DC's

The blog of author Dennis Cooper

Drunk

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Nick Alm Drinking Sisters (2014)
‘Nick Alm was born 1985 in Eksjö, Sweden. In 2007 he entered the Florence Academy of Art, where he also held a position as teaching assistant. After graduating in 2010, he received a scholarship to join The Hudson River Fellowship. The following year, he studied with the Norwegian painter Odd Nerdrum in Norway and in France before returning to Sweden. At present he has his studio in Stockholm.’

 

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William S. Burroughs Drunk Cop (1993)
‘felt pen and gun shots on paper’

 

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Cyprien Gaillard The Recovery of Discovery (2011)
‘Those are cases of beer in bottles. Considering Germany is the home of Oktoberfest, I am not surprised this passes for art. The artist is Cyprien Gaillard and his piece was meant to illustrate the point “Preserving a monument goes hand in hand with destroying it.” The most important bit for fans of the brewski may well be this; the pyramid was made from cases of Efes beer in bottles that was imported from Turkey. The boxes formed the steps of the pyramid and people at the museum were cut loose to climb the pyramid and open the boxes, then get hammered. From the after shots in the gallery, it looks like they did a very good job.’

 

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Luca Giovagnoli Drunk Woman (2019)
‘oil on canvas’

 

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Rare Conker’s Bad Fur Day (2001)
‘The morning after a night of binge drinking, Conker awakens to find himself in an unfamiliar land with a terrible hangover. Having no other choice, he begins a long journey with the goal of returning home to his girlfriend, Berri. While he is trying to get home, he also must avoid the minions of the evil Panther King, who wishes to use Conker as a side table leg; his right-hand man and the mad-scientist, Professor von Kriplespac, is tired of being bossed around by the Panther King and plots his vengeance. Along the way, Conker finds himself in a variety of situations, including having to recover a bee hive from Wayne and the Wankas, confronting an opera-singing pile of feces, being turned into a bat by a vampire, and even getting drafted into a war between the SHC and a Nazi-like race of teddy bears simply known as the Tediz.’

 

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Nicole Eisenman Drunk Girl (2019)
‘Paper pulp drawing’

 

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Banks Violette Not Yet Titled (broken beer bottle) (2005)
‘aluminum, wood, tinted epoxy, salt and polyurethane’

 

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Phil Penman Drunk in Midtown, New York (2018)
‘Silver Gelatin Print’

 

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Gilles Barbier The Drunkard’s Spiraling Thoughts (2012)
‘The metaphorical visual made of wax and mixed media displays a circus of objects ranging from dreamy stars and clouds to violent bombs and dynamite, not to mention the ominous crows and skulls.’

 

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Anastasia Klose The Re-Living Room (2012)
‘She is known for her lo-fi aesthetics with her use of iMovie editing software, generic fonts for text-based work and found objects such as cardboard or handwritten signage. The artist has also professed to drawing on the concepts of humiliation and embarrassment and has such her work has been likened to the antics of comedians such as Sacha Baron Cohen and the cast of Jackass. In 2005, Klose filmed a video of herself engaging in sexual intercourse with a fellow art student in a disabled toilet at the VCA entitled In the toilets with Ben, and later the same year filmed Mum and I watch in the toilets with Ben, where Klose and her mother viewed the former video together sitting on a couch.’

 

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James Hopkins Balanced Beer Table (2002)
‘Wood, lager and glass’

 

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David Claerbout KING (after Alfred Wertheimer’s 1956 portrait of a young man named Elvis Presley) (2015)
‘Silent, black and white projection, based on a photograph in a book that marks the transition from ordinary life to superstardom of Elvis Presley, then aged 21. That week in 1956, Wertheimer portrayed a young man who generously returns every shot the camera takes with an incredible calm, allowing the photographer to come very close and feel at ease with a ‘body’ that will soon transition from casual to monumental.’

 

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Tom Burr drunk emily (2014)
‘The title of the exhibition, “drunk emily”, is a direct reference to Emily Dickinson, a sublime poet and fetish character, who has become a mainstay for the artist. Now viewed as one of pop figures of American culture, Emily Dickinson spent most of her life in her room on the top floor of her father’s home, isolated from the society of which she was nevertheless an acute observer. For her, fantasy and imagination were the true means for acquiring an understanding of reality, and a way of conveying happiness.’

