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Contents

List of Illustrations ix

Acknowledgments x

Introduction 1Aesthetic expression, revelatory moments and theastounded soul 1

Scholarly context 3Films of Love in the Time of Cinema 6

1 Love in the Time of Cinema: Theory and Context 9Modernitys crisis of the moment 10Love in the time of photography 11Loves aesthetic and temporal possibilities 20Living historically and aesthetically 28Historical and cinematic time 31

2 Cinematic Reconciliation of Romantic and HistoricalTime: Wim WendersWings of Desire 36The conjunction of the couple in time 37Romantic time in Wings of Desire 41Love and the implications of romanticizing history 48Wings of Desires historical past and gendered history 54The face in close-up 61Synchronizing romantic and cinematic times 64

3 Mortality and Cinephilia in the Cinematic Elegy: AgnsVardas Jacquot de Nantes 72Mortality and cinematic time 73Mortality and the close-up 77Mortality and cinephilia 84The cinematic elegy and the continuance of mourning:Vardas World of Jacques Demy 92

The cinematic and cinephilic life: Vardas Beaches of Agns 95

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viii Contents

4 Learning to Love What Passes: Hirokazu Kore-edasAfter Life 103After Lifes story and reception 104Photogenic illumination 107Cinematic and seasonal time 111Photogenic love and punctual prescience 115Perceptual transformations of gendered and cinematic time 122Benevolent and epistemic productions 125Learning to love what passes in Kore-edas Still Walking 128

5 Making Art of What Endures: Doris Drries CherryBlossoms and Olivier Assayas Summer Hours 137Seeing now together in Cherry Blossoms 139Cherry Blossoms ephemeral style 143Cherry Blossoms shared perspective in cinematic death 148The last sliver of sunlight on a late-summer day: SummerHours passing time 152

Summer Hours fantasy of the Muse dOrsay and cinematicassuaging of loss 155

Summer Hours fantastical closure: Sylvie, the enduringlandscape and stylistic loss 159

Conclusion 170

Notes 179

Bibliography 192

Index 201

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1Love in the Time of Cinema:Theory and Context

In Camera Lucida, Barthes reflects that [a]lways the Photographastonishes me [mtonne], with an astonishment which endures andrenews itself, inexhaustibly. Perhaps this astonishment, this persistencereaches down into the religious substance out of which I am molded(his emphasis, 82; La chambre claire 129). Accentuating the delightfulasymptotic possibility inherent in art (or, in Paul Valerys terms, artsinexhaustibility),1 Barthes photogenic astonishment persists in spite of(and because of) his skeptical distrust of the photographs mechanisticunderpinnings.2 Not only a willing but also a self-reflexive suspen-sion of disbelief, Barthes ascribes ontological import to his photogenicastonishmenta confidence in sensual apprehension, no matter ourknowledge to the contrary. Inspired by Wilburs astounded soul andBarthes photogenic astonishment, this and subsequent chapters cor-relate cinematic time with loves accentuated subjectivity and empathy.Such correlative inquiry reflects and creates our experience of intimacyand significance within modernity.

In 1917, film theorist Louis Delluc wrote that [o]bviously, art wouldbe utterly useless if each of us was capable of appreciating consciouslythe profound beauty of the passing moment (137). Delluc indirectlyclaims that art enables our conscious appreciation (and therefore cre-ation) of ephemeral beauty. Equating the passing moment with cine-matic ephemera, this book focuses upon cinemas enrichment of oursensual attention and temporal experience.3 This scholarly focus uponcinematic time and love ostensibly becomes an argument about his-torical existence and expression. In The Pleasure of the Text, Barthesposes what seem initially to be ahistorical questions of sensual expe-rience: Is pleasure only a minor bliss? Is bliss nothing but extremepleasure? (20). He proceeds to ascribe qualitative value judgments to

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10 Love in the Time of Cinema: Theory and Context

such wordplay: Is pleasure only a weakened, conformist blissa blissdeflected through a pattern of conciliations? Is bliss merely a brutal,immediate (without mediation) pleasure? (20). And finally, he casts anhistorical import to these sensual ponderings: On the answer (yes or no)depends the way in which we shall write the history of our modernity(20). Barthes argues for the temporal contingency of qualitative sen-sation: pleasure and bliss, for example, not only refer to qualities ofexperience but also measures of time. Our regard for expressing sen-sual quality involves our regard for telling time, in contexts as vital andmacrocosmic as the history of our modernity.

At stake in our regard for times sensual intensity and dilution isthe very way in which we regard history, time writ large, as it bearsupon and carries contemporary experience. I want to argue for an inver-sion of Barthes claim: how we regard the history of our modernitydetermines our notion of amorous sensation relative to time. In explor-ing modernity as a problem of temporal and experiential intensity,we subsequently create anew our conception of love. Contemplationof the moment involves contemplation of intimacy and intensityadynamic no doubt affected (and created, determined and mediated) bythe cinemas generation and revelation of time.

Modernitys crisis of the moment

Consider T.S. Eliots poetic question from The Love Song of J. AlfredPrufrock, Should I, after tea and cakes and ices,/Have the strengthto force the moment to its crisis? (56). Less a temporal parameterthan an intense sensation, the moment becomes a crisis point withinmodernitys acceleration: how do we measure time qualitatively, as itquickens quantitatively? Modem speeds have hastened into far swiftercable and wireless connections, and digital photography dramaticallycollapses the time between taking and developing a photograph; uponsnapping a photo, the recorded image appears near-instantaneously inthe cameras display. We can keep or trash the image according to itsdesirable reflection of the sentiment that initially inspired its record-ing. In just this example, we witness a change in our experience of timeand photographic images; what would have previously taken days toprocess now takes mere seconds to appear. Current technology enablesan accelerated transformation from world to image. Formerly novel, asingle-lens reflex film camera, for example, now privileges a certain qual-ity of image that seems slower and somewhat nostalgic because of thetechnology now available to us.

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Love in the Time of Cinema 11

Time increasingly becomes a problem as the hastening worlddemands yet thwarts our attentive contemplation. Amidst timesincreasing speed, we rightly wonder how our time can remain momen-tous. What qualifies as a moment refers to a concentrated experiencemore than a short measure of time. Thanks to cinemas seeming abilityto allow the endurance of a moment, cinematic time has been cele-brated for its expression of what otherwise remains ineffable. Doaneclaims that the significance of the cinema . . . lies in its apparent capac-ity to perfectly represent the contingent, to provide the pure recordof time . . . cinema . . .directly confronts the problematic question of therepresentability of the ephemeral (her emphasis, Cinematic Time, 22, 25).Cinema expresses and challenges representations of ephemera, whilealso revealing expressions themselves ephemeral.

Within these concerns of ephemera and expression, of time and sen-sation, our experience of loveas intimacy and intensityis at stake.As time hastens and images abound, the immersion and alienationinvolved in the cinematic experience might rightly echo and inform ouramorous expectations in the world. Cinema orchestrates a time of bothimmersion and duration. Through the cinemas generation and revela-tion of time, we glimpse this hope for and expression of endurance andintensity.

Love in the time of photography

Recall Wilburs Love Calls Us to the Things of This World of the intro-duction, in which love enables the astounded souls amorous regardfor the worlds detail. As my introduction explains, Wilburs poem alsosuggests that love emerges through this attentive apprehension of theworlds sensuality. To cast Wilburs phenomenological dynamic intothe photographic realm, Simone de Beauvoir claims that love is thedeveloper that brings out in clear, positive detail the dim negative, oth-erwise as useless as a blank exposure that sharpens the worlds images(The Second Sex 647). In her estimation, love reveals the world as doesphotographic developer enable an images appearing.

While de Beauvoir offers this metaphor in passing, this overt corre-lation between love and photographic attention is the very subject ofBarthes Camera Lucida, which ascribes centuries-old questions of love tomodern and mechanical aesthetics of photography. Overtly employinga phenomenological method, Barthes pursues the inexplicable regardhe has for some photographs over others; moreover, his mothers deathprompts such inquiry, as he seeks to articulate the agony and fulfillment

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of looking at her photographed image.4 Camera Lucida figures as both aphenomenological photographic meditation and a literary and benev-olent expression of grief. He strives to understand the love inspiredby the photograph; whatever detail or sensation inspires his affecta-tion, he names punctumthat which pricks, punctures and marks thephotographs beholder.

Ten years before Camera Lucida, Barthes began this inquiry with regardto Sergei Eisensteins film stills; while photography or film stills mightbe described in terms of information or symbol (what we, materially, seewithin the frame and what it may represent, for example, gold suggestswealth), yet a third meaning exists, one which accounts for what wekeep and how we care for the image before us. This third, or obtusemeaning, carries a certain emotion . . .which simply designates what oneloves, what one wants to defend: an emotion-value, an evaluation (hisemphasis, The Third Meaning 59). That which remains inexplicableequals that which we love, or defend emphatically. Reciprocally, lovestands for the obtuse and elusive emotional investment we have beforean image. At once, photographic astonishment inspires love, while loveenables and stands for photographic astonishment. Invariably, in bothCamera Lucida and The Third Meaning, Barthes relies upon amorousexpressions to concretize his astonishment.

