the cinematic rendering of unconscious space
Jean-Luc Godard's Alphaville
Jean-Jacques Beineix's Diva
Olivia Keung 98-220 899
ARCH 646: Architecture and Film
for Prof. Terri Meyer Boake
University of Waterloo - Fall 2004
1
the cinematic rendering of unconscious space
the unconscious act of dwelling
The public realm of the modern city is a place of
loneliness and alienation. In our contemporary culture,
obsessed with speed and progress, connections between people
have come to signify nothing more than a rational network
of infrastructure. It is this relentless grid that organizes the
modernist city, with its implications of order and regulation.
Public spaces are inhabited in a way that demonstrates an ideal
civic behaviour. The location of one’s home, once inclusive
of the collectivity of urban spaces that remained undefi ned
by concepts of public and private, has become an increasingly
introverted notion; identity today is attached, instead, to ideas
of ownership and possession, and this has crippled the freedom
and exchange of dialogue that once characterized the public
realm. The modernist city has extracted the act of dwelling
from its streets; it has bound and defi ned the function and
character of spaces so that only the extreme conditions of
private and public can be consciously created.
Beneath this consciousness, which is bound to the main
street and the civic square, runs a fi ner grain of streets and spaces
that struggles to exist: these territories have managed to evade
the control of the public realm. They are diffi cult to defi ne:
formed unintentionally and existing without a specifi c purpose,
they are the interstitial spaces, or voids, that arise between the
cracks of the city’s programmed structure. As the antithesis to Street scene, Diva
2
the offi cial city, they are the spaces of unconscious activity. In
modernity, this realm is fragmented in space and time: it occurs
in the space between buildings where all purposeful activity
stops for one moment; in forgotten industrial landscapes,
teetering perilously at the edge of hyper-intensifi cation; in the
deepest part of night, when each sound, smell, fl eeting vision
accommodated in the shadows, brushes past the pedestrian
at the pace of isolated incidents. Like the unconsciousness of
the psyche, it lives in a precarious state of imbalance with the
rational. The unconscious city is an unfulfi lled potential that,
at times, exists as nothing more than a state of mind.
In The Arcades Project, Walter Benjamin depicts a city
where this struggle against rationality and order surfaces to
the status of history. The arcades of nineteenth century Paris
that he describes were spaces of collision and event, where
idle conversation could unfold, bringing strangers together.
Benjamin describes how interaction and awareness evolved into
conspiracy, and then revolution: the arcades were the setting of
the city’s unoffi cial history and memory. Without a designated
purpose, their subsequent inclusivity induced a freedom of
interaction between individuals; these spaces accommodated a
kind of social inhabitation that contemporary ideas of private
and public do not approach. “Streets are the dwelling place of
the collective. The collective is an eternally wakeful, eternally
agitated being that…experiences, understands, and invents as
much as individuals do within the privacy of their own four
walls. For this collective…walls with their ‘Post No Bills’ are
its writing desk, newspaper stands its libraries, mailboxes its
bronze busts, benches its bedroom furniture, and the café terrace
is the balcony from which it looks down on its household…the
street reveals itself in the arcade as the furnished and familiar
interior of the masses1.” Benjamin wrote this at a time when
Diva
Diva
3
Haussmann’s reconstruction of the street system in Paris sought
to break up these concentrations of unrest, by tearing open
these spaces to the order of wide boulevards. His observation
illustrates simultaneously the richness of inhabitation in such
spaces, and their vulnerability to the imposed order that was
already changing the city.
Cinematic renderings of the modern city show that
its construction has displaced this collective being. Jean-Luc
Goddard’s vision of a future Paris in his fi lm Alphaville depicts
a city that has succumbed entirely to its rational consciousness.
Governed by the ideal of logic, this society seems more familiar
than futuristic; it is reminiscent of a present day in which
city planning responds largely to economic demands, while
ignoring the complexity of less tangible needs of the emotional
and psychological dimension.
The architecture of Alphaville is one that seeks to
obliterate the physical embodiment of memory: through the
glossy surfaces and clean, sterile rooms, it is impossible to trace
the city’s history. This erasure of collective memory is linked
to the destruction of personal identity, just as the government’s
outlawing of specifi c words, by removing them from the
dictionary, leads to a repression of the need for self-expression.
