Razzlewolf

"Final paper 502 exerpt" OR "Go, Go, Godard!"

***WARNING Bande à part spoilers!!***

Godard performs the actual duty of the narrator in Bande à part. While he is omniscient and unannounced by the diegetic world, he is also able to participate in the formal aspects of the film, which announces the work as a fiction. This places him at a unique position both inside and outside the film’s diegetic world. For the duration of the film, Godard oscillates between the two positions, effectively empowering both himself as a young auteur and his characters as complex Parisian youths.

Godard announces that, “My story begins here,” well after two of the main characters have spoken and establishing shots of Paris are shown. In this way he creates his own timeline that is separate from the film, leaving us with the implication that the characters have existed in some form before his introduction.

He reinforces this by later adding that for latecomers to the story, which is the entire audience at this early point in the film, he has a few choice words. Godard then proceeds to list a few of the variables that constitute the plan of the main characters, Arthur and Franz, to rob the wealthy benefactor of Odile, who they met in an English language class. Godard leaves it up to the viewer to combine the words with the conversation the would-be robbers have had up to this point. He is willing to sacrifice legibility in order to direct the viewer to more actively participate in understanding the narrative. Godard’s power as a narrator comes from his ability to force this participation from the viewer.

Perhaps the most famous scene in Bande à part, the Madison dance sequence, best illustrates Godard’s empowerment of the French youth and of himself. The scene follows two other events of note, in which Godard makes his presence felt as a director of the movie—when the characters decide to observe a moment of silence, the movie’s soundtrack cuts off completely, engulfing the viewer in a total silence which permeates beyond what the characters would experience diegetically. The subjective realism of the awkwardness that can accompany a prolonged silence is felt by the viewer.

Eventually, Franz cannot take the silence and leaves early to put a record on, leaving Odile to question why Arthur keeps him around. Arthur responds that, “It’s like in the movies. He’d make a good shield.” This is one of several self reflexive comments that the characters make, comparing their own lives to film.

This initial intrusion into the aural space of the film sets him up for the famous Madison dance sequence. The sequence begins as the jukebox starts playing an original rock and roll track by Michel Delahaye. The trio begins to dance in sync for a few seconds.

While the trio is performing the same dance, each character has his or her own nuances and sometimes makes mistakes. These imperfections, which are laid bare by the fact that the entire scene takes place over one long take, provide a metaphor for New Wave cinema at large. It is a cinema that is willing to take chances and define itself in opposition to certain cinematic conventions with the simple goal of becoming more interesting. Perfection through visual symmetry is not a New Wave goal.

Suddenly, the music stops and we are left hearing the shuffles and stamps of the three characters as they dance in a film world where sound can be manipulated at the narrator’s will. It is here that the Godard gains another power, as the sound engineer, breaking the movie’s diegetic world by turning the music, which is initially presumed to be heard as a result of a jukebox, into a non-diegetic sound.

Godard first speaks as a director, breaking the silence and informing the viewer that “Now is the time for a digression.” However, he then reverts to a literary style and informs us of what each character is thinking.

From here he explains that Arthur is experiencing an intense simultaneity of thought as he is dancing, self-conscious of his dancing, and thinking about Odile romantically at the same time. He then moves on to explain that Odile is wondering if the Arthur and Franz notice her breasts moving under her sweater, letting the viewer know that she is interested in the representation of her own sexuality. Finally, the narrator expresses that Franz is pondering the very nature of reality.

The diegetic plausibility of each description is sharply contrasted with the transitional moments in which neither the music nor the narrator can be heard. Godard’s power as a director becomes most apparent at these times as the viewer is forced to watch the trio dance, in sync, to some unheard rhythm. The result is alien leaves the viewer aware of the artifice of film.

Without this voiceover narration, the viewer would see only a group of youths performing what would seem to be a repetitive and thoughtless task. Godard’s careful combination of the café, the popular music, and the dancing emphasizes that this moment and accompanying thoughts belong only to the French youth.

Arthur is gunned down by his uncle after he finds that a bulk of the heist money is hidden in a doghouse. Here we see that Arthur’s own death has become a reenactment of his own performed death from the beginning of the movie. Godard’s voiceover begins after Arthur returns fire, killing his uncle instantly, and begins to stagger from his wounds:

"Arthur’s dying thought was of Odile’s face. As a dark fog descended on him he saw that fabled bird of Indian legend, which is born without feet, and thus can never alight. It sleeps in the high winds, and is only visible when it dies. When its transparent wings, longer than an eagle’s, fold in, it fits in the palm of your hand."

