<\/p>\n
EXTREME STATES<\/strong><\/p>\n Remixing Cinema, Visual Art and Music in Godard\u2019s Puissance de la parole<\/em><\/strong><\/p>\n <\/p>\n [ezcol_1fifth]Albertine Fox<\/a>[\/ezcol_1fifth] [ezcol_1fifth][\/ezcol_1fifth] [ezcol_1fifth][\/ezcol_1fifth] [ezcol_1fifth][\/ezcol_1fifth] [ezcol_1fifth_end]\u00a0[toc][\/ezcol_1fifth_end]<\/p>\n <\/p>\n Jean-Luc Godard’s 25-minute video Puissance de la parole<\/a><\/em>\u00a0(1988), commissioned by the newly corporatised French telecommunications company\u00a0France T\u00e9l\u00e9com, wryly explores the power and powerlessness of the spoken word in the modern age. At the same time, and even more contrary to expectation, it experiments boldly with\u00a0the creative, analytic and technical potential of the electronic medium of video itself,\u00a0urging its spectators to explore and reflect on\u00a0historical connections between\u00a0images and sounds with its myriad of figured collisions between the body and technology.<\/p>\n Puissance de la parole<\/em> stands as one of several autonomous video shorts made in the late 1980s when Godard was continuing to explore the altered state of cinema and spectatorship in the age of television, and in the emerging era\u00a0of satellite and cable, in anticipation of the explosion of digital media in the following decade. Puissance de la parole<\/em> and the video short Le rapport Darty<\/em> (1989) followed the production of a two-part series of television advertisements entitled Closed<\/em> (1987-88) and the video short On s\u2019est tous d\u00e9fil\u00e9<\/em> (1987), which were made for the fashion designers Marith\u00e9 and Fran\u00e7ois Girbaud. Crucially, Puissance de la parole<\/em> was made at the same time as the early drafts of the first episodes of Godard\u2019s eight-part video series Histoire(s) du cin\u00e9ma<\/em> (1988-98), an extraordinary multiform film that has been defined as both \u2018a videographic elegy to cinema\u2019 and \u2018a hymn to the versatility and power of video itself\u2019 (Witt 2013: 51-2).<\/p>\n Histoire(s) du cin\u00e9ma<\/em> samples many of Godard\u2019s videos and feature-length films, including those contemporaneous with Puissance de la parole<\/em>, which itself incorporates a sequence from the first episode of Histoire(s) du cin\u00e9ma<\/em>, bearing testimony to the important interrelationship between the two films. Puissance de la parole<\/em> is a potent video mashup that has, nevertheless, received minimal critical attention. It fashions a dense intermedial space of clashing intertexts and explosive encounters between human and cosmic forces (Leutrat 2000: 182-3), operating as a microcosm of\u00a0Histoire(s) du cin\u00e9ma<\/em>, and training its spectators to engage with the extreme montage states that Godard constructs so vividly in this latter work.\u00a0Through techniques of fragmentation, decontextualization and through the recombination of pre-existing material, this compact video short pulsates with energy and marks an important shift in Godard\u2019s 1980s film work, a shift that sees video come into its own as a poetic and interdisciplinary artistic force.<\/p>\n As Nicholas Cook makes clear, mashup involves \u2018continuous collisions or negotiations among heterogeneous elements, giving rise to meanings that are emergent, unpredictable, and frequently ineffable\u2019 (2013: 57). Video mashup is a plural form that thwarts our customary listening and viewing strategies, compelling us to participate in a volatile, arbitrary and indeterminate sense-making process. J. Meryl Krieger understands remix and mashup as cultural processes of transformation and recreation, ‘mechanisms of recycling or transforming materials from other media creators with the aim of producing new content\u2019 (2015: 374). She notes that mashups differ slightly from remixes in that they reuse older materials and \u2018retain the references that often provide cultural contexualization for the mashup audience\u2019, while remixes \u2018blend these materials to the point where original authorship or identifiers can be lost\u2019 (2015: 374). Puissance de la parole<\/em> is a mashup that tips into the remix, as aural and visual fragments deriving from films, paintings, popular songs and other musical compositions are progressively (and aggressively) pulverised, almost beyond the point of recognition. This video forges connections between different art forms (film, poetry, visual art, music) and in doing so it exposes us to Godard\u2019s particular contribution to mashup culture, namely, his manner of harnessing and recasting the main formal characteristics of his source material.<\/p>\n Although Puissance de la parole<\/em> is concerned with the lost traces of the cinematographic image and with the technical specificity of the electronic medium of video, it also lays emphasis on video\u2019s vital place in audiovisual history. Holly Rogers argues that video is not simply a visual genre but a \u2018highly musical<\/em> genre\u2019, rooted in the interrelated histories of musical and visual culture (2013: 1, original emphasis). She notes that many early video artists were originally musicians and composers, and demonstrates that when video became available to the consumer in the mid-1960s it facilitated the blending together of music and visual art in unprecedented ways that led to a new type of active spectatorship. Rogers asserts: \u2018[v]ideo, then, produced a unique moment in audiovisual history: able to create both image and sound concurrently, the new technology instigated the birth of the artist-composer and process-driven, interactive intermediality\u2019 (2013: 1-2). Rogers thus replaces the concept of the video artist with that of the video \u2018artist-composer\u2019 and she redefines the genre of video-art as \u2018video art-music<\/em>\u2019 (2013: 2, original emphasis), a term deployed in recognition of video\u2019s basic audiovisuality and one that could well be applied to Puissance de la parole<\/em>.[1]<\/a> As Michael Witt has pointed out, for Godard, video is a flexible medium that \u2018allows the fluid, quasi-musical passage to and fro between different moments in time, in a manner that is more difficult and time consuming to achieve in 35mm\u2019 (2013: 54). My hope is that by understanding more fully the rich musicality of Puissance de la parole<\/em>, spectators and commentators alike will find new ways into the more marginal, under-analysed video works in the Godardian corpus that, in turn, elucidate the distinctive musical logic that pervades Histoire(s) du cin\u00e9ma<\/em> and other Godard video shorts, short films and features.