對這部電影早有耳聞，最近總算將其閱覽完畢，筆者以為妥當(dāng)?shù)臅r間與相宜的心性是促成此次完美體驗的伏筆。在這部電影里面，兩段超現(xiàn)實的表達(dá)引人入勝，攝人心魄。筆者首先對情節(jié)或相關(guān)信息簡單歸納，再則對兩處核心段落予以分析。 對于《安樂鄉(xiāng)》這樣一部極簡主義電影，影片不具繁復(fù)的戲劇性，情節(jié)交互談如水，對白甚至極少。我們僅有從其大段落的長鏡頭與景深中摘取信息，平面之間從近及遠(yuǎn)的景致縱深，空間上呈現(xiàn)出的畫幅即是內(nèi)容。往往這類信息直觀且曖昧，愈加隱晦與不可捉摸，這些信息的摘取，更多的，需要來自觀眾自身的經(jīng)驗參與、思考。歸納這部電影，大致敘述的就是一則失去與尋找的過程，原初在一行人的路途中，女兒與士兵相愛私奔，父親繼而踏上尋找女兒的過程，最終發(fā)生了一些神秘詭異的現(xiàn)象。解開影片的訴求核心，就在于此兩段內(nèi)容的分解。 第一幕父親與年老“女兒”的跨時空相遇，兩人相視被置于幽暗的空間內(nèi)，觸生出如同日式怪談當(dāng)中的幽玄詭譎、神秘莫測。隨后在對談當(dāng)中，迎面而來的情感交融與意識之間無窮無盡的超驗觸碰，讓人不禁為之驚悚顫栗。在歷史的記載中，最早的人類文明發(fā)源于大河流域，水是生命之源，人需要守護(hù)一方水土得以生存。對于物質(zhì)基礎(chǔ)之外，愛則是人類精神世界的水源，是人得以繼續(xù)存活的信仰依仗。老嫗安身于泉水與洞窟，得以維持生存，狗的相伴，填補(bǔ)了情感世界的空白。老嫗的遭遇，并不僅局限于父親在找尋的女兒身份，他們的這種困境，具有普適性。荒誕殘酷的是，老嫗與父親之間相互承受的是普天而下人類世界相似的慘淡遭遇，我們踏上征程，隨即無處安身。諸如父親在尋找女兒的途中，縱然徜徉于靜謐永恒的星空之下，形單影只，萬般皆空更無暇顧及，除了周身的寂寥與孤獨，僅有以酒解愁，最終迷失在無盡的漂泊境地。 第二幕里女兒從睡夢中醒來，較于前戲恍若隔世。我們暫且先不分辨影片文本與時空的銜接是否順暢，不論前戲是女孩的一場夢魘，或者兩幕獨立的分段互文而相得益彰。女孩既從沉睡中回歸，她不再掙扎，向往遠(yuǎn)航，隨即將“尋找信物”拋向湖底。誠然，今天人類的經(jīng)驗智識已經(jīng)從曾經(jīng)的蒙昧中驚醒，無數(shù)革命、思潮的演繹換就了現(xiàn)在相對的文明。但即便在現(xiàn)代社會，我們?nèi)耘f困鎖在城市網(wǎng)絡(luò)的工業(yè)世界，面向城市水泥堆砌的隔絕空間，人情的疏離感，承受工業(yè)侵襲的異化與來自心靈深處無法排解的現(xiàn)實焦慮。人類究竟是在蠻荒中沉睡？抑或在文明中蘇醒？我們尋找的是什么？但凡體驗了孤獨之苦，通曉了人情厚澤，懂得簡單而知足常樂，都不愿為那些虛妄、空泛的念想而踏上荒蕪，顛沛流離。時間既往，流逝不復(fù)，明天的人即將形容枯槁，除了蒼老，終將要面對人的孤獨處境與生命悲涼的本質(zhì)歸宿。所以，再不愿無意義的消耗光陰、憧憬世俗，唯有守護(hù)內(nèi)心的凈土——有情之世界，當(dāng)下的世界。

