John Greyson's 14.3 Seconds

As a faux-documentary, Greyson's 14.3 Seconds can be deceiving in its depiction of a history that never was. However, taking into consideration Foucault's ideas in "Nietzsche, Genealogy, History", Greyson's film takes on a new meaning and becomes a kind of example for some of the notions presented by Foucault. In building an essentially "false" history with the archive footage, Greyson illustrates, in film, Foucault's "historian's history"'s breakdown and ultimate failure in providing an adequate means of both understanding the present and of establishing a notion of origin for this present. His "archival footage" represents the "historian's history", rooted in clear facts, dates and pieces of film. These artifacts, which seem to be telling a clear story on the surface, are gradually destabilized by an increasingly dubious array of explanations that make us question not only the explanations themselves, but also the artifacts supporting them. The constant censorship which grows inconsistent (things are censored that were not censored earlier in the film) and the increasingly dramatic story about the interpreter and officer in charge of the restoration not only make us question their authenticity, but also the authenticity of the footage. As such, Greyson, like Foucault, draws attention to the inherent failure of a narrative-style history, which can not only be manipulated by the historian, but also fails to show all facets of a situation in an effort to be more concise and to the point.

This point is further expanded upon and linked to the Palestinian struggle, in Godard's Ici et Ailleurs, which mixes documentary and scripted sequences, along with narration and Brechtian techniques. Here again, documentary techniques such as interviews or seemingly unscripted documentary footage is deconstructed by both narration (as in the scene where the narrator informing us that the woman that was presented as pregnant is actually an actress) and by blatant association with images that evoke certain feelings that might be sought out by the director. The parallels between the French family and the Palestinian revolutionaries serve to create compassion for the Palestinians, and the ones between Hitler and Golda Meir to create negative connotations of Israel. Godard makes us aware of these "manipulatory" techniques and is essentially showing the ease with which images, ideas and ultimately history, can be manipulated to suit any number of needs. As such, Ici et Ailleurs functions as both "a melancholic morning-after" of a "failed and betrayed revolution"[1] and an illustration of Foucault's take on Nietzsche's genealogical view of history.

Together, these films provide a blueprint for looking at Palestinian film in the context of a historical background that is not tainted (or at least not as tainted) by a specific political drive in an otherwise highly politicized environment. That being said, the very depoliticization of an issue can in fact be considered a political stance on its own, so instead of looking at Palestinian film without a political viewpoint, one would better be served by merely being aware of the different dissonant voices of history which consequently invoke one political view or another. This awareness, combined with the awareness of the manipulatory aspects of film, can not only grant us a better understanding of Palestinian film but can help further contextualize material which is presented in an already extremely polarized context. And while it might seem odd that a Canadian and a Frenchman could in some way contribute to the better understanding of a national cinema that belongs to either filmmaker's nation, it is perhaps this very distance from the subject matter that grants them a much needed perspective - a perspective which might otherwise be hard to achieve from within "the trenches" of said nation.

---

[1] Emmelhainz, Irmgard. “From Third Worldism to Empire: Jean-Luc Godard and the Palestine

Question.”, p5

REFERENCES

14.3 Seconds. Directed by John Greyson, 2008.

Emmelhainz, Irmgard. "From Third Worldism to Empire: Jean-Luc Godard and the Palestine Question." Third Text 23, no. 5 (September 2009): 649 - 656.

Foucault, Michel. "Nietzsche, Genealogy, History" In The Foucault Reader. Ed. Paul Rainbow, 76-100 . New York: Pantheon Books, 1984.

Ici et Ailleurs. Directed by Jean-Luc Godard. Gaumont, 1974.