[2]<\/a><\/p>\n Puissance de la parole<\/em> takes its name from Charles Baudelaire\u2019s translation of Edgar Allan Poe\u2019s short story The Power of Words<\/em> (1845) in which Poe sets out his \u2018theory of vibrations\u2019, which he expands upon in his more extensive essay Eureka<\/em> (1848) on science and cosmology. The video is structured around a fraught telephone conversation between ex-lovers Frank (Jean-Michel Iribarren) and Velma (Lydia Andr\u00e9i) and Frank\u2019s gloomy utterance \u2018Allo\u2019 is played at different speeds, evoking the first word allegedly recorded by Edison\u2019s phonograph. The dialogue between Frank and Velma consists of a two-page excerpt from James M. Cain\u2019s novel The Postman Always Rings Twice\u00a0<\/em>(1934), a classic text for the cinema, with Pierre Chenal\u2019s Le Dernier tournant<\/em> (1939), Luchino Visconti\u2019s Ossessione <\/em>(1943) and Tay Garnett\u2019s The Postman Always Rings Twice<\/em> (1945) all based on the same novel. Encircling this stormy inner dialogue is an outer metaphysical circle composed of a lengthy cosmic dialogue\u00a0between two angels, Mlle O\u00efnos (Laurence C\u00f4te) and M. Agathos (Jean Bouise), extracted from\u00a0Poe\u2019s The Power of Words\u00a0<\/em>(Moullet 2005).<\/p>\n In this article I explore\u00a0Godard\u2019s video mashup as a disruptive and violent intermedial space where past and future meet. I devote particular attention to the structural relation between the extracts of music, especially Maurice Ravel\u2019s La Valse<\/em> (1919-20), and two key paintings by Francis Bacon. Indeed, Godard\u2019s manner of \u2018composing with\u2019 the musical extracts in this video loads them with an immediacy and a special affective power, bringing to life what James S. Williams aptly identifies as \u2018a creative act<\/em> in the present tense\u2019 (2004: 300, original emphasis). Furthermore, Godard\u2019s handling of recorded sound and music, in conjunction with his treatment of Bacon\u2019s\u00a0Study from the Human Body<\/em>\u00a0<\/em>(1949) and Figure in Movement<\/em>\u00a0<\/em>(1979), is hugely significant because together the mix of music and painting powerfully expresses the ambivalent convergence between movement and stillness that constitutes what Laura Mulvey terms cinema\u2019s \u2018central paradox\u2019 (2006: 12). Godard transposes Ravel\u2019s La Valse<\/em>, a \u2018choreographic poem\u2019 for the stage, into a videographic poem for the screen, which indulges and deranges the spectators\u2019 ears and eyes as the enthralling vestiges of cinema\u2019s past are recovered, re-examined and configured anew. By charting tendencies of dissolution, distortion and reconstruction, I reveal how a sense of nostalgia for the cinematographic image, mixed with the distant traces of a waltz, gives life to a disorderly spectacle that shatters boundaries between media, engendering unfamiliar experiences of familiar works and producing new musical visions in the process.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n Ravel composed La Valse<\/em> for the Ballets Russes and subtitled his score a \u2018choreographic poem\u2019, implying that it was conceived for the stage. The striking use of repetition, circular motion and the music\u2019s tendency toward dysfunction and self-destruction grant the work its place in what Deborah Mawer has termed Ravel\u2019s \u2018dance-machine\u2019 trajectory (2000a: 65-6).[3]<\/a> La Valse<\/em> was first performed as an orchestral work in 1920 and later premiered at the Op\u00e9ra in 1929, commissioned by Ida Rubinstein and choreographed by Bronislava Nijinska with sets by Alexandre Benois. La Valse<\/em> is a lavish and devastating composition in which the music seems directed towards its own dissolution. In her study of the waltz, Sevin Yaraman states that by the turn of the 20th<\/sup> century \u2018[t]he original era of the Viennese waltz, like the society that gave rise to it, was coming to an end\u2019 (2002: 91). She defines La Valse<\/em> as a piece \u2018about\u2019 the 19th<\/sup>-century Viennese waltz and as a thoroughly Ravelian \u2018portrait\u2019 of a Straussian waltz (2002: 98).[4]<\/a> Similarly, in her description of the composition, Mawer refers to the gradual creation of a \u2018rich, romantic sonic image of the mid-nineteenth-century waltz\u2019 (2006: 153). La Valse<\/em> has also been interpreted as a metaphor for the Franco-German unrest of 1848, the Franco-Prussian War of 1870, the fall of the Habsburg Empire, and the destruction of the First World War, along with the demise of high European culture (Mawer 2000a: 52; 2006: 155).<\/p>\n In La Valse<\/em>, Mawer states that the music\u2019s \u2018moving in and out of focus\u2019 could be construed as quasi-Symbolist correspondences <\/em>between present and imagined past, reality and a fantastical dream-world\u2019 (2000b: 151). Mawer has connected Ravel\u2019s fascination with symbolism to the synaesthetic dimension of La Valse<\/em> and she identifies a resemblance between Ravel\u2019s hallucinatory choreographic poem and Baudelaire\u2019s disorienting waltz in his poem Harmonie du soir<\/em> (1857) (2006: 156). She also stresses the crucial influence of Poe\u2019s work on the composer, exposing a possible link between Ravel\u2019s conception of La Valse<\/em> as the image of a \u2018fantastic and fatal whirling\u2019 and Poe\u2019s short story Masque of the Red Death<\/em> (1842) (2006: 156). As we shall see, Ravel\u2019s \u2018sonic image\u2019 of the pre-cinematic Viennese waltz, that slides from a conventional, contained waltz clich\u00e9 to something resembling a post-cinematic electronic smear, is appropriated by Godard and reflected videographically.<\/p>\n In her study of music and the grotesque, Julie Brown examines the figure of the grotesque in B\u00e9la Bart\u00f3k\u2019s oeuvre and emphasises its crucial relationship to bodily meanings. She underscores grotesque art\u2019s ability to exhibit \u2018sheer excess\u2019 (2007: 54) and states that in the visual arts, the grotesque body is often a hybrid form that mixes unrelated categories, or things usually kept apart (such as the human and the animal, the human and the vegetable, the human and the machine, and life and death):<\/p>\n [I]n the early twentieth-century the grotesque served an artistic and literary revolt marked not only by formal play, hybridity and dissonance, but by consistent focus on human subjects in extremis<\/em>. Early twentieth-century crises of subjectivity seem to have found a perfect figurative manifestation in the grotesque body with its emphasis on distortion and abnormality, and conflations of the comic and the terrifying. (2007: 46)<\/p>\n Brown invokes Esti Sheinberg\u2019s writing on the grotesque in Dmitri Shostakovich\u2019s music, giving emphasis to Sheinberg\u2019s assertion that dance, namely the danse macabre<\/em>, is the \u2018quintessential moment\u2019 of the musical grotesque owing to its blend of hyperbole and bodily movement and, ultimately, of life and death (2007: 54-5, 137). Elsewhere, Ravel is cited as one of a number of 20th<\/sup>-century composers who have composed works called grotesques, or works that include grotesque subject matter or metaphors of the grotesque, and Brown alludes specifically to the exaggerated and \u2018overblown, overdone topoi of the waltz\u2019 in Ravel\u2019s La Valse <\/em>(2007: 129).