People are an excuse to show locations: Lisandro Alonso on Jauja from Film Quarterly by Megan Ratner

Ingeborg (Villbj?rk Malling Agger) and Capt. Dinsen (Viggo Mortensen) see different futures

Few directors pit men against the elements like Argentinian Lisandro Alonso. In 《Jauja》 (2014) those elements include foreign conquistadors intent on aboriginal genocide in Patagonia. Set during the “Conquest of the Desert,” a late 1870s military campaign to wipe out the indigenous Mapuche population, 《Jauja》 is a tale of brutal folly and blinkered misery. For either side, existence is precarious. In a narrative less linear than digressive, with ironies abundant, Alonso implies but never states the film’s central theme: surrender versus conquest, awe versus fear.

As the film’s epigraph notes, “Jauja was a mythological land of abundance and happiness. People were undoubtedly exaggerating, as they usually do. The only thing that is known for certain is that all who tried to find this earthly paradise got lost on the way.” In the opening shot, Danish Captain Gunnar Dinesen (Viggo Mortensen) perches beside his teenage daughter Ingeborg (Villbj?rk Malling Agger) on a boulder near a military outpost in Patagonia. Around them stray soldiers relax, feasting their eyes on Ingeborg. Dinesen tells his daughter they will soon return to Denmark, his stated plans visually undermined by their position: she faces the camera, he is turned in the other direction. She says nothing in return, later telling her father, “I love the desert. The way it fills me.” When Ingeborg subsequently decamps with one of the soldiers (Alonso regular Misael Saavedra), only Dinesen seems nonplussed.

With no idea even in what direction to search, Dinesen puts on his sabered dress uniform, saddles up, and lights out to find Ingeborg. For a while, the film follows both the runaways and the father, each party puny against a clearly indifferent and inhospitable landscape, replete with wild animals and bandits. But finally, it becomes Dinesen’s film and Dinesen’s nightmare, an oneiric expedition into confusion, disillusion, and dissolution.

Born in Buenos Aires in 1975, Alonso released his first film, 《La Libertad》, in 2001. In that debut and subsequent releases—《Los Muertos》 (2004), 《Fantasma》 (2006), and 《Liverpool》 (2008)—Alonso relied solely on nonprofessional actors, often people that he met in the far-flung areas of Argentina where he chose to shoot. Always, location precedes story for him. Shooting in the jungle, Tierra del Fuego, or Patagonia, his documentary-style semi-fictions track the ordinary work of rural survival: cutting down trees, slaughtering a goat, cadging honeycomb from a tree trunk. Intention and meaning are left up to the viewer. His loners do nothing to make themselves likable, yet are curiously compelling even while, say, maneuvering a rowboat or wielding an ax.

Alonso details the complexity of a mastered skill, a very different form of intelligence than intellectualism. His films insist on the validity of making one’s life in the wild as at least equal to the more customary modern settings of office or supermarket foraging. Protagonists such as an ex-con (《Los Muertos》) or a merchant seaman (《Liverpool》) convey complex backstories in the way they carry themselves and resist settling down. These men are restless, defined and impeded by a narrow masculinity.

Working from thumbnail scripts, Alonso often lives among those he films, guided by their customs and open to their ideas. Prior to 《Jauja》, each film was set in the presented and used minimal dialogue, extended takes, and virtually no explanation as to who the protagonist—always male—is or how he arrived at the juncture at which the film finds him. Each film relies on a form of collaboration contingent on Alonso’s clear ability to put nonactors at ease: they appear simply to live their lives on film.

