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Beyond Representation
Vered Maimon
Published online: 08 Jun 2012.
To cite this article: Vered Maimon (2012) Beyond Representation, Third Text, 26:3, 331-344, DOI:
10.1080/09528822.2012.679041
To link to this article: http://dx.doi.org/10.1080/09528822.2012.679041
Beyond Representation
Abbas Kiarostamis and Pedro Costas
Minor Cinema
Vered Maimon
332
MINOR PEOPLE
The resistance to representation triggers debates surrounding historical
and current political forms of subjectivity. In Empire (2000), and its successors Multitude: War and Democracy in the Age of Empire (2005) and
Commonwealth (2011), Antonio Negri and Michael Hardt formulate the
term multitude as a whole of singularities which is diffident of representation because it is an incommensurable multiplicity.4 They argue that
while the concept of the people originates from sovereign transcendence
and therefore results in the abstraction and unification of singularities, the
multitude constitute the real productive force of our social world, that
is, it is an ontological positive force that produces new subjectivities
and creative forms of socialisation and communication; what Negri
calls General Intellect.5 The multitude thus exists within Empire and
against Empire as a vital immanent force that animates it, but that
ultimately will lead to its inevitable destruction.6
Yet is it precisely Negri and Hardts emphasis on the immanence of the
multitude and their rejection of any transcendental negative form of
resistance that seem completely to vacate any notion of politics,
let alone an emancipatory one. As Zizek analyses this problematic:
. . . how does this politicisation of production, where production directly
produces (new) social relations, affect the very notion of politics? Is such
an administration of people (subordinated to the logic of profit) still politics, or is it the most radical sort of depoliticisation, the entry into postpolitics?7
While Negri and Hardt dismiss the term people because it eclipses
internal differences by representing the whole of the population under a
hegemonic group, for Giorgio Agamben the term marks an inherently
split form of collective subjectivity, a polar concept that evokes simultaneously a people in the popular sense of the unprivileged and excluded
and in the opposing sense of The People as a constitutive political
subject.10 Meanwhile for Rancie`re political subjects do not form definite
groups but surplus litigious names that enact or stage a dispute in
relation to what is perceived as common and universal. As he explains:
. . . freedom and equality are not predicates belonging to definite subjects.
Political predicates are open predicates: they open up a dispute about what
they entail, whom they concern and in which cases.11
Politics thus consists of the capacity to open up processes of subjectivisation that demonstrate a relation of inclusion and exclusion. In this regard
333
334
what often underlies these programmes is precisely the logic of representation in which characters try to conform to a model rather than diverge
from it by presenting their true self beyond fictional or false appearances. Yet, in minor cinema of the kind that Kiarostami and Costa make,
the issue is not to eliminate fiction, but, as Deleuze argues, to free it from
the model of truth which penetrates it, and on the contrary to rediscover
the pure and simple story-telling function which is opposed to this
model.18 The issue is not to become-conscious by adhering to prevalent
models of subjectivity and truth, but to become-Other by opening
oneself to another order of time to which one simultaneously belongs
and does not belong.
What facilitates, but in no way initiates, Kiarostamis and Costas
specific modes of film-making is the use of digital video cameras. In
their work the shift from film to video is inseparable from the invention
of forms of collaboration. The use of digital cameras enables them to
create films with limited crews, no sets, no professional actors and no
scripts. Most importantly, it enables them to work outside the pressure
of production time and budget. Video enables time: time for observation
and for the slow unfolding of stories which evolve out of the process of
working together and which are then restaged. In this regard it is a
cinema of double becoming in which, as Deleuze argues, the director
expresses himself through real characters, while the characters speak
as if they are reported by a third person. Write for the illiterate,
Antonin Artaud said, and Deleuze interprets this comment as not for
their benefit or in their place, but as before, as a question of becoming
in which the author becomes illiterate, while the illiterate becomes something else and tears himself away from his own agony.19
Critics often debate whether the films of Kiarostami and Costa are documentary or fiction, but the sense of indeterminacy which underlines
these films is not simply stylistic, generic or rhetorical, the result of intentional and scripted mixture between so-called subjective and objective
points of view. Rather it emerges out of a much more radical reciprocal
and reversible movement between the actual and the virtual, the real
and the imaginary, the present and the past, which marks what Deleuze
defines as the crystal image in modern cinema. With this kind of
image, the crucial issue is not to suppress the distinction between these
poles, but to make it indiscernible or unattributable. Relying on Henri
Bergson, Deleuze explains this mutual coexistence in terms of the
relations between present and past: The image has to be present and
past, still present and already past, at once and at the same time. If it
was not already past at the same time as present, the present would
never pass on. The past does not follow the present that it is no longer
on, it coexists with the present it was.20 What is especially fascinating
in this formulation in relation to the films of Kiarostami and Costa is
that Bergson himself explains it in terms of acting: Whoever becomes
conscious of the continual duplicating of his present into perception
and recollection. . . will compare himself to an actor playing his part automatically, listening to himself and beholding himself playing.21
335
Abbas Kiarostami, still from Close-Up, 1990, colour thirty-five millimetre film, ninety-eight minutes # The Institute for the
Intellectual Development of Children and Young Adults Celluloid Dreams, courtesy Celluloid Dreams
336
Hossain Sabzian I dont want to be presumptuous. . . but Im more interested in acting. I think I could express all the bad experiences Ive had,
all the deprivation Ive felt with every fibre of my being. I think I could
get these feelings across through my acting.
