克莱尔的相机

本片最有性引力就是这个画面了，看的时候就想起了《七武士》里面，女儿洗头的地方，真是如出一辙。

洪尚秀早期的电影都是有很大的裸露戏份，这片的这个镜头色情力也不遑多让，全片围绕的性展开的故事在画面上展现在这里，与克莱尔的相机的主题又隐相呼应真的妙。

当然剧情的发展与《七武士》里面也是一样，男权对性的渴求，呵斥，隐匿。

《克莱尔的相机》

《七武士》如果说洪尚秀的电影里面最好的开头在《玉熙的映画》里面话，那最好的结尾就是在本片了，最后金敏喜一个人默默心碎的整理东西离开，撕裂的封箱胶带声，配合着温暖音乐响起，被撕裂的伤口在慢慢的恢复，最后定格的画面，缓慢拉近放大的镜头，让观者对金敏喜这个人物越来越远去，留下模糊的印象，遗憾、淡淡的悲伤、惋惜尽留心中。

日前，洪常秀导演受邀参加了上海国际电影节。

作为“看完了导演所有电影”的铁杆粉丝，本记者以此成功引起了洪导的注意，从而获得了这次独家专访的机会，以下就是《虚拟电影》杂志采访洪导演的全部内容。

《虚拟电影》(以下简称《虚》）：洪导您好！

我前天刚看完《克莱尔的相机》，今天的访谈就以这部影片为切入点来开始吧，我觉得本片的选角非常好玩，当郑镇荣饰演的角色在片中出镜时，我都直接笑出声了，您是出于什么考虑找他来演导演啊，之前你们并没有合作过。

洪常秀（以下简称洪）：我的电影多次出现过电影导演这个角色，之前金太佑演过，李善均演过，文成根也演过，对于专业演员我整体比较信赖，他们的表演厚度足够，只要意图表达明确，基本都能达到预期效果。

但我并没觉得非要把谁塑造成某个角色的专业户，不同的演员特质也能激发不同的创作灵感，我很享受围绕演员特质来设计人物的挑战和乐趣。

以前相对年轻些，选的导演演员自然也相对年轻些。

至于现在找郑镇荣，最早是听有人说过，我俩长得有点像。

（笑）那么我就想，或许可以合作一把呢，所以后面的事都是水到渠成。

我们其实已不止合作一部了，后面还一起拍了《草叶集》，是比较愉快的合作。

《虚》：那条狗虽然出镜不多，但给人印象深刻，如果镜头再多一些，应该会是“金棕榈狗狗奖”的有力竞争者，给我们讲讲它吧。

洪：它叫Bob,当时和咖啡店老板交涉场地借用的时候，我们就注意到了他家的这条狗，看起来很凶悍，实际上温顺听话，金敏喜也很喜欢，时不时蹲下来逗它玩，我看着那个画面，感觉可以拍进电影里，于是就这么决定了。

后来在拍摄时，于佩尔还差点踩到它的脚，但Bob的反应很宽容，始终就是静静地躺在那里，这可能还和它的年纪有关，它已经是条老狗了。

事实上，前不久我们接到噩耗说，Bob已经去世了。

很遗憾，它实在是太老了。

《虚》：片中有个细节看起来很有意思，“金敏喜”用剪衣服的方式来宣泄内心的不快，后来“于佩尔”收拾那堆碎布料，把一块布套在自己的手腕上，又把一块类似胸部形状的布料放到自己的胸部比了比，这有什么特别的意义呢？

洪：谢谢看得这么认真。

不瞒你说，之前也有韩国观众问过我类似的问题，我问他，你看到了什么？

他说感觉有点女权主义，类似身体意识的觉醒，隐约在呼应时下正闹得轰轰烈烈的“ME TOO"运动，还有就是这种从物到人，从她到她这样的对象转移能引发自我本我超我一类的哲学思考。

