سوءظن نمونه خوبي است از دام‌هاي گسترده ملودرام در فيلم‌هاي هيچكاك كه بايد مراقب باشيم در آن گرفتار نشويم. معمولاً درك كامل اين دسته از فيلم‌هاي هيچ در تماشاي اول دشوار است، اما به هرحال رسيدن به ارزش‌هاي سوءظن - بي‌معنايي مطلق زندگي زناشويي و وحشت‌هاي آن از ديد يك زن - دير يا زود براي هر تماشاگر مشتاق و پيگيري رخ خواهد داد.
Yesterday, Jonathan Rosenbaum, frustrated from immature and even idiotic reaction to Godard’s new film, Film Socialisme, wrote in his site:
“Most striking for me in the current fracas has been the exhuming of an offensive statement Godard made to the American press 40 years ago, expressing his hope that the three astronauts on Apollo 13 would die in outer space — a statement now used simply as a way of dismissing anything Godard might possibly do or say today. Having just recently seen Film Socialisme myself, without any subtitles and with only fitful comprehension of the dialogue, I was impressed not only by the film’s singularly fresh, daring, and often beautiful employments of sound and image, but also by its tenderness towards virtually all the contemporary characters and figures in the film (including the many animals) —a virtue I don’t find in the least bit present in For Ever Mozart. I guess it’s also worth noting that Film Socialisme tries to say something about the contemporary world, Europe in particular, an impertinence that isn’t shared by such harmless, good-natured fare as Inglourious Basterds. But none of the film’s tenderness towards its own characters can be said to be extended towards the preferences, habits, expectations, or overall well-being of the mainstream reviewers at Cannes — which I suppose makes everyone else potential members of a coterie of insiders.”
I remember in another occasion, a documentary about Slavoj Žižek, I saw a picture of comrade Stalin hanging on the wall of Zizek home’s entrance hall, “to insult visitors”. Though I don’t trust his exhibitionist philosophy, but I trust him, when later he tells to the interviewer that he has written more than anybody else about the horrors of Stalinism for humanity and democracy, and by hanging this picture, he’s just addressing something “reversely”. I don’t know the context of Godard’s unacceptable and foolish comment, but I’m sure all those critics who are using this against Godard are not aware of it, too. Let’s not forget the heritage – and sometime the courage – of this reverse statements in history of French culture and just remember the other outrageous statements which were expressed, only to provoke the listeners about the catastrophic consequences of giving up to the dominant ideology and media. When Louis Aragon, another French intellectual, expressed his hatred for French army, on the verge of a war, and said “I throw up on you, from head to the feet,” (needless to say, it caused a riot at the time) from his own view, he was addressing the disastrous situation with a surrealist attitude which is not very pleasant for those who have used to lies and sweet talk.
I’m not defending Godard, but I try to not forget his cultural background and what he has done for us with one of the most comprehensive body of works in 20th century. Unfortunately, in his reckless statement he has wished the death of astronauts, but in reality, and in his works, he has saved thousands.
Segments from a Cahiers du cinéma interview with Fritz Lang in 1959. Interviewers are Jacques Rivette and Jean Domarchi.
Do you prefer your American films or the German films?
That's very difficult. It isn't a question for me of an excuse. I don't know what I should say. It isn't for me to say, you know. One believes that the film one is making will naturally be the best. We are simply men, not gods. Even if you don't believe it will be less important, even the mise-en-scene, than this or that earlier film, you still try to make your best work.
Of course. Also, within the different periods, German or American, are there certain films to which you feel more attached?
Yes, naturally. Listen. When I make blockbusters, I am interested in people's emotions, in the audience's reactions. That's what happened in Germany with M. In an adventure film or a crime film like Dr. Mabuse or Spione, there is only pure sensation; the development of character doesn't exist. But, in M I began something quite new for me, something that I followed in Fury. M and Fury are, I believe, the films I prefer. There are others as well, which I made in America, Scarlet Street, The Woman in the Window, While the City Sleeps. These are all films based on a social critique. Naturally I prefer that, because I believe that critique is something fundamental for a director.
What exactly do you mean by social critique, that of the system or that of civilization?
