Marxist Film Theory and Fight Club, Anna Kornbluh (2019)

Film Matters ◽  
2021 ◽  
Vol 12 (1) ◽  
pp. 127-129
Author(s):  
Marco Poloni
Keyword(s):  
New York ◽  

Review of: Marxist Film Theory and Fight Club, Anna Kornbluh (2019)New York: Bloomsbury Academic, 187pp.,ISBN: 9781501347306 (pbk), $19.95

conventions of feminine behaviour are felt with the intensity of some sort of trauma. In other words, there’s a memory of something you haven’t experienced directly… LT: Being a woman is a memory I haven’t had. It’s a cultural memory. It’s extremely interesting that you pick this up because I think the way in which we’re constructed as men and women is pretty violent. It’s active, it’s constant…. I remember reading about one of the early transsexuals who would say that it was very hard work being a girl, making sure that he did all of the right things… PN: The idea that a gendered identity takes work connects with some of the things Judith Butler has been writing about recently. She talks, for example, of gender as something ‘tenuously constituted in time’ through ‘a stylized repetition of acts’. LT: Absolutely. I wonder if she also read people like Garfinkel, Sacks, and Goffman. Because that was their point, that this wasn’t something simple, that doing gender was hard work. PN: Perhaps this is where we get some sort of connection between gender and being haunted by memories which come from somewhere else? I mean it’s your mother being feminine that you remember. Similarly, in The Madame Realism Complex, ‘Paige suffers mainly from reminiscences’, a phrase which refers us directly to Freud on hysteria. How did this psychoanalytic theme develop in your thinking? LT: I came to Freud because a number of people in my extended family were being analysed in the fifties. Later, when I went to college in the mid-sixties I saw a psychotherapist who was a Freudian, not an analyst but who was taught by Freudians. I think my first way in was through practice, and then I began reading some Freud and arguing with my male psychotherapist about penis envy. Reading Juliet Mitchell’s Psychoanalysis and Feminism was extremely important for me. And then there was film theory—Laura Mulvey, Peter Wollen, and others. PN: May I ask, in parenthesis, how you came upon the Madame Realism persona? Why ‘Realism’? LT: She’s not a persona. In 1983, I got a phone call from somebody asking me to contribute to a Surrealist magazine. I thought that that was idiotic, I thought people going around thinking they’re Surrealists is crazy. Then I began thinking about Meret Oppenheim whom I’d interviewed in Paris in ’73, then in New York in ’78. I thought about how she had talked about being only twenty-one when she made the Fur Tea-Cup and Saucer, and how Max Ernst was her lover and she left him because she didn’t want to be influenced by him. There was the problem of young women in the

2005 ◽  
pp. 54-54

2017 ◽  
Vol 50 (3) ◽  
pp. 411-428 ◽  
Author(s):  
PATRICK ELLIS

AbstractIn the 1910s, New York suffragette Electra Sparks wrote a series of essays in theMoving Picture Newsthat advocated for cine-therapy treatments for pregnant women. Film was, in her view, the great democratizer of beautiful images, providing high-cultural access to the city's poor. These positive ‘mental pictures’ were important for her because, she claimed, in order to produce an attractive, healthy child, the mother must be exposed to quality cultural material. Sparks's championing of cinema during its ‘second birth’ was founded upon the premise of New Thought. This metaphysical Christian doctrine existed alongside the self-help and esoteric publishing domains and testified, above all, to the possibility of the ‘mind-cure’ of the body through the positive application of ‘mental pictures’. Physiologically, their method began best in the womb, where the thoughts of the mother were of utmost importance: the eventual difference between birthing an Elephant Man or an Adonis. This positive maternal impression was commonplace in New Thought literature; it was Sparks's innovation to apply it to cinema. Investigating Sparks's film theory, practice and programming reveals her to be a harbinger of the abiding analogy between mind and motion picture that occupies film theorists to this day.