Themes of Subversion in Luis Buñuel's Los Olvidados and Subida al Cielo

When discussing his film El (1953) in an interview with Cahiers du cinéma film critic André Bazin, filmmaker Luis Buñuel describes his way of approaching film in his Mexican period: "I was offered a film, and instead of accepting something completely ordinary I tried to make a counter offer - something which, though it's still commercial, looks more propitious for expressing some of the things that interest me."[1] But while this kind of offer/counter-offer scenario might sound like something of a negotiation, it was anything but that in the traditional sense. In fact, working within the Mexican film industry of the 1950's was more of a limitation which, "thanks to his creative genius and transgressive disposition, Buñuel, managed to evade to a large degree" and in doing so, giving Mexican cinema some of its greater masterpieces while leaving the mark of his creative vision in all of his assigned films[2]. But what are these limitations and how did Buñuel manage to "evade" them? If one is to make a parallel with film industries of more oppressive regimes, one can envision several ways of "evading" their limitations. Buñuel was in no way the kind of militaristic film maker that would attempt a kind "guerilla" approach to film making as might be suggested by Solanas and Getino, especially since it would not be another decade at least until the concept of Third Cinema emerges as a way of making cinema outside the system. Instead of cinema outside the system, Buñuel chooses to work within the system, producing the kind of content that is required of him from the commercial film industry while finding ways to subvert the message from within[3].

By observing two of his early Mexican-era films, Los Olvidados (1950) and Subida al cielo (1952), I intend to show that Buñuel manages to deliver rhetoric which questions and subverts both established notions of culture and identity in classical Mexican cinema as well as emerging socioeconomic changes during the Valdés regime and its aftermath. While Los Olvidados is far from a film that would be considered approaching classical 50's Mexican cinema, its success at the 1951 Cannes Festival and its addition to the UNESCO World Heritage List[4] render it not only an important film in Buñuel's Mexican filmography but also one that would introduce many of the concepts present throughout his more (seemingly) conformist films that were to follow. Subida al cielo, while taking the form of a light-hearted comedy on the surface, continues and expands many of the subjects introduced in Los Olvidados while elaborating on many of the notions touched by thereof and presenting them in a format that was familiar and inviting to the average film-goer.

To begin, let us explore some of the themes of classical 50's Mexican cinema and their subversion in Buñuel's films. The fact that Los Olvidados was initially to be "the worst kind of melodrama" in Buñuel's words, but was given a more serious tone by producer Óscar Dancigers in an attempt to reduce risk and make it more acceptable by audiences[5] can only be seen as ironic, as the film was considered an "insult to Mexican sensibilities"[6] upon its release in Mexico and initially only managed to stay in cinemas for six days[7]. Moreover, Olvidados does not resort to the "official folklore or national symbols propagated by the classical Mexican cinema", which, According to Buñuel, were a product of political manipulation and a bourgeois aberration[8]. Instead, it "challenges the viability of using the romantic aestheticism or sentimental naturalism of classical Mexican cinema"[9].

Specifically, the scene of Jaibo's death is a good example of Buñuel's refusal to romanticize or sentimentalize the scene[10]. We are neither "allowed" to feel compassion for Jaibo as he remembers his mother's voice with the image of the dog superimposed on his face, nor does Buñuel resort to dramatic excess, instead promptly cutting to a shot of Meche and the blind man carrying Pedro's concealed body on a donkey.

But while in Los Olvidados Buñuel directly counters the classical Mexican cinema aesthetic, in Subida al cielo he instead uses this very aesthetic to subvert it. By showing us that the social function of popular comedy in Mexican cinema has the presumption that comedy represents, speaks for or mirrors the experience of the working class, Buñuel's film essentially subverts this very function[11]. Further, by addressing "Mexican issues" without the "sentimental pathos of classic Mexican comedy" and exposing classical Mexican comedy's simplification of those issues[12], Buñuel makes a comment about a mode representation by using this very mode of representation to make it.

The other themes that Subida al cielo references and eventually subverts are the themes of family and morals. While the dying matriarch and young wife await Oliverio's prompt return home, Buñuel is more than anything else interested in the brief love affair in the bus, and is so little interested in the wife that she remains "a sketchy, pallid figure"[13]. The fact that earlier in the film Raquel offers Oliverio an apple[14] which creates the parallel with the Biblical Eve, the snake and the original sin only serves to make this sin so much worse. The fact that his sin goes unpunished (he is eventually reunited with his wife and goes on with married life), calls into question not only the sanctity of marriage and Oliverio's (and by extension the film's) morals, but more broadly the validity of religious doctrine in general - a subject that wouldn't normally come up in classical Mexican cinema, much less in a comedy.

