Post Script - Essays in Film and the Humanities Go to Journal Record
19:2 (Winter 1999-Spring 2000) Go to Journal Issue, p. 62-72
*Glen Norton*
*In 1991, Richard Linklater, Generation-X film-director
personified, offered his eponymous film to a generation of slackers;
since then there have been imitations and variations of the Gen-X genre
too numerous to list here. Typical slacker fare embraces a bunch of
bored twenty-somethings prone to random, cynical diatribes concerning
romantic love, hope for the future, and an irrational world left to them
by uncaring 'Boomers. Gen-X characters invariably have a penchant for
self-analysis, and are constantly searching for meaning in a world that
has outgrown it. What makes Linklater's films the epitome of the Gen-X
genre is their embodiment of this formula in the /text itself/, not just
by the characters within. The wandering, searching, seemingly random
aspect of his work mimics the Gen-X culture it wants to represent. It is
not enough to define Generation-X film simply through character and
plotline; a seductive slack, one which seduces the viewer as well as the
characters, delineates this genre. Seductive slack is not just an
attitude, nor is it simply part of a character's outlook. It delineates
an overall textual strategy.
Seductiveness between two people or between a text and a person is
similar: one seduces not through mastery and denotation, but weakness
and connotation, a notion commonly referred to now as ''slack.'' The
slacker seduces not so much by imparting ideas or values, but by
enigmatically casting them off. By the same token, it is not strong
signs that seduce but the slackness of weak, tentative and sometimes
even non-sensical discourse. What is seductive is that which we cannot
hold: the disappearing flash of a pure and shared meaning between two
people; the faint and tenuous grasp of meaning we think we share with a
text. Thus it is the play in-between subject and object, the infinite
connotations of meaning between two entities, that seduces.
There are few films seductive enough to engender real emotion; what is
deemed ''emotional'' by the current pack of media critics-slash-pundits
seems contrived, resigned, and without risk. Not so Richard Linklater's
/Before Sunrise/ (1995). It produces an array of responses within the
immediacy of its viewing, without resorting to the resolute clichés of
less seductive work. The task of this essay is to try to understand
these powerful, illusive, and contradictory responses, not simply delve
into and illustrate some ''inherent'' meaning. To dissect it, tease out
latent ''purpose'' and ''theme,'' and then derive some Generation-X
template from this, would do a tragic disservice to the film. An
analysis that works chronologically through the film, however,
highlighting moments of major importance, and mimicking as closely as
possible an immediate viewing (without, of course, ever being able to
return to its innocence) will hopefully prove fruitful in gaining an
understanding
p.62
------------------------------------------------------------------------
*richard linklater directing* */before sunrise:/* *''the wandering,
searching, seemingly random aspect of his work mimics the gen-x culture
it wants to represent.'' photo by gabriela brandenstein. © 1995 castle
rock entertainment.* of the film's particular ebb and flow of
expression, its currents of connotation, and its seductive slack. This
seductive slack works on at least two levels: the play of discourse
between the two main characters and the play between text and viewer,
the latter facilitated through the triad of actor / character / author.
The Initial Encounter
It is within the first meeting between the couple that we can map out a
seductive schemata. The action is played out in a deceptively simple
shot / reverse shot pattern: Céline moves back toward Jesse, turns her
back to him and stores her bag above her seat. Jesse ''checks her
out''--his eyes flash from her upper torso to her lower torso in a long
lingering look. As she sits down, Céline gives him a glance, then
another. Jesse glances again; Céline gives no response. Jesse wipes his
brow, sighs, and continues to read. This pattern of glances, set in the
context of ill communication (i.e., the continuous sound of the
quarrelling German couple--sound not intended to be understood on a
denotative level by either Céline, Jesse, or the viewer), begins the
couple's seductive play. It is interesting to note that Linklater
inserts a shot of Céline ''to be looked at,'' one in which she does not
return Jesse's stare. Rather than reducing this shot to Laura Mulvey's
notion of the ''male gaze,'' this insert must instead be understood as
the catalyst for seduction: it is not Céline's ''to-be-looked-at''-ness
that is seductive, it is her /lack of a returned gaze/. Seduction is the
power of weak signs over strong. Here Linklater gives the seductive
power to Céline, one that Jesse can not help but reciprocate. Thus he is
the first to break the silence between them, asking if she has any idea
of what the German couple are fighting about, adding the corollary, ''Do
you speak English?'' in response to her puzzled look. Here the confusion
over language is doubled: different languages, different modes of
discourse. It is within this confusion that the couple actually meet.