In Camera Lucida, Barthes explains that an image can not only punc-tually inspire ones love but also contain and attest to its certitude. Uponlooking at a photograph of his parents, Barthes writes the followingrumination:

What is it that will be done away with, along with this photographwhich yellows, fades, and will someday be thrown out, if not by metoo superstitious for thatat least when I die? Not only life (this wasalive, this posed live in front of the lens), but also, sometimeshowto put it?love. In front of the only photograph in which I find myfather and mother together, this couple who I know loved each other,I realize: it is love-as-treasure which is going to disappear forever; foronce I am gone, no one will any longer be able to testify to this:nothing will remain but an indifferent Nature. (94)

In Barthes estimation, photography guarantees the life of its referent,while it hardly accounts for the sentiment contained or suggested bythat photographic presence. The photograph has the capacity to reveallove, but such potential exists only with the cooperation of a spectatorwilling and able to witness accordingly. Barthes understands not only

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the photographs testament to his parents love but also his specific sub-jectivity relative to this sympathetic perception. He remains to tell, andtheir story lives through his life. In other words, he senses photographiclove in the very contemplation of his own mortality. Love appears andsharpens as it wanes, whether for photographic ruin/discarding or hisown mortal death. This passage reveals Barthes fantasy as much as hisobservation: he knows (and wants to believe in) his parents intensemutual affections, which compel his photographic inscription of love.Likewise, he affirms his own life through its particular knowledge andcapacity to reveal such unspoken and treasured sentiment.

While photography can situate love within a visible and narrativeregime, even this form remains susceptible to time and the knowledgeof its context. The photograph allows Barthes parents love to remain inthe world following their deaths, but even this photographic love bears(and exists because of) the haunting certitude of its dissolution.Whetherwith regard to Barthes death or the photos destruction, Barthes pho-tographic investment and the material photograph locate love withinthe mechanically reproduced realm; whether as materialist ascription ofsentiment onto the object or phenomenological negotiation betweenphoto and human subject, photographic love exists both as presence andtemporality. The photograph outlives his parents deaths, all the whilethat the photographs temporality enriches its value.

Barthes ascription of love within its parameters most notably followshis own struggling with terminology. How to put it? he asks, the answerto which is love. Akin to Prufrocks complaint that It is impossible tosay just what I mean! in the context of his romantic struggles, Barthesturns to love at the point of linguistic frustration (Eliot 6). Love answershis questioning aside, which reveals his reluctance to speak (or, at least,doubt in finding the words). In his writing love, he resolves not onlyhis uncertainty regarding what appears before him in the photograph,but also a break in linguistic representation. Bear in mind, however, thatCamera Lucida exists as a written text and not oral monologue; Bartheschooses to document his linguistic struggle (mais aussi, parfois, com-ment dire? lamour) as it resolves around love, thereby inscribing thisvery vacillation and resolution as his argument (La chambre claire 147).Once arrived at love, he easily could have omitted the question thatrhetorically pauses (and heightens) the arguments momentum. Instead,he reveals love as both the answer and the struggle. It is both, perhaps,that love elicits the problem of speaking itself (the intensity giving rise tothe very question of articulation) and that love resolves this underlyingproblem of filling representational fissures.

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Barthes invests the photograph with love (and realizes the limits ofthat investment, insofar as he is alive to testify to it). Comparatively,Kracauer remains haunted by the violence that the photos stasis wreaksupon love, as it performs both a violence of indifference and distance bypresupposing the subjects death. In his Theory of Film, Kracauer turns toa passage from Marcel Prousts The Guermantes Way in contemplationof photographys compounding relation to love. Prousts narrator seeshis grandmother for the first time after a long absence, and casts hisreflection in photographic terms:

The process that mechanically occurred in my eyes when I caughtsight of my grandmother was indeed a photograph. We never see thepeople who are dear to us save in the animated system, the perpet-ual motion of our incessant love for them, which before allowingthe images that their faces present to reach us catches them in itsvortex, flings them back upon the idea that we have always had ofthem, makes them adhere to it, coincide with it. (quoted in Theory ofFilm 14)

The very process and language of photography concretize the startlinginevitability of aging, as palpably borne in beloved visages. The narra-tor registers his grandmothers mortality in terms of imagistic distance;photography runs counter to love, insofar as the latter affords a per-petual motion that thwarts our discriminating assessment of timespassage. Less a blinding than a perpetual forgiving, love disrupts ourability to perceive times subtle affect upon physical bodies. Consistentwith clichs of love that summon eternity, loves animation perpetuallyforgives and accounts for the markings of age within the people who aredear to us. Enabling our image of a person to coincide more closely withthat persons actual physicality, love overrides ages visual registration ofchange.

As Proust eloquently describes, an extended time or distance thwartsloves capacity to assuage our sensitivity to physical markings of aging;without the perpetual motion or animation that allows our lovedones to adhere to or coincide with our image of them, we are lesscapable of attending to (or keeping up with) their changes. Aging seemsto accelerate in this accumulation of the slight physical changes withinour beloved; startled by the temporal gap between then and now (thehastening of physical bodies through linear time), our apprehension canbe literalized and analogized as the process of photography. The dispar-ity between past and present perceptions of a person correlates with the

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temporal gap between the then and now of the photograph album,for example.

Regarding this passage, Kracauer reflects that Proust starts from thepremise that love blinds us to the changes which the beloved objectis undergoing in the course of time, and, for this reason, emotionaldetachment becomes the photographers greatest virtue (14). The gapbetween the narrators past and present image of the grandmother com-pares with the detached and unadorned stasis that the photographerwould capture from this setting. In this scenario, startled by the vis-ible signification of his beloved grandmothers age, the narrator optsfor the distance afforded by the photograph, while simultaneously hisvery memory of her past youth (which must prevail in order for him torealize the contrast) haunts him as if a photographic still, vividly andabruptly heightening her age and giving rise to his desperate yearningfor distance.

The photograph and the photographers position become effectuallya placebo for the pain of recognizing times imprint upon those whomwe love. As Hansen writes in her introduction to Kracauers Theory ofFilm, [i]t is not the preserved presence of the grandmother that movesthe beholder but, on the contrary, her reduction to a spatialized, arbi-trary configuration of time (xxvi). Barthes certainty of the photographstestament to his parents love compares with Prousts narrators com-parison of his grandmother to a photograph, the opposite of a visioncharged with familiarity, intimacy, and memory (Hansen xxv). Yet it isprecisely the narrators affection for his grandmother that requires hisphotographic supplanting of the otherwise (or additionally) aching dis-parity between memory and present sight. Both Barthes and Prousts(via Kracauer) examples feature a subject consoled by photographysintimacy and distance. Prousts narrator can relate to the site/sight ofhis grandmothers age via photographic metaphor; he can be attachedto the difficult encounter even through the sympathetic imagining of aphotograph. Likewise, Barthes imagines the particularity of his subject-hood as well as the certitude of his parents marriage (itself affirminghis subjecthood) by inscribing love within and as this photographicrelation.

Yet, as his conclusion to Camera Lucida, Barthes cautiously flagsones overinvestment in the image. In describing his experience of thepunctum, Barthes explains that he passed beyond the unreality ofthe thing represented, [he] entered crazily into the spectacle, into theimage, taking into [his] arms what is dead, what is going to die, asNietzsche did when . . .he threw himself in tears on the neck of a beaten

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horse: gone mad for pitys sake (117). Barthes defines Nietzsches mad-ness as overidentification to a dangerously empathic extreme; yet heupholds such example as a caution against his own crazy entranceinto the spectacle. The distinction between photographic affect andmadness seems none too clear; Nietzsches weepingly mad empathyshares with Barthes photographic investment an intense emotionalresponse to an intensely affective sight. If the photograph can inspirelove (or heightened emotion, more generally), then also it can inspiremadness, according to Barthes. In his final two pages, Barthes distin-guishes between the tame and the mad photographthe latter seemingmore desirable, though to potentially detrimental or debilitating ends.In Camera Lucida, Barthes inscribes ideals of sentiment, madness andaffectivitylong understood as qualities of Romanticismto the pho-tographic realm. For example, Goethes The Sorrows of Young Werther,regarded as the quintessential Romantic novel for its unabashed cre-ation of a sentimental love-struck subjectivity, fictionally upholds thepassions celebrated in Camera Lucida.

Both texts present the binary of passionate versus dispassionate expe-rience, mad versus tame, risk versus tempered; and both texts, fullyaware of the stakes, champion feeling (and its risks) over security. In theAfterword to Goethes CollectedWorks, Vol. 11, David E. Wellbery ascribesto The Sorrows of Young Werther a lyrical intensity previously unknownin narrative prose (283). Wellbery claims that the epistolary formfunctions to make imaginatively accessible the tonality of a uniquesubjective experience. Werther is the first European novel in which sub-jectivity per se acquires aesthetic concretization (283). For Wellbery,Goethes plot pales in significance to the aesthetic presentation of animpassioned subjectivity; the language with which Wellbery describesGoethes aesthetic achievement evokes the cinema, and also Benjaminsaura (I take up the latter term further in Chapter 4).