AK Arent you acting for the camera right now? What are you doing now?
HS Im speaking of my suffering. Im not acting. Im speaking from the
heart. This isnt acting. For me, art. . . is the experience of what youve
felt inside. If one could cultivate that experience, its like when Tolstoy
says that art is the inner experience cultivated by the artist and conveyed
to his audience. Given the positive feelings Ive experienced, as well as
the deprivation and suffering, and my interest in acting, I think I could
be an effective actor and convey that inner reality.
AK Then why did you pretend to be a director instead of an actor?
HS Playing the part of a director is a performance in itself. To me, that is
acting.
AK What part would you like to play?
HS My own.
AK Havent you already done that?
23. Godfrey Cheshire states
that It should be noted that
Kiarostami scripted most
of Sabzians speeches at the
trial, though he based them
on things Sabzian had
actually said. See Godfrey
Cheshire, Prison and
Escape, op cit, np
24. A documentary film on
Sabzian titled Close Up
Long Shot was made in
1996 by Mahmoud
Chokrollahi and Moslem
Mansouri. In contrast to
Close-Up, this film
concentrates on his
biography and psychology,
in particular his obsession
with cinema, which led, the
film suggests, to his
personal destruction. The
film is included with the
2010 DVD of Close-Up,
op cit.
25. Gilles Deleuze, Cinema 2:
The Time-Image, op cit, p
150. On Deleuzes concept
of fabulation see Ronald
Bogue, Fabulation,
Narration and the People
to Come, in Constantin V
Boundas, ed, Deleuze and
Philosophy, Edinburgh
University Press,
Edinburgh, 2006, pp 203
223. See also his book
Deleuzian Fabulation and
the Scars of History,
Edinburgh University
Press, Edinburgh, 2010.
26. Gilles Deleuze, Cinema 2:
The Time-Image, op cit,
p 150
What is striking in this intensive encounter is the irreducibility of Sabzians performance, which constantly shifts between what he is (a poor
printer) and what he becomes (an actor in a film whose words while
attributed to him were also scripted),23 between his actual present role
(an actor in Kiarostamis film playing himself) and his virtual previous
role (that of the director Makhmalbaf ), between his real character,
whatever that might be, as it is not possible to know him through the
film, and his staged character, the highly emotional and dramatic act he
performs of himself in front of the camera and the court.24 What is therefore crucial is not the conflation or blurring of the real and the imaginary
but their inseparability, their coexistence in the very formation of Sabzians cinematic role and subjectivity. Kiarostamis film allows him to
become an actor who watches himself playing and to play himself
rather than be himself, thereby allowing him to become-Other, not be
an Other, a fixed emblem of an Iranian poor man.
