克莱尔的相机

洪尚秀，金敏喜，于佩尔，法国戛纳，13天左右的拍摄周期，于是，《克莱尔的相机》诞生了。

洪尚秀在胖哥心中的地位仅次于私生活同样异常活跃的伍迪艾伦，他们都是爱把电影拍成带点自传性质的伪知识分子。他们两人最大的不同在于，伍迪艾伦的电影有不少电影化的语言，布景和调度是学院派的，然后融合进伍迪艾伦的审美特效，行程固定的类型模式。

而洪尚秀常常是反类型的，他的电影缺少电影化的语言，极少有镜头调度，那些看起来笨拙的“推进和拉出”是他顽固的作者性表征。

两人在表现“梦境”时的方式可谓形式主义和现实主义的两个极端。伍迪艾伦在充满天才般创造力的场景中让人看到了天马行空的想象力和执行力，而胆大妄为的洪尚秀却把梦和现实混淆不清，暧昧不明，让现实侵入梦，把梦变成了现实。

在《独自在海边的夜晚》《自由之丘》《你自己与你所有》中，梦和现实的含混不明达到了令人气愤的巅峰。那种美好刚刚抵达即刻抽身而去的坍塌感令人不适，倍感焦虑，甚至愤怒。这次《克莱尔的相机》抛去了所有有关梦境的架构，用《自由之丘》中的非线性叙事，把一个异常无聊的故事玩出了几分花样。

万熙（我的女神金敏喜 饰）莫名其妙的上司辞职，这个她勤勤恳恳工作了5年的地方，在一次聊天中就被女老板辞退。

身处异国他乡，她一下子失去了生活的重心。为什么被辞退？这个答案被巴黎人克莱尔（很多人的女神于佩尔 饰）意外记录了下来。第一次来到戛纳的法国人克莱尔带着相机四处采风，

在一天之内，她先后遇上了万熙，女老板和男导演。在多次偶遇之后，她为几人拍下的照片让万熙明白了她被辞退的缘由，也理清楚了几人之间的关系，从意外、不解、气愤，到最后的释然。

这是一部三个女人和一个男人的故事。于佩尔饰演的克莱尔是角色的中心，她串联了人物之间的关系，引发了剧情张力，制造了角色内心的情绪波澜，带来了偶然性的转变。

另外，洪尚秀还打乱了故事的前后顺序，是以人物为中心，而非时间为脉络的散点叙事。其中，故事会交错，甚至会重复，插叙和倒叙不断交替，很多地方故意不说明白，却似乎又说到了点子上。影片的故事异常简单，非线性叙事不过是为了提升观众的注意力，制造悬念，为简单的故事带来丰富的文本性外延。

影片里有一段非常有意思的谈话，类似于《自由之丘》中，男主角一直拿着的那本叫做《时间》的小说。影片你，克莱尔说，“照片中的对象在被拍照之后就被改变了”。

对此，男导演一直不解，而万熙却给出了答案。其实，克莱尔每一次遇见三位角色时，他们都发生着从内到外的变化。万熙、女老板，男导演，包括克莱尔在内，四人之间的关系，各自的心理状态每次都大为不同。

洪尚秀这样解释：

我猜我是有意做一部能引起多样反应的电影。甚至对《之后》，有些人说它非常悲剧化，也有人说它很搞笑很有意思。每个人，当其在电影中穿行的时候，都会捡起不同的碎片出来之后再尽力使这些碎片合理化。我认为这是自然且最有益的。

在碎片化的故事中，洪尚秀用克莱尔和她的相机 ，以及拍下的照片制造了连接和沟通，而这种叙事切割，加上洪尚秀的个性化零调度让影片具有了“拟态现实”的模糊感。

电影本身会制造一个舞台感，给观众营造一个安全的距离，让观众知道故事的建构本质，同时也可以自由参与其中。但洪尚秀的反类型模式，消解了距离感，以一种拟态真实，无限靠近现实，带有记录性质的镜头画面让观众在影片中看到了自己。

洪尚秀经常在影片中设置尴尬的相遇，无语的陪伴。《克莱尔的相机》中，克莱尔主动和男导演搭讪，两人一开始交流的非常轻松，可当男导演主动要求和克莱尔坐在一起时，两人随即“聊死”，气氛晓得格外尴尬。男导演自顾自的喝咖啡，克莱尔拿出了手机翻看，两人长时间无交流，画面凝固，时间浓稠。

这场戏是对于距离感精妙隐喻，适当的距离带来交流的可能，而距离的消失让安全感隐退，焦虑开始陡升，美感被破坏。洪尚秀消灭舞台，让观众在零距离范围内和角色产生共鸣，这种带有逼迫性质的要挟，使得影片有着情绪凌迟般的苦痛。这种风格让洪尚秀的电影从淡然中放大了情感的蛛丝马迹。