Wellbery explains that Werther uniquely blends immediacy and dis-tance: Intimately sensed desires and anxieties are cast in an aestheticstructure so rigorous that the novel can dispense with the legitimationof official moral discourse. Few contemporary readers were adequate tothe combination of empathy and reflective distance Werther demanded(284). Werthers novelistic demand for empathy and distance over-whelms the readerly apprehension of moral discourse. Such a claimposits the negotiation of distance and intimacy as the process of readingas experience instead of moral education. Wellbery further underscoresWerthers unique presentation of a Romantic subjectivity as intrinsic tothe aesthetic presentation of romantic love. He claims that the novel

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articulates a subjective experience which is both entirely compelling(leading, for instance, to acts of psychic identification) and opposedto the prevailing moral code. The name which our culture has sincegiven to that experience is romantic love (his emphasis, Wellbery284). An aesthetic concreticization of an intensified subjectivity thatboth seduces and alienates is the readerly equivalent of romantic love.In this example (with obvious correlation to my overarching project),love coalesces within and becomes the artful rendering of a subjectiv-ity, simultaneously passionate, seductive and distant. Cinemas visual,aural and narrative techniques of expressing subjectivity, both throughempathy and alienation, accentuate the mediums correlation with ourmodern sense of romantic love.

Though Werthers headstrong passionate living ends in suicide, thefirst-person revelation of a vibrant subjectivity comprises most of theepistolary novel. According to Wellbery, Werther explores emotionalexperiences which shatter the contours of the responsible self . . . [and] isbuilt around a series of ecstatic transgressions that carry the protagonistbeyond the limits of the social . . . such extremity of experience can onlybe conveyed in a discourse that pushes expression outside the sayable(286). Wellbery cites these aesthetic feats as definitive of Goethes nov-elistic innovation; what Goethe does for the novel, I claim that Barthesachieves within the phenomenological realm of apprehending photo-graphic art. Wellbery calls Werther the first romantic hero in Europeanliterature; in art, love and nature, he seeks an absolute whichpreciselybecause it exists outside any system of differentiationappears to thesubject both as Being itself, divine presence, and as Nothingness, theradical absence of divinity (286). Though the limits of this chapter pre-vent a more thorough consideration of The Sorrows of Young Werther(or of Camera Lucida relative to Romanticism), let this example situateBarthes photographic investment within the tradition of a credulousRomantic sensibility, which unapologetically expects intense worldlysensation in pursuit of an absoluteoften at the expense of social (orsane) subjectivity.

Barthes I within Camera Lucida ascribes a divinity to photographicart (its capacity to animate a spectator, as if to give life); this I alsoregisters the contingency of such divinity, such that without his witnessto his parents love, for example, the photograph reveals the radicalabsence of divinity (Wellbery 286). Barthes impassioned contempla-tion of photographic love shares with Werther a discourse that pushesexpression outside the sayable yet relentlessly refuses to lessen senti-ment in the interest of its (linguistic) containment. Just as Breathless

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(Jean-Luc Godard, 1959) Patricia (Jean Seberg) chooses grief over noth-ing, so too do Werther and Barthes live for the palpability or intensityof feeling over its waning, albeit safe, containment.5

Barthes meditation upon sentiment and mechanically reproduced artcloses with the warning that meaningful and empathetic relation tosites of spectacle typify and elicit madness. Because of loves irrefutableimagistic mediation and idealization, this conclusion offers minimalprospects for our meaningful living within this age of mechanical(and technological, electronic and digital) mediation and reproduction.To discern or invest emotion in mechanically reproduced art must resultin something other than madness if we are to be other than masochis-tic and doomed. Precisely, this insanity that Barthes reads as inevitableto this commingling underscores the troubling and charged relation ofauthentic sentiment, as embodied and exemplified through love, rela-tive to photography (and, for my inquiry, cinema). Just as, in Proustsexample, love animates and mitigates times strident passage, so toomust we regard intimacy and intensity with a mutability akin to ourchanging world. As Wellberys writing on Goethe argues, the aestheticrendering of intimacy and intensity defines an impassioned subjectiv-ity as well as modern love, both of which figure centrally within thecinema.

How, then, does Barthes Camera Lucidaa photographic studyapply to cinematic time, which inevitably inscribes mutability as theexpression of change? Camera Lucidas closure in madness highlights ourneed to posit a way to live, endurably and possibly, in this modernworld. This book aspires to move beyond the aforementioned binaries ofeither celebrating or cautioning against photographic (here, cinematic)expression.6 Sherlock, Jr. (Buster Keaton, 1924) features a cinephilicprojectionist (Keaton) who, akin to Barthes, equally has difficulty deter-mining his livable distance from the image; in a dramatic literalizationof cinephilic oblivion, the dreaming projectionist dreamingly leaps intothe diegesis, with longing to participate in the idealized, action-packedmovie world. After several misadventures, he soon resumes his wake-ful real-world role and chooses, compromisingly, to learn from film.At the films end, unsure about how to regard his sweetheart (KathrynMcGuire), he takes cues from a romantic film. In a modified shot-reverseshot, Sherlock, Jr. alternates between a framed medium-shot of projec-tionist/fianc and a framed romantic film, as it plays in his theater.He mimics the courtship gestures (Figure 1.1) of the romantic heroin a one-for-one orchestration (approaching, embracing and kissingtheir respective ladies), but the final cut most sharply accentuates thedisparity between cinematic and lived time.

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Figure 1.1 Sherlock, Jr. (dir. Buster Keaton, 1924, USA)

While the projectionist has successfully mimicked the romantic herosseduction, the in-frame film fades out from the courtship setting andfades in to a domestic scenario: so successful and enduring was theseduction, we are to assume, that the hero has begotten a multi-childfamily, proudly perched in rocking chairs within the frame. The in-frame film thus collapses the time between tentative courtship andsettled family; one shot transition elides several measured years ofmarriage/procreation, and our mimicking projectionist observes thiselliptical edit with bewilderment (Figure 1.2). This example highlightsboth the temporal alignment and alienation we discover in the cin-ema. As the projectionist identifies through real time with the images onscreen, he quickly learns the limits of this relation, through the time hecannot share. The tentative kiss in courtship magically begets a nuclearfamily; with one shot transition, the couple has not only consummatedtheir relationship but also borne children and settled into a familial pos-ture. Cinematic time thus asserts its capacity to concentrate and editexperience according to narrative momentum.

As exemplified in this ellipsis, cinemas capacity to manipulate timehas become its own attraction for spectators and theorists alike; earlyfilm and critical theorists (such as Benjamin) seem equally to embracethis expressive potential and to fear its seductive yet numbing gover-nance of our perception. Moreover, if cinema changes our temporal

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Figure 1.2 Sherlock, Jr. (dir. Buster Keaton, 1924, USA)

experience, then cinema impacts our experience of love (from platonicto romantic); likewise, our expectations of intimacyas shared proxim-ity, intensity and lucidityfind both fulfillment and challenge throughthe cinema.

Loves aesthetic and temporal possibilities

In Love Declared, an impressive catalogue of amorous literary archetypes,Denis de Rougemont claims that love is linked more than any otherbehavior, impulse, sentiment, or ambition to its literary, musical, orplastic expression, that is, to language in general . . . . Love is both thebest conductor and the best stimulant of expression (his emphasis, 19).For de Rougemont, love both creates and becomes visible through art.Yet, he also cautions that love can also be brought into being by itsmere evocation: by reading, by a song, an image, or a word, whichare enough to induce it, or to fix its choice (19). While art conductslove, so too can art construct this very sentiment. As de Rougemontsuggests, love demands aesthetic expression as much as such forms,in their idealistic brilliance and seductive potential, might themselvesinduce love. Love violates or exceeds aesthetic expression by virtue of

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its intensity, as much as these forms first communicate (or create) thissentiment.

Aesthetic love expressions, definitions and analyses abound, and thisbooks focus on love and cinematic time hardly allows for such an inven-tory. Let us note, simply, that art has historically striven (or held theresponsibility) to determine loves truth or limit. Whether throughwords that thwart expression (I love you more than words can say)or inspire love (Elizabeth Barrett Brownings How do I love thee? Letme count the ways), aesthetic form carries love, while love tests andstretches aesthetic form. Regardless of the relation of sentiment toexpression, we can be assured of the inextricability of love and aesthet-ics; they mutually reinforce both their vitality and limits. In effect, theeffusiveness of language might mimetically perform the love experienceitself. Julia Kristeva insists that [i]ndeed, in the rapture of love, the lim-its of ones own identity vanish, at the same time that the precisionof reference and meaning becomes blurred in loves discourse (Tales ofLove 2).

Many theorists, poets, novelists and philosophers have accordinglynoted that, in Kristevas words, the language of love is impossible,inadequate, immediately allusive when one would like it to be moststraightforward . . .The ordeal of love puts the univocity of languageand its referential and communicative power to the test (Tales of Love12). Moreover, love also tests the limits and possibilities of visual atten-tion: often regarded as an intense cherishing of the particularity of theother, love crystallizes within the (and often assumes the form of)visual perception of visible details.7 For the frequency with which beinginvolves participation within a visible regime (esse est percepi), ones sub-jectivity finds especial validation as both the subject and object of abenevolent gaze.

While love tests artful (and, as I will elaborate, temporal) expression,scholars of love (in disciplines including literature, philosophy, anthro-pology, sociology and psychology) have not yet privileged its relationto cinematic time. For example, in her introduction to Tales of Love,Kristeva writes that love and the loved one erase the reckoning of time(5). The compound subject of her sentence includes an abstraction (love)and a person (the loved one) that together obliterate times reckoning.While this definition of love seems a lovely poetic notion, its effusionwarrants unpacking. Reckoning harkens a knocking at deaths knell, anominous tolling of bells, or an imminent arrival of Dickensian ghosts ofpast, present and future; reckoning entails the settling of accounts, whichposits time as an embodied and threatening presence that has come to

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reclaim its due. In helpful illustration of what this temporal reckon-ing might resemble, Ingmar Bergmans Seventh Seal (1957) literalizes aversion of this threat in the cloaked, chess-playing Death, who lurksloomingly within Antonious Blocks (Max von Sydow) conscience andstands overtly in his world (and the films frame). Yet, at the moment ofBlocks reunion with his wife, Death makes its final callthe ultimatetemporal reckoning. For this defining example of temporal reckoningthat cannot be erased by love and the loved one, numerous counter-examples of loves mitigation or assuaging of death exist (one prominentexample, of course, being the Christian heaven attainable in proportionto ones faithful and neighborly love).