The careful wording seems to imply that while Arthur consciously thought of Odile’s face as death was closing in, he also experienced a sublime moment beyond his own reservoir of knowledge. Thus, this moment is also occupied by Godard, who appears to be inserting the knowledge into Arthur’s consciousness at the same time it reaches the viewer. The juxtaposition of Arthur’s fading existence and that of the bird ties the two beings together.

By explaining that the bird “fits in the palm of your hand” Godard hands the dying bird, now imbued with Arthur’s own dying life over to the viewer. Thus, when the voiceover ends, both lives seem to evaporate with the narration.

The film ends with Godard stepping back into the role of a director for the closing voiceover:

"My story ends here, like in a pulp novel, at that superb moment when nothing weakens, nothing wears away, nothing wanes. An upcoming film will reveal, in CinemaScope and Technicolor, the tropical adventures of Odile and Franz."

While the first sentence appears to reflexively refer to pulp novels as his inspiration for the timing of the film’s ending as well as his genuine wish for the film’s impact, the second is a scathing commentary on the film industry.

The narrator simultaneously criticizes film sequels, color film, and widescreen aspect ratios with this trite interjection. This seems to sum up Godard’s own attitude towards profitability and technological changes as it takes place without any diegetic motivation. He announces this like an advertisement, against a backdrop of a spinning globe, which seems to parody the Universal Pictures and RKO Pictures production logos. By doing this, he further establishes his directorial prowess by telling the viewer exactly what types of film Bande à part was created in opposition to.

Gomu Gomu!!

I love Pirates. I blame One Piece.

Raising Tides, logo sketch

Want it to kind of look like a beer label when it's done. Waiting for the go ahead to continue.

Tiger Final, painted

Warscribe Redux Pages 1-6

A knot of desperation grew in Ian’s stomach as he ran through the boot sucking mud of the streets. He raced towards the building where a regiment of the army was recruiting locals. They had been in his village for the past few days, touting the opportunities and honor of service to any who would listen before they departed for elsewhere. It was their final day of stay in Ian’s village and he hoped that he would reach them in time. Not to sign up however, but to stop someone else from enlisting. He reached the front of their makeshift office, panting. Throwing the door open, he shouted, “Where is my son!?” Blank young faces, some of whom he recognized, turned towards him. They didn’t seem to know what to make of the gaunt-looking older man with thinning hair in the doorway. A perturbed looking and scruffy headed young man emerged from the back and walked up to Ian.

“What are you doing here father?” he muttered, trying to save face in front of his fellow recruits.

“I’m here to stop you from making a mistake,” Ian said. “What do you think you’re doing? Do you have any idea what you’ve done to your mother?”

“It’s what I want,” he explained. “There’s noting for me here, not any more.”

“Fool boy, you don’t know what you want.” Before their argument could get any more heated, a man in a blue uniform walked up to them with a glare in his eyes that could kill.

“Is something wrong here?” The officer asked. The fire in Ian’s blood cooled considerably as the officer directed his ire towards him like a weapon.

“No, sir.” Ian said, calming himself. “I was merely discussing my son’s… choices. My son, though I love him so, can be a fool at times.” At this, Ian’s son glared at his father but said nothing.

The officer sighed to himself. “Your son has chosen to enlist himself in the army.”

“Yes sir.”

“Do you not find honor in serving the empire?” The officer’s eyes narrowed just slightly. “You should be proud.”

“I know, sir. It is just—” Ian took pains to not look in the eyes of officer directly. Instead he turned towards his son. “I cannot bear to lose him. And I know he is making a mistake he will regret.” He mustered his courage and looked at the officer. “Please, take me in his place.”

“Father, no!”

The officer cut him off with a raised hand. “If what you ask were even possible, why would we do such a thing?”

“I—I don’t know. Please, my son is young. Let him serve the Empire in some other way.”

The officer ran a hand through his hair in frustration. “What is your occupation?” He seemed to at least be humoring Ian.

“I am a scribe, sir.”

At that the officer paused. He raised an eyebrow. “What’s that?”

“I track agreements between people. Debts, credit. I put them to paper for them to sign. Sometimes I am dictated letters to be sent to people.”

“I see.” He rubbed his chin in contemplation. “Interesting. Does your son here apprentice to you?”

“No sir, though I have tried. He’s decided to apprentice to a local blacksmith instead.”