In both Subida al cielo and more directly in Olvidados, Buñuel addresses his "express dislike for official folklore, for the image of Mexico dictated by the visual style of classical cinema and revolutionary art and the social and political transition to modernization"[15]. Subida al cielo presents some of the economic, cultural and political problems of the decade with the "lens of tradition versus modernity … folkloric rituals and the demagoguery of politicians"[16]. In particular the scene in Subida al cielo where the bus is stuck in the lake and the tractor (modernity) fails to rescue it, instead being saved by a more traditional pair of oxen[17] sends a clear message as to the (in)efficiency of modernity and continued validity of tradition. According to Acevedo-Muñoz, this was a comment on the impracticality of some of [Miguel Alemán Valdés'] policies, on the stubborn strength of popular tradition and on the superficiality of the Mexican cinema's own cultural conventions[18].

Later in Subida al cielo, the encounter of the two politicians and their shaking hands in public[19] mocks the apparent lack of difference between them (in the film physically, but figuratively in terms of politics), as well as the aforementioned demagogy, as both (immoderately) offer the honesty and integrity of Mexican democracy but no real choices to the public[20].

In turn, Los Olvidados, referencing capitalist modernization's attempt to obliterate abject poverty in Mexico during the 1940's and 1950's, exposes the uneven development of this modernization, its uneven devolution into ruins and makes us think how modernity coexists with abject poverty[21]. In effect Buñuel himself deems the film as "a film of social struggle"[22] a fact that is in line with his association with Juan de la Cabada, writer on both Subida al cielo and La ilusión viaja en tranvía (1954) and part of the group LEAR (League of Revolutionary Writers and Artists), whom participated at the Second International Congress of Anti-fascist Writers in 1937 in Madrid and Valencia[23]. Gutiérrez-Albilla even goes as far as to make the connection between Los Olvidados and New Latin American Cinema / Third Cinema, citing "the portrayal of the lives of street children as a political strategy to denounce social injustice" which serves as a revisionist approach to the revolutionary mythology propagated by the melodramatic films of the Golden Age of classical Mexican cinema[24]. While it is an interesting idea, Buñuel's Los Olvidados is hardly the type of militaristic cine-activism that was advocated by Solanas and Getino in their Towards a Third Cinema manifesto.

Despite this, some insist on ascribing political or philosophical meanings to Los Olvidados. Octavio Paz's "El Poeta Buñuel", distributed during the 1951 Cannes festival, uses Los Olvidados to prescribe a cure for what he perceived as the two ills of progressive Mexican intellectuals of the time: nationalism and socialist realism[25]. Gutiérrez-Albilla on the other hand, applying psychoanalysis and quoting Lacan, seeks to find a meaning beyond "a mere concern with a documentation of socio-political realities of late 1940's and early 1950's Mexico" in Olvidados and proposes that the film is a self-reflexive discourse about cinematic representation and perception[26].

Buñuel however, claims that he had "absolutely no wish to make a film that stated a particular case"[27]. Regardless of the validity of the various readings, Buñuel has never been at his happiest with intellectual argument or ideas which have to be explained[28] but even though his work was initially seen as something foreign and anti-Mexican, it eventually proved to be in close communication with Mexican cultural activity[29]. Ultimately however, Buñuel himself explains his motivations and his work (in Olvidados but more broadly in the rest of his Mexican films) in the most direct and the most "Buñuelian" way he can: "I have observed things that moved me, which I wanted to transfer to the screen - but, always, with the kind of love I bear for the instinctive and irrational. I've always been attracted by the unknown or strange side of things, which fascinates me without me knowing why"[30].

. . . . . .