We may regard temporal reckoning in terms of human mortalitybut also of historical forgetting, aging, traumatic repetition or evenmerely linear time. Perhaps any temporal pattern that becomes moredesirable because of loves contribution might just as easily affirmKristevas point. Kristevas conception of love valuably introduces spa-tial, temporal and subjective parameters. In Tales of Love, Kristeva claimsthat [l]ove is the time and space in which I assumes the right tobe extraordinary . . . I am, in love, at the zenith of subjectivity (5).Kristeva envisions love as less relational than potential, less contingentthan independent. For her, love offers a potential time and space forheightened subjectivity. By emphasizing the I, Kristeva insists on thesingular love experience; and her introduction of subjectivity gainsvisibility within cinematic and spectatorial subjectivity (conventionallyrendered as flashbacks/forwards, point-of-view shots, internal diegeticsound and/or superimposition).

Because of its precarious existence between narcissism and accentu-ated subjectivity, Kristevas notion of love cannot account for (or at leastdoes not overtly include) a thriving of self with others. In Kristevasestimation, love is the zenith of subjectivity, the temporal and spa-tial coincidence that resembles more a state than a becoming. One is, inloveand the static experience of being presupposes a temporal contextbeyond the here and now. More satisfying than Kristevas subjectively,temporally and spatially ecstatic love, I appreciate Paul Ricoeurs notionof intimacy as the coinciding temporal and subjective idealization ofworld, other and subject. In Narrative Time, Ricoeur posits intimacy assaying now together (171172). Drawing fromMartin Heideggers Beingand Time, Ricoeur claims that the shared sensation of now epitomizesthe flourishing of an individual and shared subjectivity. Perhaps thesimultaneous orgasm most physically embodies this abstract intimacy;but Ricoeurs notion beautifully accounts for intimacy including and

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other than sexual. To say now together involves the miraculous coin-cidence of (at least) two subjective experiences of heightened time; inRicoeurs example, what would be Kristevas extraordinary I becomesthe first-person plural we, in a union born of temporal and sensualagreement upon the now.8 Yet, because of this intimacy, the height-ened and shared now, time writes itself according to this privilegedmoment: the future learns to expect such coinciding being-with-othersintensely, as much as the now exists partially in recognition of itsuniqueness.

F.W. Murnaus Sunrise (1927) affords a compelling cinematic expres-sion of Ricoeurs abstract postulation of intimacy as saying nowtogether. Amidst their immersion in metropolitan pleasures (renewingtheir marriage vows, posing for a photographic portrait and dancingthe Peasant Dance), Sunrises country Man (George OBrien) and Wife(Janet Gaynor) sit blissfully at a cocktail table. Leaning together in smil-ing appreciation, they bask within their renewedmarital relation. Sunrisesuperimposes images of angels taking flight within the upper portion ofthe frame, and we may presume this ethereal scenario as the mentallysubjective image of both the man and the woman (Figure 1.3). At thispoint in the film, neither man nor woman occupies a sole protagonistsrole, which means that this impressionistic in-frame subjectivity can betheirs, together: a shared imagined realm that stylistically accentuatesthe intimacy of this moment. While gesture and framing emphasizetheir union, this superimposition intensifies their bond. They share notonly an embodied but also a conceptual space and time. Ricoeurs lovelyargument that saying now together can be our greatest intimacy thusbecomes apparent through Sunrises presentation of a shared mentalsubjectivity.

Murnau cinematically illustrates the compounding and crystallizationof this shared now. Yet, for this now to be visually expressed, the filmrequires its temporal situation to set in relief this intimacy. The couplewouldnt be in the city, after all, had the Wife not run away from theMans attempt to drown her, which would have enabled his adulter-ous running off with the Woman from the City (Margaret Livingston)!And this bucolic yet impassioned moment precedes the Wifes near-drowning from a sudden storm. Sunrises intimacy thus portrays anow that intensifies because of its surrounding time. In admittingthe world (here, the surrounding diegesis), the close-framed relationbetween this couple gains compounding significance. The films clo-sure graphically matches the Man and Wifes joyous reunion (all themore intense for her having survived the wicked storm) with, indeed,

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Figure 1.3 Sunrise: A Song of Two Humans (dir. F.W. Murnau, 1927, USA)

the rising sun, thereby situating their conjunction with the naturaltime as measured by the promise of the suns rise. Their warmly litembrace emboldens within the intimations of sunshine in the final ris-ing shot, and this graphic match also situates their union within natureslook (thereby reconciling them with the angry and hostile nature, per-haps punishing the Man for his previous homicidal intentions). EchoingWilburs Love Calls Us, the love is born into the natural cycle of daysrecurrence and newness.

Privileging self and other as temporal possibility, Jean-Luc Nancyimagines love as the finite touch of the infinite crossing of the otherand the indefinite abundance of all possible loves (102, 83). Castinglove as abundant and asymptotic possibility, Nancy invests love with amomentum and finitude akin to cinematic ephemera, both fixed andmoving. Given that both love and cinematic time involve temporaltransgressions and seductive sensations, we discover significance andattachment beyond the binary of ephemera and duration. Love includesand requires an other that limits the love experience only insofaras a finite touchwhether literally, in terms of romantic love, or

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figuratively, in terms of platonic affectparticularizes our interactions,which themselves hearken infinity. Nancys bold and abounding cast-ing of love as the indefinite abundance of all possible loves inscribesa perpetual expansionimagine a perpetual opening of windows anddoors to sunlight, if you willto the love experience. The very wordsindefinite, abundance and possible sweepingly turn from precisionand stasisall the more dramatically for sake of their compoundingplacement within the phrase.

In a lyrical elision of loves amorphous temporality and cinematicand natural time, Terrence Malicks The Thin Red Line (1998) offers asequence that correlates this ascription of possibility within familiarforms and a vulnerably yet seductively shared now. In this example,film style accommodates mentally subjective expressions of loves tem-poral manipulations. Malicks example also illustrates Nancys eloquentyet amorphous conception of love as the finite touch of the infinitecrossing of the other and the indefinite abundance of all possibleloves (102, 83). Nancys love accounts for both the delicate fragilityand emboldened abundance of loves temporal and sensual qualities.In voice-over reflection (as aural subjectivity rendered through writinga letter to his dear wife), Romantically spirited Private John Jack Bell(Ben Chaplin) reflects upon wars bloodshed and expresses his nostal-gia to return to peace, embodied in his home with his wife, Marty(Miranda Otto): how do we get to those other shores, to those bluehills? Echoing Barthes response to How to say it?, Bell answers loveto his rhetorical questions, the utterance of which spawns a lyrical anddisorienting sequence, which visually defines love in accordance withNancys conception of its abundance, momentum, finitude and possi-bility. Within Bells mental subjectivity (an amalgamation of flashback,flashforward and reverie), he aurally utters the word love in the lastbeat of a long take of what seems to be his wifes point-of-view shot ofa rocky sea line. A direct cut connects this seascape to an ambiguoustime and space: a frame of luminous emerald grass in which appearsa moving shadowed figure. The shadows mystery quickly reveals itselfto be Martys sun-lit radiant presence sweepingly swinging through theframe (Figure 1.4). In slight slow motion, the camera and soft risingchords accommodate the startling and punctual beauty that she offersboth to Bells life and the films style. The camera hardly moves, yet theprescribed arc of the swing guarantees her arrival in medium close-up(MCU) proximity to the camera, at which she romantically gazes. Theshot closes with Bells question regarding loves source: where does itcome from?

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Figure 1.4 The Thin Red Line (dir. Terrence Malick, 1998, USA)


This inquiry begins a multi-angled montage of Martys swinging,which altogether disorients the films otherwise pantheistic yet realistperspective (Figures 1.5, 1.6, 1.7). Shots whimsically appear from dif-ferent angles, as if the world sees her omnisciently. Bells subjectivereflection thus casts his beloved within a natural omniscience; the worldsees her, and likewise she radiantly flourishes within the world. Thislyrical montage disorients the viewer stylistically in accordance withloves capacity to overwhelm perception. Luminous cinematic disorien-tation answers Bells inquiry of loves origin. Furthermore, the temporaland spatial imprecision of Bells mental subjectivity evokes loves time-less and amorphous connotation. Eliot writes that [l]ove is most nearlyitself/[w]hen here and now cease to matter, yet, equally, love createsa here and now that matter in exceeding gravity (Four Quartets 189).Bells mental subjectivity accentuates loves timeless evocation within

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the fixity of the moving image, thereby inscribing love stylistically as anemergent form outside of narrative but within cinematic time.