The characters that inhabit this city are displaced individuals
who have forgotten their homes: in forgetting the existence
of a past beyond their lives in Alphaville, their identities have
also become dislocated: they can understand only their specifi c
function within the framework of the present system.
If the images of this sterile city of glass and concrete
seem familiar, it is because Alphaville is a refl ection of the
city that modernism has envisioned and built. Modernism’s
invention of a functional machine-architecture was a reaction
against the presence of tradition and history which, at the
Street scene, Alphaville
4
time, seemed to pull architecture back from the progress that
other industrial fi elds were enjoying. It was a rebellion against
the hidden and disordered places where memory resides: a
manifesto against notions of continuity. Like the psychological
repression of the mind’s unconsciousness, this construction
sprang from the urge to give defi nition to ambiguity, to clear
away the uncertainty of the unknown. The house was raised
off the ground, eliminating the cellar space; the roof and attic,
fi lled with cobwebs and other forgotten objects, were removed
and replaced with a healthy garden. Modernism sought to bring
in light and open public spaces, fi nding safety in a realm where
everything is obviously visible and comprehensible through its
façade of glass and functional forms2.
Yet, as Alphaville makes evident, this act of repression
only pushes memory beneath the surface of the consciousness
where irrational elements, such as emotion, persist. This is
evident in the modern city as well, where spaces outside of the
planned city’s predictable and productive structure are avoided
and ignored. Through this deliberate segregation, these spaces
can only deteriorate. The unconscious city is at times alive in
the ugly and affl icted parts of the city; by pushing these spaces
out of public use, the urban structure allows us to become
disconnected from them. The marginal populations that fi nd
sanctuary in these spaces are also bound to them metaphorically:
as society pushes them out to inhabit this peripheral zone, it
becomes possible to suppress the knowledge of their existence;
this obscurity threatens identity. Ignorance gives license to an
apathetic denial of empathy and compassion between strangers
in the city.
In an essay exploring the notion of interstitial spaces
within the urban fabric, Ignasi de Solà-Morales writes:
“Architecture’s destiny has always been colonization, the
5
imposing of limits, order, and form, the introduction into
strange space of the elements of identity necessary to make it
recognizable…transforming the uncivilized into the cultivated,
the fallow into the productive, the void into the built3.” This
imposition is a refl ection of the insecurities of the urban
rationale when facing the unknown. As a result, we have
constructed cities in which public life has become regulated
and confi ned to specifi c spaces and functions.
Perhaps a better solution lies in a confrontation with
the unconscious city, not with the intention of converting
and assimilating it, but to develop a dialogue with it: a form
of acknowledgement that allows for and even necessitates
interchange between people and ideas. This interaction will
reinstate the act of dwelling into the spaces of the city; the
urban dweller will fi nd himself apart from the public body,
amongst people who have become individuals to him.
the notion of bricolage in fi lm
This idea of the fl uidity of space and meaning, of a
constant reinterpretation and reinhabitation in a way that
allows the existing urban fabric to participate in a debate with
the new, is the central argument of Fred Koetter and Colin
Rowe in Collage City. Instead of seeking the fi nite composition
of a comprehensive whole, their concept of bricolage advocates
the juxtaposition of differing ideas within the urban fabric,
allowing constructions to evolve as people inhabit them. The
result is a preservation of memory, a way of accepting the
signifi cance of history in everyday objects and spaces, like
the Surrealist objet trouvé. This history is not one of abstract
ideals, but one that conveys the dynamics of inhabitation.
architecture of Alphaville
6
Bricolage is a continuous process that alters the fi nite. Collage City promotes Rome as the quintessential place of bricolage:
its disordered imposition of ideas and physical objects creates
a city that is accepting of the alteration of form and meaning
that come with human occupation. At the same time, it also
reveals the existence of this condition in every city: with the
appropriate frame of mind, bricolage emerges as an inevitability
of the act of dwelling that marks a place4.
