DOUGLAS KEESEY California Polytechnic State University Split identification: Representations of rape in Gaspar Noé’s Irréversible and Catherine Breillat’s A ma soeur!/Fat Girl ABSTRACT This article critically examines rape scenes in two films of the ‘new extreme cinema’, Gaspar Noé’s Irréversible (2002) and Catherine Breillat’s A ma sœur!/Fat Girl (2001). On the surface, Noé’s disturbing long-take rape scene is clearly designed to foster empathy with the woman’s experience and to induce a physical aversion to rape. However, a deeper examination of the scene’s ambiguous techniques reveals that they actually work to split the viewer’s identification between the rapist and the woman he attacks. One function of this split is to lead the viewer – who is presumed to be male – along an emotional path from lustful aggression towards empathic understanding. Similarly, the film also provides audiences with a transitional figure – a male character who is almost raped – as someone with whom they can identify on the way towards identifying with the female. But this male character ultimately serves as a negative example when he moves to take revenge – an act which is shown to be an extension of the rape, part of the same masculinist ideology or myth of male inviolability perpetuated through the violation of others. Furthermore, the revenge is revealed as being the male character’s denial of his own complicity in the rape and of his own participation in ‘rape culture’. The rape scene in Breillat’s 1A ma sœur! also induces in the viewer a split identification with the rapist and with the female subjected to attack – in this case a young girl who disturbingly seems to ‘acquiesce’ to the assault. This scene is best understood as a rape fantasy that shows how the girl has internalized oppressive notions of femininity and female sexual response. In this fantasy, it is the girl’s own subjectivity that is split between the attacker and herself as ‘willing’ victim, between the man’s sadism and her own ‘feminine’ desire to be punished. The rape fantasy could thus be seen as an acting out of the same old gender story in which the girl (or the viewer) is forced to make a choice between two polarized or untenable positions: identifying masochistically with the victim or identifying against herself with the sadistic rapist. However, this rape fantasy could also be viewed as a working through of gender stereotypes. It is possible to see the split subject of the rape fantasy not as someone who is torn between masculine sadism and feminine masochism, but instead as someone who simultaneously occupies both positions and therefore neither – as someone who occupies an undefined and unconventional space beyond sadomasochism. As recently noted by Linda Williams in Screening Sex, sex ‘is not a stable truth that cameras and microphones either “catch” or don’t catch’. Rather, when it is depicted in the cinema, sex ‘is a constructed, mediated, performed act’ (Williams 2008: 2). The same could be said of rape as shown on film: far from being simply present, it is a complex representation involving formal strategies that have ideological effects. This article critically examines rape scenes in two films of the ‘new extreme cinema’, Gaspar Noé’s Irréversible (2002) and Catherine Breillat’s A ma sœur!/Fat Girl (2001). 1 Estelle bayon takes the term ‘physiological cinema’ from director Marco Ferreri, who used it in referring to his film La Grande Bouffe/Blow Out (1973). The most-often-noted aspect of the rape scene in Irréversible is its long duration. For an excruciatingly extended period of time, a single-take static camera watches from floor level as Alex (Monica Bellucci) is raped, with her suffering face visible in the foreground throughout. Noé has explained this duration in terms of realism: ‘I thought the time was realistic. [...] I don’t think there are many rapes that are less than 5 minutes’ (Lovell 2003). This introduction of ‘real time’ into cinematic representation creates a ‘punctuation moment’, a term that audience response researchers have used to describe ‘a challenge to the boundaries of acceptable depiction’ of an event on film (Selfe 2008). The term has interesting resonance with Roland Barthes’ ‘punctum’, the aspect of a photograph that ‘pierces’ the viewer (Barthes 1982: 26, 27), as the unbearable Real can be said to pierce the Symbolic. The ‘real time’-extended duration of the rape scene disallows a conventional distance from the event and pierces the viewer: ‘this is as close [as] one could come to empathizing with a victim without having physically experienced the assault oneself’, says Eugenie Brinkema (2004). Estelle Bayon, after describing the rape scene