One can't really differentiate. It is the critique of our "environment," of our laws or our conventions. I will admit to a project. I must make a film where I put all my heart. It is a film which shows modern man as he is: he has forgotten the true meaning of life, he works only for things, for money, not to enrich his soul, but to gain material advantages. And because he has forgotten the meaning of life, he is already dead. He is afraid of love, he simply wants to go to bed, make love, but he doesn't want any responsibilities. He only wants to satisfy his desire. I think it is important to make this film now. While the City Sleeps shows the hard competition of four men inside a newspaper office at the beginning. My personality refuses the personal satisfaction of being a man. Because each of us, these days, is looking for position, power, money, but never anything inside. You see, it is very difficult to say, “I like this or that.” When one begins a film, maybe one doesn't even know exactly what one is doing. There are always people to explain what I want to do, and I say to them, “You know more than I.” When I undertake a work, I try to translate emotion.
In fact, is what you are critiquing in your films a sort of alienation in the German sense of the word “Entfremdung” (Estrangement)?
No, it is the fight of the individual against circumstances, the eternal problem of the ancient Greeks, the fight against the gods, the fight of Prometheus. It's the same today, we fight against laws, we fight against imperatives which don't seem just or good for our times. Perhaps it won't be necessary thirty or fifty years from now, but it is now. We are always fighting.
Is that the case for all your films, for Rancho Notorious, for While the City Sleeps?
Yes, for all my films.
Even for Die Nibelungen?
Exactly, but I think that film has become too big to go into its minutiae.
All the same, in Metropolis, that subject is already very clearly indicated.
I am very severe about my work. One cannot say now that the heart is the mediator between the hand and the brain, because it is a question of economics. That's why I don't like Metropolis. It's false, the conclusion is false, I don't accept that I made that film.
As for the end of Fury, you don't reject it?
No the end of Fury is an individual ending, not a general conclusion. One cannot give recipes for living. It is impossible.
Finally, the lesson of your films will be that each man must find his own solution.
I think so. Man can revolt against things that are bad, that are false. One must revolt when one is "trapped" by circumstances, by conventions. But I don't believe murder is a solution. Crimes of passion do not solve anything. I love a woman, she betrays me, I kill her. What is left? I lost her love and she is dead. If I kill her lover, she will hate me and I will still lose her love. Killing is never a solution.
What then for you is a solution? For example, for the heroes in While the City Sleeps, what is the solution for them, because the conclusion of the film appears to be very pessimistic, even full of bitterness.
I don't believe life is very easy. But my conclusion isn't pessimistic. We see the fight between four men over social position, one for money, another for power, the third, I don't remember, the last because he liked to do that. But the man who wins against the others is the one with an ideal. Which means that, if you always do what you must do without detesting it, if you never need to spit in the mirror in the morning, you get what you want. Where is the pessimism in that?
We have the impression that the sympathetic hero is not as sympathetic as that.
That's something else, that's something else.
No, we would like to say that the tone of the film. . .
The tone of this film is perhaps a glimpse of a film that I want to undertake now, a critique of our contemporary life, where no one lives one's personal life. We are always under work-related obligations that are very important. After all, money is important. Often critics ask me why I made such and such a film. The truth is that I need money. Somerset Maugham wrote that even artists have the right to make a living.
In the meantime, are there films which you made for money and in which you had no interest?
No, of course. I have never made a film solely for money, never. But certain films, I admit, I would have preferred to make something else. When I conceive of a film, I am interested in it, but certain adventure films interest me less than M or Fury or The Woman in the Window, the films that critique society.
What brought you to make a Western like Rancho Notorious?
First, I wanted to show that there could be a woman who could lead a gang, and a man who could be a celebrated hold-up man, but because he is too old, and because he doesn't draw his gun as quickly, he was no longer a hero. Along comes a young man who shoots more quickly than the older man. The eternal story. Then there was an interesting technical element: to introduce a song as a dramatic element. With six or eight lines of the song, I arrived more quickly at the conclusion, and I avoided showing certain things which would be more boring for audiences, and which weren't very important for the film.
At that time, did you see, and do you now watch many Westerns?