In the same way, cinema renders its own reinterpretation
of a city through the specifi c images its creators choose to
superimpose. Like the inevitable evolution of a city, fi lm changes
the context of fi xed ideas or images: this process allows for a re-
evaluation of the image. If Godard has constructed the image
of a city that resists the history of inhabitation in Alphaville,
Jean-Jacques Beineix’s fi lm Diva portrays an opposing vision in
its exploitation of the unconscious identity of Paris. Both fi lms,
though not explicitly set in Paris, have been constructed out of
the city’s existing fabric, and deliberately counter the traditional
rendering of its cinematic image: a romantic city whose history
is explicit in its monuments5. Beineix’s Paris is instead a dark
and fragmented city in which the higher society of music and
art collide with one of criminality, whose unoffi cial history is
written by piecing together the images of Paris’ forgotten and
mundane spaces. Against architecture’s urge to make sense of
the modern metropolis through limits and boundaries, Beineix
fi nds Paris to be a city in which space and interaction between
people are fl uid and dynamic.
The city is a complex and emotional character in Diva. At
times it is hostile and indifferent, weaving innocent by-passers
into its underworld of criminality, only to become melancholy
and empathetic in the next scene. Often, the camera shows the
city in fragments: dark spaces punctuated by the momentary
warehouse, Diva
Diva
7
defi nition of light, the refl ection of activity caught in a mirror,
or views from a moving car, in which buildings passing by
become measurements of speed and time6. The images are
experiential instead of comprehensive, dislocating the viewer
but engaging him more directly. Beineix is often criticized for
his explicit use of the ready-made images that already penetrate
our lives through the ubiquitous presence of advertising or
pop culture. Yet, this strategy is not simple imitation: Beineix
evaluates these images, recognizing them as the fi lter through
which mass culture understands the city7. His art lies in the
way he pieces imagery together in a new context, presenting
his audience with a city that is familiar but rarely noticed. Diva
portrays the city with the novelty of the Situationist’s dérive,
in which one washes the brain of the conventional knowledge
of the city, wandering through the streets in order to develop
an experiential understanding of them. It is a sensorial reading
of the city that encourages discovery.
In one scene, Jules and Cynthia Hawkins walk through
the streets of the city at dawn: through the uncanny images
of monumental Paris, lonely and abandoned, the fi lm begins
to uncover moments of sanctuary amidst the hostility of the
city, even as the two characters seek to escape from it. It is
car chase through Paris, Diva
car chase through Paris, Diva
Jules and Cynthia Hawkins’ walk through Paris at dawn, Diva
8
the rediscovery of a city from which the individual has been
estranged: a reawakening that somehow occurs in a familiar place.
The city seems to open up, its undefi ned spaces provide a sudden
relief from the tight and paranoid spaces of the structured city;
the camera shots become wide and loose instead of fragmented.
Beineix’s Paris is that of Walter Benjamin’s fl âneur, who also
fi nds a dreamscape lying within the objective and functional city;
by reading the city as an experience, it becomes personalized.
The Paris of the fl âneur is not Haussmann’s triumphant order
of boulevards, but “a dark, miry, malodorous city, confi ned
within its narrow lanes…swarming with blind alleys, culs-de-
sac, and mysterious passages, with labyrinths that lead you to
the devil8.” Once these passages are illegitimized, they become
affl icted and dangerous because of their dependence on instinct
and unpredictability. Out of public view and usage, they are
left to the marginal populations, who have no choice but to
occupy what everyone else has abandoned. Because modern
urban planning has become suspicious and neglectful of these
spaces, the contemporary unconsciousness of the city is a
starved version of its potential, alive in the interactive social
inhabitation of Benjamin’s arcades.
Through Diva, Beineix salvages what exists. The city he
depicts runs beneath the boundaries that architecture delimits;
it unsafe yet liberating; it is alive. The unconscious spaces of
the city force the collision of people who would not normally
meet: thieves, prostitutes, and drug traffi ckers who are pushed
into this terrain vague but simultaneously fi nd shelter in its
shadows; the police, authority of the offi cial city who descends
to this criminal realm to become its chief; and the higher
‘classes’ of society that are represented in the fi lm through opera
and music. Jules’ involvement in the police offi cer Sapporta’s
prostitution ring, and the unfolding of its consequences, happen
Jules and Cynthia Hawkins, Diva
9
as a result of these accidental collisions. He is pulled in as a
victim of the indifference of a metropolis full of strangers who
see him as a dangerous criminal: their lives move at such a pace
that they fail to recognize his aspirations outside of his illegal
activity, which are driven by the combination of poverty and a
passion for music, and not material greed9.