---

[1] Bazin, 1955, 181

[2] Fuentes, 2004, 92

[3] Ibid., 94

[4] Fuentes, 2004, 91

[5] Ibáñez & Palacio, 2003, 59-60

[6] Acevedo-Muñoz, 2003, 57

[7] Fuentes, 2004, 92

[8] Acevedo-Muñoz, 2003, 66

[9] Gutiérrez-Albilla, 2007, 351

[10] Buñuel, 1950. [1'18'30"]

[11] Acevedo-Muñoz, 2003, 123

[12] Ibid., 123

[13] Milne, 1965, 38

[14] Buñuel, 1952. [0'33'22"]

[15] Acevedo-Muñoz, 2003, 58

[16] Ibid., 123

[17] Buñuel, 1952. [0'27'13"]

[18] Acevedo-Muñoz, 2003, 119

[19] Buñuel, 1952. [1'03'13"]

[20] Connelly & Lynd, 2001, 247

[21] Gutiérrez-Albilla, 2007, 356

[22] Bazin, 1955, 183

[23] Fuentes, 2004, 93

[24] Gutiérrez-Albilla, 2007, 350

[25] Fuentes, 2004, 97

[26] Gutiérrez-Albilla, 2007, 349

[27] Bazin, 1955, 183

[28] Milne, 1965, 39

[29] Acevedo-Muñoz, 2003, 79

[30] Bazin, 1955, 183

REFERENCES

Acevedo-Muñoz, Ernesto R. Buñuel and Mexico: the crisis of national cinema. Berkeley and Los Angeles, California: University of California Press, 2003.

Bazin, Andre, and Jaques Doniol-Valcroze. "Conversation with Buñuel." Sight and Sound 24, no. 4 (Spring 1955): 181-185.

Los olvidados. Directed by Luis Buñuel. Produced by Ultramar Films. 1950.

Subida al cielo. Directed by Luis Buñuel. Produced by Producciones Isla S.A. 1952.

Connelly, Caryn, and Juliet Lynd. "Virgins, Brides and Devils in Disguise: Buñuel does Mexican Melodrama." Quarterly Review of Film and Video 18, no. 3 (2001): 235-256.

Fuentes, Víctor. "Confluences: Buñuel's Cinematic Narrative and the Latin American New Novel." Discourse (Wayne State University Press) 26, no. 1 & 2 (Winter and Spring 2004): 91-110.

Gutiérrez-Albilla, Julian Daniel. "Fictions of Reality/Documents of the Real Encounter: Mise-en-abîme and the Irruption of the Real in Luis Buñuel’s Los olvidados (1950)." Hispanic Research Journal 8, no. 4 (September 2007): 347–357.

Ibáñez, Juan Carlos, and Manuel Palacio. "Los Olvidados / The Young and the Damned." In The cinema of Latin America, by Alberto Elena and Alberto Díaz López, 53-63. London: Wallflower Press, 2003.

Milne, Tom. "The Mexican Buñuel." Sight and Sound 35, no. 1 (Winter 1965/1966): 36-39.

Montage and character subjectivity in Alain Resnais' Muriel ou le temps d'un retour

In her 1963 review of Alain Resnais' Muriel: ou Le Temps d'un Retour (1963), Susan Sontag deems it "the most difficult, by far, of Resnais', three feature films"[1] (for at the time he had only made 3 features). Considering Resnais' previous work in Hiroshima mon Amour (1959) and L'année dernière à Marienbad (1961), which were already arguably "difficult", it would seem hard to produce something that surpasses them in terms of difficulty (without perhaps venturing in to experimental-film territory). "Difficult" is, however, a very subjective term, and this difficulty is further elaborated on by Alan Williams, which notes that despite "many critics [considering] Muriel to be Resnais's greatest film, [general] audiences often find it hard to follow because of its jagged, Eisenstenian editing and highly elliptical screenplay"[2]. While not directly using the term "Eisenstenian" in a pejorative manner, its use by Williams here does point to the fact that Muriel does not only go against the classical Hollywood continuity editing, but it does so in such a jarring way that it actually bothers the spectator in some way. As Sontag notes when comparing Resnais' editing of Muriel to Jean-Luc Godard's editing of À bout de souffle (1960) and Vivre Sa Vie (1962), unlike Godard's "jumpy, jazzy… abrupt cutting [that] pulls the viewer into the story, makes him restless and heightens his appetite for action, creating a kind of visual suspense", Resnais' abrupt cutting "pulls the viewer away from the story… [acting] as a brake on the narrative, a form of aesthetic undertow, a sort of filmic alienation effect"[3]. What effect then, does this technique have on our understanding of the narrative and furthermore, how does it affect our perception of character subjectivity in Resnais' film? In answering these questions, I intend to show that Muriel's editing style functions in a way that enables Resnais to imply characters' subjectivity and their present state precisely by avoiding both, instead concentrating on the world surrounding them and their past.