我告诉他说，你说得很好，想象力很丰富。

不同的观众在不同的状态下，产生不同的观感，这都很正常，相比于提供绝对答案，我更愿意自己给出的东西模糊一些，歧义多一些。

如果非要我给个解释，其实这个片断还有一句对话，就是“于佩尔”做动作之前，她也问了“金敏喜”，你这样做有什么意义吗？

“金敏喜”回答，没有，我就是想这么做。

所以从创作谈的角度，我更愿意用这句话来回答你。

很多时候，我们都想深究一件事的道理和意义，把这当作终极目的来做，但凭心而论，我觉得电影的意义并不是这个，就单纯去看，去感受其实也是一种意义。

而且你的道理未必是别人的道理，也没有什么道理是绝对真理，那为什么要费劲去宣扬这个呢。

包括还有人问到，影片中照相机这个道具有什么深意，照相机之眼和摄像机之眼，二者存在递进或套层关系吗？

我想说的是，如果你能这样联想，那我觉得挺好，因为它说明在简单纯粹的细节里，也自然包含复杂多义。

如果你没有类似的想法，那也很好，因为在我的理解里，电影的终极并不是拼这个。

《虚》：刚才您提到创作谈，既然它不是道理和意义，那您看重的是什么呢？

之前您在电影中，多次借片中导演之口谈过对创作的看法，但每次谈的方式和内容都不尽相同，这主要由哪些因素决定呢？

洪：如果你说我是要借片中人物之口来表达自己想要说的话，那我不会承认，因为我没那么自恋。

（笑）但那些台词确实都是我写出来的，有的来自于我的个人经历，有的来自于当时的想法，有时严肃一些，有时调侃多一些，有时是正面回答，有时会故意转移话题，这种不一样主要源于我自己对创作的要求，因为即使是同一个意思，也可以用不同的方式来表达它，没必要把同一种酒装在同一个瓶子里。

我的电影很多时候都是没有完整剧本的，基本上都是边写边拍，当天写的剧本当天拍完，这决定了我对时间、地点、人物等结构要素的敏感，我的创作灵感很多时候都是根源于此，我喜欢在重复的结构里观察，不同的要素组合可以拼贴出新的东西，各个要素的调整都可能改变影片的走向。

我希望有观众能在重复出现的场景和状况里有新的体会，在每一次重复里都会看到不一样的细节，也许这无法解释，但每次的感受必定不同。

从这个意义上讲，我的电影确实就是对时间、地点、人物、事件等各种排列方式的翻新组合，如果电影是关于时空的艺术，那我的表达，或许就是这个。

对我而言，观众能发现它要比去阐述它更重要。

《虚》：顺着这个话题，我谈谈对您近作的一点个人理解。

《之后》里的书店老板分别和两个女员工在一天内做了些机同的事情，但两个女员工各自的一天，被您用互补的方式拼贴在了同一天，而《克莱尔的相机》，万熙和主管在咖啡店外的那段对话是影片的一个着力点，万熙的那句“你现在是觉得我有不直率的一面吗”甚至被说了两遍，但第二次，她是对着空位置说的，而两人之前的对话在这时则被处理成了画外音。

这几种对比结构的使用，都是您此前电影中没有尝试过的。

包括还有一些小伎俩，比如《你自己与你所有》里对蜡烛的叠化效果处理，《独自在夜晚的海边》里神秘黑衣人的设置，感觉您仍在不断地突破自己。

但从电影技法上讲，这些技巧又都非常简单甚至只称得上入门级的蒙太奇运用。

先进的想法和简单的技术，您是如何看待二者关系的？

洪：在第一部作品《猪堕井的那天》里，我其实在技术上做了不少尝试，比如色调，布景，高对比度的打光，摄影除了固定镜头，也有移动镜头和手持，景别上远景、近景、中景、全景、特写都有兼顾，还有俯拍和仰拍，正反打等等。

那个时候想要表达的东西很多，想法也很多，也追求层不不穷应接不暇的效果。

但从《江原道之力》开始，我慢慢对自己的表达有了更笃定更清醒的认识，哪些是我需要的，哪些并不适合我，所以后面开始做减法，逐步找到适合自己的表达，这是一个渐渐演变的过程，至于变化是怎么产生的？

（停顿了一会）我很喜欢塞尚的画，如何以一种永恒的不变的形式去表现自然，对而来说也是一直在探索的课题。

《虚》：不知您有没有听说过一个流行词语：尬聊？

它的意思和您片中很多时候的场景极为契合，之前也有人将这一现象概括为尴尬美学，感觉您的影片这种片断不可或缺，它是笑点担当，同时又包含着极深的人性洞见及诚恳姿态，让人倍感亲切。

洪：我确实热衷于描述那种尴尬的状态，有人说，这是在剥男人的皮，其实我不想剥任何人的皮，如果确实给人这种感觉，那也只能说明，男人身上确实有这么一层皮。

人性其实是相通的，它可能和我喜欢冷眼旁观有关，这种观察里包含着尖刻和讥讽，这就是我长久以来看世界的方式。

《虚》：最后问个“直率”的话题，金敏喜近期出演的几部影片，《独自在夜晚的海边》和《克莱尔的相机》，片中都不约而同地提到了女主的纯真直率，特别是《克莱尔的相机》，“直率”甚至是整部影片的关键词，我可不可以理解为这就是日常投射？