Yet, even Jules is a threat to the offi cial structure of the
city. He characterizes Georg Simmel’s metropolitan stranger,
who has successfully invaded and settled into the modern city,
simply because of its explosion in scale and population. This
stranger threatens the implicit order of the city; his potential
mobility creates unease within established society because it
carries implications of his potential criminality; whereas the
stranger of the past moved on after his business was fi nished,
that of the modern city fi nds comfort in his anonymity within
the dense crowd. It is this anonymity that causes citizens to
treat everyone with a cautious indifference10. Anthony Vidler
describes this phenomenon in archetypal terms as “the guerilla
warfare of the tribe, operating in the interstices of the settled
community11.” It is not a fear of something that exists, but
a paranoia of possibility, of the unknown. When Nadia, the
prostitute, emerges from the subway, in fl ight from Sapporta’s
enslavement, her obvious vulnerability and desperation seems
unnoticed amongst the uniformity of the crowd, marching
mechanically in one direction past her. She is a victim of this
generalized hostility towards the unknown.
The stranger lacks the usual established connections
of kinship, locality, and occupation: he may be attached to a
group but remains an outsider at the same time because his
past, outside of the group, can never be fully known. Jules’ life
forces a reconsideration of conventional defi nitions of home
as a permanent location. He lives in an abandoned garage:
Nadia at subway, Diva
Nadia at subway, Diva
10
his position in the city is impermanent. He adopts the space
and even the clutter that its owner has left behind; more
importantly, he adopts the stories that come with the loft,
while his own identity remains relatively anonymous. His
own belongings are few, mainly consisting of his recording
equipment, which remain as fl oating objects within the space.
Gorodish exemplifi es the nomad even more than Jules. His loft
is made up mainly of empty space, darkness pierced through
with precise and artifi cial light, emphasizing the oddity of
the few objects that have been imported into the room: the
footed bathtub, the wave-machine, the vinatage furniture.
Because of his intentional involvement in criminal activity
and the fi nancial gain it brings him, he is ready to move on
at any minute: when Jules calls him for help after he is shot,
Gorodish’s reaction is smooth and practised. He is anonymous,
a character without a past12. Even his relationship with Alba
provides no information: she tells Jules that he picked her up
one day in his car. Gorodish is comfortable in the unconscious
spaces of the city: the hidden alleys of secret activity, and the
undefi ned peripheral ruins of an industrial wasteland.
Jules’ loft, Diva
Jules’ loft, Diva
Gorodish’s loft, Diva
11
Yet, he is also the stable element in the fi lm, bringing
order to a chaotic web of activities and characters through his
own improvised methods. When Gorodish acts, justice and
stability come from within the unconscious city instead of
the offi cial city, which turns out to be corrupted in the end,
ironically blurring the distinctions between structure and
disorder that it sought to impose in the fi rst place.
The loft spaces are also elements of stability. They are
the places that Jules runs to in order to evade his predators. In
their permanence, and the evidence of previous histories, they
seem familiar and personal: places of belonging and sanctuary
in the rapid city. Beineix manipulates the image so that the
glow of light and shadow, specifi city of colours, positioning of
objects, refl ectivity of surfaces, give the lofts an illusory and
uncanny quality. He reappropriates the spaces through the
imaginations of Jules and the other characters; with the spirit
of bricolage, he constructs these spaces in the same way that he
uses the familiar iconography of mass culture to piece together
his vision of the city. The characters reinhabit spaces with the
same freedom; often, their present function has no relationship
with their history. The lofts contrast with Cynthia Hawkins’
hotel room, in which everything is consciously arranged, and
bears the same meaning for every guest that occupies it.
The Diva is essentially a character of the offi cial city:
a public persona. In the fi lm, the spaces associated with her
are the stage or the fi ve-star hotel, performing in front of an
audience or for a crowd of journalists at a press conference.