To illustrate this, I will start by looking at the effects that the editing style has on the film narrative and how it contributes to or alters our perception of thereof. Following, I will consider how the montage in Muriel relates to character interaction and relationships among each other. Concentrating primarily on the character of Hélène (Delphine Seyrig), I will examine some of the ways that her character interacts with others and how these interactions are handled in terms of editing. Finally, I will look at how these choices in editing contribute to our understanding of character subjectivity in Muriel (primarily of Hélène's character but also more broadly of all characters).

To begin, we can observe the narrative in Muriel and how the editing affects it. Sontag notes that despite there being a story in Muriel, the film is "designed so that, at any given moment of it, it's not about anything at all" adding that "at any given moment it is a formal composition; and it is to this end that individual scenes are shaped so obliquely, the time sequences scrambled, and dialogue kept to a minimum of informativeness"[4]. How does it achieve this "not being about anything at all" however? Claude Ollier claims that the film's linearity is increasingly cut by obliques and curves and that despite the linear narrative continuing perfectly chronologically, the scenes follow each other in a more and more discontinuous way with the ellipses getting wider and wider[5]. This is accomplished by what O'Brien refers to as "inverted jump cuts", that is, according to her, "splicing which resembles continuity editing in its lack of attention to temporal breaks, but which elides the passing of time"[6]. In addition to creating confusion in the spectator by facing them with narrative gaps that are presented in a way usually used to present contiguous time, essentially "forcing" them to confront the ellipses in the narrative, the "visual and auditory bricolage" also forces them to "fill in the gaps in order to make sense of the film"[7]. The, "severing [of] connective tissue between the shots" in turn opens the space for spectator participation, which is initially pleasurable but eventually becomes displeasure[8], dislocation and shock[9] and eventually abhorrence, as the spectator "is forced to participate in a scene of torture"[10]. As such, the film is no longer "hard to follow" but rather becomes discomforting for the viewer to watch. This is perhaps what Ollier refers to when he deems Muriel as a film like a kind of spiral which opens further and further out, being rendered "centrifugal with everything [being] projected to the outside"[11]. In fact Ollier echoes O'Brien's view, stating that his "main feeling watching it was … a raising anxiety, panic even"[12]. But to what end is this editing strategy and its effect on the spectator used? If the spectator feels discomfort, how do the characters in Muriel feel?

According to Sontag, "the way the scenes are photographed and edited decomposes, rather than analyzes, the story"[13]. This decomposition in lieu of analysis can be observed in the scene at the bar in which Alphonse and Bernard have their conversations with Ernest and Robert, respectively[14]. By manipulating the shot-counter shot technique using "criss-crossing … across the two sets of characters rather than within them", Resnais decomposes the scene, forcing us to "intellectualize the shot-counter shot effect and come to realize the psychological parallels between Alphonse and Bernard"[15]. The interchangeability of the characters in this scene, used to convey elements of some characters through parallels of others is further explained by Resnais himself, stating that when he sees a film, he is "more interested in the play of feelings than in the characters" and that he envisions "a Cinema without psychologically definite characters, in which feelings would have free play"[16]. Editing is then used here to convey traits through the parallels that are drawn with other characters.