Seduction here comes full circle: after Céline replies ''My German is
not very good,'' Jesse turns away from her gaze, a seductive gesture
Céline cannot help but reciprocate, asking, ''Have you ever heard as
couples get older they lose their ability to hear each other?'' Here is
the beginning of a pattern that will play itself out through the rest of
the film.
The Lounge Car
Language problems persist: Jesse describes the trouble he has conversing
in French, and, indeed, Céline must correct his pronunciation. Jesse
again takes the lead after an awkward pause (''Um, so where are you
headed?''), and bypasses disclosure of personal aspects of his life (his
''friend'' in Madrid). The seduction here is subtle. There is not yet
open and honest discourse (if
p.63
------------------------------------------------------------------------
there can ever be such a thing) between the two: he rambles on about a
dream of a twenty-four hour cable access show, and at the end asks:
''What do you think?'' The important thing to note during this
conversation is that Jesse takes up most of it, offering his opinions on
the world for Céline's approval. He is working toward linear
communication with her; she, it seems, has either not wished to enter
into his denotative discourse (she disapproves of his idea), or is
seductively remaining on the edge of power, refusing to match his
persuasive discourse. Here one is tempted to essentialize the characters
along gender lines: Jesse as productive male, ''producing'' denotative
meaning to impress and conquer Céline; Céline as seductive female,
staying mysterious, not revealing too much of her past, her thoughts,
her emotions. Yet this reverses itself in the very next sequence: it is
now Jesse who talks of ambiguity (the ambiguity of everything, even
death) while Céline becomes the pragmatic realist, afraid of death
twenty-four hours a day. The poles are starting to reverse themselves:
the two are coming closer to the ''attempt'' of true communication.
Jesse's attempt to get Céline to ''check out the town'' with him reverts
back to direct denotation, complete with annoying (or cute, depending
how you look at it) gestures with his thumbs. This allows him to efface
his real feelings, turning a sincere, heart-felt act into a comical
gesture.
The Bridge
Here it is not so much the discussion of the ''cow play'' that captures
one's attention, but its reflection produced by /temps mort/ concluding
the scene, a device linked to the /nouveau roman/ movement in its
modernist use of ''microrealism.'' /Temps mort/, in its definitive
cinematic use by Michelangelo Antonioni, allows the camera to linger
upon a scene after the ''main'' action has finished or moved on--thus
/temps mort/ defines a scene retroactively. In Antonioni's films, /temps
mort/ heightens the oppressive nature of the landscape, giving it a life
all its own, one that threatens to overpower the inconsequential humans
previously inhabiting its space. What had previously been ''setting''
for the characters suddenly becomes the protagonist itself.
It is hard to give a precise definition of the feeling evoked by the
/temps mort/ after this bridge scene; it comes the couple's first real
discourse with other people, and a humorous one at that. It is not so
much an oppressive landscape that is signified here--there is more of a
pictorial aspect at work. The camera lingers upon a river, cars driving
by majestic trees and buildings in the background, and a bridge railing
centred in the frame, roughly dividing it into two halves. One could say
much about this: the ''dualism'' of the characters, or the ying / yang,
life / death aspect at work throughout the film (not to mention
literalizing the meaning of ''dead time''). This, however,
*the power of the* */temps mort/* *lies precisely in our to define it;
within the immediacy of viewing, it is nothing more than a flash of
insight and emotion.*
p.64
------------------------------------------------------------------------
would be a disservice to the shot itself, sub-ordinating its ''meaning''
to the theme and structure of the film as a whole. One could also
pontificate on the ramifications of this shot's effect upon the viewer.