The fixity of the frame, thematerial world of themise-en-scne, accen-tuates loves finite connotation, yet the film visually inscribes thisfinitude with a luminous abundance that stylistically promises possibil-ity amidst a cyclic repetition. The swingset literally enables suspensionand momentum, a movement forward yielding its return, an exhila-rated suspension of self within a process of becoming and return. If lovealways requires a new, for example, then commitment and longevityof any kind of relationship is tempered and impossible. Yet, equally, iflove needs only a familiar return, then we cannot imagine mutability orchange; and the very action and sensation that connotes goodness andintimacy turns stale and static. Nancys and Malicks illustrations of lovetogether account for mutability and dynamism while yet allowing for

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finitude and familiarity. This example further highlights loves enduringephemera, insofar as this sequence is soon followed by Martys episto-lary revelation of her leaving Bell for another man; the faith throughwhich Bell made sense of the world betrays him, yet this betrayal onlyaccentuates the fragile sublimity to which Bell earlier refers (Where doesit come from? Who lit this flame in us?).

Cinema matches this cycle of repetition and progression, recurrenceand newness; likewise, love balances tried and true enduring affec-tion with a new, itself knowable by virtue of recollection. Both loveand cinema can focus our attentions by revealing anew what wevealready known. Both cinema and love can take us out of and situateus more intensely within time. And cinema can portray and become ashared now between diegetic characters but also between spectator andfilma now that bears a history.

Living historically and aesthetically

In the novel Love in the Time of Cholera, Gabriel Garca Mrquez describesa character still too young to know that the hearts memory eliminatesthe bad and magnifies the good, and that thanks to the artifice we man-age to endure the burden of the past (106), a fictional transformation ofthe past that echoes Nietzsches claims that an aesthetic transformationof history alleviates its burden by amplifying its use. In Untimely Medita-tions, Nietzsche describes our human condition as burdened by history:for the past that builds and compounds within the present, we have anincreased and inevitable obligation to remember more time. Accordingto Nietzsche, this weight of the past distracts from our ability to live inthe present; the struggle to carry our histories defines the human condi-tion, however burdensome. To this dilemma, he proposes the solutionof aesthetic transformation. If we can transform history into art, thenwe turn this burden into something useful, meaningful and shareable.

Nietzsche insists that we require history for life and action, but cau-tions that too much history brings with it a withering and degeneratingof life (7). According to Nietzsche, this balance remains a dilemmaintrinsic to humanity; the negotiation of our responsibility to the pastessentially qualifies our humanness. He turns to a fictional hypotheticalin establishing his argument:

Consider the herd grazing before you. These animals do not knowwhat yesterday and today are but leap about, eat, rest, digest andleap again; and so from morning to night and from day to day, only

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briefly concerned with their pleasure and displeasure, enthralled bythe moment and for that reason neither melancholy nor bored. (8)

Nietzsche continues his imperative by meditating upon the man whoconsiders this herd, and declares that this man can only see the animalshappiness with envy because, he, too, wishes to live thusly unfettered.The mans thoughts, Nietzsche estimates, turn inward:

he also wondered about himself, that he cannot learn to forget butalways remains attached to the past: however far and fast he runs,the chain runs with him. It is astonishing: the moment, here in awink, gone in a wink, nothing before and after, returns neverthelessas a spectre to disturb the calm of a later moment. Again and againa page loosens in the scroll of time, drops out, and flutters awayand suddenly flutters back again into the mans lap. Then man saysI remember and envies the animal which immediately forgets andsees each moment really die, sink back into deep night extinguishedfor ever. (89)

For Nietzsche, humanity bears time in a way that other species cannotpossibly experience. Regardless of the biological truth of his argu-ment (and the rhetorical flourishes deserving of more close-reading),Nietzsche makes clear his own longing for such an unchained andtransformed relationship to the past, which oppresses him and bendshim sideways . . . [and] encumbers his gait like an invisible and sinisterburden (9).

For this reason, when he sees a grazing herd, or, in more intimateproximity, sees a child, which as yet has nothing past to deny, play-ing between the fences of past and future in blissful blindness, thisman is moved, as though he remembered a lost paradise (9). Nietzscheproceeds to equate directly happiness with one condition: being ableto forget or, to express it in a more learned fashion, the capacity tolive unhistorically (his emphasis, 9). While we could (physically butnot socially, emotionally or politically) live with almost no memories(consider the herd), without forgetting it is quite impossible to live atall (his emphasis, 10). Nietzsches impassioned argument for historysburden itself becomes tenuous in considering the necessary degree offorgetting (and the stakes thereof).9 Happiness arises from a balancedand idealized ability to forget and remember: [cheerfulness, clear con-science, the carefree deed and faith in the future] depend . . .on onesbeing able to forget at the right time as well as to remember at the

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right time (10). Contingent upon the right time, Nietzsche inevitablylocates the answer to historical living within an exceedingly historicaltime; living thus invokes the very temporal pressure he seeks to over-come. No matter the plausibility or difficulty, Nietzsches conception ofhumanness remains inexplicably poised as remembrance and forgetting.A subject must contend with historical time so as to lessen its burden.

Nietzsche thus claims that life requires the service of history justas an excess of history is detrimental to life (14). Herein lies our gov-erning temporal dilemma: how might we make the past usable for adesirable future? How much history can we bear, without being exces-sively consumed? How might the past gain significance beyond anobligatory regard? To these questions, Nietzsche offers the answer ofart. As Matthew Rampley states, a fundamental aspect of Nietzschesunderstanding of history is the sense that the past should always beappropriated aesthetically, in contrast to the mummifying practices ofacademic historical discourse (152). Transforming history into art notonly keeps salient moments but also regards the past within a conceiv-able expression. Nietzsche claims the mechanism of history needs to beguided by an inner constructive drive or else it destroys illusions androbs existing things of their atmosphere in which alone they can live(Nietzsche 39).

Akin to Nietzsches insistence upon historys inner constructivedrive, Benjamin highlights citations and intertextuality as intrinsicto humanitys endurance: only for a redeemed mankind has its pastbecome citable in all its moments (Theses on the Philosophy of His-tory 254).10 Regarding Benjamins project, Eva Guelen claims that, inBenjamins view, the

purpose of representation is not to catch up with the past, but ratherto free it and to open it up . . . the past is to become citable . . . citationpreserves as well as destroys, because no citation remains the samefrom context to context. The citation preserves tradition in that itdestroys it ever anew, because the citation puts the new and the oldin a relation of simultaneity. (138)

Benjamins citation neatly answers Nietzsches question about thedegree to which one must remember and forget. Citation both keepsand destroys its past. This notion of simultaneity achieved through quo-tation agrees with Nietzsches expectation that the pasts burden canbe alleviated through a meaningful rendering and present simultane-ity. Central to Nietzsches aesthetic transformation is the presence of

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temporality within the work of art and within aesthetic experiences(Rampley 153, emphasis in original). Recall Nietzsches consider theherd hypothetical: in the interest of making an argument about his-torical time, Nietzsche turns to a fiction (the imagined herd before us)through which to ponder the temporal excess that defines humanity.He solicits our imagination of a time and space that is simultane-ous to the time of our reading, in which we might understand therhetorical and historical urgency of his argument. In even this exam-ple, Nietzsches own aesthetic project (his generation of fiction) carries atemporal complexity as it strives to unwind temporal complexity.

Moreover, Nietzsche explains that history can be transformed aesthet-ically through the creative energy of love:

Only with love . . . can man create, that is, only with an unconditionalfaith in something perfect and righteous . . .only if history can bearbeing transformed into a work of art, that is, to become a pure artform, may it perhaps preserve instincts or even rouse them. (39)

Whether for frenzy, passion, inspiration, faith, hope or other generativeconnotations one might ascribe to love, Nietzsche privileges this force,syntactically defined as an unconditional faith in something perfectand righteous, as necessary to aesthetics and creation, which in turnare vital for historys capacity to be useful. Cinema uniquely contributesto this balance of aesthetics and temporality, insofar as cinematic timeexpresses both mutability and subjectivity.

Historical and cinematic time

In The Cinema, Virginia Woolf reflects upon the subjectivity gener-ated by and contained within cinema, a medium uniquely unaffectedby our spectatorship (at least before the age of the home theater) yetbecause of this distanceenabling our temporal entrenchment andthereby emotional investment. Woolf claims that, in the cinema

We see life as it is when we have no part in it. As we gaze we seemto be removed from the pettiness of actual existence . . . From thispoint of vantage, as we watch the antics of our kind, we have time tofeel pity and amusement, to generalize, to endow one man with theattributes of the race. Watching the boat sail and the wave break, wehave time to open our minds wide to beauty, and register on top of it

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the queer sensationthis beauty will continue, and this beauty willflourish whether we behold it or not. (181)

In Woolfs estimation, we have time to appreciate phenomena, courtesyof cinema enabling both our distance from and immersion within thetime of the art form. Though the antics of our kind occur withincinemas fixed temporal momentum, that we are removed from thepettiness of actual existence makes possible our newly conceived attach-ment to beauty all the while that we queerly register its cinematiccontinuance independent of our perception. The distance betweenmedium and spectator affords a temporal grace, within which we mightadvantageously attune our perception to what otherwise passes swiftlybefore our overwhelmed senses. The simultaneity of our time-grantedemotional investment and our acknowledgment of cinematic continu-ance (this beauty will continue . . .whether we behold it or not)thecoexistence of this temporal immersion and endurancedefines cine-matic time, which challenges as it portrays our conception of intimacyand distance in the world. Recall Goethes fictional creation of a subjectboth objectively distanced from our readership and intimately woundinto our own readerly consciousness: in this disparity, in this sheer andutter incommensurability of the two modes of discourse, emerges thelimits of empathy and indifference (Wellbery 288). Cinemas lendingof visual and aural attributes to a narratively inscribed and aestheti-cally immersed subjectivity (such as Goethes Werther) intensifies, atleast through sensorial compounding, the means by which distance andintimacy can be expressed and experienced.