您用电影及时地捕捉日常，则是属于您的直率方式？

其实前面我们的访谈，几次都涉及到了电影与现实之间的真假虚实问题，但我还是想问，导演您能直率地回答吗？

洪：遇到金敏喜之前，我对世界确实是怀疑居多，过去我是个防御心很重，内心充满逆反念头的人，看待世事的眼光也多以调侃戏谑为主。

而遇到她之后，我觉得我开始愿意相信一些东西，估计敏感的观众也能从我最近的电影里看到这些变化，包括面对访谈的态度，以前我会下意识地回避，现在，我得承认，我是幸运的，没有权力抱怨。

我深深地感受着一个人的钟爱，这种钟爱使我心平气和，开朗自信。

我有幸遇见了金敏喜。

注：《虚拟电影》实际上并不存在。

习惯了精致的电影刚开始会觉得只有看似“小儿科”的推拉拍摄手法、英语书对话式的台词、尴尬的表演…像是戛纳的电影吗？

是洪尚秀导演的作品吗？

是年代比较久远电影的摄影艺术还在研究吗？

慢慢的会发现这部电影是细腻的、直白的，没有过多的技巧，只运用了基本的推拉、变焦、一镜到底，看似尴尬的英文对话，但它确实这部电影里的唯一语言，洪尚秀能在短短的七十分钟内成熟的打造一个环绕结构，将金敏喜得美表达的特别细腻，中间那段无厘头的谩骂高潮其实特别的强，台词里暴露出苏导演对“美女”的刻板印象，女老板对万熙的嫉妒，克莱尔对万熙美的欣赏，以及万熙自己内心的温柔和细腻，与其说是三个人对万熙的美的影响，不如说是洪尚秀对金敏喜美的三种不同幻想吧，化身为中年女老板的嫉妒、男导演的爱而不得、女摄影师将她视为灵感缪斯的模特….三个不同身份的人对万熙的美产生了不同的影响，人物刻画十分成熟。

看似儿戏的呈现手法，实则是一部十分成熟的电影，就像是洪尚秀的随笔，最浪漫最令人佩服的是，洪尚秀导演边参加戛纳边花9天时间拍摄出这部属于金敏喜的《克莱尔的相机》。

萍水相逢的两个女人，在异国，说英语。

因为天然的语言障碍，反而更加毫无防备地袒露真心。

拍照片的克莱尔有她的哲理——“You are now a different person, and I can feel it. ” 这我也相信。

拍过一次照片，看过你一次，一切都不一样了。

她都说 “If that’s how you see things, right or wrong, that’s how you see things, I respect that”。