Her opinions are published as public property. Her friend is
her manager, who tries to convince her to conform to the needs
of a consumerist society seeking to rob her of the only element
of intimacy and truth in her performance: the immediacy of
music that connects her to her audience. Jules’ connection
Jules’ loft, Diva
12
with her seems fantastic because it traverses the conventional
boundaries set up as an agreement between the persona and the
public body.
“sauve qui pleurent” : the inseparability of the unconscious
The place where Cynthia Hawkins becomes a real
person is in the unconscious city. In the bar where Jules meets
her friend N’Doula, the boundaries that separate the Diva from
other people seem to disintegrate. When, during their walk
through the city, Jules holds his umbrella high above her, it
is a restrained gesture of respect: its signifi cance is quiet and
personal, contrasting with her connection to her audience as
she stands isolated on stage. This audience owns her public
persona: to them, her voice recording is not a violation, but a
commodity that rightfully belongs to them.
In the scene, the spaces of the city become almost
nurturing in their organic formlessness: it is here that the
Diva’s loneliness and vulnerability can emerge from behind
her confi dent and stubborn public persona. The strange
relationship that arises between her and Jules speculates the
issue of the stranger: it raises the possibility that the endless
differences amongst strangers could perhaps be negotiated and
overcome by the mutuality of the feelings of loneliness and
alienation between them13.
In Alphaville, Godard exposes the same emotions,
through the transformation of the character Natascha. The
tears that she cries when Lemmy Caution is beaten, reminiscent
of the condemned man who cried at his wife’s death, reveal
the existence of irrational emotions that have been repressed
Diva
Diva
13
under the city’s mandate: “Silence-Logic-Safety-Prudence14.”
Unlike Cynthia Hawkins in Diva, Natascha’s emotions are
unable to place themselves anywhere in the hard defi nition
of the city’s architecture, and her only choice in the end is to
fl ee. Alphaville is a city that makes poetry and love impossible,
because it has rid itself of this intermediary zone of instability
that is rampant in Beineix’s version of Paris: the cost has been
the humanity of its people.
This city that Godard presents is also pieced together
from existing places in Paris, but the fi nal image here is one that
defi es the richness of bricolage and its possibility of discovery.
Whereas Beineix’s fragmentation gives the city a quality of
fl uidity by suggesting the possibility imminent in the shadows
of the unknown, Godard’s fragmented imagery is expressive of
a dictatorial urge to control the viewer, through their precision.
His camera shots are like the hard lighting and contrast that
allow nothing to hide: the light of Alphaville is one that leaves
no room for questions.
There is one scene in which Godard uses a different
light: when Lemmy confronts the poet Henri Dickson in the
stairwell, the physicality of the naked bulb hanging between
them contrasts the pervasive fl uorescent lights throughout the
rest of the city. The scene occurs in the one place in Alphaville
that could compare to Beineix’s underworld of criminality: the
“condemned sector” to which Dickson has been exiled, along
with other poets and misfi ts of society. This site emphasizes the
complete separation between the conscious and the unconscious
in the city, and the suffering of each as a result. Although the
light is interrogative, it is not blinding like the light of Alpha
60. In this realm of instinct and emotion, it illumiates the
truth: the vulnerability of a man who refuses to suppress his
belief in love. Lemmy’s face is bathed in the same light: “The
Alphaville
14
scene movingly epitomizes a mood basic to the whole fi lm: the
sense of Lemmy and Dickson representing a last, and perhaps
inadequate and crumbling survival of humanity in a civilization
becoming increasingly dehumanized15.” Although Lemmy’s
expression hardly registers any outward sympathy during the
interrogation, he has already revealed himself to be a man who
acts on instinct and is moved by poetry.
