In terms of movie viewing, the month of June has been particularly busy for me, as I've been fervently discovering Austrian and Hungarian cinema. Of all the films I've seen, Haneke's »glaciation trilogy« (or the Austrian trilogy, as I like to call it) is without a doubt the most memorable and haunting experience. The gloomy mood that pervades the deeply disturbing - and also brilliant! - The Seventh Continent (Der Siebente Kontinent, 1989) is unsettling to the point where one is likely to stop watching, just to get away from Haneke's fiction and embrace the suddenly oh-so-pleasant reality. Benny's video (1992), while certainly an engaging thriller, is the lesser of the three films, being no match for 71 Fragments of a Chronology of Chance (71 Fragmente einer Chronologie des Zufalls, 1994), a magnificent ensemble drama. As the title suggests, the film consists of 71 vignettes, depicting the everyday life of various individuals in urban surroundings. Naturally, this being Haneke, the initial setup is only a façade, soon succumbing to the uncanny. There are lots of interesting scenes to choose from, but, for the purpose of not making the post too long, I shall only concentrate on one.
71 Fragments is probably best known for its scene of a young table tennis player training against an automatic opponent (see here). It is shot in a single take, lasting almost three minutes, three minutes of doing the exact same thing! A stunt of this sort is very difficult to pull without coming off as pompous, so how is to be justified? In an interview conducted by Serge Toubiana, Haneke - to my great disappointment - touches only the surface of the problem, saying the scene is devised to test the audience's patience. He suggests the viewer should go through various states, starting off with amazement, then anger, followed by some kind of reluctant fascination. Since Haneke always stresses his films can be interpreted as one sees fit, I shall try to come up with my own reading of the scene.
Just before the end, the table tennis player turns out to be the central figure of the film. He rushes in a bank, starts randomly shooting at people (some of them are main characters, of course), and takes his own life upon returning in his car. What prompted him to commit this thoughtless deed? As Haneke points out, his films offer no clear answers, especially this one, which puts much emphasis on the fragmentary nature of displaying people's lives. Nevertheless, finding a valid answer to this question might not be as difficult as trying to explain the group suicide in The Seventh Continent. The solution might just lie in the table tennis scene.
In general, the film narrative tries to be as economical as possible: there is no need to show scenes of people doing trivial things, such as fingernail cutting, ear cleaning, locking the doors, saying 'bye' to end a phone conversation, etc. If the director chooses to show us a scene of a person walking to their car, there is a very high chance of something happening along the way, be it a sneaky attack, a chance encounter with someone, or an exciting shootout. We are so used to the absence of trivial doings, that when we finally see one (must not be short), we tend to attach meanings to it. For instance, let's say we are watching a scene of a woman brushing her teeth, her look calmly fixed on her image in the mirror. Let's try to imagine it, and then ask ourselves: wouldn't she seem unhappy, tired of her life, with no prospects on the horizon? And all she would be doing is brushing her teeth, like we do every day. The table tennis scene works in the same way: the more we observe the player, the more peculiar he seems (especially after knowing what happens in the end). Suddenly, we find ourselves unable to tell if that is fatigue on his face or an angry expression brought forth by an unsound mind. His mechanical movements are frightening, there is something pathological about them. We do not know what was the young man's exact motive, if there was any (that would undermine Haneke's philosophy), but we begin to understand how the shooting could have happened.
By itself, this scene has no special meaning. We, the audience, must be there to give it one. In this respect, Haneke - as he often does - commands the audience's involvement, but this time it could be he's not even aware of it. He surely wouldn't care; after all, it's no secret he hates authors who know it all.
nota bene: I just remembered there'd also been some other scenes with the player, describing his student life, but they're of no great importance
3 komentarji:
Pozdrav,
ko sem že skoraj obupal nad tvojo blogersko prisotnostjo, sem te po nekem srečnem naključju zopet odkril. Ko si še objavljal na siolu, si mi pustil enkrat komentar glede študija filozofije (agathon.blog.siol.net), tako da sem si te zapomnil. Zdaj bi pa potreboval tvojo pomoč. Namreč, naučil bi se rad tujega jezika, vendar brez asistence in z ubiranjem čisto poljubne poti. Kolikor pomnim, si bil sam zelo naklonjen takšnemu pristopu in si tudi razvil, zapisal nekaj možnih načinov - ki pa so mi v večini ušli iz glave. Razen gledanja filmov, seveda (mimogrede, glede na to, da vidim, da si filmofil: poznaš kakšnega dobrega nizozemskega režiserja, ki igralcem piše tekste v maternem jeziku?). Iz tega razloga bi mi naredil uslugo, če bi podal kak dober predlog, kako se lotiti tega projekta oziroma še enkrat pojasnil tvoj pristop k francoščini.