Much of this technique remains in 《Jauja》, the period setting offering yet another facet to Alonso’s cumulative account of inwardly struggling men. Under the fancy dress, the characters are still doing all they can to survive. Murder, incest, alcoholism, and ditching responsibility have all figured in the earlier work, but the fact that Ingeborg rather than the soldier appears to have plotted their flight marks a distinct shift in the filmmaker’s focus. In 《Jauja》, Ingeborg and two other female characters have agency—a novelty for which neither Dinesen, the AWOL soldier, nor any of the other men are prepared.

The images in 《Jauja》 are painterly, sometimes reminiscent of what an official military artist might have made of the scene, but with a twist: their lighting is modern, the expected sepia traded for Kodachrome. Shots are composed with the landscape as star, the humans almost an afterthought. Particularly effective is a scene in which Mortensen rides at the camera, then away from it, a long traverse that may even be covering terrain where he has already been, that renders one part of the pampas indistinguishable from another. He persists, determined to find coordinates, to marshal an obvious chaos. In one subtle image after another, Alonso shows a man lost in time and space. The captain’s travails are cyclical problems repeating across nations and histories. In a different uniform, Dinesen could easily be appearing on tonight’s evening news.

《Jauja》 screened at the New York Film Festival, where Alonso was filmmaker in residence and where this interview was conducted.

Lisandro Alonso

MEGAN RATNER: Can you remember when you first became aware that you wanted to work with images?

LISANDRO ALONSO: Wow! When I was six or seven years old my parents sent me to painting lessons. I didn’t know if I was good or not but I think I fell in love with the teacher. I took lessons for a year and a half, but once she decided to quit, I never went back to painting. That class could be the point when I started to look at images, colors, figures, and objects and whatever.

RATNER: In other interviews, you’ve mentioned your parents’ weekly trips outside Buenos Aires to their farm as formative.

ALONSO: Probably the most important thing to me was that in the first ten years of my life my parents took me every weekend out of the city. My father has a little farm about an hour from the city. I just remember being surrounded by people who were not from the city, surrounded by cows, pigs, horses, and eating grilled meat family-style. During the week I would still be thinking about things that happened on the weekend. I contrasted the city noise with the country sounds—and the silence. I think I really enjoyed that time more than life in the city. Maybe that was stuck in my mind when I had to decide what to study after high school. I got used to thinking more in green than in gray.

RATNER: What led you to filmmaking?

ALONSO: In a way, I just went back to images. I heard a rumor that there was a film school about to open and I decided, why not. I’m not a cinephile, I’ve never been a cinephile. But nevertheless I found a way to express some of my approach with outsiders, with people who live far away from civilization, who don’t have the same opportunities I do. I could express some of my ideas with the cinema.

RATNER: Did you encounter any resistance from your parents?

ALONSO: After I finished high school, my father told me do whatever you want but put some passion in it and be good at what you do. He was my grandparents’ only child. He grew up in the state of La Pampa, where I shot my first film (《La Libertad》, 2001). I think he lived there until he was five and then moved to suburban La Plata. He dropped out of school, gambled a lot, and lived on the street. He loves horses. After he met my mother he just started to relax and calm down. He moved to Buenos Aires and started a business career. I know some of my father’s childhood but I don’t think he wants to tell me a lot of things. It was not easy, I can tell.

When I told him, “I think I’m going to study cinema,” he said (head in hand), “It’s not a good thing for a living. You will not make any money.” But actually, at that time in Argentina, lots of doctors and architects were driving taxis. The future isn’t set: nobody knows what will happen, especially in countries like the one where I live.

I started studying cinema but didn’t finish my studies. I used to work as a sound assistant in short films and features, but I didn’t make enough to survive doing that. So I went back to the farm to work in my parents’ business with my brothers. Working there I discovered Misael Saavedra, who became the main character of 《La Libertad》.

Ingeborg and her soldier (MisaelSaavedra) before their escape

RATNER: Can you talk about your relationship with Misael, who has been in many of your films and in 《Jauja》 plays the soldier who the captain’s daughter runs off with?