<\/p>\n In his study of music and decadence in European modernism, Stephen Downes states that decadence as an idea and style is frequently associated with themes of deviance, decay, despair and death and with processes of fragmentation, dissolution and deformation.[5]<\/a> Its artistic styles are typically described as excessive, epicurean, artificial, darkly comic or esoteric and its main aim \u2018was a pessimistic critique of the bourgeois affirmation of subjective, psychological, physical and social progress and unity through the denigration of wholeness and wholesomeness and the celebration of the toxic and taboo\u2019 (2010: 1). Making reference to Brown\u2019s study of the grotesque, Downes draws parallels between the concerns of decadence and the grotesque body. He writes of Ravel\u2019s La Valse<\/em>: \u2018[t]he manic contrasts between apparently organic generative process and grotesque distortion and mechanical breakdown in Ravel\u2019s grotesque apotheosis mark the degenerative, hysterical demise and final \u201cdeath rattle\u201d of a decadent Viennese tradition\u2019 (2010: 124-25). Godard\u2019s use of La Valse<\/em> in Puissance de la parole<\/em>, and the ephemeral glimmers of Bacon\u2019s paintings, create vivid and meaningful intersections between music and visual art through which Godard reflects on the aesthetic power, disintegration and dilapidation of cinema as an art form, while signalling the possibility of renewal.<\/p>\n Volker Helbing, in his analysis of La Valse<\/em>, labels the first part of the composition the \u2018exposition\u2019, formed from an introduction and a waltz suite composed of nine individual waltzes, modelled on the stylistic clich\u00e9s that Ravel associated with the genre. For example, Ravel draws on tendencies in waltzes by Johann Strauss, exaggerating particular figures and patterns. These waltzes return in the second part of the composition in various fragmented forms (Helbing refers to these returns as \u2018waltz quotations\u2019). Helbing describes the second part as \u2018the spiral construction\u2019, which denotes a process of acceleration and intensification (2011: 180-3). If we conceive of La Valse<\/em> as a sort of delirious architectural form (a macrostructure composed of a series of miniature waltzes), then metaphors of the grotesque can be traced in what Helbing calls the \u2018multilevel liquidation\u2019 and the \u2018sonic and choreographic over-kill\u2019 that occurs dramatically as the piece comes to a close (2011: 200, 207). In the same vein, Mawer mentions the \u2018truncated, distorted and endlessly repeated\u2019 melodic patterns that play out in the final moments of La Valse<\/em>, which she compares to a needle stuck in the groove of a gramophone record, reminding us of Frank\u2019s Edisonesque \u2018Allo\u2019 in Puissance de la parole<\/em>. She also captures the \u2018grotesque touches\u2019 of the \u2018bestial \u201csnorting\u201d of the brass\u2019 that precede the death rattle of the penultimate bar (2000b: 155).<\/p>\n Elizabeth Grosz introduces the concept of \u2018the spirit of excess\u2019 in relation to the work of Georges Bataille, for whom the uncontained elements that \u2018exceed the proper\u2019 like dirt, disorder, contagion, the bodily, the bestial and bodily waste, produce an excess that \u2018defies the laws of system\u2019 (2001: 153). She alludes to Bataille\u2019s writing on architecture to suggest that the spirit of excess is best represented not in production but in \u2018the destruction<\/em> of monumental architecture\u2019 (2001: 154, original emphasis). She concludes: \u2018[f]or Bataille, what is \u201cmore\u201d or \u201cexcessive\u201d is that which has no function, purpose, or other use than the expenditure of resources and energy, is that which undermines, transgresses, and countermands the logic of functionality\u2019 (2001: 155). Amy Herzog invokes Grosz\u2019s theorization of excess in her analysis of the excesses of the musical spectacle in film. She considers the relationship between the extreme bodily states of pain, dissolution and death, and the potential for pleasure and transformation through musical performance. To do so, she draws on Eleanor Kaufman\u2019s work on Pierre Klossowski\u2019s study of Nietzsche and physical suffering.[6]<\/a> Through reference to Nietzsche\u2019s writing on his own ill health, Klossowki interprets the sick body as a \u2018positive enabler\u2019, with physical excess (in the form of illness) functioning as a creative \u2018reactive force\u2019 that allows the mind to unleash a joyous form of \u2018thought-energy\u2019 ,\u00a0emerging\u00a0when bodily sensation transforms into \u2018thought-sensation infused with corporeal energy\u2019 (Kaufman 1999: 153-4). Extreme bodily states are capable of producing \u2018a materiality of thought\u2019 and a mental exuberance and lucidity that Klossowski describes beguilingly as \u2018voluptuous lucidity\u2019 (1999: 154). The body re-energises thought with its materiality, leading to shifts in perception, new perspectives and creates \u2018altered states of being\u2019 (1999: 152). Most exciting about Herzog\u2019s use of Kaufman\u2019s text is the connection she goes on to make between extreme states and what she terms the \u2018musical body\u2019 in film:<\/p>\n I would like to suggest that the musical body, the body engaged in the ornamental excesses of performance, enters into another type of extreme state. While this state is obviously quite distinct from that of sex or illness, the body-in-music posits another type of becoming, one that explores the limitations of corporeality, dissolves distinctions between interior and exterior, and forges new alliances between the bodies of living beings, objects, and environments. (2010: 274)<\/p>\n In my own analysis, I show how Godard composes strange multimedia stalagmites out of the sudden flash shots, the sonic distortions, the superimpositions and the musical fragments that together function as larger-than-life bodies-in-music<\/em>, wrenching us from our usual viewing and listening habits, which are transfigured in the process.