If, according to Wellbery, this double movement marks the mod-ern experience of love, then so too does our relation to cinema evokethe experience of love. I turn again to Woolfs regard for the cinema,as exemplary of a literary and intellectual perspective that strives tounderstand the cinemas significance within the early twentieth cen-tury; I appreciate Woolfs fascination with the cinema, especially givenher literary portrayals of time and experience (lauded for their owncinematicity). In Woolfs opinion, so long as film artists draw uponthe mediums uniqueness, cinema has the capacity to express sensa-tion and thought heretofore absent from aesthetic form: if a shadowat a certain moment can suggest so much more than the actual ges-tures and words of men and women in a state of fear, it seems plainthat the cinema has within its grasp innumerable symbols for emo-tions that have so far failed to find expression (Woolf, The Cinema184). Within this new art form, Woolf inscribes her hope for new

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expression of emotions otherwise nonexistent as art11; while artists havehardly failed to find expressionor failed to cease attempting to findexpressionfor the ubiquitous emotion of love, I argue that cinemasown ontological and phenomenological generation of intimacy anddistance, of immersion and observation, of time frozen (especially asemerging technologies enable) and ephemeral, itself becomes analogousto if not constitutive of a modern experience of love. These temporalqualities of cinema, this capacity of cinematic time, Gunning correlatesovertly with historical time.

In his monograph on Fritz Lang, Gunning privileges cinemas relationto twentieth-century history. Claiming that [f]ilm was the art form ofthe twentieth century, Gunning explains that

cinema recorded not only the stories and events of the twentiethcentury, its tastes and fashions, but also its forms of aesthetics andexperience, especially those new configurations of space and timethat I have termed the terrain of modernityexperiences which oftencalled on terms from cinema to create images adequate to them: mon-tage, flashback, close-up view, superimposition, fast-motion, dissolve.(his emphasis, 475)

Historical time thus registers within cinematic time, insofar as filmsstylistic flourishes coincide with the terrain of modernity, in Gunningsterms (recall this chapters earlier discussion of digital photography as anexample of technologys creation of images adequate to and generat-ing of our contemporary experience of time). Alongside the dazzling,metropolitan speed and innovation that parallel the cinema, its registryof trauma and horror equally informs the equation between cinematicand historical representation.

In Theory of Film, Kracauer celebrates cinemas capacity to visualizesuch phenomena overwhelming consciousness, which he explains asfollows:

Elemental catastrophes, the atrocities of war, acts of violence andterror, sexual debauchery, and death are events which tend tooverwhelm consciousness . . . they call forth excitements and agoniesbound to thwart detached observation. No one witnessing such anevent, let alone playing an active part in it, should therefore beexpected accurately to account for what he has seen. Since these man-ifestations of crude nature, human or otherwise, fall into the area ofphysical reality, they range all the more among cinematic subjects.Only the camera is able to represent them without distortion. (57)

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For our despairing ability to witness atrocity (and, ultimately, the truththat witnessing presupposes survival), the camera affords a detachedobservation, not unlike Prousts narrators reliance upon photographicdistance with regard to his aged grandmother. The stakes here, of course,involve public historical strife; yet Kracauer, rather idealistically andnaively, imagines that [o]nly the camera is able to represent them with-out distortion. To his credit, he complicates this claim by explainingthat without distortion might simply mean rendering visible what iscommonly drowned in inner agitation; cinema beneficially contributesto our historical consciousness by transforming the agitated witnessinto a conscious observer (58). In spite of (or because of) the dis-tance/detachment afforded by the camera, the cinema can focus andreveal historical attention.

Similarly, Kristeva claims that the actuality of the Second World Warbrutalized consciousness through an outburst of death and madnessthat no barrier, be it ideological or aesthetic, seemed to contain anylonger . . .What those monstrous and painful sights do damage to areour systems of perception and representation (Black Sun 222223). ForKristeva, such debilitated perception and representation can be assuagedthrough the cinema (it is no coincidence that her chapter focuseson Alain Resnais Hiroshima mon amour (1959), though privilegingMarguerite Duras script over Resnais images). She claims, filmsremain the supreme art of the apocalypse, no matter what the refine-ments, because the image has such an ability to have us walk intofear, . . .Within this image/words dichotomy, it falls to films to spreadout the coarseness of horror or the external outlines of pleasure (BlackSun 224). While Kristeva envisions language as communicatively inef-fective, resulting in words being withheld in times of crisis, film offersthe presence of a visual and aural track, which both withstands (and, tosome degree, preserves) historical ruptures. Whereas written texts mayturn inward, withdrawing from the world, film as a medium cannot existwithout an imagistic presence (and the potential community createdthrough shared spectatorship). To this imagistic presence, I would addmutabilityprecisely the change over time that defines cinema enablesthis predilection for historical expression.12

Andr Bazins theories of early film similarly champion cinemascapacity to represent change. Bazin envisions photographs of humansubjects as bearing a disturbing presence of lives halted at a set momentin their duration, freed from their destiny; not, however, by the prestigeof art but by the power of an impassive mechanical process: for photog-raphy does not create eternity, as art does, it embalms time (14). While

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Nietzsche describes arts alleviation of historical burden, Bazin claimsthat art creates eternity. Both Nietzsche and Bazin understand aestheticpossibility beyond a contemporary significance, as if history and eter-nity equally proffer a temporal inconceivability, whether cast as past orfuture. Contrary to his sentiment about photography, Bazin asserts thatcinema liberates the object (the subject of the photograph) from its tem-poral stasis, from its enshrouded instant captured in the picture. Bazinsees the image of things, filmed, as likewise the image of their duration,change mummified as it were (15). Bazins oft-quoted change mum-mified captures the worlds mutability, its balance of ephemera andduration, such as Doane develops in her Emergence of Cinematic Time.

Like cinema, loves dynamism involves change and idealization inorder to be other than static (and thus finite). Cinematic time, then,can render subjectivity as it changes and is idealized, which evokes thedefinitions of love that this chapter has introduced. As outlined in theIntroduction to Love in the Time of Cinema, the following chapter-lengthfilm analyses focus upon cinematic mediation and expression of variousforms of love and time.

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October 10, 2011 13:32 MAC/MCKIM Page-201 9780230_301368_11_ind01

Index

Note: Page numbers followed by n represent note numbers.

400 Blows, The, 84, 163, 167

Abe, Hiroshi, 129Adorno, Theodor, 188n3After Life, see Kore-eda, HirokazuAgacinski, Sylviane, 4, 72, 81, 89,

11820, 154, 178Alekan, Henri, 63, 187n2Allen, Woody, 176Amlie, 40Andersson, Harriet, 174Andrew, Dudley, 5Annie Hall, 176Antonioni, Michelangelo, 174Arata, 116Assayas, Olivier, 138140, 154, 157,

158, 164, 168Summer Hours, 68, 104, 136, 1379,

152169, 171, 175, 178Au Hasard Balthazar, 177aura, see Benjamin, WalterAway from Her, 175

Bach, 78Balzs, Bla, 613, 81Barker, Jennifer, 177Barthes, RolandCamera Lucida 1113, 1516, 1718,

75, 80, 119, 157, 1734The Face of Garbo, 623, 69, 81Leaving the Movie Theater, 74,

119, 1734Pleasure of the Text, The, 910punctum, 12, 15, 121, 185n12The Third Meaning, 12

Baudelaire, Charles, 77see also Benjamin, Walter, On Some

Motifs in BaudelaireBazin, Andr, 345, 68, 75, 93, 130,

147, 154

Beaches of Agns, The, see Varda, Agnsbeautyand ephemera. 9, 1434, 164, 180n3and fascism, 513, 185n16and female film stars, 624, 1667and photognie, 115and Woolf, 312

Beicken, Peter, 51, 58, 185n14Bellour, Raymond, 38, 173, 183n7benevolent gaze or look, 12,

136, 138and After Life, 1034, 120, 1258and Agacinski, Sylviane, 11819and Epstein, Jean, 116and Jacquot de Nantes, 76and Silverlake Life, 87and Summer Hours, 158

Benjamin, Walter, 16, 19, 52, 64,189n3

Arcades Project, 181n10aura, 16, 114, 120, 150, 154, 191n8A Berlin Chronicle, 557The Image of Proust, 1512On Some Motifs in Baudelaire,

11314, 120, 153, 179n1The Storyteller, 84, 182n2Theses on the Philosophy of

History, 30, 37, 183n5The Work of Art in the Age of

Mechanical Reproduction, 114,120, 150, 157

Bergman, IngmarCries & Whispers, 174Seventh Seal, 22

Bergman, Ingrid, 177Berlinin Cherry Blossoms, 141, 145in Wings of Desire, 367, 412, 49,

51, 5458, 71, 182n4,186n22

201

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202 Index

Berlin: Symphony of a GreatCity, 41

Berling, Charles, 153Berling, Emile, 159Bicycle Thieves, 167Bloom, Harold, 38Blue Valentine, 176Bois, Curt, 41Bonnaud, Frdric, 154, 158Bonner, Virginia, 189n8Bordwell, David, 38, 111Braudel, Fernand, 48Breathless, 1718Breillat, Catherine, 177Bresson, Robert, 177Bridget Jones Diary, 40Bringing Up Baby, 170, 177Bromley, Roger, 58, 182n4Brooks, Peter, 47Bronfen, Elizabeth, 74, 190n1Browning, Elizabeth Barrett, 21Burch, Nol, 11112Butoh dancing (in Cherry Blossoms),