Yes. I like Westerns. They have an ethic that is very simple and very necessary. It is an ethic which one doesn't see now because critics are too sophisticated. They want to ignore that it is necessary to really love a woman and to fight for her. When I was making Der Tiger von Eschnapur, I argued with my screenwriter because I wanted the Maharaja to say, “If you give me your word of honor, I will let you free in my palace,” and the screenwriter answered, “Listen, everyone will laugh. What is a word of honor worth today?” Admit that that is very sad. There are today no contracts which I cannot break or which my partner cannot break. What is one hundred pages worth? If he refuses to give me the money, I am obliged to go to court and spend five years. Same for me. If I refuse to honor my contract, no one can force me to. That's idiotic. Whereas, if I give my word of honor, that binds me more. These are fundamental ideas that should be repeated to young people because each year there is a new generation. In Berlin, I saw a German anti-war film. The reviews were terrible, under the pretext that the film did nothing original, that it brought out old themes. But what new things can we say against war? The important thing is that one repeats these things again and again and again.
Do you consider cinema a medium of persuasion and education?
For me, cinema is a vice. I love it infinitely. I've often written that it is the art form of our century. And it should be critical.
What circumstances led you to make Human Desire, and for what reasons did you change the ending and what led up to it?
Renoir's film is better. First, I had a contract. If I had refused, they would have said, “Perfect, but if we have another film for you, because you've made money on this one, you won't make any more.” That could last one or two years. So I am inclined. Then the producer says to me, “That's understood, we like the Renoir film very much, but we can't make 'perverse sex.' We need a young, clean-cut American.” In fact, he was right because censorship would be opposed to someone like Jean Gabin. You couldn't imagine the difficulties that we had in finding a rail line that would authorize takes under the pretext that we would show a murder. They said to me, “On our line, a murder, but that's impossible.” And they were right, absolutely right. Could you believe that the authorities for the Santa Fe Railroad would be very happy to see a film with a murder on one of their trains? Who could make a film on the human beast if he doesn't follow the book? My film isn't La Bete Humaine. It was called, in English, Human Desire. It was inspired by a book, a film. I wonder why you gave it a good review in your Cahiers du Cinema.
Formally, your film is very good.
Thanks very much, you are very kind, but it wasn't La Bete Humaine.
To return to your ideas on the Western, you have frequently addressed an objection from numerous critics, one that we don't share, that reproaches you for your taste for melodrama. Do you not like this so-called melodrama, as much in your Westerns as in your Policiers, as in your films with romantic triangles, in the measure that they permit stronger situations, where people, men, are more revealed?
I don't care that it's a melodrama, I don't know. The truth is what I often see in my observations about murderers, I am frequently in places where a crime has been committed. I don't think that what I've seen is melodrama. As well, it's not up to me to critique critics. I make a film, it's a child which I put out to the world. Everyone has the right to critique it. That's all. Permit me the only vanity that makes me happy: public approbation. I don't work for the critics but for audiences whom I hope are young. I don't work for people of my age because they should already be dead, me too. I don't want to come to Paris. This cocktail, these few words in front of the public at the Cinematheque, I told Lotte Eisner, this reminds me of a monument for an unhappy man who isn't yet dead. She is right. A young public has really responded. I was very moved, very moved, because that proved that I hadn't worked for nothing.
You told us earlier that the director's goal was to critique. Couldn't that be the definition of mise-en-scene?
All art, I believe, should critique something. It isn't enough to say it's good, it's enticing, it's marvelous. In any case, what can one say of a woman who is good? She's a good mother, a good wife. But what can one recount about a bad woman? One can speak for hours about her, she is interesting [Laughs]. Yes or no? You say about one that she is good, but the other. ... The question is, “Why is she bad?”, “Is she really bad?”, “What right has she?”, “What were the circumstances?”, “Weren't men responsible?” One could talk all night. And we could talk all night with her. [Laughs] I saw, here in Paris, an English film called Room at the Top. There were two women, one very frank, the other very bad. Simone Signoret was the most interesting, not because she was the better actress, but because her sentiments were the more passionate.
In what way were you influenced by or have you worked against the Expressionist current?
I was very influenced by it. One cannot live through a period without taking some of it in.