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n Video enables Godard to think and write directly \u2018with<\/em> and in<\/em> images\u2019 (Dubois 1992: 178). From 1974 to 1979, Godard and Anne-Marie Mi\u00e9ville (his foremost collaborator from this period onwards) experimented with video as an instrument of thought and a critical tool of \u2018decomposition\u2019, deployed to break down, and slow down, the editing process, thus allowing them to compare, deconstruct and analyse sounds, images, mechanisms and ideologies (Dubois 1992: 173, see also Witt 2013: 51-4). Dubois suggests that Godard and Mi\u00e9ville\u2019s use of video slow motion moved into new territory in their radical 12-part television series France tour d\u00e9tour deux enfants<\/em> (1979). Here they turned away from a type of intellectual and analytical decomposition and toward something more organic and bodily (1992: 177).The slow-motion episodes in France tour d\u00e9tour deux enfants<\/em> inject a measure of spontaneity, unpredictability and emotion into the body of the image, generating what Dubois terms a \u2018painting effect\u2019, as well as an effect of \u2018the gaze being renewed\u2019 (1992: 177). He suggests that Godard\u2019s experimentation with video slow-motion effects permitted him \u2018to (re)turn to a cinematographic image that is still possible, that can still be looked at as new, and therefore to be made\u2019 (1992: 177).[7]<\/a> Indeed, Puissance de la parole<\/em>, contemporary with the first episodes of Histoire(s) du cin\u00e9ma<\/em>, is a work that engages Godard\u2019s long-running discourse on the death of the cinematograph as well as his concept of projection. In the early episodes of Histoire(s) du cin\u00e9ma<\/em>, Godard\u2019s ideas on the prophetic power, artistic potential, and the failures of the cinematograph are expressed in a multitude of ways. As Witt makes clear, Godard\u2019s thinking on the demise of the cinematograph encompasses several different subject matters: the early industrialization and commercial exploitation of cinema, the male domination of filmmaking, the coming of sound, the Second World War and the colonization of cinema by television (2013: 119).[8]<\/a><\/p>\n On s\u2019est tous d\u00e9fil\u00e9<\/em> and Puissance de la parole<\/em> in particular instigate an intensified use of speed alteration in the form of acceleration and rapid flash shots. Rather than focusing solely on slow-motion, we find in Puissance de la parole<\/em> what Raymond Bellour refers to as images in search of a new speed. In a succinct analysis of the video, Bellour writes:<\/p>\n Pictures in slow motion, frozen, shattered; or reconstructed, transformed, represented anew thanks to the swiftness of montage and the potency of the special effects. In short, images in search of a new speed, which Godard has been looking for since France Tour D\u00e9tour Deux Enfants<\/em>, but this time really capable of changing speed, for instance, of going from a \u201cphotographic\u201d representation to (more or less emphatic) sketches of distortion. (1996: 197)<\/p>\n In Puissance de la parole<\/em>, the metamorphic potential of fast-paced movement injects into the video an aesthetic force while at the same time operating as a tool of resistance, serving to cut through and reconfigure the rapid circulation of clich\u00e9d images, sounds and sanctioned ideas that are powered by mass media.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n The flash shots, superimpositions, speed changes, and the unpitched electronic pulsations in Puissance de la parole<\/em> give rise to a rhythmic swarm of colour and sound, constituting what Dubois proclaims as \u2018a video-vibration<\/em>, like a cardiac pulsing that carries into and echoes throughout the whole universe the infinite marks of thought and speech\u2019 (1992: 182, original emphasis). Human thought and emotion migrate from the body, expanding into the visual textures and acoustic environments, and speech is stretched and smeared across the evolving soundscape. Images of racing clouds, freeze-frames of rushing water, full-screen liquid surfaces, steam pouring from barren rocks, volcanic explosions and billowing purple, pink and red vapours, are set against tight grid-like figures and an array of framing structures. The electronic imagery, awash with speed changes and brimming with quiet but menacing stirrings, is also flooded with the colour schemes and consistencies of certain salient paintings that include Bacon\u2019s static Study from the Human Body<\/em> and his dynamic Figure in Movement<\/em>, as well as Max Ernst\u2019s portrait Euclid<\/em> (1945) and his luxuriant bird goddesses from Attirement of the Bride<\/em> (1940), flushing the visuals with a variety of dream-like, effervescent forms. Godard\u2019s montage strategy teases us through an array of playful surface associations that blur the lines between different genres, often through the use of echoes and word-play (for example, Frank\/C\u00e9sar Franck, Ravel\u2019s La Valse<\/em>\/Leonard Cohen\u2019s \u2018Take this Waltz\u2019). Just as the painters\u2019 tableaux are made to break beyond their frame, the audio arrangement is knocked into an irregularly shaped object by the dissolving temporalities, the sheer pressure and raw dynamism of the layered extracts of music, sporadically blown through and distorted by gusts of electronic noise.<\/p>\n Along with the voices of the protagonists, Puissance de la parole<\/em> features the husky, gritty vocals of Cohen and Bob Dylan, mixed with intrusive electronic sirens, beeps and screeches. As Trond Lundemo stresses, in this video, it is the materiality of the spoken word that is foregrounded, particularly during the ex-lovers\u2019 exhausted telephone dialogue, which is at times emptied of signification as the words become \u2018grains of sound\u2019 (2004: 116-17), as if to echo the words of the musique concr\u00e8te<\/em> pioneer, Pierre Schaeffer, when he proposed: \u2018[l]et\u2019s record a spoken phrase, listen to it, distort it as much as necessary so that all that is left is the melody, the rhythm, and all verbal content is lost. Haven\u2019t we got an excellent schema for the composer?\u2019 (2012: 172). At the start of the video, we are immediately placed in contact with the pure mechanism of cinema and the unbinding of sound. We see a reel of 35mm film being sped up and slowed down as it crosses the editing table, accompanied by a portion of soundtrack from Jean Renoir\u2019s Boudu sauv\u00e9 des eaux<\/em> (1932).[9]<\/a> As the strip of film moves we hear a bewildering mesh of animalistic growls, grunts and shrieks, foreseeing the grotesque tinges and bestial snorts of Ravel\u2019s fateful waltz. At the same time, we hear the words: \u2018[w]ithin the entrails of the dead planet, a tired, antique mechanism quivers. Tubes radiating a pale, vibrant glow awoke. Slowly, as though reluctantly, a switch in neutral changed position\u2019, read from Alfred Van Vogt\u2019s science-fiction story Defence <\/em>(1947) (quoted in Bellour 1996: 196, see also Bellour 2006: 335-36). Indeed, the tired old mechanism of the filmstrip in Puissance de la parole<\/em> is set alongside the signs of high-speed computerised editing, including wipes, flash shots, stop-start motion and episodes of acceleration.