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https://www.sabzian.be/text/film-is-not-a-language

Film Is Not a Language

VERTAALD DOOR TRANSLATED BY TRADUIT PAR Veva Leye

Paris à l'aube (James Blue & Johan van der Keuken, 1957)

Film is not, as is often thought, a language in which certain combinations of signs cover certain notions, and of which series of signs can be ordered to form a syntax.

Film knows no sign, and also no meaning. It is impossible to transform the statement “John is a scoundrel” into a combination of filmic signs. However, it is possible, for example, to use the camera to show John kicking a dog. Then we immediately understand why John is a scoundrel. Those who speak of film as a language are in fact speaking of a limited number of signs to which correspond a limited number of conditioned reactions: John kicks a dog = malice; a mother kisses a child = love; a hand shakes another hand = brotherhood. These signs have nothing to do with film per se. If John suddenly kicks a dog in the street, people will get angry without the mediation of Filmic language. Film is a means for registration, amplification and dissemination of a signal. It can only show, but: it can show everything, in all sorts of ways.

The idea of a film language with a respectable grammar goes hand in hand with maintaining the supposed laws of film. These laws define what you can and can’t do, but above all what you can’t do. They are applied by some critics, connoisseurs and quasi-connoisseurs in an invariably repressive manner (defence of...). The notions of the language of film and the laws of cinema are used by many as a reason to find bad films good and good films bad. Fortunately, there exist neither laws of cinema nor a language of film: everything is allowed.

This article was originally published in Kunst van Nu, August 1963.

Image from Paris à l'aube (James Blue & Johan van der Keuken, 1957)

ARTICLE
16.10.2024
NL FR EN
In Passage, Sabzian invites film critics, authors, filmmakers and spectators to send a text or fragment on cinema that left a lasting impression.
Pour Passage, Sabzian demande à des critiques de cinéma, auteurs, cinéastes et spectateurs un texte ou un fragment qui les a marqués.
In Passage vraagt Sabzian filmcritici, auteurs, filmmakers en toeschouwers naar een tekst of een fragment dat ooit een blijvende indruk op hen achterliet.
The Prisma section is a series of short reflections on cinema. A Prisma always has the same length – exactly 2000 characters – and is accompanied by one image. It is a short-distance exercise, a miniature text in which one detail or element is refracted into the spectrum of a larger idea or observation.
La rubrique Prisma est une série de courtes réflexions sur le cinéma. Tous les Prisma ont la même longueur – exactement 2000 caractères – et sont accompagnés d'une seule image. Exercices à courte distance, les Prisma consistent en un texte miniature dans lequel un détail ou élément se détache du spectre d'une penséée ou observation plus large.
De Prisma-rubriek is een reeks korte reflecties over cinema. Een Prisma heeft altijd dezelfde lengte – precies 2000 tekens – en wordt begeleid door één beeld. Een Prisma is een oefening op de korte afstand, een miniatuurtekst waarin één detail of element in het spectrum van een grotere gedachte of observatie breekt.
Jacques Tati once said, “I want the film to start the moment you leave the cinema.” A film fixes itself in your movements and your way of looking at things. After a Chaplin film, you catch yourself doing clumsy jumps, after a Rohmer it’s always summer, and the ghost of Akerman undeniably haunts the kitchen. In this feature, a Sabzian editor takes a film outside and discovers cross-connections between cinema and life.
Jacques Tati once said, “I want the film to start the moment you leave the cinema.” A film fixes itself in your movements and your way of looking at things. After a Chaplin film, you catch yourself doing clumsy jumps, after a Rohmer it’s always summer, and the ghost of Akerman undeniably haunts the kitchen. In this feature, a Sabzian editor takes a film outside and discovers cross-connections between cinema and life.
Jacques Tati zei ooit: “Ik wil dat de film begint op het moment dat je de cinemazaal verlaat.” Een film zet zich vast in je bewegingen en je manier van kijken. Na een film van Chaplin betrap je jezelf op klungelige sprongen, na een Rohmer is het altijd zomer en de geest van Chantal Akerman waart onomstotelijk rond in de keuken. In deze rubriek neemt een Sabzian-redactielid een film mee naar buiten en ontwaart kruisverbindingen tussen cinema en leven.

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