原来，观众可以影片中的角色一样，如此敏感，如此透明，如此喜怒无常。我们被这种释义空间巨大的剧情所操控，主动开始去填空，用自我的经历，自我的情感去弥补叙事中有意留下的缝隙。

由此，我们最终在洪尚秀的电影中看到了自己，毕竟都是些男男女女的纠葛缠绕，而谁不是个“有点故事”的人呢？

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。

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。

一部从诞生起就以“简单”而闻名的电影。这部由金敏喜和伊莎贝尔·于佩尔主演的影片在 2016 年戛纳电影节期间拍成，于佩尔当时是在电影节宣传保罗·范霍文的《她》期间抽空拍摄，而丝毫不令人意外的是，在电影节结束的时候，洪已经完成了电影的粗剪。近年来，洪尚秀凭借他的这套演员班子，拍片速度越来越快，2017 年推出了 3 部，2018 年又推出了 2 部， 而每一部影片都在简单的外表下流露着一名自信的作者的姿态，不难想起巅峰期的法斯宾德。

我惊讶于洪尚秀在这部电影里塑造的人物形象，而在视觉上也有着精妙的设计， 那些说洪偷懒的人们，我实在不明白他们究竟还想要什么。请看看它有机立体的颜色：金敏喜穿着深蓝色上衣坐在海边的石头上；于佩尔穿着一件堪称经典的金黄大衣，映在戛纳的海滩上、图书馆以及公寓黄色的墙旁边。电影甚至在短短 70 分钟内就成熟地打造了一个精巧环绕的结构，反映着其肥皂剧式的剧情，人物于某个地点出发后分离（开场的办公室与咖啡厅），绕过一个中心节点（中餐馆），发散到其他的地点（海边、公寓）在最后重逢于原点，而那条灰黑色的大狗，则慵懒地守护着电影的三个重要节点。在每一个场景中，洪熟练地运用他有限但自由的摄影机技巧（推拉变焦，一镜到底）拍摄着人物的对话。此时，洪深知英语并不是尬聊的最佳语言，但却又是唯一的语言，于是在于佩尔表演所赐予的一种“莫名奇妙”的质感中（她的角色令人惊讶地具有好奇心，还宣称自己从未来过戛纳），巧妙的幽默也诞生了。显然，只有这样一名像洪这样极为自信与高效的电影作者才能以这样的速度拍摄出这样的作品。

于佩尔手里总是拿着宝丽来相机（感谢友邻指正，于佩尔在片中使用的是富士mini70，并非宝丽来牌）拍摄周遭的人，在此也在洪尚秀的设计中变为了一个巧妙连接起整部情节剧故事的有效工具。而可别忘了，宝丽来即拍即得即时传播的特点，不正也是洪以如此快速度拍摄电影的一个完美的意象么？或许，洪尚秀注定要在戛纳花这 6 天以宝丽来的速度拍完这部叫《克莱尔的相机》的影片。

克莱尔的相机 (2017)

6.6

2017 / 韩国 法国 / 剧情 / 洪常秀 / 伊莎贝尔·于佩尔 金敏喜

当你凝望深渊，深渊也在凝望你

整部电影是以倒叙和意识流的形式呈现给观众，没有过分严谨的剧情安排，甚至连台词都好像是随性的尬聊，自然中又透露着不自然。令我印象深刻的片段，是金敏喜在咖啡厅桌前独自重复和上级的对话，她仿佛在寻找答案，通过这种方式来给自己一个答案，她难以接受自己被无端揣测，不理解上司没来由的恶意。

她真的很美，也很纯粹，这让我不由自主的联系到了东野圭吾的《恶意》。就算是面对并没有做出任何实质性伤害自己的人，也没来由的滋生的恶意，那么坦诚的，像一把黑暗中尖锐且反射着人性的刀，明晃晃的刺入对方的心脏。

而它真实的让对方无法怀疑，甚至无从得知这股强烈恶意的源头。

毫无根据，毫无逻辑。却让人不寒而栗。

而所有的一切，可能只是一个微表情，一句日常的交流，像是被戳开小洞的纸巾，一点点，被戳成了一个大口。最终，成为了武器。

名为“恶意”的武器。

金敏喜在剧中是一个肆意展现自我美好的女人，她有权利化浓妆，可以选择自己喜欢的衣服不管它是否暴露，这些都只是在生活中给自己安排的小仪式感。但是透过社会的视角，她变成为了吸引别人对她热情取悦才故意将自己变成这样。又或是在上司眼里具有两面社交属性的交际花，勾引自己丈夫，邪恶且虚伪的小三。

试想生活中又何尝没有这些想尽办法去证明你做的不对的人呢？

内心微小的恶意，当你凝望深渊，深渊也在凝视着你。

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 breakdown

Women’s Experience Matters: Redefining Feminist Cinema through Claire’s Camera

As 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 Cited

Butler, 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.