Die Nibelungen seems expressionist in the best sense of the term, whereas Caligari seems expressionist in the very worst sense.
You are wrong. Because Caligari is an interesting attempt, it was the first attempt. When Wiene tried again with Genuine, that didn't work. The cinema is a living art. It is necessary to take all that is new, not without examination, but all that is good for you, all that enriches you.
What seems to you to be good in the Expressionist movement, what did you use in your films?
That is difficult to tell you; that which I take is my emotion. I try to create something. In this type of interview, one asks me to explain what I would like to have done. One day, in America, some admirers showed me what I thought when I made M. I said to them, “That's very interesting, but that's the first time I realized it.” I can't really answer you, these are emotions. When young directors come to ask me, “Could you give us rules for directing,” I tell them “There are no rules.” Today I see that something is good, I should go in that direction, tomorrow I say it isn't right, I should take a different direction. I used the train and now I use a plane, but it is impossible to pretend that the train is bad. I can't say what I found in Expressionism. I used it, I tried to absorb it.
Certain of your colleagues like to develop theories of art, in particular Eisenstein, who wrote a number of theoretical articles. Aren't you also tempted to develop theoretical considerations about your work in the same sense as Eisenstein about his own work, and then generalize those theories to all cinema?
I believe that when one has a theory about something, one is already dead. I don't have time to think about theories. One should create emotions, not create under rules. To work with rules is to work with one's experience, is to fall into routine. I know a man named Mr. Kracauer who wrote a book called From Caligari to Hitler. His theory is absolutely false. He used all his arguments to prove a false theory. I therefore feel forced to dissuade today's youth from believing in a book that is full of idiocies. I told him. He was very angry. [Laughs] You know I have a language, I simply use it and I can prove anything. But it isn't necessary for my truth. A theory is nothing for an artist, it serves only for people who are already dead.
Did you know Murnau in Germany?
Yes, but not very well. He left very early for America, and was already dead when I arrived there. He had made his excellent works. He was a very interesting personality. He made Nosferatu, very, very good. Tabu, and even a Faust where we find very, very passionate things.
What do you think of Nicholas Ray?
I've seen two or three of Ray's films that I like very much. Rebel Without a Cause is a very good film.
His first film, They Live by Night, was inspired by your films.
I accept that. Listen, I've stolen things from other directors, and I am very content and very proud if someone steals something from me. What does that mean, steal? One takes an idea that one admires and one tries to make it one’s own.
نقشه سرقت جواهرات موزه كشيده شده. آدم‌هاي حرفه‌اي يك‌بار ديگر كنارهم جمع شده‌اند. بازنشسته‌ها دل به دريا زده و به گروه پيوسته‌اند. تازه از زندان آزادشده‌ها به دنبال آخرين "كار بزرگ" خود و بازنشستگي پس از آنند. جوان عصبي و بلند پرواز، متخصص گاوصندوق و قفل و ديناميت. همه چيز براي لذتي كه با همين نظم و ترتيب در صدها فيلم تكرار شده مهياست. نقشه سرقت به ظرافت يك والسو در سكوتي آييني اجرا مي‌شود. يك بازسازي مو به موي ديگر از جنگل آسفالت، با اشاره به داستان دبليو آر بارنت در تيتراژش.
