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April 06, 2007

Two or Three Things I Know About Her

By Tram

We had no choice except to relate to faceless 'others' via the cold and heartless calculus of the necessary money exchanges which could co-ordinate a proliferating social sense of time and space, and surrender ourselves to the hegemony of calculating economic rationality. Rapid urbanization, furthermore, produced what he called a 'blase attitude', for it was only by screening out the complex stimuli that stemmed from the rush of modern life that we could tolerate its extremes. Our only outlet, he seems to say, is to cultivate a sham individualism through pursuit of signs of status, fashion, or marks of individual eccentricity.

-David Harvey on 20th century German philospher Georg Simmel

The cold, blase world that Simmel often depicts in his writings can just be easily applied to Jean-Luc Godard's 1966 masterpiece, Two or Three Things I Know About Her. To borrow a striking line from the omniscient narrator (Godard himself), whose non-diagetic voice only enhances the futile sense of industrialized sterility: "Dead objects are always alive, and live people are already dead." Clothes, washing machines, and color television screens are wants that ultimately become dire necessities.

In a (now-legendary) close-up of a cup of coffee, the foamy swirls appear only to disappear, evocative of a cosmo-universe experiencing uncertainty.

Inspired by a newspaper report, Godard's film centers on suburban housewife, Juliette Jeanson (Marine Vlady), as she resorts to prostitution to pay for her extravagant consumer purchases. In this sense, her body literally becomes a form of exchange; sex for the latest trendy coat in the nearby department store. Juliette is blase to the point where such a degrading experience no longer becomes degrading - she is merely a factory worker completing her designated role in, an assembly line. When a male customer asks Juliette her thoughts on intercourse, she answers - in the most deadpan, textbook manner - that it is the act in which "the male organs are inserted between her thighs".

But are consumer goods worth such a soul-stealing exchange? Godard adamantly says no. One of the most resonant things about Two or Three Things is its ability to capture the emptiness of not only modern life, but the act of consumption itself. Juliette buys another aesthetically appealing wardrobe, yet something is missing - and she, sadly, doesn't know what it is.

Meaningless prevails in almost every context of life. In Godard's vision of the world, culture does not go hand-in-hand with capitalism. Distinct countries with distinct cultures of their own are reduced to exotic tourist attractions - eye candy to prospective (Western) tourists in marketing campaigns by commerical airlines (i.e. TWA and Air France). Israel! Bangkok! Japan! These are just a few of the destinations displayed in the background mis-en-scene of various rooms, including the shabby one-star hotel that Juliette prostitutes in. When asked, by her manicurist, about her recent trip to Leningrad, Russia, Juliette rather shrugs it off, commenting how Russians were just "like everyone else".

"There are three cultures converging here," Godard's wryly notes in his voice-over, as he shows a commerical image of a barely clothed blonde female with jiggling breasts, waiting to be oogled by a consumer. "The culture of leisure. The culture of keychains. And the culture of ass." Ethnic culture is no longer applicable to today's way of life, for it doesn't provide the rush and high that the immediately pleasurable (consumerist) spectacle provides to the masses.

The "Her" in the title alludes to not only Juliette the housewife, but to the city of Paris itself, which is undergoing urban renewal. Urban renewal is palpable on two levels: the physical realm, and a socio-economic one. Throughout Two or Three Things, the landscapes we see outdoors are characterized by two extremes: either barren or over-the-top vibrancy.

The barreness is found in the various construction sites, crowded with huge trucks, forklifts, and cranes that shovel up mounds of dirt hill. The forced vibrancy, meanwhile, is helped by not only the stylish cars driven by people like Juliette, but signs - a myriad of signs - in the city, whether it be a sign of the gasoline company, Mobil, the neon-lighted letters of the neighborhood supermarket, or the bright logo of a simple household cleaning product such as Ajax.

On a socio-economic scale, the consequences are even more alienating than the schizo-barren/flashy landscape themselves. Urban renewal is mocking the working class, Godard observes. Housing is no longer just a means of shelter; it becomes real estate - a form of dog-eat-dog stock investment. Out with the old (shabby, poorer inhabitants), and in with the new (more affluent residents)! Of all the devastatingly timeless truths that Two or Three Things reflects, this one probably hurts the most.

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