As a time of Brechtian /Verfremdungseffekt/, it ''makes one think.'' Yet
what do we achieve by this? Perhaps the power of the /temps mort/ lies
precisely in our inability to define it; within the immediacy of
viewing, it is nothing more than a flash of insight and emotion. One
might go so far as to call it a filmic equivalent of Roland Barthes'
notion of readerly /jouissance/: pure energy released through a violent
rupture of the text, resulting in a momentary loss of subjectivity. As
with Antonioni, this lingering shot embodies the purity of ambiguity,
and as such, cannot be defined by any language other than film itself.
The characters walk around, talk, reveal something of themselves, then
cover themselves once more. This mode of discourse certainly draws the
viewer into the world of the film and is necessary in defining its Gen-X
context of discursive gamesmanship, yet it is the /temps mort/,
occurring via various techniques throughout the film, which thoroughly
seduces the viewer by refusing to denote /anything/. It is the shot's
own weakness, its seductive slack, which makes it so powerful. This
moment, and others like it, are essentially indefinable. They are the
soul of the film, moments that build to a crescendo in the final
sequence. Q & A Time
The seductive game of give and take is now literalized, yet still not
equalised in terms of power. Here it is Jesse who initiates the game,
asks the first question, gives the least revealing answers (the one word
answer ''yes'' compared to Céline's complete answer), and chooses when
to end the game (''Let's get off this damn train''). Jesse's comment
that saying ''I love you'' is not always a beautiful thing will become
clearer in the context of subsequent scenes. Also here is the first
attempt of real physical contact: Jesse reaches out to sweep Céline's
hair, but the attempt is thwarted. Jesse also corrects Céline's grammar
(''media'' for ''medias''), mirroring her correction of him on the
train. Their relationship is beginning to balance.
The Listening Booth
Subtle communication without words is seductive in itself, so much so,
it seems, that Linklater has to efface what happens at the end of this
scene. All of Céline and Jesse's looks and smiles and withheld outbursts
seem to be enough for him. To conclude with the ending of the song (we
might imagine the needle of the record player endlessly playing the same
empty groove) would change the scene altogether. Instead, Linklater
suggests a link between the seductive silence between the couple in the
booth and the beauty of the city beyond. The song is continued in a
bridge from diegetic to non-diegetic sound as the couple wander around
looking at art, carefully composed for the viewer in static shots. Jesse
declares ''This is beautiful.'' It seems that there is beauty in the
world all around; love too might be beautiful, but, as Jesse points out
in the previous scene, it must be an unselfish, giving attempt.
The Cemetery
The rabbit suggests something upon first viewing: it is a reflexive sign
of the author, for such ''randomness'' is only captured on film by
careful planning. This will become more apparent during the pinball
scene. Along with the obvious continuation of the theme of death is
another /temps mort/ shot: as the two actors walk out of the frame, the
camera lingers on the trees in the background. Again, it is hard to
pinpoint emotional context here--one might literalize the theme as
''dead time,'' but again, the totality of these shots surface through
the inexpressible. They are the epitome of the art form; any attempt to
define them must resort to using images to describe images.
p.65
------------------------------------------------------------------------
The Ferris Wheel
For Jesse, the view is ''gorgeous;'' for Céline, ''beautiful.'' And like
the still images of statues that preceded the couple's visit to the
cemetery, the viewer is invited to look as well. Here the viewer is
completely woven into the narrative look. As the camera sweeps over the
view of the horizon, Céline comments upon it: ''That's the Danube over
there.'' We strain to see what she is pointing out to us. The couple is
drawn closer here, but still Jesse has trouble communicating: ''Are you
trying to say you want to kiss me?'' asks Céline, to which Jesse nods
like a little boy asked if he wants some candy. The two kiss, and there
seems to be real contact between them. This kiss reflects the whole
structure of the film: they come close, move away, hide and reveal
themselves in turn, are unsure then confident of themselves. It is when
Céline moves in for a second kiss, then turns away and instead turns it
into a powerful embrace that we see her at her most vulnerable, and thus
her most seductively powerful (at least for the viewer). It is Céline,
seemingly the stronger of the two, who gives herself over to weakness
first. We will not understand why, but of course this is what makes her
so seductive to us, and to Jesse as well.
