Toute une nuit

The night as blank canvas where people trace impulsive paths with their bodies, Chantal has twice before captivated me with something like this. She is a gentle soul, gentle in the distance from which she views, alert to the hum of transience. Once more she gives us yearning in faint orbits.

It's pure listless summer night this one, one of the most atmospheric works I've found. Life for her is woven from breath and space, the moment that fleets before we can hold onto. She captures marvelous moments here; my favorites show a little girl rushing down the stairs and out the house as lovers embrace in the street, a young couple eloping in the night from a veranda door.

She begins to lose me when it's about no life in particular. Jeanne Dielman and Anna's Meetings were embodied in a woman who wonders and waits as she makes her way. Here we follow a dozen people through a hot summer night in the city. They come and go from places, wait for someone, pursue or leave each other in the street. Utterances are few, we infer from glances and bodies. Embrace or the urge to escape from embrace that has grown tired is the recurring pattern.

It's even more abstract and sensory than before. Purely on a moment- by-moment basis it's marvelous work. But sprawling as we do, not knowing these people as more than figures going to and from, it becomes choreographed performance, a study of form rather than journey that cuts through it. Most likely this was the specific intention. It brought to mind Pina Bausch and her dances of impulse painting itself with bodies. I see that she would make a film on Pina soon after.

It's a very tender balance anyway. You want - as Ozu did early on - to sift through the clamor of life to find those moments that lay bare the heart that minds, the body that is kept awake at nights, but I would rather have it reflected back in a way that tethers me to sleepless nights I've known, as a consciousness that inhabits a world that surrounds, which is how we know the world. It always comes back to having this one body, and to land in brief moments of different lives, the tethers grow lax and it moves to an omniscient view, a formal visit.

But this is Chantal choreographing sketches on life as all this merry-go-round, viewers who are interested in form will have a ball.

A flirtatious series of near character studies. Scene by scene, we are given what might be the parts of a larger romance, or maybe highlights from a variety of comic romance films. Unlike more narrative explorations, few of the scenes get past the "discovery" moment -- introducing the tension -- as if "finishing" the scene, releasing the tension, would be robbing the characters of their right to resolve the situation on their own. In other words, the tension is not there to embarrass people into action; tension is an unavoidable, and funny, part of life, all by itself.

Though we get few good looks at any particular situation, the humor and the sense of anticipation at the start convinced me to stay when the scenes began to explore more static relationships and more durable parts of love.

Also, this film is more like a book than a movie. Imagine how silly it'd be for a bunch of people to make some popcorn, open some beers and sit down and read a book together and that's kind of how seeing this movie might be. But it's a good book!

According to Cognitive Relativism and Radical Constructivism, objects do not exist outside of our perception. According to these metaphysical theories, we therefore create the world by aid of our senses, the same world that we perceive, according to Trancendentalism, because it has its own reality independent of our perception. In a world that follows the lines of Cognitive Realism, everything is sign, the world is no longer divided in presenting objects on the one side and representing signs on the other side: We can only perceive signs – the world is a pure semiotic one. In such a solipsist world, there is no real distinction between outside and inside, because the semiotic cosmos is closed by the capability of our perception. Cognitive Relativism thus explains satisfactorily, why we can imagine "unreal" objects like dragons, mermaids or unicorns (although perhaps nobody ever has seen them in the "real" world): They are created by our senses, they are – as signs – no more and no less "real" than trees, beer glasses or cars.

The relativism of the outside and inside is the basic topic of Chantal Akerman's movie "Toute une nuit": The director presents in 23 fragments couples whose relationships are centered outside or inside of doors and windows. According to Gaston Bachelard, the door is "the cosmos of half-openness": Doors can be open or closed, they mark the difference between outside and inside, and between are the thresholds. But doors normally do not have transparency, windows, however, do: they can be closed, but one can watch from the inside to the outside or vice versa. In abolishing the transparency by closing the curtains, they turn into doors. From this standpoint, mirrors cheat on windows, because they are not transparent.

In concentrating on the little spaces outside or inside of doors, we see only fragments of the lives of these couples: The half-openness does not let us decide which are the reasons of their separating, their being together or their reconciling: this decisions, too, stay half-open. But this movie does not only show fragments, it is a fragment of fragments itself, hence auto-logical. And this auto-logy goes along with the semiotic character of solipsist relativism: There are only certain types of signs, in which all reality can be coded, therefore, signs survive the reality (as perceived by our senses) only with loss of parts of quality. Signs are thus fragments of reality, which is thinned by our perception. Famous names of French philosophy such as Jacques Lacan, Julia Kristeva, Luce Irigaray, Bruno Latour, Jean Baudrillard, Gilles Deleuze, Félix Guattari and Paul Virilio are the fathers and mothers of the metaphysical background of "Toute une nuit" – a film which is therefore one of these movies that are not made for everybody.

The fore-mentioned Paul Virilio delivered also the theoretical background of the high-speed with which Chantal Akerman presents her fragments: Since signs are the remainders of quality that can be perceived after having been filtered from reality by our perception, the quantitative aspects are passing the qualitative ones. But this is good so: Franz Kafka wrote that everybody who would be capable of perceiving everything, would be dead instantly. The quantity of speed induced by our senses, the loss of quality induced by signs and the consolation given us by Cognitive Relativism that there are no menacing objects independent (and thus outside of control) of our senses turn out to be life-preserving.

But the most important question that arises is: What, if this fragmentary character of our life is only introduced by Aristotelian logic, in which there is only space for one subject – an "I" or a "thou", but not for both? In this case, Aristotelian logic must be replaced by a multi-valued logic which can take care of the disturbing fact that a "thou" is a "I" and thus a subject from its own standpoint, but an object from the standpoint of any other "I": The borders between subject and object are getting fluid, and thus contradict Aristotelian logic. Could it thus be that life is only fragmentary because all our activities are based on a fragmentary logic?

Akerman's Toute une nuit is a collection of vignettes depicting the fancies and dramatic moments of a number of people throughout one summer night. The film has little dialogue and relies on a remarkable series of contrasts for effect: a sultry night of deep, often painful depictions of passion visualized in a stark and grainy manner against the backdrop of a spiritless, bland Brussels.

Perhaps the film's greatest strength is the irony of richness in its seemingly static depiction. Each of the pictures is beautifully ephemeral, usually lasting no more than one action, movement, or event. They allow no real presentation of characters, but nonetheless show each 'character' in a special and unique way. At the end, it is possible to define each of these individuals distinctly from the careful balance of motions, occasional dialogue, and atmosphere in which they were presented.

For those dependent on (or at least accustomed to) an integrated style of narrative giving greater importance to dialogue, this can be a difficult film to watch. And for what one would expect for it to compensate in subtlety, it is often dry. It is well orchestrated nonetheless, a satisfying arc of characters and their interactions for a careful viewer.

Akerman here show 50-odd stories, but only picks the most melodramatic moment in each story, moments of meeting, parting, longing, and despair. The film is brilliantly filmed, using a still camera for the most part. There are twenty-three camera movements, all but one simple pans and tilts. The film is funny and intellectually satisfying. Viewers need to give it a chance, for it does not announce its intentions, and those accustomed to the usual narrative will find it difficult to get into the film. It is, however, well worth the effort. A very great film indeed.