<\/p>\n As the video commences, we hear the somber opening from the first movement (I. Lento; Allegro ma non troppo<\/em>) of Franck\u2019s Symphony in D minor<\/em> (1888), which is briefly cut into by an electrifying flash shot and the first of John Cage\u2019s Sonatas and Interludes<\/em> (1946-48) for prepared piano, a work that also featured in Stan Brakhage\u2019s In Between<\/em> (1955).[10]<\/a> The prepared piano involves objects such as screws, bolts, fabrics and wood being placed on the strings, thereby altering the pitch by dampening the tones. The piano, as James Pritchett notes, when prepared in this way, becomes a \u2018miniature percussion orchestra\u2019 able to produce highly intimate, precise and lyrical sounds (1993: 23-4). In Godard\u2019s disfiguring of this extract, the percussive sound of electronic pulsations, loud gushing water, birds chirping and crow-like squawks constitute the filmmaker\u2019s own additions to Cage\u2019s preparations. The interruption of Franck\u2019s ill-fated Lento<\/em> with this Cagean burst of musical sound, and the entirely different form of musical organization that Cage\u2019s composition embodies, portends the beginning of a new order of time.<\/p>\n In his article on electronic music, Drew Hemment draws on Paul DeMarinis\u2019s motif of the \u2018Edison effect\u2019, which conveys what many regarded as the negative impact of the objectification of music and sound that occurred when recording became commonplace (2004: 79-80). In the eyes of many this new technology destroyed the spontaneity, transiency and uniqueness of musical performance. Hemment replaces this concept with that of \u2018the Edison defect<\/em>\u2019, which in contrast celebrates the zone of indeterminacy established through the play of slippage and recontextualization facilitated by recording technology (2004: 80). Hemment perceives the sonic imperfections that result from \u2018the rupture of recording<\/em>\u2019 as fertile matter, capable of producing \u2018a new kind of music and another sonic realm\u2019 (2004: 80). He notes that the \u2018musical potential<\/em>\u2019 of sonic disturbance was appropriated by electronic music artists during the 20th<\/sup> century, whose work moved away from \u2018the telos<\/em> of representational technologies\u2019, evolving instead from \u2018accident, manipulation and reuse\u2019 (2004: 80, original emphasis). For example, Cage\u2019s experiments with turntables, the musique concr\u00e8te<\/em> compositions of Schaeffer and Pierre Henry, and Steve Reich\u2019s early phasing pieces resulted from the invention of recording technology. The \u2018audio documents\u2019 captured and preserved thanks to the phonograph, inadvertently led to a new \u2018plastic art<\/em>\u2019 that involved the reworking and remixing of sonic textures to produce new species of sound and new mixtures of time (2004: 79-80, original emphasis).[11]<\/a>\u00a0Hemment comments on the types of editing techniques that subsequently developed and freed sound up from the restrictions imposed by sequential past-present-future trajectories:<\/p>\n Sound cut up, looped, reversed. But also, and most interestingly, in wresting the audio image out of time, the recording process freezes and isolates a fragment of time, making possible the capture \u2013 and reworking \u2013 of a plurality of temporalities encoded in individual sounds or passages of music. In morphing a movement in sound the perception of the very passing of time can be toyed with or subverted; time brought into view by being taken out of focus in a twist of the lens. (2004: 90)<\/p>\n In Puissance de la parole<\/em>, the expression of time is articulated incessantly through references to cinema, photography, recorded sound and through the distortions of musical time. In the second half of the video we experience the clusters of music and sound almost as cones and spirals of soft clay. As Steven Connor suggests, if sound adds time to the image \u2018the plastic manipulability of sound also expresses the possibility of time being congealed into spatial form\u2019 (2013: 117). When the video begins, the bright sound and distinctive timbre of a note from Cage\u2019s first Sonata is embellished with the sound of gushing water, deepened via electronic pulsations and extended via bird chirps to form a dense audio image. These sonorous particles overshadow Franck\u2019s symphonic statement and hit our ears all at once. Then, the echoes of the film voices that rise up from the editing table, mixed with the raspy vocals of Dylan, followed by a male\/female voiceover reading and accompanied by the snarls of the film mechanism, immediately form another dense audio image, this time through a staggered vocal cluster.<\/p>\n This initial burst of explosive action is full of abrupt scuffles, splutters and slight de-synchronizations. A spilling-over of thought and feeling is immediately conveyed through a reproduction of Bacon\u2019s Study from the Human Body<\/em>, which is mixed via flash shots with fast-moving white clouds. Frank\u2019s repeated \u2018Allo\u2019 is elongated and made to stammer, as we are propelled hazardously beyond the earth\u2019s atmosphere. The camera zooms in and the images begin to flash erratically as Frank tries to make contact with Velma over the telephone. High-pitched electronic tones are mixed with another flashing grayscale image of a satellite in space, all the while muddied by the Symphony in D minor<\/em>. The strident fortissimo descent of the Allegro non troppo<\/em> then begins, hurrying us back to earth and into Velma\u2019s Degar-esque abode, re-rooting us in an enclosed domestic space [see Figure 1]. The galactic ringing noise, the electronic screeches, the disturbing buzzing sound, as well as the fierce staccato string chords, harmonise at the end of this frenetic, colourful and brilliantly rhythmic opening section that culminates in a frenzied array of flash shots. The camera zooms in fitfully, dramatically and threateningly on a clump of vegetation with which Velma\u2019s body is confused, producing an incongruous fusion of human and plant forms that pertains to the grotesque. Indeed, a crude shot of her squatting posture is crossed through, owing to the fast visual flickering motion of the green foliage, producing a strange electronic frottage effect. This sequence, along with others in the video, seems haunted by Villiers de l\u2019Isle-Adam\u2019s novel L\u2019Eve future<\/em> (1885) about the android Hadaly, a creation of the inventor Edison (a fictionalised Thomas Edison). Hadaly\u2019s soul is electric, her lungs are made from the golden cylinders of a phonograph and she resides in an underground vault, recalling Velma\u2019s fantastical boudoir.