The Amusement Park
Another couple walks by Céline and Jesse ''at random'' (portrayed in a
carefully staged match-on-action cut) causing Céline to say, ''Do you
know anyone who's in a happy relationship?'' It is this random confusion
of Generation-X which Linklater wants to portray, yet it is one which
must be controlled (as with the rabbit, above, and the pinball game,
below) if it is to work in the film. Linklater has not yet totally
captured the ''arbitrariness of life'' he wants to immerse the film in;
the viewer is still using linear thought, is still not totally seduced
by the charms of the film, is still noticing the ''strong'' discourse of
the director attempting to portray the slack, random, seductive moments
of life.
The Fortune Teller
The ''secret'' kiss--Jesse's power over Céline is a confident one now,
as he reverts back to an un-seductive, forceful discourse, ''tricking''
her to kiss him, something he could not even bring himself to /say/ in
the Ferris wheel. We are reminded by the fortune teller that a woman's
deep strength and creativity comes from ''resigning oneself to the
awkwardness of life,'' something Jesse does not seem to take seriously,
claiming how every ''random'' element of life seems to be planned (the
fortune teller's fortune a calculation, and, later, the poet's poem
already written).
Seurat
Jesse playfully kicks Céline for attention in another subtle reminder
how a strong, forceful discourse must subordinate itself to a weak,
seductive one (she reverts to French to call him ''ridiculous''). Trying
to get attention by forceful ''play'' only gets ignored.
''The environments are stronger than the people.'' This statement by
Céline seems an homage to Antonioni's use of /temps mort/, and indeed
the final shot of this scene is a variation of /temps mort/ which holds
on a Seurat painting connoting death. It is a variation because, apart
from the formal difference (it could be subordinated to a character's
point-of-view), the shot, like the landscape Céline describes from the
Ferris wheel, is a pictorial rendering of a character's discourse,
something commented upon and then presented to the viewer for closer
inspection, just as the statues were presented subsequent to the
listening booth scene.
''Transitory.'' Instead of being corrected, it is now Céline who asks to
be helped in her discourse--a sign of seductive confidence, one in which
she embraces her weak discourse rather than fear its weakness. The
closeness of the couple allows her to be weak; this is actually her
strength. We are not sure (see the ''secret'' kiss and the kicking game,
above) how Jesse fits into this
p.66
------------------------------------------------------------------------
pattern yet, or if he does at all. He may still be holding back, trying
to win through a powerful discourse rather than giving himself over to
Céline's now fully seductive discourse. The Church
Another ''random'' element, as a car almost runs them over in front of
the church--still, this seems too obvious. We are not yet seduced.
Life is all memories for her, a dress rehearsal for him. The Quaker
wedding reminds us of the listening booth scene in its reference to pure
communication without speech.
The Poet
In a preamble before they meet the poet, Céline declares her hatred of
powerful seduction, admitting how she plans her strategies of seduction
over the opposite sex. Once the poet is writing for them, Jesse declares
how he detests the competitiveness ingrained within us. Céline wonders
if this isn't the reason he asked her off the train, as if she were a
challenge to his manhood. They are testing the waters with this ''first
fight,'' both testing if the other's feelings are genuine, both not
wanting to return to the mind-games and pettiness of the past. As Céline
says, conflict is healthy sometimes, and so it is here. Both are
striving to connect on some level beyond a superficial one; this scene
relates the sincerity of this attempt.
This attempt, however, is contrasted by the romanticism of the poet. For
Jesse, he undercuts the attempt of true connection because, as he says,
the poem is not real--it is pre-planned. Yet Céline seems to accept the
poem's beauty. Just as they come close, the wedge of an un-seductive,
pre-planned poem is driven between them. What attracts them to each
other is also what keeps them from getting too close. Thus the poet
seems to symbolise something: as he reads the last line (''Don't you
know me by now?'') it is the way he stares, the way he stops reading and
speaks from his heart that seems symbolic, as if he represents fate. Do
we not know fate yet? Do we not know we are predestined, as Jesse says,
to have no new thoughts, no new passions? Can anyone really connect with
anyone? A Generation-X mantra, to be sure, one brought about by a
slacker's offering--a poet who seemingly does nothing but lounge by the
water and write for passers-by.