In his fi rst interrogation with the machine Alpha 60,
Lemmy says that his religion is “the immediate promptings of
my conscience.” He is an agent of the unconscious, invading
the rational realm. He then speaks of his journey through the
galaxy, to Alphaville: “The silence of infi nite space appalled
me16.” Lemmy is describing the silence of a people who have
ceased to express themselves and to question the meaning of
their lives. This silence saturates the images of the city: its spaces
are devoid of activity and the only interaction between people
occurs through their pre-programmed roles and a limited script
of questions and answers. Even sex has become a rationalized
encounter between two numbered people, who are assigned to
Henri Dickson and Lemmy Caution, Alphaville
Alphaville
at the hotel, Alphaville
15
eachother during a specifi c shift of the day; it has nothing to
do with love or emotions. To save Natascha, Lemmy fi lls this
silence of the space between them with Surrealist poetry.
Godard’s use of poetry can be compared to Beineix’s use
of music in Diva. When Jules recounts the yearnings of Cynthia
Hawkins’ character in La Wally to Alba, he is translating the
existing script, but the words, as he speaks them, are highly
personal. The character wants to go far away, to escape her
life: the lyrics now refl ect Jules’ desire to transcend the cruelty
of reality through music and through the fantasy of space, in a
search for beauty. In Alphaville, Lemmy Caution tries to break
through the dehumanization of Natascha’s soul with the poetry
of Paul Eluard: “And because I love you everything moves /
One need only advance to live, to go / Straight forward towards
all that you love / I was going towards you / I was moving
perpetually into the light.” In part, he may be expressing his
own emotions, but more importantly, he is showing her the
light of beauty that exists in the expression of human emotions,
by stirring those that he believes her to feel. Alphaville is a fi lm
about the redemption of Natascha’s soul through beauty17.
Lemmy’s mission in Alphaville is scrawled in his
notebook: “Sauve qui pleurent.” Natascha’s tears are obvious;
the suffering of the other characters is more diffi cult to
perceive. As the emotions surface in them, they are repressed
just as quickly: there is the third-class seductress who asks the
forbidden question “Why?”, or the police-car driver who reveals
his fear of death as Lemmy threatens him18. In Alphaville, this
suffering has been extracted from society’s consciousness; it
persists in a places that they choose not to see. Citizens who
exhibit emotion are executed, but this denial of the problem
does not eliminate the threat that remains alive within each
person.
Natascha’s interrogation, Alphaville
16
The removal of suffering from the consciousness of the
city is an identical condition. Comparing the functioning of
the city to the psychology of a person, Andrew Levitt writes:
“Living in the modern city we ignore those parts of the urban
fabric which are dangerous, ugly, toxic, abusive or threatening.
Over time, the repression of our suffering is destroying our
empathy for the suffering of others…the denial of the problem
leads to a denial of feeling19.” Choosing not to see the affl ictions
of the city removes its humanity, intensifying conditions of
separation: conversely, an architecture of compassion and love is
naturally one of beauty and connection. Levitt emphasizes that
open communication, involving both dialogue and listening,
must exist in order for the healing of the city to begin.
This dialogue is the catalyst for the creation of identity.
Modern anxiety of the unknown has constructed a city of strict
defi nition through social boundaries that protect people, private
homes that shut out the stranger but and human interaction,
and a completely public realm from which the act of dwelling
has been expelled. Separated through this rigidity and focused
on production, we no longer have the time to see people as
individuals, and the resulting blindness is terrifying to the
urban dweller. Suspicion between people cannot be dispelled
until dialogue begins. In Diva, Beineix shows simultaneously
the potential in the richness of interaction that connects people
beneath the separations of social divisions, and the danger of
the unconsciousness when it is forced to remain a segregated
entity.
“Main Street…registers an optimistic desperation…
The Greek temple, the unused Opera-House, the courthouse
sanctioned by the glamour of Napolean III’s Paris…are the
evidence of almost frenzied effort…to provide stability in
an unstable scene20.” Rowe and Koetter make an important
Diva
17
observation: the city is a complex and fragile being. As in
humans, the choice to confront emotions creates instability:
it is a risk, but it is not as dangerous as the reassuring lie of
a city that never changes. The conscious construction of
spaces that assume specifi c relationships functions by denying
all other possible relationships; it accommodates specifi c
people, excluding anyone who does not fi t into its system of
categorization.