 

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Cosima Von Bonin Drunk Octopus Wants to Fight (2016)
‘B/W digital Photograph 16 1/2″ x 21 1/4″ edition of 70’

 

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Peter De Cupere DRUNKEN (2013)
‘In the performance ’Drunken’ one sees the artist as a loner sitting at a table. After drinking the red wine, he opens two drawers of the table. The latter are positioned opposite one another and as such create the shape of a ‘cross’ together with the table. By opening the drawers one sees that a part of the surface of the table also opens up and a space filled with red wine becomes visible. He fills his glass again from this sea of red wine, drinks and crawls into the table, laying himself down in the wine. Waiting on a state of complete drunkenness, not just orally, but physically sucking up the red alcohol into his body. Afterwards he crawls back out of the table and lets his behaviour and stature be determined by the influence of his being drunk. The artist finishes back at the table where he started.’

 

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Peter Paul Rubens Drunken Silenus (c1620)
‘Rubens had learned a lesson that Nietzsche was never quite able to get through his head. It doesn’t matter. It just doesn’t matter where you do it, where you live out your life. If the shit inside is solid then it will never matter. Alas, as we’ve already noted, the shit inside Nietzsche was anything but solid. It was runny.’

 

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Jen Schwarting Image Search (Drunk Girls) (2012)
‘I do choose photographs that appear to be one moment captured from a larger narrative. Something has clearly happened prior to the moment the picture was taken, and because most of the women are unconscious—but the photographer is necessarily present—there is something foreboding, like the potential for a dangerous aftermath. The thought or threat of rape, or some equally horrifying outcome, is apparent in some of the pictures. I like the word “still” because of its connection to narrative, and to Cindy Sherman, who is a big influence. I think a difference is that Sherman’s [Untitled] Film Stills and early centerfold images implied a constructed narrative, pointing to representations of women in film and advertising. I am going for something similar in terms of stereotypes, appropriation, and representation, but it is complicated by the fact that the photographs I’m using allegedly depict real girls, and further, that their images are being used without permission.’

 

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Maya Stovall Liquor Store Theatre (2017)
‘History reverberates in the present; the effects of white supremacy are felt by Black Americans each day with the immediacy of a neon sign glowing in a store window. Such windows are found at liquor stores across Detroit’s McDougall-Hunt neighborhood, where the artist lived and worked from 2012 and 2018. These liquor stores form the focus of Stovall’s “Liquor Store Theatre” project, a six year-long artistic and ethnographic study of McDougall-Hunt, which unfolds across a series of thirty videos, featured in the 2017 Whitney Biennial.

‘For each video, Stovall staged an unannounced, choreographed dance performance at the site of a local liquor store, and after dancing, interviewed members of her impromptu audience about their views on the neighborhood, their city, and its future. Scenes of these interviews and performances are cut together in the videos, the voices of Stovall and residents mingling with the dance’s ambient techno score, Detroit-style electronica. The interviews their reflect an intense awareness of Detroit’s binary representation in American media: either a dead metropolis, or a city on the comeback. In “Liquor Store Theatre,” Detroiters return the nation’s speculative gaze, contradicting assumptions and dispelling popular myths.’

Watch it here

 

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Kathy Acker Spread Wide (1982)
‘Raw materials from when Acker was writing Great Expectations and trying to leave America for London.’

 

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PIEK! Beer and Piss (2000)
‘A wall of 4 meter long, 2.75 meter high and 0.7 meter deep, was covered with blue tiles. On one of the long sides were hanging two urinals. On the other side, at ‘penis’ height, two beerhoses were mounted on the wall were you could pull yourself a ‘pislauw’ (the temperature of piss) glass of beer. By climbing the stairs it was possible to look in the installation. In the wall were 5 monitors and a beamer lying on the ground with the PIEK! and Niggendijkers in piss video-loops on them.’

 

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Tracey Emin Drunk to the Bottom of my Soul (2002)
‘appliqué blanket 76 3/8 x 63in.’

 

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‘At first glance, Alexandre Lavet’s “All the good times we spent together by” (2016) appears to be an empty beer can, drunk and discarded, slightly crushed. But closer inspection reveals that this wasn’t a regular beer can—and Lavet is no readymade artist. Instead, he meticulously hand painted the can, creating a perfect replica of a can of Jupiler beer. Lavet intended the piece as a tribute to memories of good times spent with friends.

‘The elevator technician worker responsible for throwing out the art was filling in for the museum’s regular technician. Certainly, if the artwork had been garbage, the technician would have been doing everyone a service by tossing it. Unfortunately, he instead was throwing out the work of the French artist.’

 

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Gilbert & George Drinking Pieces & Video Sculpture (1972-73)
‘Not as stridently provocative as their later, more celebrated works (or silly, depending on your point of view), G&G’s portrait (or “drinking sculpture”, as they call it) shows “the evening before the morning after”. Consisting of 114 photographs, deliberately amateurish, it represents an evening drinking at the Balls Brothers bar in London’s East End. The artists, hitherto teetotal or nearly so, took up drinking for the sake of their art, or as a project within it, so they could understand, from an artistic point of view, the sensation of drunkenness.’