اما چه مي‌گوييد اگر در آستانه اجراي نقشه سرقت، در غروبي كه نفس‌ها در سينه حبس شده صداي اذان به گوشتان برسد؟ اين مسأله به‌هيچ‌وجه عجيب نخواهد بود اگر به تماشاي قاهره (1963) نسخه مصري/انگليسي جنگل آسفالت نشسته باشيد كه يكي از دوست داشتني‌ترين بازسازي‌هاي فيلم كلاسيك هيوستن است. قاهره با فيلم‌برداري بي‌نظيرش در لوكيشن، از خانه‌هاي كاه‌گلي توسري‌خورده محلات فقير و پرجمعيت قاهره تا كافه‌ها و دود غليظ قليان نمونه‌اي عالي از تطبيق اِلِمان‌هاي بومي با فرم‌هاي روايي كلاسيك است. اين كه چگونه پروژه‌هاي سينمايي بين‌المللي – كه معمولاً ناموفق و بي‌مايه‌اند – مي‌توانند رنگ و بويي تازه به يك اثر قديمي بدهند. فيلم را وولف ريلا (2005-1920) آلماني‌تبار كارگرداني كرده كه او را با فيلم ترسناكِ كالتِ دهكده نفرين‌شدگان (1960) مي‌شناسيم. بازيگران انگليسي در كنار بازيگران مصري چنان راحت قرار گرفته‌اند كه مليت‌ها را فراموش مي‌كنيد. جورج ساندرز به جاي سام جافي جنگل آسفالت و ريچارد جانسون در نقش علي به جاي استرلينگ هايدن ظاهر شده كه بهترين بازي است كه از او ديده‌ام. اما عجيب‌ترين نقش متعلق به معادل شخصيت جين هگن است كه توسط فاتن حمامه، ستاره مشهور مصري، ملكه سينماي عرب و همسر عمر شريف در آن زمان، تصوير شده است. پدر كارگردان، والتر ريلا، نقش واسطه بدشانس و طمع‌كاري را بازي مي‌كند كه در نسخه اصلي به عهده بازيگر تيپ‌هاي اعياني فيلم‌هاي متروگلدوين ماير، لويي كل‌هِرن، بود. علي مي‌خواهد بعد از اين سرقت عمر به زمين‌هاي پدري‌اش بازگردد و آن‌ها را آباد كند. اگر جنگل آسفالت در چمنزار و كنار اسب‌ها به پايان مي‌رسد و استرلينگ هايدن را در چند قدمي آرزوي هميشگي‌اش با مرگ روبرو مي‌كند، در قاهره علي در كنار چاه آب و زير نخل‌ها تشنه از دنيا مي‌رود و هرگز زمين‌هاي آباد روياهايش را زنده نمي‌بيند. ريلا جزييات زيادي را وارد داستان كرده كه بعضي براي آن زمان كاملاً جسورانه محسوب مي‌شوند. مثلاً معادل شخصيت مريلين مونرو در اين فيلم دختركي بچه‌سال بيش‌تر نيست و يا اين‌كه دنياي ماليخوليايي قهرمان عاصي و بي‌تاب فيلم را حشيش كامل مي‌كند كه نام بردن از آن در فيلمي از 1963 بسيار عجيب به‌نظر مي‌رسد، اگرچه اين تمهيد خود استفاده‌‌اي منطقي از مشخصات جغرافيايي داستان است. درست همان‌طور كه هيچكاك در سوييس به شكلات و در هلند به آسياب بادي اشاره مي‌كند!
ريلا، علي را مانند قهرمانان كامو تصوير كرده، در حالي‌كه شخصيت سرگرد (ساندرز) با دنيايي از اخلاق و اصول خودساخته از دل آثار سارتر بيرون آمده است. اين روايت اگزيستانسياليستي كوچك كه با خورشيد سوزان قاهره و شب‌هاي دم كرده و انزجاز از زندگي تشديد شده، پاياني آشنا اما هم‌چنان تأثيرگذار دارد: جورج ساندرز شيفته رقص عربي است و در كافه روبروي بندر، جايي كه قرار است كشتي كوچكي او را به انگلستان فراري بدهد، به تماشاي آخرين رقص مي‌رود. وقتي راهنمايش با اضطراب به او مي‌گويد كه قايق منتظر است، ساندرز مي‌گويد «فقط يك دقيقه ديگر». كمي بعد و قبل از به پايان رسيدن رقص و اين "يك دقيقه"، پليس كافه را محاصره مي‌كند. اما اين آخرين يك دقيقه مهم زندگي ساندرز است، شايد تنها لحظه بزرگي در زندگي اوست كه بين تصميم شخصي و سرنوشتش پيوندي واقعي برقرار مي‌شود. ساندرز در تمام زندگي‌اش و در سرقت ماهرانه‌اي كه به بن‌بست مي‌خورد آن‌قدر بر سرنوشت خود تسلط ندارد كه در آن يك دقيقه واپسين. جايي كه تصميم مي‌گيرد بماند و رقص مرگ خود را با لذت تمام تماشا كند.