Author(s):  
Maria Walsh

Chantal Akerman (b. 1950, Brussels, Belgium–d. 2015, Paris, France) was a Belgian film director who made over forty films, including features, documentaries, and shorts, many of which were created for French television. She also made over ten video art installations and wrote two autobiographical novellas and one play. Akerman’s desire to become a filmmaker was incited by seeing Jean-Luc Godard’s Pierrot le fou (1965) when she was fifteen. Her first film, the thirteen-minute Saute ma ville (Blow Up My Town, 1968) was made shortly after leaving the Belgian film school INSAS, which she attended briefly in 1967. She also briefly attended the Université Internationale du Théâtre in Paris, leaving to pursue her own projects. After completing a second film in 1971, Akerman left Europe for New York, where she discovered the structuralist cinema of Michael Snow and the experimental autobiographical films of Jonas Mekas at the Anthology Film Archives. Both of these were lasting influences, informing her commitment to alternative ways of telling stories without using conventional narrative. She also met Babette Mangolte, who became her cinematographer for her New York films, as well as for the films she made between her two trips to the city in the early 1970s: Je tu il elle (1974) and Jeanne Dielman, 23, Quai du Commerce, 1080 Bruxelles (1975). The latter film promoted her to auteur status and heralded her as a feminist director, its release coinciding with heated debates about women’s cinema and feminist film theory. In the 1980s and 1990s, Akerman drew on the clichés and tropes of genres such as romance, melodrama, comedy, and the musical, subjecting them all to her signature hyperreal, deconstructive style. While many of these films evidenced permutational narrative structures, her films are more generally associated with static camera shots and durational tracking sequences, making her foray into installation art in 1995 a logical extension of her work. Akerman’s documentaries, located in different corners of the world, extend the nomadic dimension of her cinema. From the late 1980s onward, themes of the Holocaust and Jewish diaspora became more overt in her work. Her final film, No Home Movie (2015), was an autobiographical documentary about her mother’s illness and death, the mother-daughter relationship being a predominant theme throughout her oeuvre. While Akerman is well regarded as a European/French cineaste, exhibitions of her installations and related feature films became an important form of distribution. A major touring US survey of Akerman’s installations was organized in 2009 by Blaffer Gallery, the Art Museum of the University of Houston, the MIT List Visual Arts Center, MAC@MAM, and the Contemporary Art Museum St. Louis. A major UK exhibition of her installation works was held at Ambika P3, London, in 2015 as a finale to a unique year-long screening of all of her films at the ICA, London, organized with film collective Nos Amours.


2017 ◽  
Vol 21 (2) ◽  
pp. 223-244
Author(s):  
Mike Meneghetti

This article revisits Jean-Louis Comolli's “Historical Fiction: A Body Too Much” (1978) in the spirit of film-philosophy's various efforts to reassess the field's seminal texts, and it recasts Comolli's attentive analyses of film acting in terms of the original interpretations they produce. In short, I look to “A Body Too Much’ for its subtle disclosure of an underappreciated substratum of hermeneutics in so called “1970s film theory.” Comolli's study of the discord between actor and referent, I argue, is surprisingly consistent with Paul Ricoeur's pioneering contemporaneous work on metaphor and interpretation, and it leads him to understand the meaningful deployment of film actors in very particular ways. I provide an extended analysis of Martin Scorsese's Gangs of New York (2002) to further demonstrate how the distinctive utilization of actors constitutes both a redescription of the historical past and a spur to interpretation. When critically apprehended as a solution to the broadly construed problems of creating historical fictions (pragmatic filmmaking problems, but also the significant matter of making meaning), the calculated deployment of film actors can reveal a manner of thinking about the historical past – simply put, it can tell us what a film is thinking and how it regards its historical characters and events. In the final analysis, I claim, our attention to – and critical interpretation of – the embodiment of such filmic thinking permits us to grasp the imaginative form of historical knowledge on view in such films.


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