Pinball
This scene is the core of the film, where character and actor
seductively melt into one. The game of pinball represents many abstract
things--arbitrariness, randomness, fate--and memories of other films
surface here, especially Jean-Luc Godard's pinball sequences from films
such as /Vivre sa vie/ (1962), /Deux ou trois choses que je sais d'elle/
(1966) and /Ici et ailleurs/ (1974). Here the randomness that seems to
be the film's objective finally comes to fruition. Céline tells Jesse of
how her ''shrink'' told her to ''concentrate on bright colours.'' He
asks ''Well, did it work?'', and as Céline begins to reply she loses her
turn at the game, prompting what seems to be the improvisational,
''Didn't help your pinball any'' from Jesse/Ethan Hawke. The randomness
of the pinball game makes the actors react to the scene. Surely their
lines are scripted, and at least two takes were made (from different
angles), but, like the way the characters met, like the random things
that happen to them in the film, now they must deal with forces thrown
at them that are beyond the director's control. This tiny, seemingly
inconsequential bit of improvisation is the heart of seductiveness in
the film; it wins the viewer over by allowing the randomness of life to
spill over into the actual making of the film.
The Street/Birth Dance
Here the couple finally gets down to biological essentialism, with their
talk about the island of either one-hundred women and one man or
one-hundred men and one woman, as well as the protective vs. sensitive
man. Jesse gives a little speech about his
p.67
------------------------------------------------------------------------
*isn't all communication (especially seductive communication) an implied
game, a give and take, an attack and parry with dull sword, conversation
with weapon and sheild one in the same?* ex-girlfriend pissing off a
bunch of tough guys and how he would have to be the one to protect her.
They agree to disagree, for here the discourses will never meet, yet it
is the attempt which is the important thing, a notion Céline will bring
up later. The space in-between is the theme of the film--it is where
seduction exists, where two discourses must meet if they are to have any
chance of understanding each other.
The sequence ends with a variation of the /temps mort/, only now the
couple are included in the shot. It is a little easier to give meaning
to this shot, as it comes right after the couple's deepest conversation
about love, one that highlights the theme of the film. This is the
closest they will be, yet this static two-shot emphasises that this
still is not as close as they might like: she looks up at him, he turns
his head away. They reach out to each other, connect, then must separate
again, each to ponder the incongruities of life alone.
The Telephone Call
Different people, different discourses--they all, except for the
American couple, speak the same language, but the pace and banter of
their speech is different: some seem to argue with conviction (the five
young people), some use games to facilitate communication (the card
game), others argue with slow, subtle persuasion (the men with long
beards), some are alone with their thoughts (the woman by herself), and
some communicate through humour (the trio that concludes this short
montage). It seems Jesse and Céline, throughout the film, have
explicitly used games to facilitate their communication (i.e., the
question and answer period, the small arcade game which Jesse uses to
''impress'' Céline with his strength, the pinball game, and now the
telephone call). Yet isn't all communication (especially seductive
communication) an implied game, a give and take, an attack and parry
with dull sword, conversation with weapon and shield one in the same?
Here, by substituting a literal game for the implied game of
conversation, Jesse and Céline can let down inhibitions and try to get
closer, which is what conversation is all about.
The Ship
Linear, logical discourse tries to push its way through here, with the
couple's ''mature,'' ''rational'' decision to make this their one and
only night together. Of course, rational logic has nothing to do with
attraction, romanticism and seductive slack; therefore, this pact will
have to break down if there is to be any meaningful relationship between
the two. Even though they ''hate'' how people ''exchange phone numbers,
addresses, [then] end up writing once, calling each other once or
twice,'' it seems that is the only way people will get together. Each of
them, throughout the film, has given him or herself over to the
irrational, illogical discourse of romantic love. This
p.68
------------------------------------------------------------------------
scene now shows the pretence of their reversal toward logical, finite
love, and calls into question any notion that love's ''predetermined
life-span'' can be romantic. The couple say their good-byes beforehand,
as if to convince themselves that a rational, calculated, finite romance
can exist.