不要试图去改变别人的心意，因为这没有用。

洪尚秀的电影，把打碎的时间线重新编排；克莱尔的相机，把过去的事情慢慢看一遍。

原来，rearrange & re-imagine，沉淀和思索，这才是改变别人或者改变自己唯一的办法。

在最低落的时候，有一刻与女性友人静静相处的时光，也会觉得松弛安慰。

就算生活中的灾难总是突然而至，我们也还是要找到办法自己为它道别。

真正有用的，不是拍一张勉强的合照，或者尴尬的相对。

而是，剪碎烦恼的布，封上记忆的箱子，轻轻地走开，那就这样吧。

Your mileage may vary, but for this reviewer’s money, one’s appreciation of South Korean auteur Hong Sang-soo is an acquired taste, veering from a vapid non-starter IN ANOTHER COUNTRY (2004), which more or less flounders in its rigid formality where connotations are lost in translation, to RIGHT NOW, WRONG THEN (2015), a revitalizing two-hander that redefines film’s narratological possibilities, and hits the home run with reverberating impact for all its niceties and relatability. 2017 proves to be the most prolific year for Hong to date, with three films released within a calendar year, ON THE BEACH AT NIGHT ALONE debuts in Berlin and Kim Min-hee nicks a Silver Bear trophy for BEST ACTRESS, THE DAY AFTER enters the main competition in Cannes, where CLAIRE’S CAMERA also has a special screening in the sidebar, all in the aftermath of the cause célèbre, Hong’s cut-and-dried extramarital affair with his muse Kim Min-hee, which both acknowledge with rather admirable candor in public. Therefore, it is particularly intriguing for aficionados to tease out any clues of Hong’s own response to the scandal in these three films, all encompass infidelity with Kim Min-hee playing three different characters in the center, as Hong is astute enough to make hay while the sun shines as far as self-reference is concerned. ON THE BEACH AT NIGHT ALONE can be easily construed as an explicit response to the explosion of Hong’s private life, but mostly from the viewpoint of Kim, structurally a lopsided diptych, its first 20 minutes takes places in a Mitteleuropean town, actress Young-hee (Min-hee), visits her lady friend Jee-young (Seo), to cool her heads off after the scandal of her affair with a married movie director breaks out, after that, she returns to South Korea and touches base with her old acquaintances, including Myung-soo (Jeong Jae-yeong, who is so adept in inhabiting an anodyne man’s aw-shucks front), Chun-woo (Kwon Hae-hyo) and Jun-hee (Song Seon-mi, who steals a cute girl-on-girl kiss), during dinner, she lets rip her “entitlement to love” statement to a stunned audience, apparently is jilted by the director, a lonesome Young-hee seeks for a closure, and one day on the beach alone, she might find a way to achieve that, Hong struts his illusory sleight-of-hand with distinction. THE DAY AFTER is shot in a bleached monochrome, Bong-wan (Kwon, promoted to a leading role, whose multifaceted ability, including tear shedding, is as protuberant as his underbite) is a married man who runs a small publish house, who has an affair with his assistant Chang-sook (Kim Sae-byuk, who is extraordinary in showing up a temperamental paramour’s blandness and selfishness), while their relationship breaks off, he hires a new assistant Ah-reum (Min-hee). On the first day of her job, Bong-wan’s wife Hae-joo (Yoon-hee, geared up with a fishwife’s voltage), alights on a billet-doux written by him, rushes to the publish house to confront Ah-reum, whom she mistakes as the mistress. The misapprehension takes a nasty turn when Chang-sook returns later that very day, conniving together with Bong-wan to get an upper hand, at the expense of the innocent Ah-reum, which concludes “the day”, then “after” an indeterminate time, Ah-reum revisits the publish house in the epilogue, plus ça change, a man is eternally obsessed with his “wife, lover, potential lover” circle of fantasies, his self-deception (or short memory) like a cold rapier thrusts into an ingénue’s expectation, for old time’s sake? But one day does hardly amount to an “old time”. CLAIRE’S CAMERA is the shortest, runs succinctly about 69 minutes, suitably as a digestif after the one-two punch, and reunites Hong with Isabelle Huppert as the titular Claire, a French high school music teacher (here, Hong hints the connection with ON THE BEACH AT NIGHT ALONE in the interrelationship), visiting Cannes during the festival season, and habitually takes pictures with her obsolete instant camera, befriends a Korean girl Man-hee (Min-hee), an employee of a Korean film sales company here in town for business, who has justly received a kiss-off by her boss Yang-hye (Chang Mi-hee) for being “dishonest” albeit her goodheartedness, only through Claire’s photos, who also fraternizes with a visiting Korean movie director So Wan-soo (Jin-young, is assigned with an unthankful job of mansplaining that might get one’s back up) and Yang-hye, the real reason of her abrupt dismiss will dawn on a befogged Man-hee, but nothing is set in stone yet. Watching three movies in a row, Hong’s modus operandi is destined to loom large: his trademark racking focus shots, the omnipresent facing-off composition, interrupted time-line in the narrative to jostle for a viewer’s attention and comprehension, a keen eye to the background movement, and a curiosity to the sea, all leads to his philosophizing approach, to entangle gender politics, relationship hiccups, emotional complex among coevals and exotic friendship through garden-variety dialogues, often synchronizing with the intake of food and beverage. While THE DAY AFTER loses some of its luster by emphasizing a treacherous scheme that one might question its credence, and CLAIRE’S CAMERA feels like an extemporaneous dispatch when Hong realizes he has some time to expend in Cannes during his festival junket. It its ON THE BEACH AT NIGHT ALONE leaves the strongest impression, not just for Kim Min-hee’s much layered interpretation of a woman’s bewilderment, disaffection and desolation, but also Hong’s absurdist inset that piquantly ties viewers in knots (what is the deal with that mysterious man-in-black?), that is definitely a welcoming sign for any number of established auteurs. referential entries: Hong Sang-soo’s IN ANOTHER COUNTRY (2012, 4.6/10), RIGHT NOW, WRONG THEN (2015, 8.4/10).

故事发展像是解迷的过程，克莱尔的相机把人物都联系起来，所有人扁平化地排列在照片里，然后展开。

很多解构式的影评可以从电影的细节挖掘，相机、大狗狗、女主穿热裤、将衣服随意剪开都代表着什么，已有众多有深度的评价了。

相比《独自在夜晚的海边》侧重描写女主的心境变化，我觉得这出戏更聚焦概念表达。

比如如何改变已经发生的事物呢，只能再仔细地看一次；男性凝视是怎样无理的呢；老板的嫉妒是什么样的呢。

可能太注重冷眼旁观的叙事态度，感觉每一个演员在里面的个人魅力都没有得到充分发挥。

#ICA#13112024 #二刷，内核非常贴近《北村方向》，整体失去了结构的变化只展现了小幅度的空间变化和大幅度时间变化，也是对照了克莱尔对于拍照的理解，“人不能两次踏进同一条河流”，照片和电影承载了对时间流逝和人性变化的哲学思考，影片也不仅仅是记录，更是对不可重现瞬间的记忆闪烁。