 

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William Hogarth A Midnight Modern Conversation (c. 1732)
‘William ‘Hogarth’s A Midnight Modern Conversation is perhaps the most misunderstood of the artist’s works. It rapidly became a preferred image for reproduction on punchbowls and tankards produced in England and Holland, as well as in Meissen for the Saxon court, all of which contributed to the idea that Hogarth was celebrating drunkenness and its effects. The print was also taken to mean that Hogarth was himself a hearty drinker who relished drunken companionship and promoted it in his art. This went along with the idea, developed in the late 18th century by his biographers, that he was a true man of the people who despised his social superiors, whose pretentious behavior was the main subject of his satirical art.

‘But a closer look tells a more complex story. While some of the participants seem to be having a good time, some are definitely not. The “politician” on the far right carelessly sets his sleeve on fire as he lights his pipe—with potentially horrific consequences. In the foreground, a wigless man has fallen off his chair and is spread-eagled on the ground, having smashed a bottle as he went, while an unsteady and unseeing drunk empties a bottle of wine on his head. A clergyman absorbed in his tobacco is toasted by another drunk who puts his own wig on the clergyman’s head. A man to the clergyman’s left is clearly ill and probably about to vomit, and the floor is littered with discarded food and broken pipes. The whole scene is a picture of disorder and of the consequences of excessive consumption of both alcohol and tobacco.’

 

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Walt Disney Studios How to be a Detective (1952)
‘Goofy is hired to solve a mystery of a missing “Al.” He searches the city for clues, but constantly runs into a city sheriff (who is portrayed by Pete) who tells him to let the police handle it. A car chase occurs and the drivers ram into a haystack. It turns out that Al is actually the city sheriff who is supposed to get married to the woman who hires Goofy to find him.’

 

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Tom Otterness Drunk Sphere (2017)
Stainless steel

 

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Gillian Wearing Drunk (1997–99)
‘Wearing’s plan—to cultivate a bunch of skid-row types over a period of years, give them the run of her studio, and film the proceedings—sounds like a recipe for disaster, not only for practical and aesthetic reasons but on ethical grounds as well. Yet the artist’s formal rigor makes the work a minimalist masterpiece: at once somnolent and keyed up, like its subjects—a cross between Andy Warhol and Samuel Beckett, if such a hybrid were possible.’

 

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Pablo Picasso Glass of Absinthe (1914)
Painted bronze with absinthe spoon

 

 

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p.s. Hey. ** Carsten, Yep, upbeat at last. There are a fair amount of people still experimenting in film a la that, but the work’s just hard to know about and find. Re: the films. not a complete overhaul, but the scripts got focused and narrowed along the way often. Seems pretty normal. I’m used to that with my novels. I find the rethinking and revising very exciting, yeah. Frustration can be a muse assistant too, but sometimes you don’t realise that until later. ** Steve Erickson, Indeed. On both fronts. Female visual artists are starting to get their just rewards, and maybe in film it’s budding at least. Curious about that Adverts tour doc. Huh. ** _Black_Acrylic, Happy you liked it. Yeah, beautiful, right? Get the Printshop off their lazy asses. Somehow. Maybe today? ** worm, Hi, worm! Very cool to meet you. Oh, gosh, no need to be nervous with me. I’m easy. (1) I’ll send you my email address at the email address you used to register here, if that works. Warning: I can be very slow with email. (2) I’d love to get to Australia. I was there once, and liked it a lot, but, yeah, it’s an expensive long trip. But I’ll try to find a reason. Zac’s and my film was shown there recently, but we couldn’t afford to go along. Favorite albums of the year … uh, off the top of my head, My New Band Believe, Nirosta Steel, The Mandy, Indiana album, … I’m blanking. But those to start. What are yours? Thanks for the kind, awesome words. What do you do, or what do you like to do, or that sort of thing? Please hang out if you feel like it. ** Dominik, Hi!!! The little sculpture, ooh, eyes peeled. Thank you! Obviously love deserves a month off. Is there a way? Love Zooming with his film producer today and hoping for good news, G. ** kitchencountertop, Hi! Nice, that film program. I’m going to look into the Geneva trip. Maybe you’re right, although it seems like it’d be pricier, I don’t know why. Thanks. What else’s going on with you? ** Adem Berbic, Feel much, much, much better, pal. I’m trying to imagine how my week could be Beckettian and positively so … I’ll figure it out. ** laura w., Low budget rules. Zac and I wouldn’t know what to do with a big budget. I guess pay and feed everybody better. Current Robert Smith is one scary looking dude. I’m trying to get into Xmas mood to make the transition. It’s kind of working. I love ‘Ocarina’, so I say totally go for it. I know it’s a controversial one amongst the Zelda set because there’s so much horse riding and nothing happening, but I kind of liked that. ‘Your Blues’, yay. ‘Actor’ is one of favorite songs in or outside the album. Yes! ** HaRpEr //, She’s really special. And, yes, ‘Ballet Mecanique’, for sure. In the art world in the last few years, the female visual artists have been kicking the dudes’ asses in terms of visibility and respect, and that’s been way heartening and the truth. You should visit the gallery. Cornelia’s great, one of my favorite people. ** Thom, I’m really glad you like the Blecher book. It’s extraordinary. Bewilders me that it’s so under-celebrated, but as is so often the case. Dude, The Notebook trilogy is one of the great literary works of the 20th century IMO, so you better like it! Haha. All’s good here. Saw Nirosta Steel last night, amazing, and just got back from coffeeing with him. He’s an old, long lost but no longer lost friend. And, yes, so cool about Bradford re-emerging! ** Nicholas., Gotcha. Totally get it. I don’t know … the future is untethered or can be. And it never disappoints unless you stop waiting for it? Maybe? ** voskat, Hi, there! Oh, gosh, Laura is due for such a huge break and breakthrough. Give her my whatever she needs. It would take me years to 600+ pages, and I still couldn’t do it. I thought ‘Longlegs’ was so overrated, I didn’t get whatever it’s supposed to positively have in store. I’m going to watch ‘Godzilla Minus Zero’. That’s the only thing that calls to me cinematically right now. Love to you both! ** Right. Drunks, nothing more need be said? See you tomorrow.