This decision to revert to rational, unseductive discourse is
highlighted with overtly symbolic musical accompaniment: Jesse says
''We'll just make tonight great,'' Céline responds ''OK, let's do
that,'' and Jesse confirms the pact with an ''OK'' of his own, pointing
out the source of the now-rising diegetic music, a meagre two-piece
ensemble. This authorial comment is another calculated attempt at
''randomness'' in the film, now manufactured with such a perfection of
timing that the viewer cannot help but sense the ironic nature of this
insert, treating it, and thus the couple's pact, with mistrust.
The Bar
This scene contrasts the previous scene's rational logic with the
romanticism of the ''one-night stand.'' Jesse tells the bartender that
this is his and Céline's ''only night together,'' and that if he gives
them a bottle of red wine, it will ''make their night complete.''
Handing the bottle to Jesse, the bartender comments: ''For the greatest
night of your life.'' The notion that, for all intents and purposes, a
one-night stand can be ''the greatest night of your life'' is highly
romantic, one that conflicts with the expanding intellectual
relationship the character's are actually experiencing. One begins to
wonder if this ''one night'' can fulfil the intellectual needs of a
romantic encounter such as this.
The Grass
Céline remarks: ''You couldn't possibly know why a night like this is so
important to my life right now, but it is.'' This line refers back to
the Ferris wheel scene, and how Céline, without clear reason or warning,
gives herself over so completely to Jesse's embrace. Thus it is this
secret element of her personality that keeps us from understanding every
facet of her character; it is this hidden side that makes her truly
seductive, both to Jesse and the viewer.
The couple's ''rational, adult decision'' is brought up again, yet
quickly dismissed; the characters, as close as they are, still hold back
the one thing that might truly bring them together: the abandonment of
rational logic and the confession that they want to try and stay together.
Céline brings up essentialism once again, claiming that not wanting to
sleep with Jesse is ''a female thing,'' and ''very stupid.'' Jesse, on
the other hand, lays claim to ''romantic bullshit'' (i.e.,
irrationality) as a perfectly good reason to sleep together (although he
puts it in much more ''respectable'' terms--he would marry her rather
than never see her again). Here Céline sums up this scene with her line:
''Actually, I think I had decided I wanted to sleep with you when we got
off the train, but now that we've talked so much, I don't know anymore.
Why do I make everything so complicated?'' It is this play between the
irrational and the rational, between romantic and intellectual love,
between seduction and production that encompasses the film. Linear
discourse (their ''talking so much'') is necessarily detrimental to
romantic love, for, as Jesse points out, if they were to be together all
the time, the ''secret'' aspect of their relationship would be lost--the
seductive side that makes two people enter the space ''in-between''
their individual hold on power would gradually slip away. The seductive
play of shared discourse would eventually turn into the linear,
rational, predetermined lifestyle of their parents. Céline would become
just as ''sick of'' Jesse as he is of himself; there would be nothing
left to discover--she would know every aspect of his personality
beforehand. Of course, she says exactly the opposite during the fountain
scene (below), yet this arbitrary, indefinite, vacillating character
trait is exactly what makes her so seductive.
p.69
------------------------------------------------------------------------
The Harpsichord
Whether the couple have sex or not is unclear; this in itself is
seductive to the viewer, who is left with the reasons, both pro and con,
still resonating in their minds. The answer to the question is more of a
reflection of the viewer than an inherent point of meaning within the
film. In fact, the film does not really ask one to decide; this does not
imply apathy, only submission to the seductive indeterminacy of the
film's narrative.
The inclusion of the harpsichord acts as a counter-balance to the
inclusion of the musical duo on the ship, yet with one significant
difference: here it is the couple who stumble upon the music, rather
than Linklater inserting music into the narrative at exactly the
appropriate time. The music here is heard throughout the scene;
certainly it is still a ''random'' encounter, but now the characters are
the random element, not the music.
The embrace here seems the same as the one in the Ferris wheel: her eyes
closed, his (for the most part) open. The dichotomy of emotion vs.
intellect (she closes her eyes to feel emotion; he opens his to ponder
the consequences of their action) could be implied, but it seems best
not to read too much into this. Eyes that are open or closed have as
much ambiguous emotional impact upon the viewer as anything else in the
film.