叙事上从被开除喝葡萄酒穿短裤的初次拍照到相约吃饭得知真相再拍照最后到随老板离去，相机所拍摄的照片似乎在试图定格他们彼时的情感和心理境遇的那无法控制的流动性，电影也是借此呈现角色情感如同河水流动般的变化。

叙事节奏还蛮好的，不过不知道为什么非要再回溯到被开除的打包环节，很不太喜欢。

讽刺的力度不是很强，但女主的主体性凸显的不错。

视觉上，变焦很有特点，zoom in转场呈现的是时间的回溯，zoom out转场则是时间流逝。

镜头语言很大程度呈现出了水流般碎片的质感。

#天幕新彩云#BIFF #06042018#一刷

clit2014, jan 2, 晚交了20天，我再也不想上gender studies了我要吐了，写这篇paper不知道经历了多少mental breakdownWomen’s Experience Matters: Redefining Feminist Cinema through Claire’s CameraAs Laura Mulvey points out in “Visual Pleasure and Narrative Cinema”, traditional narrative cinema largely relies upon the practice of a gendered “gaze”, specifically, male’s unconscious objectification of female as erotic spectacle from which visual pleasure is derived. Her account draws attention to the prevailing feminist-unfriendly phenomena in contemporary cinema, one that resides in the language of patriarchy, privileging man’s experience while making woman the passive object deprived of autonomy. Many feminist filmmakers and theorists including Mulvey herself urge a radical strategy that dismantles patriarchal practice and frees woman from the state of being suppressed by the male-centered cinematic language.To conceptualize a mode of cinema that speakswoman’s language, or authentic feminist cinema, this essay interrogates the validity of Mulvey’s destruction approach in pursuing a feminist aesthetic. By making reference to Hong Sang-soo’s film, Claire’s Camera, I argue that feminist cinema needs to be redefined by neither the immediate rejection of gender hierarchy nor the postmodern notion of fluidity, but by perspectives that transcend the gendered metanarrative of subject vs. object, and that primarily represent and serve woman’s experience on both sides of the Camera. Earlier waves of feminism strived to call attention to, if not, eliminate the unbalanced power relation between men and women in the society, namely the dichotomy between domination and submission, superiority and inferiority, and self and other (Lauretis 115). Feminists such as Mary Wollstonecraft and Simone de Beauvoir radically interrogated women’s rights in the political arena as well as women’s relative position to men in the society at large. However, the approaches of the earlier waves cannot prove themselves sufficient in pursuit of a female autonomy, owing to the fact that they are constantly caught in the power-oriented metalanguage which inherently privileges one over another. While it is argued that the objectification of the “second sex” is oppressive in nature, for example, the assertion already marks the subject-object dynamics between men and women by default. It fails to propose non-power based gender narratives, while obliquely acknowledging that the language spoken in this context is inevitably characterized by phallocentric symbols, ones that prioritize self over other, subject over object, male over female. In thisregard, rather than rendering a perspective that exposes and dismantles patriarchy, the outcome of earlier feminist approaches inclines towards “replicating male ideology” (Mackinnon 59), reifying the omnipresence of the patriarchal language and reproducing the effects of patriarchy.A similar notion applies to defining feminist cinema. In terms of visual representation, feminist idealists encourage women to present their bodily spectacles, inviting interpretations free of erotic objectification. Despite the favorable receptions from the sex-positive side of the discourse, it is indiscernible as to whether these attempts truly free women from the dome of sex-negativism or reinforce the effect of the patriarchal language even more. This polarized debate, I believe, is due to the fact that the discourse is held captive by the language of patriarchy too powerful for one to extricate from, and that any rebellious gesture would appear to be an insufficient, passive rejection of the predominant ideology. To illustrate this point, Lauretis notes that Mulvey’s and other avant-garde filmmakers’ conceptualization of women’s cinema often associates with the prefix of “de-” with regards to “the destruction… of the very thing to be represented, …the deaestheticization of the female body, the desexualization of violence, the deoedipalization of narrative, and so forth” (175). The “de-” act does not necessarily configure a new set of attributes for feminist representation, but merely displays a negative reaction to a preexisting entity. It is important to be skeptical of its effectiveness in defining feminist cinema, as it implies certain extent of negotiation instead of spot-on confrontation with the previous value. A destructive feminist cinema can never provide a distinctive set of aesthetic attributes without having to seek to problematize and obscure the reality of a patriarchal cinema. In that regard, it is passive, dependent and depressed. More importantly, the question – how the destruction of visual and narrative pleasure immediately benefits women within