[12]<\/a><\/p>\n Figure 1: Velma<\/em><\/p>\n In the middle part of the video, the quick three-time beat of Cohen\u2019s pop song \u2018Take this Waltz\u2019 is superseded prophetically by a short passage from the 1st<\/sup> movement of Beethoven\u2019s Piano Sonata No. 26 in E-flat major<\/em>, Op. 81a (the Lebewohl <\/em>Sonata). Indeed, the three movements of the Lebewohl<\/em> are suitably titled \u2018Farewell\u2019 [Das Lebewohl<\/em>], \u2018Absence\u2019 [Abwesenheit<\/em>] and \u2018Reunion\u2019 [Das Wiedersehen<\/em>]. Beethoven composed this work at the time of the French occupation of Vienna in 1809, when many of his friends were forced to leave the city, including his patron to whom the sonata is dedicated (Kinderman 2000: 119). Adorno has written fondly of the \u2018crude\u2019 design of Op. 81a, commenting on its \u2018impulse for extreme humanization and subjectification\u2019 (1998: 174). He detects in the opening movement the \u2018sound of disappearance\u2019, conveyed by a three-bar phrase that suggests the clatter of horses\u2019 hooves and evokes the \u2018moving away of the coach\u2019 (1998: 174-5 and 243, n. 295. See also 1997: 453). This motif of disappearance becomes for Adorno a poignant, simple and deeply expressive image of hope: the hope of return. An image of Velma fades to show a backdrop of a hazy grey path in a brightly-lit forest, accompanied by the faint notes of the piano sonata. The ghostly white shape of her body, as displayed in Figure 2, soon reappears, ephemerally streaked by lines and shadows. This image evokes an earlier image of Velma in her apartment, brushing her hair in a white towel and positioned in front of some shutters, mixed with a blue-tinted image of rippling water to create a similar streaky effect [see Figure 2]. Near the end of the video, just before the explosive finale commences, we see the return of an image that flashed up at the start: Bacon\u2019s Study from the Human Body<\/em>. This painting is faded in over a shot of O\u00efnos and Agathos, accompanied by the same excerpt from Beethoven\u2019s Lebewohl<\/em> and joined by the return of the electronic pulsations.<\/p>\n [ezcol_1half]<\/p>\n [\/ezcol_1half] [ezcol_1half_end]<\/p>\n [\/ezcol_1half_end]<\/p>\n Figures 2a and 2b: Reconstructing\u00a0<\/em>Study from the Human Body<\/p>\n Study from the Human Body<\/em> constitutes Bacon\u2019s first significant adaptation from the serial photography of Eadweard Muybridge, in particular, his photographs of male wrestlers (Hammer 2005: 47). As Martin Hammer notes, Bacon\u2019s work from this period (1949-50) marks a radical break with formal conventions and launches a new type of engagement with the photographic medium, including experimentation with montage techniques, superimposition, as well as with texture and paint application (2005: 46-8).[13]<\/a>\u00a0Bacon\u2019s use of pre-existing photographic sources, including x-rays, medical textbook drawings and newspaper photographs to inspire details in his paintings, such as the tiny safety-pin in Study from the Human Body<\/em> and the grainy photographic quality produced by the grisaille technique, resonate with Godard\u2019s own mix of documentary-style images in Puissance de la parole<\/em> (we see satellite graphics, scientific utensils, a computer keyboard and the stamen of a flower). The human figure merges with its surroundings in this haunting painting, generating an evocative and uncertain image of a naked body that fuses a sense of primitive desire with feelings of detachment, all the while preserving a sense of singularity within this expanse of grey [see Figure 3].<\/p>\n \u00a0Figure 3: Bacon\u2019s\u00a0<\/em>Study from the Human Body\u00a0in\u00a0<\/em>Puissance de la parole<\/p>\n Bacon was equally fascinated by Edgar Degas\u2019s pastels, especially his use of parallel lines in the series After the Bath<\/em>, Woman drying herself<\/em> (c. 1890-5), composed of photographs of women in contorted positions, as well as monotypes, drawings, paintings and pastels. The various pained, isolated postures performed by Velma throughout Puissance de la parole<\/em> function as the redundant leftovers of the painter\u2019s tableaux. She is often filmed at the sink, drying herself with a white towel, brushing her hair or dressing, surrounded by yellow and greenish shades and these images tease the spectator through such literal references to Degas\u2019s studies of female ritual, ciphered through the scan lines of the electronic medium. Bacon noted how the striation of form in Degas\u2019s pastels works to intensify and diversify the image\u2019s reality: \u2018I always think that the interesting thing about Degas is the way he made lines through the body, you could say that he shuttered the body, in a way, shuttered the image and then he put an enormous amount of colour through these lines. And having shuttered the form, he created intensity by putting this colour through the flesh\u2019 (Sylvester 1987: 176). The shallow space, photographic quality and the atmospheric smudgy effect in Bacon\u2019s Study from the Human Body<\/em> creates a suggestive, mysterious image juxtaposed with the crudeness of flesh, inspired in this case by Degas\u2019s crafting of the spine.[14]<\/a>\u00a0Godard\u2019s fleeting electronic imitations of Bacon\u2019s use of striation might remind us of a theatre curtain or, more aptly, a cinema screen and thus of the revelatory power of the projected image, conjuring similar feelings of melancholy, absence and desire as expressed in the original painting.<\/p>\n Hammer writes of Study from the Human Body<\/em>: \u2018[i]t can indeed be seen to capture, or trap, an image of a human being passing through \u2013 passing through a curtain, but also, we might feel, passing through life, or moving in and out of one\u2019s own life\u2019 (2005: 231). The unique associations forged in Puissance de la parole<\/em> between notions of disappearance, expressed aurally in Beethoven\u2019s music and evoked visually in Bacon\u2019s painting, communicate something precise and articulate on the transiency and fragility of the cinematograph and of life itself, while fusing feelings of loss with a sense of new hope and possibility in the regenerative potential of electronic imagery. It would be a mistake, therefore, to pass over these audiovisual montages as blithe reproductions of famous works, rendered impotent in their new videographic outfit, since Godard is devoted to the task of fearlessly re-instilling past forms of the image into new technological contexts, while embracing the instantaneousness of the medium\u2019s present tense. The d\u00e9chets<\/em> of past sensation come to recover their aesthetic force in this musical video-vibration, as the rush of audiovisual fragments pummels us from new angles.