/Temps mort/ is back, again in an interesting variation on the theme.
This time one could apply Antonioni's definition to the shot; the
characters walk out of the bottom left-hand corner of the frame--small
beings in a large, empty world. This really is ''dead time''--no one
else seems to be around save the couple. Two more shots of ''cityscape''
are included here as a bridge to the next scene; these shots also imply
a calm, empty city, one which, for the moment, is Céline and Jesse's alone.
The Fountain
The low-angle that Jesse is shot with is incongruous with the rest of
the film's camera height. One must subordinate this choice of form to
narrative if one is to weave it into the film: Céline is looking up at
Jesse, so we get a low-angle, point-of-view shot of him. Yet it is not
quite a point-of-view shot: he looks down and to the left at her, and
the camera is to the right. Naturally, Céline is shot with a high-angle,
but the effect is not as dramatic because she is lying down; we see her
face essentially in a frontal view. If these are not meant to be
point-of-view shots, then what is the viewer to make of them? The shots
do denote a formal meaning that has become somewhat of a cliché;
certainly one could cite examples of this technique throughout cinematic
history, Orson Welles being the master. /Citizen Kane/ (1941), for
example, is filled with low angle shots of Kane, denoting power, and
high-angle shots of Susan Alexander, denoting weakness. One's initial
reaction to this scene, then, tends to fall back upon this notion of
''inherent'' meaning: Jesse is ''powerful,'' Céline is ''weak.'' Why,
after struggling so hard to bring these characters closer together, does
Linklater tear them apart with such graphic force? It is the most
out-of-place and jarring sequence in the film. One is reminded of the
cover of the video for the film, which places Ethan Hawke's head above
Julie Delpy's: is this the slick manipulation of marketers, or a direct
quotation from the film?
The Good-bye
Here we have the final reversal of their rational decision. The major
question of the film--whether or not they will meet again--is the
concern of this scene, yet it is undercut by the precise logic of the
decision. They decide to meet again, but when? Céline suggests they wait
five years, but this would be too much like a ''sociological
experiment.'' Céline then suggests one year; Jesse counter-offers six
months. ''It's gonna be freezing,'' claims Céline. These logical
objections by Céline might lead one to believe she will not be there to
meet Jesse in six months. On the other hand, Jesse is the one who,
ironically (since he is portrayed as
p.70
------------------------------------------------------------------------
the rational one throughout the film--this is not a qualitative
judgement, merely a speculative one), finally abandons his last hold on
rational thought. He is the one who brings up the fact he wants to see
her again; he is the one who initially rejects five years as too long;
he is the one who cuts Céline's suggestion of one year in half. Yet he
also is the one who tells her to say goodbye. The poles between rational
and irrational decision are collapsing; even after numerous viewings, it
remains hard to say with any authority who is being the more rational
here, or whether the reversal of their pact is a rational or irrational
decision. This does have impact upon the way the scene is perceived in
terms of romantic love; the less rational the decision, the more
romantic it might appear to be. The Final Temps Mort Sequence
Eleven separate shots, starting with the bridge and ending at the grass,
exemplify the power of /temps mort/. This succession of shots transforms
the film from Gen-X conversation piece into modernist art. Again, so
much could be said of these shots: one might take a dialectical approach
and compose a study of their over-all combined meaning; one could relate
each shot back to the appropriate scene in the film and tease out the
links of meaning; one could subordinate the meaning of these shots to
Linklater himself, as his final comment on the film, on filmmaking, or
as a certain homage to great filmmakers of the past (specifically
Antonioni). Immediacy, however, must place these shots beyond an
interpretative method, for, like the other /temps mort/ shots in the
film, they evoke pure emotion. In the early waking hours, the places the
couple have visited are now practically deserted, creating an almost
surreal sequence.