By juxtaposing staged re-enactments of the real event together with
edited footage of the trial, Kiarostami is creating a new mode of story
which affects the very division between fiction and reality. Close-Up
manifests what Deleuze calls the power of the false or fabulation where:
. . . what is opposed to fiction is not the real; it is not the truth which is
always that of the masters or colonisers; it is the story-telling function of
the poor, in so far as it gives the false the power which makes it into a
memory, a legend, a monster.25
The forger, Deleuze argues, is the most emblematic character of this kind
of cinema because he constantly transforms himself and in this way
mobilises the story. What therefore makes Sabzian a real character is
not his subordinated adherence to a model of pre-existing subjectivity,
even though he pretends to be a specific famous person, but the way his
singular impersonation marks an affirmation of fiction (and of cinema)
as a power of becoming rather than a model of truth. What this kind of
cinema demonstrates, Deleuze argues, is not the identity of a character,
whether real or fictional but the becoming of the real character when he
himself starts to make up fiction.26
337
338
Abbas Kiarostami, four stills from Ten, 2002, colour thirty-five millimetre film, ninety-four minutes, # Abbas Kiarostami
Productions
339
340
Pedro Costa, still from In Vandas Room, 2000, colour thirty-five millimetre film, 178 minutes, # Pedro Costa
the specific reality which is depicted, but on the other hand the focus on
autonomous objects and empty or evacuated spaces leads to what
Deleuze calls pure optical and sound situations in which it is no
longer possible to separate Costas mode of filming from its object of
depiction, the residents and their living environment. That is, the neighbourhood does not function as a setting that presupposes or promotes a
specific action that Costas camera then documents. Instead what is
filmed is the very crisis of action, the inability to act or respond in
situations that overwhelm the characters capacities, such as the demolition of their houses. As Nhurro (also named Yuran), one of the main
characters, states, as he sits in a dark decrepit room that he will be
341
My hair is filthy, I look like a tramp. . . Ive parked cars, Ive been a thief. . .
a street paver, I helped in construction, I dont know what else. . . what else
I can do in this world.
The immobility of Costas camera and its pure optics constitute not an
arbitrary stylistic choice on the directors part, but what Deleuze calls a
break in the link between man and the world, which makes man a
seer who finds himself struck by something intolerable in the world.34
In this regard the problem Costas films face is not that of giving knowledge about the economic realities of the current moment but, as Deleuze
emphasises with regard to the time-image of modern cinema, of restoring
belief in this world.35
In Vandas Room makes an extraordinary use of pure sound that
exists independently of the image. Through the rooms thin walls, the
viewer often hears sounds issuing from Vandas mothers shop but does
not see their source: music from the TV and radio, her sisters baby
crying, people stopping by, the sound of bulldozers, children shouting.
The sound in the film functions as an image in itself that adds a mental
dimension to the visible image by opening it to the outside. This
additional framing constantly splits the films visual and acoustic registers
into the actual and the virtual: the still-present of the neighbourhood
coexisting with the already past of its demolition as the film unfolds,
and the future of its residents still to come.
Their future is depicted in the last part of the trilogy, Colossal Youth,
which focuses on the character of Ventura, an immigrant worker from
Cape Verde who fell from scaffolding while working on the construction
of the Gulbenkian museum in Lisbon. The film follows him as he visits the
former residents of Fontainhas, whom he names my sons and daughters, including Vanda and other characters from the previous film, in
the homes they have been allocated in a newly built neighbourhood of
tall white modernist buildings. Throughout the film Venturas gestures
are stiff, his face expressionless, and his manner of speaking impersonal
as if he were reciting lines even when he is telling his own life story of
immigration, hard work and mishap. This mode of speaking about the
past as if ones words are reported by a third person, or what Deleuze
calls free indirect speech, also underlines the mode of filming in which
scenes that seem to belong to a different time other than the filmed
present are not marked in any way that suggests a shift in time.36 For
example, after Ventura talks about his accident, he appears wearing a
head bandage in scenes with his fellow immigrant worker Lento, and
they seem to be returning from work to their shack in Fontainhas,
which the viewer knows no longer exists. In one of the scenes Lento
talks in the present tense about the military coup in Portugal that took
place in 1974, a long time before the diegetic present of the film. Just
as words cannot be attributed to a specific consciousness, although
spoken by an individual voice, images of the past are not filmed as specific
individual or collective flashbacks. Like Kiarostami, Costa creates crystalline images that oscillate between the past and the present of places and
people (Portugal, Fontainhas, Ventura, Vanda and other characters)
that evade clear attribution or identification.
342
Pedro Costa, still from Colossal Youth, 2006, colour thirty-five millimetre film, 155 minutes, # Pedro Costa
The past in Colossal Youth is also that of the very idea of collectivity
and freedom. In another scene with Lento in their shack Ventura plays a
record of a popular song from the Cape Verde war of independence led by
Amlcar Cabral against Portugal in 1975: Raise your arms and shout
freedom/shout oh independent people/shout oh liberated people/July
5th means freedom/July 5th the road to happiness/shout, long live
Cabral/freedom fighter of our nation. This song, played on a now obsolete turntable, sounds like a relic from a different long-ago time. The song
draws power from its clear sense of political agency and the national
coherence of the people as a unified We combating a colonialist oppressor, but the film marks the disappearance of this collective consciousness.