1367, 14851butterfly (in Still Walking), 12936

camera movement, 44, 70, 114, 122,131, 152, 154, 166, 171, 175

handheld, 72, 83, 100, 1089, 130,131, 133, 159, 191n3

panning, 778, 83, 163tracking, 42, 61, 1568, 167

Canby, Vincent, 83Casablanca, 3940, 68, 178, 184n9Castelnuovo, Nino, 95Cave, Nick, 423, 58Cavell, Stanley, 3, 40, 170Chaplin, Ben, 25Charney, Leo, 107, 179n4cherry blossomsin Cherry Blossoms, 1403, 1467as ephemera, 137, 146, 147in Still Walking, 143

Cherry Blossoms (film), see Drrie,Doris

Children of Men, 175Christmas Tale, A, 176Cinema Paradiso, 66

cinephiliaand Beaches of Agns, The, 956, 102and detail, 4and film reviews, 72, 106and history, 5and cinemas future, 171, 174and mortality, 7, 75, 8491, 93and revelatory moments, 23, 85

close-up, 612, 813, 171, 175and Cherry Blossoms, 142, 145, 146,

168and Kore-eda, 11718, 1201, 128,

130, 1323, 143in Summer Hours, 156, 169and Varda, 778, 804, 98, 1001,

189n8inWings of Desire, 435, 48, 61, 689

closureand Casablanca, 184n9and Cries & Whispers 1745and death, 84, 88, 149, 189n6and Father of My Children, 191n10and happy endings, 38, 68, 128and Jacquot de Nantes, 7880, 83,

101, 142and Summer Hours 15968and Sunrise, 23in texts, 4, 18, 173and When Harry Met Sally, 39and Wings of Desire, 50, 185n14

Cohen, Margaret, 181n10Cook, Roger F., 183n5, 187n27Covert, Colin, 107Cries & Whispers, 1745Crystal, Billy, 38Cuarn, Alfonso, 175Cukor, George, 40Curtiz, Michael, 39

Dargis, Manohla, 143De Beauvoir, Simoneand Adieux: A Farewell to Sartre, 734and The Second Sex, 11, 5960, 124,

186n24De Lencquesaing, Alice, 159, 1669,

191n10De Rougemont, Denis, 20Deleuze, Gilles, 812, 109, 126Delluc, Louis, 9, 180n3

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Index 203

Demy, JacquesDonkey Skin, 98Pied Piper, 86Umbrellas of Cherbourg, The, 778,

86, 90, 945see also Varda, Agns, Jacquot de

NantesDenby, David, 144Deneuve, Catherine, 95Denis, Claire, 187n2Derrida (film), 77Desser, David, 11113, 115, 120,

125Doane, Mary Annand cinematic time, 11, 35, 65, 69,

74, 111, 1235, 147and cinephilia, 4, 85and the close-up, 81and Eadweard Muybridge

Zoopraxographer, 667documentary film, 42, 52, 55, 701,

74, 81, 85, 89, 155Dommartin, Solveig, 36, 63, 73,

187n26Donkey Skin, 98Drrie, Doris, 6, 13840, 144, 1467,

176, 191n4Cherry Blossoms, 67, 70, 104, 136,

13755, 1689, 171, 176, 178,191n4

Nobody Loves Me, 176Downing, Taylor, 185n15Dreamers, The, 188n5durationand Bazins change mummified,

345, 75, 93and beauty, 180n3as definitive of cinema, 75, 1245and lifespan, 75, 80, 84, 87, 148,

169and memory, 1256and the moment, 6, 11, 24, 489,

103and narrative, 38and scale, 83, 138screen duration, 76, 80, 84, 113,

145, 148shot duration, 39, 87

Ebert, Roger, 1067, 121Eisler, Hanns, 188n3elegy, 735, 834, 867, 912, 945, 97Eliot, T.S, 10, 13, 26, 103, 122Elsner, Hannelore, 139Endell, August, 545ephemeraand beauty, 9and cinema, 11, 24, 111, 126,

1378, 140, 143, 1468, 153,155

and lifespan, 136, 1378, 146, 152,155

and love, 24, 28, 35and mono no aware, 113, 120and spectatorial control, 1723

Epstein, Jean, 4and the close-up, 81, 83and photognie, 6, 107, 11516, 138

eros, 174, 180n7Esumi, Makiko, 122eternityand After Life, 1034, 107, 113, 125and Bazin, 345From Her to Eternity, 423and love, 14, 60and Potsdamer Platz, 545and Wings of Desire, 46, 104, 171,

190n8

Falk, Peter, 42, 54familyand Jacquot de Nantes, 97, 100and photography, 81, 93and Sherlock, Jr., 19and Still Walking, 12936and Summer Hours, 139, 155, 1578,

159, 1678, 175and Tokyo Story, 149

fantasy, 171, 178and After Life, 103, 104, 123, 125and Barthes, 13, 1567, 173and Cherry Blossoms, 138, 1512and Jacquot de Nantes, 76, 80, 83, 88,

91, 102, 151, 170and Summer Hours, 152, 1557, 158,

168and Wings of Desire, 46, 57

Fassbinder, Rainer Werner, 175

PROOF


204 Index

Father of My Children, 191n10Faulkner, William, 180n5Fest, Joachim, 186n18film-souvenir, 8990Fischer, Lucy, 175Flight of the Red Balloon, 191n9Freud, Sigmund, 74, 181n10, 188n3Frey, Matthias, 144Friedman, Peter, 87Frye, Northrup, 645

Ganz, Bruno, 41Garbo, Greta, see Barthes, Roland, The

Face of GarboGarland, Judy, 166Gaynor, Janet, 23Gautier, Eric, 153Geist, Kathe, 109Gilbert, Sandra, 745Gleaners and I, The, 101, 189n8Godard, Agns, 187n2Godard, Jean-Luc, 1718, 88Goethe, Johann Wolfgang von,

1618, 32Gornick, Vivian, 50, 70Graf, Alexander, 50Grant, Cary, 40, 177grief, 7, 80and Breathless, 18and Camera Lucida, 12, 81and Drrie, 13840, 144, 146and elegiac form, 74and Kore-eda, 122, 1316and Silverlake Life, 87and Summer Hours, 1567and Varda, 925, 98, 101

Guadagnino, Luca, 175Gunning, Tom, 33, 185n13

Halbwachs, Maurice, 58Handke, Peter, 182n2, 182n3handsand Kore-eda, 11718, 1202, 128,

130, 143and Varda, 95, 99, 100

Hansen, Miriam, 4, 15, 189n3Hansen-Lve, Mia, 191n10Harada, Yoshio, 129Hawks, Howard, 170

Heidegger, Martin, 22Hepburn, Audrey, 62Hepburn, Katharine, 40Hiroshima, mon amour, 34, 78, 84, 172Hitchcock, Alfred, 177Hitler, Adolph, 523, 185n16, 186n17,

186n18Hoberman, J., 72, 165, 191n4home movies, 40, 89, 90, 97Homerand The Odyssey, 5860and Wings of Desire, 36, 37, 412,

50, 549, 63, 69, 71, 123, 159hooks, bell, 64, 183n6Hotel Esplanade, 42, 578,

623, 68Hsiao-Hsien, Hou, 191n9Huyssen, Andreas, 48, 55, 70

I Am Love, 175Im With Lucy, 401identification (with)and Barthes, 1617and the cinematic kiss, 68and cinephilia, 85, 91and film style, 121, 148and time, 11819

ikebana (flower arrangement), 109Ikiru, 140impermanence, 1447see also ephemera

intimacyand aesthetics, 15, 16and cinema, 18, 20, 323, 75and cinephilia, 856and distance, 43and Kierkegaard, 678, 85and photogenic love, 116and Ricoeur, 223, 38, 139and spectatorship, 61, 668, 84, 87,

94, 114, 120, 171, 189n5and Sunrise, 234

Ishido, Natsuo, 117

James, Henry, 49Jarmusch, Jim, 191n9Jesu, Joy of Mans Desiring, 78, 80,

84, 97, 101, 114Jete, La, 756, 84, 187n3

PROOF


Index 205

JLG/JLGAutoportrait de Dcembre, 88Joslin, Tom, 87

kabuki, 108Kant, Immanuel, 180n3Kassovitz, Mathieu, 40Kauffmann, Stanley, 106, 153, 158,

165Keathley, Christian, 5Keaton, Buster, 1820Kierkegaard, Soren, 678, 85, 188n4Kiki, Kirin, 129Klee, Paul, 183n5Kolker, Robert, 501, 58, 185n14Kore-eda, Hirokazu, 120, 1223,

1356, 190n9, 190n10After Life, 67, 70, 102,

103129,131136, 143, 167,171, 178

and Japanese film history, 103,1056, 109, 113, 126

Maborosi, 1056, 10910, 1213Nobody Knows, 106Still Walking, 104, 106, 128136,

137, 13940, 143Kracauer, Siegfried, 4, 1415, 334, 52,

83, 11718, 177, 190n5Kreuder, Friedemann, 54, 578,

186n20Kristeva, JuliaBlack Sun, 34, 53Tales of Love, 213Womens Time, 59, 1235

Kurosawa, Akira, 106, 108, 140, 1467

landscapein After Life, 103, 109, 126in Beaches of Agns, The, 95, 100Berlin, 546in Cherry Blossoms, 137, 1401, 144,