the narrative and directly addresses female spectators – remains unanswered. TakingClaire’s Cameraas an example, the film destructs the notion of a gendered visual pleasure by presenting the camera as a reinvented gazing apparatus, one that differs from the gendered gaze, and instead brings novel perception into being. Normally, when characters are being photographed, mainstream filmmakers tend to introduce a viewpoint in alignment with the photographer’s position, enabling spectator’s identification; that is, the shot usually shifts to a first-person perspective so that spectators identify with the photographer gazing at the object who is in front of the camera. Claire’s Camera, however, abandons this first-person perspective while generating new meanings of the gaze. Claire ambiguously explains to So and Yanghye the abstract idea that taking photographs of people changes the photographer’s perception of the photographed object, and that the object is not the same person before their photograph was taken. The spectacle, although objectifiable in nature, is not so passive as being the object constructed upon, but rather constructs new signification upon the subject. The notion of the gaze is therefore re-presented with alternative insights. That being said, as I argued earlier, the destructive approach is not so sufficient an attempt at defining feminist cinema, because the way it functions nevertheless indulges feminist ideology in the role of passivity, deprived of autonomy and always a discourse dependent on and relative to the prepotency of patriarchy. In the conversation scene between So and Manhee, So, who is almost the age of Manhee’s father, criticizes her for wearing revealing shorts and heavy makeup. In a typically phallocentric manner, he insists that she has insulted her beautiful face and soul by self-sexualizing and turning into men’s erotic object. Despite the fact that the preceding scenes have no intention to eroticize the female body or sexualize her acts such that the visual pleasure is deliberately unfulfilled and almost completely excluded from the diegesis, So inevitably finds Manhee’s physical features provocative and without a second thought, naturally assumes that her bodily spectacle primarily serves man’s interest. This scene demonstrates that regardless of feminists’ radical destruction of visual pleasure, practitioners of patriarchal beliefs will not be affected at all; if any, the femininity enunciation only intensifies the social effects of patriarchy. The conversation between the two characters embodies the self-reflexive style of Hong Sang-soo’s filmmaking, in a sense that it fosters debates within the theoretical framework upon which it is constructed, and constantly counters itself in search of a deeper meaning, contemplating questions such as do we believe in what we practice, whether it is patriarchy or its opposite? And is anti-patriarchy feminism determined enough to prove itself a destructive force against patriarchy rather than a sub-deviant of a predominant ideology? The scene proves the drawback of a destructive strategy, that the way it operates nonetheless subscribes to a patriarchal manner, and that in order to escape the secondary position with respect to the phallocentric subject, more needs to be done other than problematizing the subject.To supplement the insufficiency of destruction, postmodern feminists such as Judith Butler proposes theoretical alternative to approach the discourse. Butler argues that gender is performative and fluid instead of a set of essential attributes. The notion of performativity indeed precludes the social effects of essentialism by introducing the idea of an identity continuum into gender politics, in ways that empower the socially perceived non-normative. On top of that, Butler believes that the categorization of sex “maintain[s] reproductive sexuality as a compulsory order”, and that the category of woman is an exclusive and oppressive “material violence” (17). Acknowledging the harms that essentialist perception of gender and sexuality entails, Butler bluntly negates the very categorization of woman. This radical negation, however, evades the reality that our whole understanding of the human race is based on gender categories, despite the corresponding inequalities generated from the instinctual categorization. In fact, it is when women as a collective community have come to the realization that the female gender is socially suppressed, that they start to strive for equality through the apparatus of feminism. Butler’s rejection of the gender categorization withdraws the sense of collectivism in the feminist community, which is “an important source of unity” for the marginalized (Digeser 668). Moreover, it deprives the feminist cinema of the necessity of delineating an authentic female representation, because within the notion of performativity there is no such thing as a fixed set of female