as ‘obligating us to undergo the suffering of the victim in all its duration’, characterizes Noé’s film as ‘physiological cinema’: ‘By implicating [the spectator] physically rather than merely intellectually, verbally, cinema as a physical discourse makes one feel, really’ (Bayon 2007: 81, 124, 127).1 And what we are meant to feel is repulsed by rape. In contrast to the ambiguous/ambivalent depiction of rape in a film like Straw Dogs (1971), Noé has said that ‘In my case, it’s much clearer. You have this innocent woman and this terrible monster’ (Gabbey 2005: 41). Noé’s mode of representation is designed to induce a physical aversion to rape, making his film an example of what B. Ruby Rich has called ‘“conversion cinema”: films that attempt to horrify or shock the spectator into ethics’ (Horeck 2004: 96). To ‘feel violated’, the viewer must empathize with the woman’s experience. Before the rape, as Alex walks down into the underpass tunnel where the assault will occur, the camera maintains a position behind her, moving with her as she walks and seeing what she sees. Once the rape begins, the camera holds its floor-level position much as Alex is pinned to the floor by her attacker, and Alex’s suffering face is constantly in frame as an emotional point of contact for the viewer. As Noé explains, ‘The rape is seen from the victim’s point of view’ (Magill 2002): ‘you identify with Monica [playing Alex], because at the beginning of the scene you’re behind her back’ (Gabbey 2005: 42), and ‘because the camera is following her from the back, and is put on the floor, like she’s stuck to the floor, you are in her head’ (Magill 2002). However, the camera could also be experienced as stalking Alex as it follows her down into the tunnel, especially given that the camera remains some distance behind her and is thus not positioned for the kind of over-the-shoulder shot that would more fully suture us into her perspective. This idea that Alex is being eyed by a stalker is reinforced by a feeling of pervasive danger that makes us fear an impending assault: Alex is alone on the streets at night, wearing only a skimpy party dress, and the film’s reverse chronology has already revealed her bloodied body on a stretcher so that we know she will soon be subjected to a vicious attack. Of course, even if the camera has in a sense adopted a stalker’s visual perspective, it could be argued that this only increases our emotional identification with Alex. As Sarah Projansky points out, filmic ‘texts that provide the spectator with an attacker’s point of view do not necessarily equate the spectator with the villain. Rather, the representation of the attacker’s visual point of view provides the spectator with more knowledge than the vulnerable woman in the text, using suspense to create anxiety for and identification with her’ (Projansky 2001: 216).2 2 Sarah Projansky here follows Carol J. Clover, who in Men, Women, and Chain Saws (1992) was among the first to complicate our understanding of modes of viewer identification in modern horror and rape-revenge films. Noé’s ‘stalking camera’ does make us fear for Alex, but it is too simple to say that it does not also get us to identify with the stalker. In his DVD audio commentary, Noé points out that one effect of the camera’s following Alex from behind is that her face is not revealed for some time (in fact, not until just before the rape). Noé says that, knowing how much the fans of Monica Bellucci were desirous of seeing her face, he wanted to keep them in suspense. So the viewer here is also positioned as a fan following a beautiful actress and being tantalized, having to wait and wait to see her face. And this actress who is being followed is wearing an extraordinarily revealing dress – ‘the sexiest dress we could find for her’, according to Noé (Tang 2003). 3 Thus, as the camera follows Alex, the viewer’s identification is split between the stalker and Alex, torn between lusting after her and fearing for her. When the rapist actually confronts Alex in the tunnel, leering at her in her revealing dress and raising his phallic knife, the identificatory tension within the viewer reaches a crisis provoked by the living presence of an actual stalker-figure. Faced with a clear choice, the viewer must emphatically resist the temptation to identify with the stalker/rapist. It is for this reason that Noé brings an end to the camera’s ambivalent movement – lustful versus empathetic – and attempts to ground it for good in empathy with Alex: In the case of Alex, I did [operate] the camera myself. I was [following, circling, and] preceding her, and then suddenly I put the camera on the ground, and I just couldn’t move it again.