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n Halfway through Puissance de la parole<\/em> and in the concluding moments, Ravel\u2019s La Valse<\/em> sweeps in to disrupt the flow of things. Like the effect of slow motion in a film, the formation of a small inner circle, performed by waltzers, who trace a larger circle as they move around the ballroom, creates an illusion of stasis. La Valse<\/em> can be construed as a self-reflexive study of the waltz itself, that makes reference to the Viennese waltz without succumbing to its conventions (Yaraman 2002: 92). Peter Kaminsky points out that\u00a0La Valse<\/em> showcases Ravel\u2019s creative treatment and refashioning of a particular musical and historical model, namely the waltzes of Johann Strauss (2011: 5). It involves what Helbing terms a \u2018distancing appropriation\u2019, which he defines as \u2018the ever-alienating incorporation of pre-found musical material into one\u2019s own musical language\u2019, along with the \u2018formal conception of the \u201cspiral\u201d\u2019 that drives the composition to its fatal end (2011:180). As Mawer states, music and choreography are closely related through movement and a desire to animate space and time. She writes: \u2018[b]allet offered Ravel a multi-dimensional projection of dance; visual spectacle of exquisite elegance and beauty; a vehicle for fantasy and opportunity for distancing and detachment\u2019 (2000b: 140). The physical power of the piece, its strong spatial dimension, along with the music\u2019s spiraling out of control, are qualities that render the composition a particularly attractive musical model for Godard to re-envision and transform on his own terms.<\/p>\n [ezcol_1half]<\/p>\n [\/ezcol_1half] [ezcol_1half_end]<\/p>\n [\/ezcol_1half_end]<\/p>\n Figures 4a and 4b: Poe\u2019s angels and Bacon\u2019s\u00a0<\/em>Figure in Movement\u00a0mixed with Ernst\u2019s\u00a0<\/em>Attirement of the Bride<\/p>\n The composer and conductor George Benjamin presents the opening of La Valse<\/em> as a mysterious void. The piece begins, he writes, with a deep unpulsed tremolo and then \u2018a heartbeat evolves, intimating perhaps that the origins of the waltz are atavistic and physiological, not merely cultural\u2019 (1994: 432). Benjamin describes the \u2018skeleton of the music\u2019 as liquid in its early stages. He alludes to the \u2018cinematically edited glimpses of future themes\u2019 and he later likens Ravel\u2019s use of chromaticism to a virus that gradually seeps into the texture of the music (1994: 432, 434). The aesthetic of deformation that pervades La Valse<\/em> certainly infiltrates Puissance de la parole<\/em>, as notions of traditional perspective and realistic representation are conjured and swiftly destroyed. Furthermore, from the start, gestures, rhythms and regular musical tempos are offset through techniques of simultaneity and syncopation. We witness Frank\u2019s limp as he shuffles across the garage floor and later we see O\u00efnos stumble while swaying balletically through a cluster of trees. This latter visual sequence of Poe\u2019s angels imitates the romantic but \u2018cartoon-like style\u2019 of Benois\u2019s set design for the 1931 ballet production of La Valse <\/em>[see Figure 4].[15]<\/a>\u00a0Mawer reveals that Benois\u2019s design involved \u2018sumptuous framing drapes\u2019, high symmetrical arches at the back of the stage, as well as a scrim or gauze veil though which the silhouettes of dancers could be glimpsed in the distance, to achieve the initial lack of visual definition as stipulated in Ravel\u2019s written scenario for the piece (2006: 163-4).[16]<\/a>\u00a0Mawer declares that finally, in this later production, \u2018La Valse<\/em> was properly realized as a three-dimensional moving image\u2019\u00a0according to the composer\u2019s original vision (2006: 162), making it the perfect basis for\u00a0Godard\u2019s prismatic video-vibration.<\/p>\n In the lead-up to O\u00efnos\u2019s stumble, the electronic siren becomes unbearably shrill, masking the rich strains of Richard Strauss\u2019s tone poem Thus Spoke Zarathustra<\/em>, Op. 30 (1896). This tone poem is melded lyrically and almost plastically with La Valse, <\/em>as slow-motion images of rushing water fill the screen. The cartoon-like vision of O\u00efnos and Agathos wandering among the trees is, like Strauss\u2019s tone poem and the celestial dialogue, muffled by the erasing electronic sound and by the unstoppable white vapour that floods the screen, as their silhouettes appear and disappear within this chaotic surface of noise. Their voices could be compared to those captured and preserved by Edison\u2019s early recordings, where, as Hemment remarks, words and voices, masked by sonic interference, morph into \u2018recognisable shapes\u2019 that \u2018flicker like shadows\u2019 over a surface of static (2004: 80). Yet Hemment writes that dwelling within this surface of noise were the nascent traces of a new form of music that would later see composers and artists forging novel editing techniques and developing new methods of working with recorded sound and its byproducts as compositional materials.<\/p>\n O\u00efnos\u2019s off-beat movement in this middle section of the video triggers a flash shot of Bacon\u2019s falling Figure in Movement<\/em>, which is mixed via high-speed visual fluttering with Ernst\u2019s Attirement of the Bride<\/em>. The angels\u2019 words are superimposed over each other as the signals become confused, producing a spasmodic instance of simultaneity. Bacon\u2019s desire to get to the real, raw energy of something by capturing a sense of immediacy and intensity is seized by Godard in Puissance de la parole<\/em>. David Sylvester has associated Figure in Movement<\/em> with Bacon\u2019s drive to strip something down to its essence. It was, Bacon concurs, \u2018an attempt to make a figure in movement as concentrated as I could do it\u2019 (1987: 168). Similarly, Godard extracts the primitive rumblings and catastrophic high-point of Ravel\u2019s composition and integrates them into the video, creating energetic surges that rush in and out of the second half, returning ferociously at the video\u2019s close. The destructive impulse that flows through the video parallels a tendency that Cook has identified in Godard\u2019s short Armide <\/em>(1987), of Godard \u2018doing violence\u2019 to the music. Cook argues that Godard \u2018does not just select and recombine his music; he fragments it, fading it in and out or interpolating silences into it, and sometimes he even superimposes one number on another\u2019 (1998: 219).