who make cinema; it Ban4(.^f looks to us like a bad film. Godard said, about u bieaT.r/: ',lese are PeoP'e who are real and it's the world that «self. It isa7ay SrouP- 't is the world that is making cinema for 'rue- they ' e Wor'd ,hat is out of synch; they are right, they are ar°undti1(!^,res.em life- They live a simple story; it is the world m which is living a bad script.The link between man

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