ALONSO: He’s a friend. He’s more than a friend to me. He represents much of the luck that I feel I have making films. He’s part of it. He’s part of—how can I say it—my film life, or film career or whatever. So I really appreciated the chance to meet him. He’s like a symbol to me.

RATNER: Can you talk about the beginnings of 《Jauja》? Poet and writer Fabián Casas played a big part, right?

ALONSO: Actually I stopped making films in 2008 because... I just got bored repeating the same kind of questions in the film. So I went back to the farm. I got married, I have a kid. I just changed my life completely for four or five years until I felt that I had a reason not to completely get away from films. I started writing with Fabián and he brought me crazy ideas about crazy Indians. He’s writing a novel in parallel with the film where the main character is a dog. But I didn’t want to make a film about the dog—it would not be easy. So I used characters and dialogue from his novel and put it in this script. Then Viggo got on board.

RATNER: Was Fabián, your co-scripter, on the set?

ALONSO: Yeah, for maybe half of the shoot, near the end. Fabián is a very close friend of Viggo. In a way, Viggo is in the film through Fabián. I don’t trust words. I don’t like too many in a film. But Fabián’s poetic point of view changed how I look at things through dialogues and words.

RATNER: Until 《Jauja》, you worked only with nonprofessionals, but this time there were professional actors and an international star: Viggo Mortensen. Was it a tricky transition?

ALONSO: Having the chance to mix actors like Viggo and nonactors like Misael made me happy. Even if Misael didn’t know who Viggo is. For me it represents mixing someone who has no education, who’s been working with an axe all his life, with Viggo and together we construct something in the fantasy of cinema. There are also theater people in the cast, and some crew members, people I’ve been working with for ten or fifteen years.

RATNER: All those different life experiences are a kind of undercurrent to the film. Was there any tension around the differences?

ALONSO: There was real tension and I used it. Being around Viggo, you feel nervous because he knows a lot. In a way he had to slow down to let the other people follow. It’s a good thing, especially for this film which is about a foreign guy from Denmark trying to get make contact with the soldiers, the Indians, and that part of the land where nobody rules. It was a time when people were not so civilized, especially in our place.

RATNER: His posture and attitude have a northern European formality, more appropriate to Denmark than the pampas.

ALONSO: Yeah, he doesn’t want to take off his sword, his medal, and his jacket. He is trying to understand. He thinks if he understands he will get answers. That’s his logical way of thinking because he came from some other place. But it doesn’t help him to find the answers that he’s looking for, with his daughter, or to understand what is happening in that place. And I guess that Viggo did it in a very good way.

Looking for Ingeborg, Capt. Dinesen only manages to lose himself

RATNER: Even off his horse, he moved around as if he were trying to map the territory, to get a fix.

ALONSO: He’s trying to organize things that cannot be organized.

RATNER: Certainly he’s not the first invader to try that! Your previous films were more observational, less overtly fictional; not least because of the historical setting, 《Jauja》 seems to mark a new direction.

ALONSO: The themes of 《Jauja》 are very different from my previous films. In the other ones I just worked more with real time and with observing real people doing things that they do every day. In this film there’s more fiction. In the way, it looks and in the way people deal with each other—and it’s much more artificial. I think that is partly because of Timo Salminen (Aki Kaurism?ki’s cinematographer). Timo is Finnish and has a particular way of looking at nature and his own way to approach the picture lighting. So much in Kaurism?ki films is fake and artificial. If you see my work, it’s completely the other way around, so for me it was a good collaboration, just to get out from my point of view and connect with... classical narrative. And it helps to remember that there are so many ways of doing things. Many times I didn’t understand, but Timo told me: you just have to create an illusion. This is cinema; it doesn’t have to be real. For me, that is kind of like committing suicide. But little by little I started to enjoy that this is an illusion and you just have to make the audience believe a little bit in that and it will work well.

RATNER: That feeling of an illusion, or maybe better, delusion, starts with the extraordinary opening shot of the father and daughter, nestled together but facing opposite directions. Was that how you planned to begin?

