克莱尔的相机

6.5洪老师的每一次剧本都是一种试验 对别人也是对自己 我不用去揣度他的用意很可能他自己也并非十分确定 于是 平常的几件小事情在时间的平行空间里窜梭甚至可以无目的 结尾可能看作未来她又回去工作了虽然我觉得可能性不大也可能就丢一个早就想好的开头到拉里罢了……洪老师对于一个场景的处理是一镜到底 省了无谓烦杂的剪辑但事先需要做好充足的安排 还要演员不能NG情绪始终连贯像演话剧一样的要求 就是里面那些感觉无理由的推拉常让我感觉不适虽然次数还克制（其实也不是没理由 一般处理都会蒙太奇割开好像把姑娘丑的那面遮去不见 这儿就是啥都给你看 whatever）两个非英语国家的人用英语交流用词自然尽量简单 口音也各有特色若不是有剧本我还真不信她们一路会无阻 还有情绪上的表达也有问题 至少于老师的“oh yes”就瞬间让我尴尬…… 所以她们的交流更多是在剧本上的也就是说流于表面的 亚洲人和欧洲人对“礼貌”的身体力行上截然不同 前者有虚伪之嫌后者坦荡（我有时候非常讨厌这种“虚伪”却又常不知为何 现在好像明白一点也）

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。

整部影片69分钟，我感觉其中有20%是镜头的起幅和落幅，还有50%的尬聊。

不知道有没有导演解读，但是就说说自己的理解吧。

故事还算明了，导演和漂亮女制片员工发生一夜情，导演的正牌女友又恰好是员工的制片老板，于是老板决定在戛纳参展的时候和员工摊牌让她滚蛋。

但没想到导演其实对制片已然没有激情，也相继和女制片摊牌。

整个故事似乎并没有克莱尔啥事情，这个主角究竟是干嘛的呢？

其实我觉得她就像一个用相机记录并收集各色人群经历和感情的精灵。

她的存在是向观众更好地展现故事的细节，或者说强行推动故事情节的发展。

影片看到一半的时候，我就想到貌似以前听说过一个故事，好像是一个收废品的，高价收购各种废品，一个孩子想把自己小时候的东西全卖了，但是不解这些东西有什么用，收废品的说，这里面包含着人们的回忆啊，我最喜欢了。

（具体啥故事我记得了，好像是类似的，如果谁也听过这样大概的，请告诉我）克莱尔其实就让我联想到了这么一个角色，一个收集人们的故事的精灵。

为什么说是精灵呢，有几个情节让人觉得她很会让别人信服于她。

比如在餐厅的时候，导演问她为啥照相，她说这一秒的你和下一秒的你已然不同了，我想记录下来（这不是形而上学吗？

）刚开始导演并不信服，她让他和她对视，后来竟然也把导演说的神神叨叨的，后来和制片摊牌的时候也竟然说到以前的时候和现在的时候不一样。

还有一次是，克莱尔跟着万熙去吃韩国料理的时候，在楼下硬是也让万熙觉得壁画很奇怪。

（当然都也可能是出于礼貌的认同）不仅如此，整部片子最大最大令观众迷惑的地方其实就是，为什么克莱尔明明在之前见过万熙，后来在海边第三次（或者第二次）见面的时候，却好像之前没见过似的；克莱尔明明见过了导演和制片，后来和万熙聊天的时候却假装啥都不知道呢？

这就是我认为可以解释为何她是精灵的原因，她需要别人释放的经历或者感情，自己才可以用相机记录。

其实还有几个小的细节，比如克莱尔和导演在咖啡厅说她是法国人，刚到没几天，可是有一个镜头是她进入了沙滩旁的桥洞里。

第二个是，万熙讲自己也会作曲，后来克莱尔说自己是个音乐老师；如果克莱尔真的是个音乐老师，那她听到万熙说她有时会作曲的时候，正常的回答应该会提及自己是音乐老师的身份吧；但是她只字不提。