145, 14851, 191n8in Summer Hours, 159, 1624, 1669

Laud, Jean-Pierre, 167Legrand, Michel, 94lightin Cherry Blossoms, 141, 146and Kore-eda, 10711, 143in Summer Hours, 1524, 162, 168in Wings of Desire, 44, 63

Lightning Over Water, 868Lippit, Akira, 110long take, 178in After Life, 1078, 11213, 115,

120, 1257, 1303in Cherry Blossoms, 142, 149and point-of-view shots, 25, 84, 87,

100, 120, 1267, 142in Summer Hours, 15960, 162,

1679in Wings of Desire, 434, 68, 184n10

Lukcs, Georg, 48Lyotard, Jean-Franois, 186n21

Maborosi, see Kore-eda, HirokazuMacIntyre, Alasdair, 46, 49, 60, 70Maguire, Sharon, 40Malick, Terrence, 258, 170, 176Marker, Chris, 75Marks, Laura, 177Marlene, 88Mrquez, Gabriel Garca, 28Marriage of Maria Braun, 175Martin, Adrian, 170, 1734Massi, Mark, 87Mayne, Judith, 117McMahon, Laura, 177medium shot, 18, 78, 96, 141, 156,

159, 160, 162medium long shot, 43, 130melancholia, 49, 723, 81, 99, 162,

169, 177memory, 7and Benjamin, 556, 11415as creation, 76, 80, 96, 102, 1056,

11011, 11718, 121, 127and elegiac form, 745and history, 28, 37, 48, 556, 58, 90,

186n19and love, 15, 28, 49and photography, 15, 121, 179n2and spectatorship, 72, 81, 84, 856,

89, 91, 95, 979, 101, 1267,1335

Metz, Christian, 5, 147, 1701Meunier, Jean-Pierre, 8990Millay, Edna St. Vincent, 4Mitsuda, Kristi, 143Mizoguchi, Kenji, 1056, 1089, 125

PROOF


206 Index

Modleski, Tania, 59, 64, 183n6mono no aware, 113, 120montagein Amlie, 40in Casablanca, 40in Cinema Paradiso, 66in Jacquot de Nantes, 78, 84, 95, 101and love, 258, 40, 43, 178in Thin Red Line, The 26in When Harry Met Sally, 43in Tokyo Story, 14950

mortalityand the close-up, 7784, 145and photography, 13and spectatorship, 734, 8491,

148as temporality, 22, 49, 70, 723,

121, 125, 144, 175, 178see also closure

mourning, see griefMt Fuji, 1367, 1401, 144, 1467,

1501, 191n8Mller, Ray, 52Mulvey, Laura, 1234, 1478, 166,

1724, 191n7Murdoch, Iris, 4950Murnau, F.W., 234, 42Muse dOrsay, 153, 155, 159, 191n9musicin Cherry Blossoms, 150in Cinema Paradiso, 66in Summer Hours, 160, 163, 166,

1689, 188n3in Umbrellas of Cherbourg, The, 94in Wings of Desire, 43and Varda, 78, 80, 84, 935, 101

Nait, Takashi, 110Nait, Taketoshi, 116Nakabori, Masao, 106Nancy, Jean-Luc, 245, 27, 180n7Naruse, Mikio, 105, 109Natsukawa, Yui, 129nature (natural world)and After Life, 103, 113, 120, 126and Cherry Blossoms, 141, 14850and Summer Hours, 167and Sunrise, 24and Thin Red Line, The, 246

New World, The, 170Nietzsche, Friedrich, 1516, 2831, 35,

59, 6970, 73Night and Fog, 54Nobody Knows, 106Nochimson, Martha, 3Noiret, Philippe, 66, 98Nora, Pierre, 186n19nostalgiaand anticipation, 74, 117, 164and cinephilia, 83, 8990, 95, 106for early cinema, 623, 65, 81for place, 556and romance, 25, 29, 37

Notorious, 177

OBrien, George, 23Oda, Erika, 110, 128Oeler, Karla, 191n6Oksiloff, Assenka, 182n3Olympia, 513, 185n16Orlando, 175Otto, Miranda, 25Ozu, Yasujiro, 1056, 109, 11113,

120, 126, 140, 143, 191n4

Paletz, Gabriel, 190n9patrimony, 8, 153, 155, 1578Pausch, Randy, 96pensive spectator, 1723permanence, see impermanence and

ephemeraPerrin, Jacques, 66photogenic love, 6, 11516, 121, 128photognie, see Epstein, JeanPied Piper, 86pillow shots, 112, 120, 140, 143, 149,

169, 191n4point-of-viewand After Life, 11718, 1201, 123,

1267and Jacquot de Nantes, 74, 84, 96,

101and Still Walking, 1301, 135and Summer Hours, 156, 168and Wings of Desire, 424, 184n11

Potsdamer Platz, 42, 545, 57Potter, Monica, 40Potter, Sally, 175

PROOF


Index 207

prescience, 47, 11521, 1223, 131,141, 143

Proust, Marcel, 1415, 18, 34, 151punctum, see Barthes, Roland

Quinlivan, Davina, 177

Rampley, Matthew, 301Ray, Nicholas, 867, 88Reichardt, Kelly, 1767Reiner, Rob, 38Renoir, JeanRules of the Game, The, 145and Summer Hours, 1589

Resnais, Alain, 34, 54, 78Rich, B. Ruby, 106Richie, Donald, 1089Ricoeur, Paul, 223, 38, 48, 139, 143Riefenstahl, Leni, 513, 186n22Riva, Emmanuelle, 172Rodowick, D.N., 147Roff, Sarah Ley, 181n10Romance (film), 177Romeo & Juliet, 38Royal Tenenbaums, The, 176Ruiz, Raoul, 191Rules of the Game, The, 145Rushmore, 175Russell, Catherine, 122, 189n6Ryan, Meg, 38

Sander, Otto, 41Sander, August, 42Sarris, Andrew, 150Schenker, Andrew, 144, 191n4Scob, Edith, 1523, 166Scott, A.O., 144, 1534, 158Seasons, 78, 11115, 120, 126Seberg, Jean, 18Seel, Martin, 180n3Seventh Seal, The, 22Sherlock, Jr., 1820Sherman, Jon, 40Shigehiko, Hasumi, 113Shock, see Benjamin, Walter, On

Some Motifs in BaudelaireShot-reverse shot, 18, 41, 127, 130,

143, 156, 177

Silverlake Life: The View from Here,8788

Silverman, Kaja, 4slow motion, 25, 83, 175Smith, Alison, 72, 901, 187n2Sobchack, Vivian, 756, 8991, 179n4Sontag, Susan, 171Sorrows of Young Werther, The, 1618,

32Speer, Albert, 52, 578Staiola, Enzo, 167Stewart, James, 40Stewart, Susan, 89Still Walking, see Kore-eda, HirokazuSummer Hours, see Assayas, OlivierSunrise, 234Swinton, Tilda, 175

Tadao, Sato, 113Tautou, Audrey, 40Thin Red Line, The, 258, 176Thomas, Henry, 40Thomas, Kevin, 106, 144Tokyo Story, 140, 14950, 176, 191n4Tomasulo, Frank P., 186n17Tornatore, Giuseppe, 66Triumph of the Will, 523Truffaut, Franois, 84, 163, 174

Umbrellas of Cherbourg, The, see Demy,Jacques

Up (film), 13940

Valery, Paul, 9Varda, AgnsBeaches of Agns, The, 70, 73, 88,

95102, 104, 114, 151, 178Clo from 5 to 7, 176Cratures, Les, 102Gleaners and I, The, 101, 189n8Jacquot de Nantes, 67, 701, 72102,

104, 114, 118, 142, 145, 151,171, 178

Pointe Courte, La, 98World of Jacques Demy, The, 925,

101Young Girls Turn 25, 189n7

Virilio, Paul, 182n12

PROOF


208 Index

voiceoverin Cherry Blossoms, 140in Still Walking, 1345by Varda, 78, 83, 94, 96, 98101in Wings of Desire, 43, 49in World of Jacques Demy, The, 923

Wellbery, David, 1618, 32, 180n7Wenders, WimLightning Over Water, 868Wings of Desire, 67, 3671, 73, 81,

102, 104, 123, 159, 171, 175,1778

Wepper, Elmar, 139Wexman, Virginia Wright, 3, 183n7When Harry Met Sally, 389, 43, 47,

178White, Hayden, 50, 51, 70Widow Jones, The, 667Wilbur, Richard, 13, 9, 11, 24Willemen, Paul, 23, 85, 91

Williams, Linda, 38Williams, Michelle, 177Wings of Desire, see Wenders, WimWings of the Dove, The, 49Winterson, Jeanette, 37Wisniewski, Chris, 165Wizard of Oz, 166womenand love and time, 5960, 1235and film spectacle, 62, 66, 68, 122,

124, 125, 128, 1667Wonderful Horrible Life of Leni

Riefenstahl, The, 52Wood, Michael, 1012Woolf, Virginia, 312, 175, 181n11

Y tu mama tambien, 175Yi-Yi, 134

Zacharek, Stephanie, 1534, 158Zizek, Slavoj, 77

PROOF

ContentsChapter 1: Love in the Time of Cinema: Theory and ContextIndex

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