representations but only distinctive individuals that conform to gender fluidity. Since identifying with a certain form of representation means to live up to a socially perceived norm from which one deviates, a performative cinema does not encourage spectator’s identification. The failed identification will not only drastically shift the spectator’s self-understanding but also cause more identity crises. Therefore, performativity is too ideal a theoretical concept to have actual real-life applications. Whether it is her body or her social function, woman has become the commodity of patriarchy. As Lauretis puts it, “she is the economic machine that reproduces the human species, and she is the Mother, an equivalent more universal than money, the most abstract measure ever invented by patriarchal ideology” (158). Woman’s experience has been portrayed in the cinematic realm nothing more than being the (m)other and the provocative body. Historical debates have proved that articulating the problematic tendencies within gender differences only results in skepticism rather than new solutions. Thus, in order to negotiate a feminist cinema, filmmakers need to abandon the patriarchal meta-language completely, and reconstruct new texts that represent and treasure woman’s experience more than just being the other, that “[address] its spectator as a woman, regardless of the gender of the viewers” (Lauretis 161). Similarly, what needs to be done in feminist cinema is more than just interrogating the gender difference between woman and man, but interpreting such difference in unconventional ways that liberate women from being compared to men and invite them to possibilities of having narratives dedicated to themselves. One of the ways, Lauretis suggests, is to regard woman as the site of differences (168). This signifies that the cinema needs to stop generalizing woman’s role based on her universal functions; rather, it needs to articulate her unique features, what makes her herself but not other women, from the way she looks to the trivial details of her daily life. In Claire’s Camera, the function of the camera conveniently transcends the diegetic space. In the narrative, it demarcatesthe “site of differences”, that is, how someone changes right after their photograph is taken, as well as how Manhee is presented differently each of the three times being photographed. The camera also magnifies her experience as a woman for spectator’s identification, mundane as it could be. In the last scene, the camera smoothly tracks Manhee organizing her belongings, packing box after box, casually talking to a colleague passing by, and so forth. Long takes like this fulfill what Lauretis would call “the ‘pre-aesthetic’ [that] isaestheticrather than aestheticized” in feminist cinema (159). Without commodifying or fetishizing woman and her acts, the film authentically represents a woman’s vision, her perception, her routines, and all the insignificant daily events which female spectators can immediately relate to. When a film no longer solely portrays woman as the “economic machine” that labors, entices men, and commits to social roles, it has confidently overwritten the patriarchal narrative with a female language. It fully addresses its spectator as a woman, appreciating and celebrating the female sex, not for what she does as a woman but for what she experiences. In conclusion, the essay first challenges the destructive approach in feminist cinema regarding its sufficiency in pursuit of woman’s autonomy and its indestructible destiny to fall back into patriarchy. The essay then argues that the rejection of gender categorization in performativity theory frustrates the mission of defining a female representation. Hong Sang-soo’s self-reflexive film, Claire’s Camera, offers an apparatus to delve into the drawbacks of destructive feminist cinema and simultaneously renders a new feminist code, abandoning the patriarchal metanarrative and constructing a new narrative that truly prioritizes woman’s experience.Works CitedButler, Judith. “Contingent Foundations: Feminist and the Questions of ‘Postmodernism.’”Feminists Theorize the Political, edited by Judith Butler and Joan W. Scott, Routledge, 1992, pp. 3–21.Digeser, Peter. “Performativity Trouble: Postmodern Feminism and Essential Subjects.” Political Research Quarterly, vol. 47, no. 3, 1994, pp. 655-673.Lauretis, Teresa de. “Aesthetic and Feminist Theory: Rethinking Women's Cinema.”New German Critique, no. 34, 1985, pp. 154–175.Lauretis, Teresa de. “Eccentric Subjects: Feminist Theory and Historical Consciousness.”Feminist Studies, vol. 16, no. 1, 1990, pp. 115–150.Mackinnon, Catherine A. “Desire and Power.”Feminism Unmodified: Discourses on Life and Law, Harvard University Press, 1987, pp. 46–62.Mulvey, Laura. “Visual Pleasure and Narrative Cinema.”The Norton Anthology and Theory and Criticism, edited by Vincent B Leitch, W. W. Norton, 2001, pp. 2181–2192.

