Breaking Aristotle's Chains: Riding the New Wave with Godard and Melville
"Everything I know about narrative, I learned from Aristotle." Who can honestly claim this after two millennia of evolution? Let's face it: this isn't Athens, and we're not in 335BC.
This idea is ludicrous. So why do we cling to Aristotle's Poetics as if it's the ultimate guide to storytelling? And what comes to mind when you hear the word 'storytelling.' A grand plot that unfolds neatly with a beginning, middle, and end? A dramatic climax that turns the tide and draws you to the edge of your seat? An Aristotelian structure, right? Let's set that framework aside for a moment and delve into the cinematic worlds of Jean-Pierre Melville and Jean-Luc Godard - worlds where such rules are broken, stretched, and often ignored completely. These cinematic rebels dared to paint outside Aristotle's ancient and fossilized lines and, in the process, crafted narrative masterpieces that shook the very Greek foundations of storytelling. It was time for an earthquake.
Melville's Quiet Rebellion
When I say 'storytelling,' what's the first thing that comes to mind? A grandiose saga neatly divided into beginning, middle, and end? A well-oiled plot leading to a heart-stopping climax? Ah, yes, good ol' Aristotle's guide to 'making sense.' Now, let's toss those dusty instructions aside and dive headfirst into the rebellious world of Jean-Pierre Melville.
Now, Melville wasn't one for obedience. Picture him as the cinematic equivalent of a jazz musician, improvising his tune against the backdrop of a full orchestra. He infused the rugged charm of American noir with a shot of European existentialism, shaking up a narrative cocktail and leaving Aristotelian theory in the dust.
Take "Le Samouraï" (1967). Here we have Jef Costello, a taciturn hitman who lives by a code - as minimalist as his apartment. No plot twist. No profound character arc. No rousing emotions that would get a thumbs-up from Aristotle. Melville focuses on Jef's routine, creating suspense not from what happens but how it happens. Melville uses the power of anticipation to raise the emotional stakes; we sense the oncoming train but can seem to pull ourselves off the tracks.
Or consider "Le Cercle Rouge" (1970). Unlike your classic heist movie, it's not about the adrenaline-pumping thrill of the crime or the heart-pounding fear of getting caught. Melville gives us a slow, simmering exploration of Character. And, in the spirit of a true rebel, he leaves their backstories ambiguous, prompting more questions than answers. It's like telling Aristotle: "I see your plot development, and I raise you a plot tease."
Melville sweeps Aristotle's plot-driven narrative, discarded like day-old baguettes, right off the table. Aristotle would have us believe a story should follow cause-and-effect logic, reach a climax, and find a resolution. But Melville shrugs and asks: "Why not dwell in the moment, the routine, the mundane?" His characters don't change or have 'aha' moments; they exist, lingering in their isolated worlds. And yet, we're hooked, entranced.
Melville's art of storytelling feels like breaking free from Aristotle's constricting mold. It's like saying, "Look, Ari, a story can just be - without a moral, a point, or a
neatly tied bow." His films remind us that stories can be as elusive, complicated, and intriguing as life itself, a concept Aristotle might find befuddling or anarchic.
Aristotle gave us a roadmap for storytelling, but Melville showed us it's exhilarating to toss the map and follow your impulses. Though quiet, his cinematic revolution against the storytelling norms is powerful enough to echo through the annals of cinema history.
Aristotle might have set the scene for storytelling millennia ago, but a maverick like Melville showed us that it's not sacrilege to flip the script. And that, folks, is the beauty of narrative rebellion.
Godard's Breathless Disregard
Having survived the moody, rule-breaking tides of Melville's universe, we'll now leap into the bright, explosive world of Jean-Luc Godard. Here's an artist who didn't just bend Aristotle's storytelling rules – he set them on fire and danced on its ashes.
Jean-Luc Godard, a ringleader of the French New Wave, stormed the cinematic scene with a rallying cry against Aristotle's storytelling playbook. His 1960 classic "Breathless" is less a film and more a brazen 'dear John' letter to conventional narratives, ending the long affair with its Greek progenitors.
"Breathless" is a wild jazz improvisation – jumping beats, skirting harmonies, and abandoning the composed song entirely. It tosses Aristotle's narrative arc out the window, replacing clear beginnings, middles, and ends with a ride as spontaneous and unpredictable as life itself. Sure, it follows the beat, but it does so, having burned the score in effigy.
Moreover, Godard treated film techniques like a child let loose in a candy shop, the confiserie of Aristotelian horrors. His use of jump cuts - abrupt transitions that disorient the viewer - would have given Aristotle a narrative whiplash. But honestly, what is more disorienting than a love affair? The truth of love's chaos hides in the chaotic narrative Godard created. His characters break the fourth wall, nudging the audience and reminding us: "This is all make-believe, folks!" But behind this artifice lies emotional truth, and we can all agree that emotion and logic are like oil and water. Why use a rigid, logical structure for such a chaotic state of being?
While Melville takes us on a quiet journey of existentialism, Godard yells: "Why stop there?" His characters aren't servants to the plot; they twist it, toy with it, and occasionally pitch it wholesale out the car window. In Godard's world, Aristotle's 'well-structured' narrative is a toy in the hands of his characters.
Watching a Godard film is like attending an interactive theater performance - it demands attention, interpretation, and active participation. And with each frame, Godard taunts: "Hey Aristotle, look, no hands!" as the car swerves wildly down the road.
So, what becomes of our dear friend Aristotle after this cinematic roller coaster? He might have laid the groundwork for storytelling treatises for eons after. Still, as Melville's nuanced narratives and Godard's explosive plots prove, there's no Platonic (see how I did that ;) ) blueprint for a compelling story.
While Aristotle insists that the plot is the soul of tragedy, our maverick directors would argue that there's another way; one that captures the tragic, the comic, the sublime, and at the core, the inherent absurdity of humanity. The soul isn't in the structure; these directors find it in the mirror, a reflection capturing messy, chaotic, unscripted life.
As we roll credits on this article, remember, beneath the storytelling rules - even Aristotle's golden handcuffs - are invitations to toss the scriptures onto the bonfire and write your own. And that's the ultimate plot twist, isn't it?
Charles Merritt Houghton
17 July 2023