Sorry za offtopic, vendar nisem našel drugega kontakta. Lahko odgovoriš tudi na moj blog.
LP, Aljaž
Živjo,
za zdaj ti posredujem zapis o učenju tujega jezika. Jutri pa več o tem.
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Ta teden sem se le odločil obiskati lektorat portugalskega jezika1 - in sploh mi ni žal. Zakaj sem pričakoval razočaranje? Lani sem obiskoval nek drug lektorat in recimo samo, da mi poučevanje preko otročjih igric ni pogodu. Okej, to pa to pomeni ”Ime mi je x”, le zakaj iz te fraze uprizoriti petnajstminutno igranje vlog. Pri portugalščini lepo sledimo delovnem zvezku, no Dead Poets Society crap, thank you.
Pa so inštrukcije, tečaji in bivanje v tujini res potrebni, da osvojiš nek razširjen2 jezik? Sodeč po svojih izkušnjah se nagibam k odgovoru ne. Navsezadnje je slovitemu francoskemu pedagogu Jacototu3 uspelo svoje nizozemske učence naučiti funkcionalne francoščine le preko dvojezične izdaje Fénelonovega Telemaha. Ah ja - in Jacotot ni govoril nizozemsko! Učenci so vsako poved sprva prebrali v materinščini in jo potem primerjali z izvirnikom. To so ponavljali in ponavljali, dokler si niso zapomnili pomena francoskih besed in vsaj približno razumeli, zakaj zavzemajo določeno mesto v povedi. Nevedni učitelj jih je naučil, kako se učiti.
Stična točka navedene metode in mojega učenja francoščine je bilo vneto ponavljanje neznanega. Ko sem pričel s študijem francoščine, sem poznal zgolj par besed; profesorjem ne gre zameriti, če so zaradi tega dvigali obrvi in si mislili svoje. Za študij romanskega jezika je močno priporočeno srednješolsko predznanje, poleg tega se nisem niti zavedal, da bodo skoraj vsa predavanja v francoščini. Lahko si predstavljate mojo agonijo ob odkritju resnice med prvim predavanjem. Situacija ni bila rožnata, moj edina aduta pa sta bila trma in ljubezen do francoskih filmov. Izkazala sta se za zmagovito kombinacijo.
Po kakšnem ključu sem se učil? Preprosto, francoščino sem vrinil v svoj prosti čas, snovi iz predavanj pa sem se komaj pritaknil. Gledal sem le francoske filme s francoskimi podnapisi (TV 5), poslušal sem francosko glasbo in besedila primerjal z angleškimi prevodi tako dolgo, dokler nisem izluščil nekega smisla. Bral sem francoske stripe, si izpisoval nepoznane besede, jih prevedel in pred spanjem ponavljal. Vse to sem počel na čisto sproščen in nepiflarski način; nikoli si nisem zadal določenega števila besed, ki bi se ga moral naučiti vsak dan. Skušal sem delovati kot kak pravi Francoz, ki je iz neznanega razloga pozabil levji delež svojega znanja materinščine, zdaj pa zavoljo domačega okolja hitro spet pridobiva pozabljeno znanje. Iz nenehnega ponavljanja teh navad se je oblikoval nek življenski stil.
The Blue Pocket Book of French Verbs se imam zahvaliti, da sem opravil zloglasni glagol, najtežji predmet prvega letnika, zaradi katerega je obupalo mnogo že predhodno podkovanih študentov. Konjugacij se nisem učil na pamet, temveč sem knjigo samo listal; prebral sem naključno stran in se spet lotil nove. Po neštetih urah prelistavanja so mi vse te glagolske oblike naposled ostale v glavi, prebrani stripi in pogledani filmi pa so me podzavestno naučili, kdaj jih moram uporabiti. Moje slušno razumevanje je sicer napredovalo znatno počasneje, a k sreči mi je tudi lektorske vaje nekako uspelo opraviti.
Še danes mislim, da s samim piflanjem in vestnim obiskovanjem predavanj ne bi nikoli uzrl vrat drugega letnika. Sliši se strašno, but it had to be done - za eno leto sem postal Francoz. Bistvo te objave pa ni popis te metamorfoze, temveč moje prepričanje, da je vsakdo zmožen sam (ali s skromno asistenco) se naučiti tujega jezika, ki je dovolj velik, da brez težav omogoča konzumiranje filmov, knjig in stripov. Obstajajo pa manj učinkovite metode, ki človeku dajejo misliti, da je sam nesposoben.
Jacotot me je naučil, da je v meni razumevanje, le priklicati ga je treba. Le zakaj bi se po vsem povedanem še bal portugalščine?
preberite celoten blog, kar dober
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