Germaine Dulac’s Day

 

‘Germaine Dulac paints an impressive picture. Suited up in black, her short bobbed hair combed smooth in a side parting, a bow tie snugly encircles her neck. A flower is clipped to her breast, one hand languishing in a cloth trouser pocket, the other propped against a table as she gazes defiantly out of the frame. Dulac was one of the first feminist film directors, a theorist, journalist, editor and photographer whose innovative techniques and sharp ideas established her as a crucial figure of the Avant Garde cinema of the 1920s. Dulac knew her worth. As a queer woman she was instrumental in putting queer bodies centre-stage on screen, and emboldening discussion of gender roles through her frequent interrogation of gender expectations in film.

‘Brought up in Paris by her grandmother, Dulac bought a camera when she was just ten years old. “I spent my time photographing everything I saw,” she would write later, reflecting: “I thought I possessed all the happiness in the world, in carrying over my heart a little black box, which I knew could capture the mystery of light, the blaze of the sun, the shadows and the gestures.” Dulac grew up in Belle Époque Paris, and her creative references were avant-garde dancers like Loe Fuller and Isadora Duncan. It was a time of innovation and fearlessness: Picasso painted only in blue; electric light ensured days didn’t have to end; carriages became horseless; airplanes zoomed across the sky; and most importantly, pictures began to move. Dulac’s initial love of the camera soon bound itself to ambition when, at 12, she saw the first public film projection in Le Grand Café Capucines. The encounter “left its mark”, and she soon set her mind on creating what she called “the integral film… a visual symphony made of rhythmic images”. She went on to found her own production company and direct over 30 films, documentaries and newsreels, working with everyone from Pathé to Ciné-Studios.

‘Dulac’s La Coquille et le Clergyman (The Seashell and the Clergyman) is now heralded as the first Surrealist film. At its first screening in 1928 its impact was so great that a riot broke out at the acclaimed Studio des Ursulines, although it is debated whether it was over Dulac’s presence as a female director, or the controversial subject matter (which explores the erotic fantasies of a priest) that sparked it.

‘Although it’s unclear how many saw the film that night, the clipped montages of rippling water, glass breaking, breasts heaving, and the shocking subject matter provided a visual feast that evidently inspired Luis Buñuel and Salvador Dalí, who would go to release their famed Un Chien Andalou the following year. Dulac’s woman has her shirt ripped open, but her breasts are rapidly shrouded by superimposed shells. For Dalí and Buñuel the body of the assaulted woman remains bare for all to see, her breasts transformed to buttocks: there’s nowhere to hide. Dulac’s woman, however, becomes a mythical Daphne, protected by her transformations. Skilful direction ensures her neck, when grabbed, becomes a house, her face a glass bottle that breaks. In spit of the best efforts of her attacker, she remains untouched.