But this is not the only instance in which the editing in Muriel is used to express subjectivity not present in the narrative and/or characters themselves. Considering the distinction that is made between the long take and montage sequences, which states that long-take is better suited for expressing non-rational emotions / emotional moments, whereas montage is better suited for expressing ideas or concepts[17], we can observe an instance of each in Muriel and how each is used to express the respective elements mentioned. Both scenes are interactions that Hélène has with a man, the first is handled with montage whereas the second is handled with a long take. The first scene in question, employing the discontinuous montage discussed prior, has 9 shots and happens as Hélène is preparing Alphonse's bed[18]. O'Brien's concept of "inverted jump cut" is employed here, as we are presented with a version of shot-reverse shot that has the characters in different spaces every time the camera returns to them - for example Hélène is seen picking some pillows from a closet in the living room, then we cut to Alphonse, and when we cut back to Hélène she turns away from a cabinet in the bathroom - a different room. Later on in the same scene we actually cut from a shot of Alphonse alone to one of him sitting next to Hélène, despite it all being part of the same conversation. There is definitely time/space discontinuity, but because the shot-reverse shot method, which matches the dialogue audio as well as their look (Alphonse looks to the left of the screen while Hélène looks to the right), we are "duped" into expecting it to be continuity editing. We can observe what is conveyed in this sequence when examining the dialogue, which involves Hélène finding out that Alphonses' wife is not dead and her subsequent imploring him to "stop her from coming here"[19] (which puts their relationship in a different perspective), Alphonses's perception of Bernard's participation in the war ("What does he know about real war?"[20]) as well as Bernard's attitude to Alphonse ("That's why he looks at you as if he must justify himself."[21]) and Hélène's attitude to Bernard ("It hasn't been easy, loving him."[22]). Here, the ideas expressed take on meanings that surpass those of the characters involved - marriage and fidelity, war as seen by different generations of people, mother/son relationship and son/father-figure relationship.

Similarly, more emotional and personal issues are expressed later in the film using a long take. In her conversation with Roland de Smoke (Claude Sainval), which is handled in one single minute and 30 second shot[23], Hélène gives many insights into her emotions ("I'm frightened"[24], " I am mad at him"[25]), her worries of the future ("I don't know what will happen"[26]), the present ("I wonder what I am doing with my life"[27]) and her appearance/age ("Do I look my age?"[28]). But despite the emotion and apparent subjectivity of the sequence, there is a certain objective quality to it. During most of the sequence, Hélène and Roland are both in the frame, taking up equal space on the screen. Furthermore, the deep depth of field puts the whole apartment in focus, so curtains, doors, furniture and paintings on the wall take up as much space and are as clear as the two characters. This seems to be a common aspect of Muriel, restricting itself to the objective world[29] with no "psychological probing a la French Poetic Realism. No character motivation, traces of subjectivity, or stream of consciousness patterns. The point of view is primarily omniscient. The cutting is associational"[30]. Thus, Muriel is the story of a youth probing with his camera and a woman examining her memories, but while the film carries out "a parallel of their investigation" it never "investigates itself or its own processes"[31]. With its 800 shots and elliptical cutting style that echoes the rambling, incoherent thought patterns of the characters[32], the film is as lost within its characters as they are within themselves. "There is never a sense of the montage representing a singular point of view or subjectivity"[33], rather, everything, everyone is given equal space; every one is their own little story, their own little world, and one character's story is no more or less important than another's. So while all the characters and worlds interact with each other, and can form one coherent story (as opposed to many), it seems as if "Resnais had taken [the] story, which could [have been] told quite straightforwardly, and cut it against the grain. This "against the grain" feeling - the sense of being shown the action at an angle - is the peculiar mark of Muriel. It is Resnais' way of making a realistic story over into an examination of the form of emotions"[34]. Thus, Muriel "breaks free" from the traditional narrative way of expressing emotion, and instead abstracts the narrative through the editing to ultimately achieve the ability to (figuratively) "show" emotions. And so, through the editing and the gaps in the narrative, the film prevents an easy identification with an illusion of reality[35] (which would have been the case had it been edited in a more "coherent" manner). This in turn has the effect of focusing our experience of the film to the emotional state of the characters in the film, instead of concentrating, like in so many other films, on "visual pleasure".