The officer smirked and placed a hand on the shoulder of Ian’s son. “Perhaps you should listen to your father more.”

“Sir? What is the meaning of this?”

“I believe we may be able to find a use for you after all,” the officer said to Ian. “Young man, you may return home.”

“What?!” Ian’s son looked incredulous. Ian took his hand.

“May I have a moment with my son?” he asked the officer and received a nod in return.

“You have one minute, then we move out. It was lucky you arrived when you did,” the officer said with a chuckle.

Outside, the two stood in the cold. His son stared at him in disbelief, confused and angry. “Why are you doing this?”

Ian shook his head. “My son, I pray I haven’t made a mistake for the both of us. If time passes and your head clears and you still wish to enlist, then so be it.” He added, “But, I think I know you well enough by now.”

“You’re insane. How are you going to survive?”

Ian shrugged. “I have lived a good life.” He placed a hand on his son’s shoulder and squeezed. “Listen to me. There are other ways to serve the empire. Reconcile with Natalie. Or find someone else who will make you happy. Grow old together and have children.” Ian looked at the office door. “Take care of your mother and sister. Tell them I will return if I am able. Now go.” He pushed his son and said louder, “Go before they change their mind!” His son took a few steps back before turning and breaking into a run. Ian watched, his old life raced away with the footsteps of his son.

Ian, along with the rest of the recruits, set out soon after. They rode by wagon to where the rest of the army was camped in fields on the outskirts of a handful of villages including Ian’s. The other recruits with him cast sidewise glanced towards Ian but said nothing. He spent most of the trip looking down at his hands, creased and worn from age, but soft. After spending most of his life holding quill and paper he wondered if he could even hold a sword without bruising them. The sun set before they reached camp, but its many torches and campfires lit it and the surrounding fields up. By the light, Ian could see that the camp was a large collection of tents, some of which were massive, at least equal in size to the buildings from his village. Their wagon came to a stop at the front of the camp dropping them off with recruits from other villages who had arrived before them. Left to themselves, the recruits stood in a disorganized clumps talking to each other. Ian counted about two dozen or so young men and him, the geezer amongst them.

“Fall in!” A powerful voice came at them. Each of them, even Ian, quickly gathered shoulder to shoulder and stood as rigid as they could manage. A tall, older man with closely shaved gray hair in a well worn uniform walked out of the camp to greet the recruits. Ian reckoned him to be around his age, but obviously more hardened. “I am Commander Petrov,” he began. “Welcome to the glory of the Alban Empire. Here, you will learn to fight and kill to protect your homeland. There is no greater honor than the one you are about to embark on. The life you once knew is over. I suggest to all of you right now to put whatever warmth and softness is in you into a safe, dark place in your soul. They will not serve you in the times ahead.” He swept out his hand and gestured into the camp. “Now, come and join your brothers and sisters!”

The young recruits cheered and rushed into camp. Ian followed them, walking with a less enthused pace. He glanced at Commander Petrov, only to see the commander’s eyes locked on him. Ian quickly looked away, but felt the commander’s gaze burning into the back of his neck. Once inside, Ian was issued a uniform, blue long-sleeved buttoned shirts and pants. The recruits were then led to the mess area, a series of large open tents, where food was served. They were arranged in such a way to encircle a courtyard area with tables and benches. Ian was given a tin tray with a hard biscuit, a scoop of mash with gravy, and a mug of beer. The mess area filled up with recruits chattering and joking to each other excitedly. Each told taller tales than the last, boasting of the feats they’d surely accomplish in battle. Ian sat by himself, away from his fellow recruits. The biscuit was about as he expected and reminded him of biting into a chunk of wood. The mash was slightly better and he spent most of his meal soaking his biscuit in it to soften it.

Afterwards, they were sent to their barracks, a long hall-like tent filled with cots. Recruits filed in, eagerly claiming territory for themselves. Ian picked out a cot at the head of the barracks, took the boots off from his aching feet, and pulled the covers up over himself. The others were still wound up with excitement and took some time to settle down. As the night wore on, more and more of them crawled into bed and the barracks fell into enough of a silence that allowed Ian to begin to drift to sleep. He thought of his family. The brown curls of his daughter, the freckles on his wife’s face, and his son’s impetuous smile. A muffled noise came from the back of the tent, catching Ian’s attention. He focused in on it and realized what it was. One of the recruits had begun quietly sobbing.

Rahaha!

Hands!

Maids...

Undead Warrior?

Didn't do much this week, so here is some random stuff.

Now go listen to this song!