‘ Dulac has, until recently, often been written out of film history. With only selected films available to the public, it wasn’t until 1966 that her extensive archives were finally opened to the public and the extent of her influence realised. Dulac proclaimed that cinema was “an art that makes reality”, and she seized this potential to create the realities she wished to see in the world. She wanted her films to be born from “a shock of sensibility”, and the titles on display this summer provide ample evidence of this mission statement. A loose adaptation of Pierre Benoît’s novel L’Oublié [Forgetfulness] (1922) is directed with a final sapphic twist in her Princesse Mandane (1928). La Belle Dame sans merci (1921) depicts the dual voices of wife and mistress wronged by an affair; The Smiling Madame Beudet (1922) reveals a woman who feels trapped within marriage. Her women frequently, like Dulac herself, wear trousers; they’re flâneurs, unafraid to wander Parisian streets, smoking cigarettes, drinking alone, kissing who they want, questioning everything, and confronting rather than obeying men. Through her work, Dulac made women visible in a new way on screen. She showed female characters who subverted expectations – not playing by the rules, but directing their own story.’ — Thea Hawlin

 

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Stills






















































 

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Further

Germaine Dulac @ Lightcone
Germaine Dulac @ IMDb
Cinéma, architecture, graphismes : retour sur Germaine Dulac
Book: Germaine Dulac: A Cinema of Sensations
GERMAINE DULAC par Prosper Hillairet
Germaine Dulac at Lincoln Center
Audio: on Germaine Dulac by Mathieu Serruys
LADIES OF THE LAKE
THE “PURE CINEMA” OF GERMAINE DULAC
Another Look at Germaine Dulac’s The Seashell and the Clergyman
The “Dangerous” Germaine Dulac – pioneer of surrealist films
Germaine Dulac @ letterboxd
Germaine Dulac: Writings On Cinema (1919-1937)
Germaine Dulac à l’avant-garde, du muet au parlant
Évocations de la danse dans les théories de Germaine Dulac
A Surrealist Filmmaker’s Legacy of Feminism and Cinematic Innovation
THE DIVIDED ARTIST: GERMAINE DULAC
La souriante Madame Beudet, Germaine Dulac
Germaine Dulac, André Bazin and La Souriante Madame Beudet

 

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Extras


Germaine Dulac Video Essay


Les Malheurs de Germaine Dulac (2019) de Gérard Courant


Cinéma retrouvé : Germaine Dulac

 

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The Importance of Being a Film Author: Germaine Dulac and Female Authorship
by Rosanna Maule

 

In November of 1927, Germaine Dulac wrote a letter to the editor of La Nouvelle Revue Française, to lament that, in publishing the scenario of La coquille et le clergyman—the film she had recently directed from a script by Antonin Artaud—the journal had omitted to mention her as the “author”. In her missive, Dulac stressed that she did not mean to attack the journal nor Artaud, who had on other occasions voiced his dissatisfaction with her adaptation and in this issue prefaced his script with an article that clarified his position in relation to the film. Her elegantly phrased complaint ended with a reminder about a conversation that she had had with the editor, in which both had hoped that “les intellectuels et le cinéastes se rapproches, or, ce sont des nuances de mots qui les séparent irrémédiablement” (the intellectuals and the filmmakers should develop a closer kinship to one another, for it is only nuances between words that irremediably keep them apart).

This letter addresses a concept—authorship—that was not prominent in French film discourse at the time. As such, Dulac’s objection to the journal’s omission of her authorial status points to a more general issue at the centre of her—and of other avant-garde filmmakers of the time—approach to cinema: how to translate subjective expression and account for an artist’s creative input in a collective and mechanical art form such as cinema. This question—which ultimately stands at the origin of Dulac’s disagreement with Artaud—is at the heart of auteur-oriented approaches to cinema and reveals the difficult articulation of authorship in film discourse. Indeed, Dulac’s film theory and practice arguably anticipate some of the positions that some 1950s French critics developed: the auteur as a source of cinematic expression and a reference point for their aesthetic appreciation of films. Like these critics, Dulac conceived cinema as a cultural activity placed at the intersection of artistic and industrial interests, as well as different—although interconnected—film modes and movements. Moreover, like many auteur-informed filmmakers—the critics at the Cahiers du Cinéma who went on to become film directors, including Claude Chabrol, Jean-Luc Godard, Jacques Rivette, Eric Rohmer, and François Truffaut—Dulac was also a film critic and theorist, a cine-club patron, and a promoter of film events. In drawing this comparison, my purpose is less to suggest Dulac as an auteur-modelled theorist and filmmaker, than to place her within a long-standing tradition in French cinema, a continuity that Alan Williams and Susan Hayward, among others, have underscored.