其实整部片子就是克莱尔用各种谎言来引出导演、制片和员工之间的混乱故事。

甚至看到这种纪录片式的长镜头和推拉镜头，我还在想“克莱尔的相机”其实并不光是她手里的相机，还有这个正在拍摄的相机。

总之，处处透露着奇怪的诡异，这种奇幻的色彩不光是叙事时间线的混乱和尴尬的台词，还有前后处处解释不通的矛盾。

至于克莱尔这个角色也是很让人迷惑。

有点炫技的成分，没有表演，没有台词，感觉就是一集伦理电视剧的剧情，20分钟就能讲完的故事非要拖进69分钟里。

当然如果有导演解读那最好了。

ps.看到有的影评讲可能是梦，是还没有发生的事情，这其实也能解释得通。

pps.金敏喜长得太像我的一个同学，看着看着就出戏。

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。

《克莱尔的相机》邀请了两个重量级演员：一个韩国大美女金敏喜，一个法国国宝级演员于佩尔，作为陪衬，讲述了一个极具现实意义的故事：导演怎么去寻找灵感？

是否需要为艺术献身？

献身后的羞耻感怎么破？

不过这个导演非常幸运，周围有个从生活和情感上都给予无微不至照顾的制片人。

导演为了艺术献身，她自然应该为导演扫平障碍，哪怕是一丁点的心理阴影。

缪斯重要么？

重要，但为了导演的未来，缪斯也可以成为随意牺牲的陪葬品。

于是，我们曾经腹黑、心计深沉大《小姐》金敏喜诱受，成功的变成了被随意牺牲的傻白甜缪斯。

而且本片导演打破电影常规，用了几乎超越纪录片的超现实主义模式，采用家庭DV的拍摄手法，以毫不了解情况的外人——客观第三者的视角来展示这个复杂而深沉的主题。

几位主角的演技自是无可挑剔，因为作为客观第三者视角，我们大部分时间其实根本也看不到演员的表情，自是无可挑剔也无法挑剔的。

只有大师级导演才会成就这么先锋试验性的电影：完全打破一切电影镜头语言的常规要求，长时间两人对话的固定镜头；所有情节都是靠对话推进；时间顺序、逻辑顺序乱而不杂；风景优美的电影胜地戛纳，完全拍出了陈旧腐败、藏污纳垢的衰败感……我们应该为导演的大胆突破和对艺术的讽刺而喝彩！

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).

我通常喜欢电影有独特的立意、完美的逻辑和有意思的剧情，再加上优质的拍摄、音乐、节奏等等。

但洪尚秀的作品是个例外，很少见如此随性的编剧兼导演，就是随意的遇到一个想法就简单的实现了。

但是，却带有独特洪式随性的魅力。

这部片子很短，就69分钟。

在戛纳电影节期间9天拍摄1天初剪完成，是个尬片，集各种尬聊之大成。

剧情很简单，许多小笑点，又是通过剪辑手段把观众扔进云里雾里的；每部有金敏喜的片子，都能把她从第一眼一个还不错的妮子拍得越来越美，越来越迷人；音乐很舒缓，十分配合如此随性却又细腻的拍摄手法。

看完全片，大家对故事的理解可能都不太相同，这都是拜洪导剪辑的功力，给大家留得想象空间。

看完，脑子里出现剧中各种人与人之间的关系，这也是每次洪导最喜欢探讨的部分吧。

跟随洪导的步伐，随性的写下这个感想。

还想说，迷人的于佩尔阿姨那么美，金敏喜也真是美，这个梗看过的同学会懂得，嘻嘻，洪式洗脑。

哈哈哈哈这应该是目前看的最随性的电影了吧，洪尚秀的极简主义又一次展现得淋漓尽致。

克莱尔手中的相机就像人在面对生活的挡箭牌，化解了一切尴尬、生硬、附和、无用的人际交往，导演一直喜欢去社会中人与人之间的交流问题，虚伪、口是心非等等，虽然看起来是善意友好，实际上只是在浪费时间。

洪尚秀镜头里的男人总是反复无常与懦弱，这部也一样非常有趣，当然，她镜头下的女神是绝美的，金敏喜和于佩尔可是缪斯啊！

当我谈万熙的时候我是没法不谈金敏喜的 哪有什么万熙 那只有金敏喜其实很心疼女boss 她说自己曾经那样年轻美丽 当导演抓住她的手时 她卸下了全部防备 搔首弄姿的样子甚至让人不舒服 可是她也年轻过 也曾有过与她相配的爱情 但是她输了 我们也会输 整个世界都会输给金敏喜 所以整个世界都得到了斥责她的权利 但她还是那么美 就像海伦导演或许试图分出自己的一部分成为克莱尔 或者希望观众可以是克莱尔——忠于属于自己的 一段单方面逝去的感情 欣赏她 陪伴她 不用面对世论指责 最好连她的语言也不会 却能用另一种美丽的语言朗读诗歌 但他又一定不会甘于此 所以他宁愿一次又一次的出演自己 不清醒的 感性的 懦弱的 狼狈的 恼羞成怒的 恬不知耻的 中年出轨导演渣男般的怒吼其实是缴械投降的示爱和寻不到出路的绝望一边拍摄着美丽的情人 一边任凭世人评头论足 我曾觉得他们是厚脸皮 是所谓为了爱情不顾一切 现在我觉得他是在用这种方式赎罪【或者说他没法不这样拍下去】 向自己 向世界 也向他善良但不诚实的爱人也许金敏喜也会老吧 但她在克莱尔的相机里 仍是海伦【我也不知道我怎么就成了金敏喜脑残粉了 真的抵挡不住 我现在就觉得我特懂洪导😔】

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.