*in its endeavor to define the relationship between human interaction
and the environment in which it takes place,* */before sunrise/* *is
possibly the first modernist gen-x film. © 1995 castle rock
entertainment.* Certainly these shots give one time to reflect on the
film as a whole, and their composition specifically denotes the places
where Céline and Jesse's bond grew. What is left--the environment--is
still an intrinsic part of this bond. During the harpsichord scene,
Jesse tells Céline that ''I'm gonna take your picture, so I never forget
you.'' He then pauses, and, looking around at the cityscape, adds, ''or
all this.'' It is the space in-between ''you'' and ''all this'' that the
final sequence attempts to describe.
In its endeavor to define the relationship between human interaction and
the environment in which it takes place, /Before Sunrise/ is possibly
the first modernist Gen-X film. In literature, James Joyce and Virginia
Woolf try to link environment--colours, shapes, movements--to the
thought patterns of the characters who inhabit this environment. In
film, Godard describes the trouble he has deciding what to shoot in the
auto-garage scene from /Deux ou trois choses que je sais d'elle/. Which
provides a more accurate picture of people's thoughts and
emotions--shooting the people (their interactions) or their environment
(the trees; the leaves)? Antonioni, of course, is the master of this
internal/external dichotomy, revealing the relationship our environment has
p.71
------------------------------------------------------------------------
with our psyche. Think of the cold, oppressive and vacant buildings of
/L'avventura/ (1959); the polluted factory ''desert'' of /Il Deserto
Rosso/ (1964), with its dead colours and desolate decay; the commodified
city of /Zabriskie Point/ (1969), choked in its own urban clutter of
billboard signs and endless freeways. In /Before Sunrise/, it is the
now-empty spaces that embody the couple's attempt at an intellectual and
spiritual bond. These empty spaces reflect the impossibility of true
communication; Jesse and Céline came as close as two people possibly
could toward real lasting communication, but watching this final
sequence only heightens the reality of the situation, the reality that
two people, no matter how close, can never truly know each other, never
communicate their intrinsic ''truth'' (one might venture to say their
''soul'') to each other. The Final Two Shots
On the bus, Jesse looks behind him (an obvious symbolic reference to the
time that has passed) then seems to grimace, but after this, since his
face is mostly in shadow, it is difficult to determine if he is smiling
or crying. On the train, Céline stares pensively out the window, smiles,
then grows weary and closes her eyes as if to sleep. We are not certain
what each of them are feeling here--Jesse even less so than Céline, due
to the composition of shadow. These two shots add a final, crisp note to
the ambiguity of the film. This is the final seduction of the viewer,
who, struggling to come to terms with how she / he identifies with the
character's emotions, must also try to come to an understanding (an
understanding which is never much more than a ''gut feeling'') of what
these emotions are. The seductive secret in /Before Sunrise/, then (and
this is not a criticism, but the highest of compliments),
*the seductive secret in* /before sunrise/ *... is the hidden emotional
state of each character. © 1995 castle rock entertainment. photo by
gabriela brandenstein* is the hidden emotional state of each character,
rendered through stunning ambiguity in these final two shots.
/Before Sunrise/ is a film that affects one's consciousness, remaining
there long after the last images have faded from the screen. An attempt
at objective criticism would imply a denial of these feelings; instead,
this essay has focused upon the ambiguity within the immediacy of
viewing. Who has not felt like one of these characters at least once in
his or her lifetime? Confusion reigns; the irrationality and intensity
of emotion carry the characters through their seemingly random
encounter. Thus the form of the film tries to mirror this
''randomness''--sometimes with obvious technique bordering on pretension
(the rabbit), sometimes with subtle and seductive improvisation
(pinball). Randomness and connotation will always prevail over the
pretence of ''direct denotation''; it is the attempt of communication
that is important, both the film's attempt to communicate with us, and
Céline and Jesse's attempt to communicate with each other. Both
intertwine to create one of the most beautifully complicated and
seductive works in the short history, of films by, for, and about
Generation-X.
p.72
------------------------------------------------------------------------
END
Top of page <#start>
* Contact Us
* Privacy Policy
* Accessibility
* Site Map
* END SESSION
Copyright © 2008 ProQuest LLC. All Rights Reserved.
Access paid by The UCLA Library - this link will open in a new window
Printed from International Index to Performing Arts © 2008ProQuest LLC.
All Rights Reserved.
No comments:
Post a Comment