[17]<\/a>\u00a0In Puissance de la parole<\/em>, Godard\u2019s manner of disfiguring the music is even more radical, free-flowing and joyful. An act of violence and destruction transmutes into one of positive, jubilant construction. In the concluding moments the boundaries between media explode entirely and Godard\u2019s dramatic mashup triggers a complete metamorphosis that moulds the musical and visual fragments into a dazzling new form.<\/p>\n The musical montage flattens out harmonically as the earth-shattering conclusion begins. Ravel\u2019s La Valse<\/em> (in D major) is twisted together dissonantly with the dark chords of Franck\u2019s Symphony in D minor<\/em>, like a distorted mirror image. Bacon\u2019s Figure in Movement<\/em> returns for a brief moment to disrupt the closing credits, where it is mixed with a flashing graphic of volcanic lava. In the original painting, we see a falling figure positioned in front of a black panel or mirror, with a purple stain on the floor. Ernst van Alphen writes of this painting: \u2018[t]he figure is not reflected in the mirror; our gaze at the figure is repeated, not mirrored, in the mirror. Looking itself, not the object in front of the mirror, is reflected\u2019 (1992: 63). Van Alphen demonstrates how in Bacon\u2019s oeuvre the eye does not reveal but it dissolves, destroys and unmakes the object of looking. Notions of mirroring, traditional perspective and realistic representation are frequently undermined. Van Alphen emphasises that in Bacon\u2019s paintings, looking-relationships between subjects are often avoided, with figures pushed to the margins, psychologically isolated or imprisoned in confined structures. The visual regime, according to a Western model of representation, is blocked and challenged. Bacon scrutinises the ways in which images are constructed and viewed, transforming established representations of bodies in the process. Van Alphen states: \u2018[w]hile the position of the figures in their space obstructs their self experience, the ambiguous identity of the space itself prevents it from providing a clear and comfortable frame. This lack of capacity to frame means that Bacon\u2019s spaces do not bestow shape\u2019 (1992: 143). Confusion between background and foreground, inside and outside, along with the flattening of perspective play an important role in the two paintings by Bacon displayed in Godard\u2019s video, where the dissolution of stable reference points generates a similar sense of fragmentation, distortion and liquidity, achieved in part through the sonic techniques of\u00a0amplification, mixing and sound masking.<\/p>\n [ezcol_1half]<\/p>\n [\/ezcol_1half] [ezcol_1half_end]<\/p>\n [\/ezcol_1half_end]<\/p>\n Figures 5a and 5b: Stop-start images of flowing water and colourful climactic explosions<\/em><\/p>\n The textured effect of the attendant\u2019s lavish headdress in Ernst\u2019s painting, through which Bacon\u2019s figure\u2019s arms glimmer in the middle section of the video, returns in its new electronic guise during the video\u2019s final moments through the thick explosions of coloured smoke that enact La Valse<\/em>\u2019s demise [see Figure 5]. Mawer sums up: \u2018[t]his is a road of no return. Civilized control becomes lost in a hallucinatory, disorientated whirling which approaches the barbaric, and the orchestral waltz is robbed of its very identity: in the penultimate bar, its triple metre mutates into four, heavily accented beats\u2019 (2006: 154). Like the patterns of contrary motion and inner tension, generated by the freeze-frames and lush flash shots of gushing water in Puissance de la parole<\/em>, the dramatic culminating images, and the extraordinary musical montage, enact the inner violations that Ravel\u2019s waltz undergoes. The orgiastic rhythms and lethal vortex of La Valse<\/em> bubble up to the surface to hasten the video\u2019s end. Godard\u2019s finale evokes something of Ravel\u2019s original piano manuscript for his choreographic poem. The manuscript, as Mawer reveals, contained swirling ink doodles drawn onto the score by the composer himself, thus underscoring the important visual and physical dimension of the music. She affirms: \u2018[c]ertainly, up to a point La Valse<\/em> does explore the sheer physicality of dance through the aural domain of music\u2019 (2006: 152). Mawer identifies a similar pictorial effect in an anonymous painting named \u2018La Valse<\/em> de Ravel\u2019, printed in 1932 in Le Courrier musical<\/em>. In this painting, a vortex effect is fashioned from thick dark lines and marks, as if the artist has attempted to revive for the eye Ravel\u2019s original vision.[18]<\/a>\u00a0At times in Puissance de la parole<\/em> the images of rushing water freeze\u00a0<\/b>for a second and we are confronted with a compelling instance of stasis like an object to possess. Similarly, by pausing the video image manually, the spectator can also attempt to capture after Ravel and the anonymous artist, visual traces of the intoxicating, palpable force that is heard and felt in the music.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n Puissance de la parole<\/em> refashions our ways of hearing and seeing, blurring\u00a0the boundaries between film, poetry, visual art, sonic art and music. It is a rich, stand-alone video that challenges the sense-making process and casts light on themes, processes and structural features that pervade many of Godard\u2019s other videos and films. It is also a work that typifies what Cook terms \u2018multimedia mentality\u2019 (2013: 57). He proposes that \u2018[a]utonomy mentality holds that meaning and hence originality are inscribed in musical texts that are both ownable and assignable. By contrast, multimedia mentality holds that meaning and originality are performative, emerging out of contexts of use and reuse\u2019 (2013: 71). Meaning is not merely dumped in a work by its author to be uncovered and decoded but it is negotiated and shaped in the act of reception, that is, in the twists, turns and thrills of the audiovisual experience, which can be interpreted in a multitude of unforeseen ways. It is this mentality that lies at the heart of 1. A Flux of Sensation:\u00a0Puissance de la parole<\/em>\u00a0and Video Mashup<\/strong><\/h4>\n
2. Ravel, the Grotesque and the Spirit of Excess<\/strong><\/h4>\n
3. The Power of Video: Thinking in Images and Sounds<\/strong><\/h4>\n
4. Freezing Time: Sound, Painting and Photography<\/strong><\/h4>\n
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<\/a><\/p>\n5. A Study of a Study of the Waltz<\/strong><\/h4>\n
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<\/a><\/p>\n6. Conclusion<\/strong><\/h4>\n