In a historical condition in which, as Deleuze famously stated, the people
are missing, the only possibility is to make a minor cinema, following
the model of Kafkas minor literature, in which the message does not
refer back to an enunciating subject who would be its cause, no more
than to a subject of the statement who would be its effect.37 This explains
the films interest in collective assemblages of enunciation, such as
stories, legends and songs that are singular but not individual, collective
in a performative sense but not in a symbolic or representational one.
Throughout the film Ventura often recites from a love letter that at first
seems to be written by himself on behalf of an illiterate Lento. Yet
343
viewers of Costas films immediately recognise this letter from his earlier
film, Casa de Lava (1994), in which the identity of the writer and the
addressee could not be established. And as Ventura goes on reciting
this letter about immigrating to a foreign place and missing his loved
ones, wishing he could buy her dresses and cigarettes, and the challenges
he faces of hard work and learning a new language, the feelings of fear
and hope and the unbearable waiting for a return letter, it becomes
clear that the letters power lies in its potential inter-exchangeability
and lack of exclusivity. Costa created the letter by combining lines
from a letter by an actual immigrant worker and a poem by the French
poet Robert Desnos, written from a Second World War concentration
camp. The letter is not meant to create emotional identification but to
trigger, as Rancie`re points out, an open system of exchanges, correspondences and displacements in which the art of the poor, of the public
scribe, and of great poets are captured together in the same fabric: an
art of life and of sharing, an art of travel and of communication.38
Critics often argue that Costas films aestheticise poverty and are
therefore inherently apolitical because they do not provide any analysis
of the landscape of capitalism under globalisation.39 Responding to
these charges, Rancie`re states that:
Pedro Costa does not film the misery of the world. He films its wealth, the
wealth that anyone at all can become master of: that of catching the splendour of a reflection of light, but also of being able to speak in a way that is
commensurate with ones fate.40
It is clear that Costas films are not about the poor, nor do they represent the poor, rather they confirm Negris observation in Time for
Revolution that poverty is the opposite of wealth because it is the singular possibility of all wealth.41 His films insist on shared common
capacities to tell stories that are as rich as countless life experiences. In
this regard they offer an adequate response to Badious call to start implementing the communist hypothesis from an affirmation of a single performative principle: there is only one world. The first consequence that
follows is:
38. Jacques Rancie`re, The
Politics of Pedro Costa,
op cit
39. See for example Thom
Andersen, Paintings in the
Shadows, Film Comment,
March/April, 2007, p 59.
40. Jacques Rancie`re, The
Politics of Pedro Costa,
op cit
41. Antonio Negri, Time for
Revolution, Matteo
Mandarini, trans,
Continuum, London and
New York, p 190
42. Alain Badiou, The
Communist Hypothesis,
op cit, p 39
43. Ibid, p 39
. . . the recognition that all belong to the same world as myself: the African
worker I see in the restaurant kitchen, the Moroccan I see digging a hole in
the road, the veiled woman looking after children in the park.42
The idea is not that all these subjects are the same but that they all have a
right to belong regardless of their different religions, cultures, languages
and so on. The right to belong should not be conditioned by conformity
to a hegemonic model, yet it also should not involve a fixation on identities
but a fascination with becoming in which one constantly invents new modes
of subjectivity. Costas films allow one to imagine what it would be like to
live in a world where other people exist exactly as I do myself.43 What
would it feel like? What would it be like to inhabit a world where the
universalism that underlines the communist hypothesis becomes not a marketing slogan (we are all friends), but a political proposition?
By asking real marginalised individuals to play themselves rather than
be themselves, Kiarostami and Costa make films that echo the mode of
being specific to the concept of the people: real and imaginary, actual
and virtual, past and present. Their cinema is one that insists on the
344
power of the false, where the false ceases to be an appearance or lie, but
what allows a character, as Deleuze argues, to cross a limit, to become
another in an act of story-telling which connects him to a people past
or to come.44 In this regard their films are inherently political not
because they are about marginalised groups or because they challenge
conventional documentary or fictional forms of representation, but
because they move away from representation by opposing any notion
of identity thinking that presumes the common or the consensual
rather than contesting its inequalities and violence. Contemporary
cinema cannot create a people, but it does share with those who suffer
a common resistance to death, to servitude, to the intolerable. . . and to
the present.45 In the current political context, where resistance to violence and racism often hinge on the unimaginable, these films allow
one to imagine new forms of political subjectivity and to restore belief
in the possibility of a common world.