The images of cinema allow society to refl ect visually on
the city it has constructed. Although Alphaville is an imaginary
place that is set in the future, its philosophy was pieced together
from the reality of Facism and other authoritarian governments;
similarly, its physical image was taken from existing urban
places21. Its cold and rational structure is something that society
has deliberately created, and Godard’s fi lm seems less fantastic
when we consider that it is simply a concentrated extrapolation
of reality. Beineix has constructed his rendering from the same
fabric, yet, from his perspective, there is beauty, music, and
even tentative personal relationships fostered within the city.
These connections are the quiet beginnings of the interaction
that induces the exchange of dialogue within the public
realm; perhaps its place can be reclaimed by confrontating the
mutual feelings of alienation, which transcend the endless and
inevitable differences between strangers.
Alphaville
Alphaville
18
endnotes
1. Benjamin, Walter. The Arcades Project. pp 879. 2. Vidler, Anthony. The Architectural Uncanny. pp 64. 3. Sola-Morales, Ignasi de. Anyplace. 4. Koetter, Fred and Colin Rowe. Collage City. 5. Powrie, Phil. Jean-Jacques Beineix. pp 45. 6. Powrie, Phil. Jean-Jacques Beineix. 7. Gargett, Adrian. www.talkingpix.co.uk/Article_Beineix.html 8. Benjamin, Walter. The Arcades Project. pp 524. 9. Powrie, Phil. Jean-Jacques Beineix. pp 38.10. Simmel, Georg. http://socialpolicy.ucc.ie/the_stranger.htm11. Vidler, Anthony. The Architectural Uncanny. 12. Powrie, Phil. Jean-Jacques Beineix.13. Brooker, Peter. Modernity and Metropolis. pp 125.14. Benedikt, Michael. http://members.aol.com/Clypark/alpha.html15. Wood, Robin. The Films of Jean-Luc Goddard.16. Wood, Robin. The Films of Jean-Luc Goddard.17. Benedikt, Michael. http://members.aol.com/Clypark/alpha.html18. Benedikt, Michael. http://members.aol.com/Clypark/alpha.html19. Levitt. Andrew. Documentation on City Design and Social Pathology. 20. Koetter, Fred and Colin Rowe. Collage City.21. Wood, Robin. The Films of Jean-Luc Goddard.
fi lmography
Alphaville: Un Etrange Aventure de Lemmy Caution. directed by Jean-Luc Goddard. 1965.
Diva. directed by Jean-Jacques Beineix. 1980.
19
bibliography
Benjamin, Walter. The Arcades Project. Cambridge: The Belknap Press of Harvard University Press, 1999.
Brooker, Peter. Modernity and Metropolis. New York: Palgrave, 2002.
Ignatieff, Michael. The Needs of Strangers. London: The Hogarth Press, 1984.
Jacobs, Jane. The Death and Life of Great American Cities. New York: Random House Inc., 1961.
Koetter, Fred and Colin Rowe. Collage City. Cambridge: The MIT Press, 1978.
Powrie, Phil. Jean-Jacques Beineix. Manchester: Manchester University Press, 2001.
Sola-Morales, Ignasi de. “Terrain Vague.” Anyplace. Ed. Cynthia C. Davidson. Cambridge: The MIT Press, 1995.
Levitt, Andrew. “The City Who is Whole.” Documentation on City Design and Social Pathology. Carmel: IMCL Council, 1990.
Vidler, Anthony. The architectural uncanny: essays in the modern unhomely. Cambridge: The MIT Press, 1992.
Wood, Robin. “Alphaville.” The Films of Jean-Luc Goddard. Ed. Ian Cameron. London: Studio Vista Limited, 1967.
websites:
Jean-Jacques Beineix: Hyper-style. Article by Adrian Gargettwww.talkingpix.co.uk/Article_Beineix.html
Jean-Jacques Beineix: An interview. by Paula Neechakwww.nitrateonline.com/2001/fbeineix.html
Architecture against Architecture. ed. Arthur and Marilouise Krokerwww.ctheory.net/text_fi le.asp?pick=94
Alphaville & its Subtext in the Poetry of Paul Eluard. Article by Michael Benedikthttp://members.aol.com/Clypark/alpha.html
“The Stranger.” excerpt from The Sociology of Gerog Simmel. by Georg Simmelhttp://socialpolicy.ucc.ie/the_stranger.htm