In conclusion, I have looked at how the editing is used in advancing and (in a way) subverting the narrative of the film. By creating gaps and forcing the viewer to fill them in, it awakes a feeling of unease and even discomfort in the viewer as they attempt to interpret the film as one that is edited in a more traditional way. Following, exploring the way in which the characters interact and how the editing handles these interactions, we saw how the various editing methods are used in conveying different ideas or emotional states. Using Hélène's character as example, I have examined how the editing style is used to explore her subjectivity (despite the overall objectivity of the film) and how this subjectivity applies to the overall way in which the concept is treated in the film. Finally, considering these subjects, we can see how Muriel, "by photographing only the present (as opposed to the subjective, continuous present), paradoxically achieves an intense dramatization of the influence of the past on its characters; by portraying only the outer world, it suggests the inner"[36]. It follows then, that while this method of portraying the inner world of characters is not what one would expect, the effect of coming to appreciate this portrayal despite its mode of presentation, is perhaps what ultimately renders Resnais' dramatization so intense.

---

[1] Sontag, 1963, 23

[2] Williams, 1992, 372

[3] Sontag, 1963, 25

[4] Ibid., 1963, 25-26

[5] Ollier, 1963, 69

[6] O'Brien, 2000, 51

[7] Ibid., 53

[8] Ibid., 60

[9] Ibid., 51

[10] Ibid., 53

[11] Ollier, 1963, 69

[12] Ibid., 69

[13] Sontag, 1963,25

[14] Resnais, 1963, [1'18'26" - 1'20'25"]

[15] Totaro, 2002

[16] Sarris, 1967, 440

[17] Totaro, 2002

[18] Resnais, 1963, [0'40'37" - 0'42'38"]

[19] Resnais, 1963, [0'40'49"]

[20] Ibid., [0'41'07"]

[21] Ibid., [0'41'58"]

[22] Ibid., [0'42'04"]

[23] Ibid., [1'00'05" - 1'01'36"]

[24] Ibid., [1'00'11"]

[25] Ibid., [1'00'38"]

[26] Ibid., [1'00'15"]

[27] Ibid., [1'00'22"]

[28] Ibid., [1'00'28"]

[29] Kawin, 2006, 198

[30] Totaro, 2002

[31] Kawin, 2006, 186

[32] Totaro, 2002

[33] Ibid.

[34] Sontag, 1963, 24

[35] O'Brien, 2000, 52

[36] Kawin, 2006, 198

REFERENCES

Kawin, Bruce F. Mindscreen: Bergman, Godard, and first-person film. Champaign-Urbana: Dalkey Archive Press, 2006.

O'Brien, Alyssa J. "Manipulating Visual Pleasure in Muriel." Quarterly Review of Film and Video 17, no. 1 (2000): 49-61.

Ollier, Claude. "The Misfortunes of Muriel." In Cahiers du Cinema: Volume II, edited by Jim Hillier, 68-81. Abingdon: Routledge, 1963; 1986.

Muriel ou Le temps d'un retour. Directed by Alain Resnais. Argos Films, 1963.

Sarris, Andrew, ed. Interviews with Film Directors. New York: Avon Books, 1967.

Sontag, Susan. "Review: Muriel: ou Le Temps d'un Retour by Alain Resnais." Film Quarterly 17, no. 2 (Winter, 1963-1964): 23-27.

Totaro, Donato. "Muriel: Thinking With Cinema About Cinema." Offscreen. July 31, 2002. http://www.horschamp.qc.ca/new_offscreen/muriel.html (accessed April 14, 2009).

Williams, Alan. Republic of Images: A History of French Filmmaking. Cambridge, MA: Harvard UP, 1992.