Dulac’s preoccupation with defining the filmmaker as an auteur coincides with her effort to characterize cinema as the medium that allows a full expression of human emotions and experiences, as well as a direct rendition of reality. This view of the auteur also enables Dulac to disentangle the figure of the filmmaker-author from a system of representation and signification that identifies the auteur as an enunciative mark of subjective positions, a view that has, as Judith Mayne has remarked, distinctly patriarchal connotations. Dulac never proposed a feminist-oriented or a gender-specific model of the film auteur. However, her films and her writings propose a tactic of disengagement from the premises of the 1920s film and art contexts and offer a viable alternative to the patriarchal affiliation of auteurism with male-informed artistic practices and cultural contexts. My examination of Dulac from an authorial perspective is based on the analysis of some of her writings, which I would argue constitute a valuable complement to the scholarly discussion of Dulac as an important auteur of the French avant-garde.

Sandy Flitterman-Lewis has noted that Germaine Dulac’s production, although characterized by its diversity in categories and genres, “is rooted in the profound unity of her theoretical conceptualizations about the cinema”. That Dulac participated in different film modes is also a result of her association with the French avant-garde, particularly the Impressionist Movement, and its participation in various film modes and circles. This multiple involvement in artistic and commercial film practices was also due to the situation of the French film industry at the time. Since the end of World War I, French cinema was hindered by an economic and institutional crisis, struggling to counteract Hollywood’s emergence onto the international film scene. The fragmentation of France’s film industry into various film companies, many of them small and independent, and the crisis of the national system of film distribution and exhibition coincided with the expansion of alternative circuits of film production and distribution by avant-garde filmmakers.

As Paolo Bertetto notes, Dulac’s participation in the French avant-garde remains both external and internal. According to Bertetto, Dulac’s conceptions and personal experimentations of “pure cinema” and “integral cinegraphy,” indicative of her rigorous commitment to the definition of a new film aesthetic and language, allowed her to play a part in different avant-garde projects and movements, without being exclusively associated with any of them. I argue that this internal/external role also identifies gender-specific possibilities of self-orientation within the cultural and professional environment of 1920s French cinema.

The milieu of avant-garde film practices has proven favourable for the acknowledgement of female authorship in the cinema. Yet, the subordination of gender concerns to aesthetic imperatives within this context of film practices has raised some questions among feminist scholars. This situation reflects a more general quandary in feminist discourse: how to account for female subjectivity in social and cultural contexts where women have no position or voice and femininity is inflected by the concept of “otherness.” Feminist film theorists and filmmakers have come to terms with this epistemological deadlock in various ways. The first wave of feminist approaches and practices concentrated on the notion of “alterity” to explore oppositional models of aesthetic agency and forms of expression, situated in critical and subversive markers of enunciation or in feminine types of écriture. The spectre of essentialism has haunted and eventually prevailed over these inquiries, which implicitly validate the recognition of a dominant context or counterpart. In The Woman at the Keyhole Mayne notes that

[w]hile virtually all feminist critics would agree that the works of Germaine Dulac, Maya Deren, and Dorothy Arzner (to name the most frequently invoked “historical figures”) are important, there has been considerable reluctance to use any of them as privileged examples to theorize female authorship in the cinema, unless, that is, such theorizing affirms the difficulty of women’s relationship to the cinematic apparatus. This reluctance reflects the current association of “theory” with “antiessentialism.”.

The patriarchal premises of auteurism and the peculiar development in which the concept of the auteur has been theorised in film studies have restrained many feminist film critics from discussing women in relation to auteurism. According to Mayne, “whether authorship constitutes a patriarchal and/or phallocentric notion in its own right raises the specter of the ‘Franco-American dis-connection’”. Within this framework of discussion, American theorists consider authorship a form of feminist appropriation of cinematic culture, while French/Anglo theorists “would find ‘authorship’ and ‘appropriation’ equally complicitous in their mimicry of patriarchal self, expression, and representation”. From this perspective, auteurism has mostly encouraged symptomatic approaches to the female auteur, like, for instance, that of Claire Johnston to Dorothy Arzner.

In proposing Dulac as a prototypic auteur critic and filmmaker, I do not intend to suggest that she offers an oppositional or feminine version of auteurism, aligned with a female cultural tradition or a feminine sensibility (an argument which would implicitly place me in essentialist territory). My view of Dulac’s position as an auteur within the cultural and professional environment of 1920s French cinema involves a notion of female agency in terms of dialectical relations with different types of film modes and systems, set at the intersection of personal expression and professional orientation. For, as Flitterman-Lewis stresses:

…[I]t is never a question of films having been made by individual men or women or of a specific content speaking to the needs of a particular sex. Rather, as Stephen Heath maintains, “What one has is always a structure of representation in and from the terms of which position enunciations can be engaged, specified as ‘masculine,’ ‘feminine,’ with the possibility of reappropriating the latter as a site of resistance to the domination, the definitions, the assignments of the former.”

