Jai J. Noire
jaijai@earthlink.net
In "Two or Three Things I Know About Her,"
filmmaker Jean-Luc Godard indicts capitalism as the reason for the de-evolution
of values and social expectations. Godard's protagonist is Juliette (Marina
Vlady), a married Parisian housewife and mother, who has turned to genteel
prostitution as a means to maintain her family's middle class lifestyle.
While some criticize Godard's film work as lacking
plot, it is, in fact, part of this viewer need he is taking to task in his
filmwork, this acceptance and conviction that adhering to a set of formulaic
and predictable steps will lead one to a desirable outcome, whether smug
pseudo-intellectual satisfaction, or status and financial reward. It is Godard's point and social criticism
that embracing this locked mental pattern is deforming us, rotting us from the
inside out, as we adhere to a Pavlovian, flock-like acceptance of a
commercially invented vision of life.
Godard gives us his point not only in what he films (anti-capitalist
critiques), but how he films it (anti-commercial.)
Neither Juliette nor her husband seems to regard
downsizing their lifestyle as a thinkable option. And can they? All around
them is the noise and change of relentless expansion and capitalistic
growth. As a product of modern social
structure, they no longer are capable of posing the question why so much is
being built in their face while their share shrinks. And so Juliette begins to sell her body with the casualness of a
flower seller hawking tulips, even while her husband sits at home glued in
fascination to radio news coverage of anti-Communist U.S. involvement in
Vietnam. He is able to rant
frustrations and recommendations about global events, while locally the very
capitalists in part responsible for the conflicts abroad loudly expand around
him, and his wife exchanges her services to maintain the level of their
lifestyle.
Within the capitalist system Godard's characters
demonstrate that all things are for sale. To consume becomes a patriotic duty
and deceit a way of life and a job skill, for in order to make money, one must
lie: "my product will fix your problems," "I am the best
deal," "you cannot live without this…" etc.
Under capitalism, growth of character and social
problems become mere phantom blips glimpsed occasionally in peripheral vision,
no longer a priority. So when
Juliette's son reads to her a piece of his homework revealing the seeds of a burgeoning
misogynist streak, she does little more than stroke his hair and listen
passively, even as he punctuates his childish chatter by waving a toy gun
about. The small, but pivotal moments
of life are lost to the quest to maintain a veneer of civility, profit and
social status. Or they are lost to the
exhaustion and tedium of keeping up with one's place as a commodity that must
feed and house itself while serving its masters.
By casting Juliette as a prostitute, Godard makes
another commentary on pseudo values. As
long as Juliette does not ply her new business as a common, identifiable
streetwalker, then there is a certain acceptability, and even adventurous charm
to it.
Prostitution is only bad when you call it
prostitution. And so a respectable
businessman who hires two women to ridiculously parade in his hotel room with
airline bags over their heads (so as not to watch him enjoying his pleasure)
does not consider himself lowered, but of course, the women are debased. And yet, the women involved are blasé about
the experience. They have been paid,
and the entire experience is based on no more than that. This is not dissimilar from the person who
pledges as sacred the symbolism of the Virgin Mary, finding (for example) the
capacity to become outraged at a mere painting of the Virgin covered in
excrement, while in life practicing the degradation women. One can worship to the point of hostage
ideas and symbols, but to dignify them in flesh and blood is too great a
sacrifice when it may cause a loss of profit margin or inspire personal responsibility
and reflection.
The more dignity, values, truth and history, in
fact, become extinct as realities, the more preoccupation capitalist society
has with these very words; and yet the words are reduced to meaningless
snapshots cleverly hung to disguise the holes in the walls. Or worse, as ominous trumpet calls to drown
out as either treasonous or crackpot the voice of anyone with the audacity to
challenge the system or to mention that the emperor's testicles are blowing in
the wind.
Capitalism requires self-centeredness and
ruthlessness swathed in smiles and designer colors. As the grand-daddy of all pyramid schemes, it requires non-stop
motion, growth and constant converts, and so Godard at times fills the screen
with images of immense concrete structures being built, the noise of their
births suffocating human sound and voices, their bulk blocking the sun to those
people and smaller buildings unfortunate enough to be located in their
shadow. To Godard, to embrace
capitalism is to become a product, a commodity oneself. The very spirit is subjugated to the cause
to manufacture a personal product of the self that can be marketed to the
highest bidder; the most private aspects of oneself little more than a length
of pipe to lay for the prevailing amount.
As the self can no longer define any aspect of itself, physical or
intellectual, in the absence of an offer and exchange of money, human
relationships become devoid of real intimacy as truth, necessary for intimacy,
is a deficit counter to selling the product-self. The private conversations of Juliette and her husband have no
more electricity or charge than a chat between amiable co-workers. Even their children seem more prop or
accessory than actual, growing human beings.
They are being built with approximately the same warmth and technical
care with which hired construction workers cheerfully tend to the pouring of
concrete, efficient and in proper steps.
As Godard points out with his enigmatic narration,
and with Juliette's existential musings throughout "Two or Three
Things…," a society based on consumerism, commercialism and capital, robs
itself of its own history, humanity and individuality, and without those
traits, we become little more than the reflections of the mass items we create:
softer, fluffier, instant, plastic and, ultimately, quite disposable. Under capitalism, we are all prostitutes.
2001, Jai J. Noire
JN@fgm.org
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