洪尚秀确是深爱、乃至崇拜金敏喜的（那种对美的崇拜）。

小儿科一样地推拉镜头，那是对美的最朴实的慨叹。

（初看还真是觉得奇怪，我们习惯了精致的电影）他的镜头像是在作画，一副看起来有点奇怪的画。

也像是在写诗，一首韩国人机械跟读的法文诗。

还像在作曲，最简单的数字歌。

金敏喜也确实很美。

两道笑眉，面容淡然，没有任何她过不去的事，洒脱。

于佩尔阿姨全程打酱油，行走在错乱的时间轴里，蓝色香奈儿包很好看。

她带着相机，在收集故事，也在改变故事。

一个小时的时长里，最突出的两个部分是：1、女上司同万熙谈话，委婉宣布解雇她的消息。

理由很荒诞：我最看重员工的是率直，这是天生的品质，后天努力不来的，但是你没有。

而不管万熙怎么问，上司都绝口不提具体的事情。

只能委委屈屈地认了，闲坐在咖啡馆和海边。

但看起来若有所思：“我真的不率直吗？

”2、男导演在阳台偶遇穿着暴露画着浓妆的万熙，聊着聊着开始斥责她。

你想成为男人眼中的尤物吗？

想从别的男人那里得到一时廉价的关心？

你十八岁一无所知，什么都想尝试的时候（还能这样），你现在这么大了，还想成为廉价的好奇心的对象吗？

这样对你来说，能留下什么真真正正好的东西吗？

你那么漂亮，你的灵魂那么美丽，你什么也不做就很漂亮了，为什么要如此伤害自己？

不要这样，不论你做什么，你正如你所拥有的那样，堂堂正正地活着，不要去练什么，不要去卖什么。

骂得很重，令人有些莫名其妙。

但到最后，随镜头安静地跟着那个身影，看她倔强地打包着物品，不要任何人帮忙，准备被扫地出门。

却感觉好像明白两个年长的人在说什么了。

什么叫“纯真，但是不率直？

”，为什么化个妆，穿个热裤就这么令他痛心？

解雇的真实原因不言自明，一场酒的作用，年轻漂亮的女下属，旧的爱情和不再漂亮的脸，嫉妒。

但是女上司也并非乱找借口，而是句句肺腑，像她自己追求的那样“率直”。

倘若真的要找借口，何苦如此蹩脚麻烦？

工作上的疏漏，人员编制等等，何苦跟一个员工谈灵魂的事？

这太诡异了，难怪有人说像梦。

她说她，“纯真却不率直”。

男导演也句句直指她利用自己的美。

尽管并非恶意，并非功利，可她是明白的。

对于别人夸奖自己美的言语能优雅应对，受之自然的美人，都不会是不自知的。

其次，她对于佩尔说自己“从前喝酒，现在不再喝酒了”，她明白酒后是出过事的。

再次，男导演一通指责和教训“不要去卖什么”后，她有些委屈还是接受了，说“是”，却反过来质问他“导演就没做过这样的事吗？

”，男人理亏，“我毕竟是男人嘛，可能吧。

”在海边，她对于佩尔说，自己曾是“电影销售人员”，但是：Selling is no fun.We shouldn't sell anything.售卖毫无乐趣，我们不应该售卖任何东西。

导演后来也说，不要去练习，不要去售卖，不要去化妆，不要去改变自己的样子，只为了廉价的关心，好奇和爱。

于佩尔的相机是形而上学的，拍下你以后的你就不再是你。

万熙是有秘密的 ，每一个抽烟望向远方的背影里，她在消化着不率直的一切。

那么生活在生活其中呢，如何能不去改变自己的样子？

如何拒绝廉价的表演和迎合。

正如洪氏的电影本身，粗粝感跟戛纳的阳光海滩竟然绝配，直白的镜头语言冲淡了荒诞故事的戏剧感，明白如话，清淡如水，如爱人的那张美丽的脸。

坚持不尴尬地说着尴尬的话，直到把尴尬变成真诚，把尴尬拍成了美。

不售卖的态度，从中可见。

这是一个非常幽默，率直，可爱的人。

哈哈哈，我要爱死了老洪这个推拉摇移的镜头了，多么不屑，多么随意，多么暧昧，多么犹豫徘徊胆怯摇摆无立场。

老洪真是个艺术家。

敏敏说英语太好听了，hahaha，像个初高中学习很好又很乖巧的小姑娘。

如果把镜头推到腰肢或者胸腹，停一秒，我感觉能看到一个高中低年级女生的“抽条感”。

看老洪的电影，看着看着就笑了。

是看到某个地方，会心一笑。

哈哈哈，太可爱了，又太尴尬了。

有种低落的淘气和自恋。

用我一片文章的话就是“不屈服的温柔狰狞”。

不过老洪还不算狰狞，我觉得他年轻的时候一定“狰狞”过。

这个电影拍的真的好随意啊，不是老洪最好的电影。

是“发行商写字楼味道”的老洪。

不是“海味”的老洪，不是“艺术家味”的老洪，更不是“烧酒瓶味”的老洪。

即便这部电影里这些元素都出现了，但这电影真的很一般，在老洪所有的电影里。

我为什么讨厌婚宴，一个桌子上总有海参和鲍鱼，甚至一个盘子里。

海参和鲍鱼能顿一起吗？

好像也能，但这个一百加一百小于一的事情，我很讨厌。

以后千万不要把敏敏和于佩尔放一起了，即便佩姨是我们老于家的人，即便是一个天才导演，但真的做不出等于二百的东西来，更别说要出现事半功倍的效果了。

老洪真是爱拍漂亮女孩子抽烟啊。

能把抽烟的女孩子拍的如此不做作，如此自然，真的好会选角色啊。

我爱老洪。

老洪的电影是我的顾影自怜。