(continued)

 

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10 of Germaine Dulac’s 31 films

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w/ Jean Brérault, François Mauch Le Retour à la vie (1936)
‘Distributed as part of a larger series of social issue films and ‘social newsreels’ by the Cinema Section of the Federation of the Seine.’


the entirety

 

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Étude cinégraphique sur une arabesque (1929)
‘When making a film, the story is usually put in the foreground while the image stays in the background, that is, theater is preferred over cinema. When the relationship will be inversed, cinema will begin to live according to its proper meaning. The struggle of an image held captive in the deepest sense to its orchestration, against the literary, dramatic error. The whole problem of cinema is contained in the word “visualization”. The future belongs to the film that cannot be told. The Seventh Art, the one of the screen, is depth made sensitive and visual, which extends beyond story, analogous to the indescribable of music. Such a conception necessarily leads to a revision of cinegraphic themes.’ — Germaine Dulac


the entirety

 

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Thèmes et Variations (1929)
‘I evoke a dancing woman. A woman? No. A bouncing line with harmonious rhythm. I evoke a luminous projection on veils ! Precise matter! No. Fluid rhythms. Why should one disregard, on screen, the pleasure that movement brings us in the theatre? Harmony of lines. Harmony of light. Lines, surfaces, volumes evolving directly, without the artifice of evocation, in the logic of its forms, dispossessed of any overly human sense, allowing an elevation towards the abstract, thus giving more space to sensations and to dreams : integral cinema.’ — Germaine Dulac


the entirety

 

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Disque 957 (1929)
‘Dulac’s three 1929 “abstract” films, Disque 957, Αrabesques, and Themes and Variations, were the results of a long period of reflection by the filmmaker, who sought to create a “pure” or “integral” cinema that would capture the essence of the new medium and owe nothing to the other arts. Each of these three studies was designed to be played silent. The first one, Disque 957, is conceived of as a “visual impression […] in listening to Frédéric Chopin’s Preludes n. 5 and 6”. Its title and its opening shot of lightplay on a spinning record not only announce the film’s dominant cyclical motif, but also evoke one of the filmmaker’s major sources of inspiration in Loie Fuller’s serpentine dances.’ — Avant-Garde Film Festival


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Celles qui s’en font (1928)
‘In this film, the title translated as ‘Those Who Make Themselves,’ we follow a destitute drunk woman who appears to yearn for the life of a prostitute or to engage in some sort of tryst. It is also possible that she is simply despondent over rejection by a lover. She appears to fail at everything she tries and eventually walks down a staircase into the Seine river. It’s a very simple film that manages to convey a deep sense of loneliness.’ — nazimova


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Danses espagnoles (1928)
‘One of several short music films that Germaine Dulac made in 1928/29. This one presents Carmencita García, described in the film’s intro and IMDb profile as having been a famous dancer, though I can find no other evidence of her existence on the internet. She is good in any case, and does several Spanish dances. This is an exercise in splitting a dance apart via cinematic means while still keeping (and even enhancing) its rhythm and excitement. An attempt is made to partially abstract the objects involved in this situation, to break everything apart into its constituent parts. We get eyes, hands, feet, all framed very deliberately. It creates a dynamic cubist portrait of dance. It’s successful, and a clear precursor to Maya Deren’s Ritual in Transfigured Time as well as likely an element in the DNA of future musical and even action film.’ — Nathan


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La Coquille et le Clergyman (1928)
‘The Seashell and the Clergyman is an experimental French film directed by Germaine Dulac, from an original scenario by Antonin Artaud. It premiered in Paris on 9 February 1928. The film follows the erotic hallucinations of a priest lusting after the wife of a general.’ — iconauta


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L’invitation au voyage (1927)
‘Silent film pioneer Germaine Dulac adapted her 1927 feature L’Invitation au voyage from the poem of the same title by late-19th century French belletrist Charles Baudelaire. The film represents an attempt by Dulac to create a work entirely liberated from cinematic narrative per se. It is a “visual symphony,” comprised of rhythmically intercut images that embody projections of the artist’s raw and direct feelings, unadulterated by the contrivances of story.’ — Nathan Southern


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La souriante madame Beudet (1923)
‘The Seashell and the Clergyman was the first surrealist film, directed by Germaine Dulac in 1928. Given Dulac’s gender, for those playing the cinema history home game, it also counts as the first surrealist film directed by a woman. That alone would make for a sufficiently pioneering achievement for any career in film, but Dulac had already accomplished another important act of cinematic trailblazing with La Souriante Madame Beudet (The Smiling Madame Beudet), a short silent that also happens to hold the title of the first feminist film. Where Dulac worked from a story by Antonin Artaud in the The Seashell and the Clergyman, she works here from a story originally by Guy de Maupassant, one revolving around a wife, the titular Madame Beudet, pushed to the brink by years of life with her boorish husband.’ — Open Culture