نسخه مصري/انگليسي جنگل آسفالت نشسته باشيد كه يكي از دوست داشتني‌ترين بازسازي‌هاي فيلم كلاسيك هيوستن است. قاهره با فيلم‌برداري بي‌نظيرش در لوكيشن، از خانه‌هاي كاه‌گلي توسري‌خورده محلات فقير و پرجمعيت قاهره تا كافه‌ها و دود غليظ قليان نمونه‌اي عالي از تطبيق اِلِمان‌هاي بومي با فرم‌هاي روايي كلاسيك است. اين كه چگونه پروژه‌هاي سينمايي بين‌المللي – كه معمولاً ناموفق و بي‌مايه‌اند – مي‌توانند رنگ و بويي تازه به يك اثر قديمي بدهند. فيلم را وولف ريلا (2005-1920) آلماني‌تبار كارگرداني كرده كه او را با فيلم ترسناكِ كالتِ دهكده نفرين‌شدگان (1960) مي‌شناسيم. بازيگران انگليسي در كنار بازيگران مصري چنان راحت قرار گرفته‌اند كه مليت‌ها را فراموش مي‌كنيد. جورج ساندرز به جاي سام جافي جنگل آسفالت و ريچارد جانسون در نقش علي به جاي استرلينگ هايدن ظاهر شده كه بهترين بازي است كه از او ديده‌ام. اما عجيب‌ترين نقش متعلق به معادل شخصيت جين هگن است كه توسط فاتن حمامه، ستاره مشهور مصري، ملكه سينماي عرب و همسر عمر شريف در آن زمان، تصوير شده است. پدر كارگردان، والتر ريلا، نقش واسطه بدشانس و طمع‌كاري را بازي مي‌كند كه در نسخه اصلي به عهده بازيگر تيپ‌هاي اعياني فيلم‌هاي متروگلدوين ماير، لويي كل‌هِرن، بود. علي مي‌خواهد بعد از اين سرقت عمر به زمين‌هاي پدري‌اش بازگردد و آن‌ها را آباد كند. اگر جنگل آسفالت در چمنزار و كنار اسب‌ها به پايان مي‌رسد و استرلينگ هايدن را در چند قدمي آرزوي هميشگي‌اش با مرگ روبرو مي‌كند، در قاهره علي در كنار چاه آب و زير نخل‌ها تشنه
از دنيا مي‌رود و هرگز زمين‌هاي آباد روياهايش را زنده نمي‌بيند. ريلا جزييات زيادي را وارد داستان كرده كه بعضي براي آن زمان كاملاً جسورانه محسوب مي‌شوند. مثلاً معادل شخصيت مريلين مونرو در اين فيلم دختركي بچه‌سال بيش‌تر نيست و يا اين‌كه دنياي ماليخوليايي قهرمان عاصي و بي‌تاب فيلم را حشيش كامل مي‌كند كه نام بردن از آن در فيلمي از 1963 بسيار عجيب به‌نظر مي‌رسد، اگرچه اين تمهيد خود استفاده‌‌اي منطقي از مشخصات جغرافيايي داستان است. درست همان‌طور كه هيچكاك در سوييس به شكلات و در هلند به آسياب بادي اشاره مي‌كند!
او را به انگلستان فراري بدهد، به تماشاي آخرين رقص مي‌رود. وقتي راهنمايش با اضطراب به او مي‌گويد كه قايق منتظر است، ساندرز مي‌گويد «فقط يك دقيقه ديگر». كمي بعد و قبل از به پايان رسيدن رقص و اين "يك دقيقه"، پليس كافه را محاصره مي‌كند. اما اين آخرين يك دقيقه مهم زندگي ساندرز است، شايد تنها لحظه بزرگي در زندگي اوست كه بين تصميم شخصي و سرنوشتش پيوندي واقعي برقرار مي‌شود. ساندرز در تمام زندگي‌اش و در سرقت ماهرانه‌اي كه به بن‌بست مي‌خورد آن‌قدر بر سرنوشت خود تسلط ندارد كه در آن يك دقيقه واپسين. جايي كه تصميم مي‌گيرد بماند و رقص مرگ خود را با لذت تمام تماشا كند. 