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La cigarette (1919)
‘Dulac’s earliest extant title, LA CIGARETTE concerns a liberated young woman and her older husband who believes she is having an affair–speaking to a real postwar crisis of masculinity in France. With its understated acting and location shooting, Dulac fuses realistic tendencies with impressionistic visual association, building tension between modernity/antiquity, life/death, and masculinity/femininity through cinematic-specific techniques, editing, and more.’ — letterboxd


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p.s. Hey. ** Dominik, Hi!!! Score and prescient thinking on the two o.o.p. books. Ah, and good old love snagged another total keeper. Love feeling very happy and hopefully for the USA this morning, G. ** _Black_Acrylic, Hi. The dated references only add to its charms. Limmy no relationship to Lemmy, I’m assuming? I’ll check it out. ** scunnard, Hey. Oh, haha, right, people other than D and I read our sign offs, duh. I got the email, and I’ll set to setting up the post pronto and will get back to you. Thanks a major ton, man. ** kitchencountertop, Hi! Oh, my eyes deceived me. Well, that’ll save me some train trip money at least. Or, oh, Geneva … maybe I can swing that. Hm. Thanks a lot. I hope all is great with you. Is it? ** Bill, Yes, HTML Giant was kind of a driving force for those writers. Now there’s Zona Motel, different but equally valuable. xTx published a novel this year under her real name, Tracy Lynne Oliver, called ‘Magician’, and it’s great. Uh, hm, no, the Q&As were perfectly lovely but without reportable incidents, I think? Today is one of those rare days when I wish I was Stateside to celebrate the good societal news. ** Adem Berbic, Hey, A. Welcome back to not here: not a bad even sort of vaguely Beckettian title for something. Thank you for the good ‘RT’ words. Means a lot coming from you. The clear-mindedness is worth the fighting and nit-picking. You’ll get there if you aren’t already, and then it gets easier in the second nature sense. ** Carsten, I could do hundreds of those sadly o.o.p book posts, obviously. I’ve never been to Ireland either. It’s becoming inexplicable. ‘Dawn of the Dead’ is my favorite of the …. trilogy, tetralogy, I forget. And ‘Chainsaw’ is a singular, how-did-that-happen little masterpiece, yeah. Where you are with your script, I totally get that, been there. It’s exciting, right? All that second sight and whittling and stuff. The US news is certainly as good as one could have hoped. The effect … we’ll see. ** laura w, Hey. I just saw your email, and I will open it post-p.s. when my coffee intake will be fully functioning. Thanks. There was charm to London’s little Halloween acknowledgment, but it was the tiniest drop in the bucket next to the US version. Better than France though. I don’t know how the rest of the EU plays it. Aged Goths are kind of scary so that could’ve been a good Halloween front. Ha, it’s possibly true that our video game walkthrough has some ‘Seventh Guest’ vibes but at a severely lower budget. It’s pretty cool though, if I don’t say so myself. ** Steve Erickson, The only good thing about being sick is experiencing the seemingly miraculous abilities of antibiotics. Interesting about the new serpentwithfeet. I’ve gotten a bit tired of him, and that refresh is good news. I suspect you woke up feeling much more relieved than you imagined, no? ** Dom Lyne, Hey, Dom. It was great to see you too even in that kind of glancing situation that screening/nerves creates. I’m really happy you liked the film, thank you. Your mom’s video is, yes, dramatic. It’d be a nice tidbit scene in a film, but I won’t steal it. Sorry for all of that. But I’m glad you’re okay with your dad. A haunted house novella and a choose your own adventure style book: those are pretty exciting sounding projects. Nice, man. And congrats on the poems going public, and on the teaching thing. That rings prettily. Time’s weird high speed while seeming to be barely moving while you’re experiencing it is definitely a mindfuck. Enjoy your November. Love and scrunches. ** HaRpEr //, Hi. You can actually find ‘hatefuck the reader’ online at least. Your two most desperate reprint wishes are right up at the top my of list too. It’s nonsensical that ‘Shy’ still hasn’t been republished. I really don’t get it. Someone told me Semiotext(e) might do it. I hope so. It’s Kevin’s masterpiece in my opinion. Therapy helped me a lot, but I was really ready for it at the time. It seems so dependent on finding a fully conducive other person, and what are the chances of that theoretically. As someone whose confidence and well being is dependent on how much and well I write, it’s great you’re in that place. Oh, Cornelia, the gallerist and host of the screenings said she thought you were really interesting and she really enjoyed talking with you. ** Okay. Today I propose that you spend your local time with the work of the great film pioneer Germaine Dulac, so maybe do that? See you tomorrow.

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