ALONSO: It was in the script. The script was only like twenty pages. After we shot all the pages, the soundman Catriel Vildosola approached me—he’s like a brother to me—and said: I think we’re still not feeling the relationship between the father and the daughter, maybe there is something we can do to get the melancholic feeling about those two across. I started talking with Viggo. The next day Viggo came to me and said can we do this: he wrote the lines.

RATNER: You are open to ideas from the actors?

ALONSO: Everybody has a say. I don’t like to decide many things, so everybody can suggest an idea. I pick the crew very carefully. Not just anybody can be in it, but once you are part of the family, everybody can talk and say whatever they want. It’s like a friends-and-family thing. And we live like that during the shooting. I like it that way.

RATNER: Just to stay with the opening a bit, I was struck by how much you communicate about the father and daughter. And Ingeborg is already escaping, if only into a book.

ALONSO: The book might have been there because Villbj?rk Malling Agger is not an actress and maybe needed something to hold in her hands. You need lots of luck in making a film. For instance, we couldn’t put Viggo’s full-face on camera because of continuity problems with the beard. It wasn’t full enough yet. Viggo said let’s try it with my back. You focus more on the girl’s presence and not on Viggo. And it’s like a painting you know.

RATNER: There’s a sun-washed feeling in the film, a kind of overexposure.

ALONSO: Actually, I didn’t make that decision. I just picked the locations. Timo made the color correction. He’s the one who decided to saturate the colors. But most of that was already printed in the film. He just adjusted some of the color temperatures, you know, and that’s one of the things that I really liked about his work. If you saw the last Kaurism?ki film, there is a non-naturalistic way of lighting and using color which I like a lot. Especially in a period movie that it should be lit by the fire, or by candles, and you can feel that Timo put this big light on the scene, creating a great distance between what you expect and what you see. It’s ambiguous in a way, no?

RATNER: It makes it feel less specifically of one era or another because of its geographical and temporal disorientation.

ALONSO: The color worked to create a unique world that only functions inside the movie. It doesn’t come from books or history. That’s why the main couple is Danish. The more conventional choice would be English, but I don’t want people to start comparing things to books. Only three or four million people speak Danish so it’s a kind of exotic language. I like how it sounds. It also references the Scandinavian or Nordic Viking colonizadores. You know they were the first ones.

RATNER: You bewilder the viewer. There’s no clear sense of where we are or what these outsiders are up to in Patagonia.

ALONSO: You want to know what they’re doing there. Even at the beginning, Captain Dinesen says to his daughter: we don’t belong here, we should go back, soon we will leave this place. I don’t know what the hell they were doing there. I think they’ve been contracted by some government. Or they just ran away. There were people who had committed all sorts of crimes who were sent away rather than being put in jail. We don’t know what happened to the girl’s mother. It’s an open question that doesn’t matter for the film.

RATNER: You worked with two editors. Did they edit while you were shooting or only after?

ALONSO: First of all, I shot the whole thing and developed the film. Then I waited a couple of months to edit the film in my own home with Gonzalo del Val, a relative of my mother’s who’d just finished cinema studies. Six months later, I still wasn’t feeling secure about everything, so I Skyped with Natalia López. I needed an outside view about the editing, about whether or not the film worked. It’s about 120 scenes, that’s all; not so many, though a lot for me. The film creates its own space and time, a reality based on rhythm and timing. It’s almost a hypnosis. And then you can use whatever happens: whether it’s a little toy or whatever, it can create a big impact on the audience. You go “real, real, real” and— suddenly—something happens which is not real. The contrast makes you pay more attention. You see that things can change in a radical way in a minute.

RATNER: You place demands on your audience.

ALONSO: I make it for me. That’s the audience.

RATNER: You’ve talked about using long takes to give viewers time to be in the film, to think about something else and then come back into the film they’re watching.

ALONSO: I don’t think that they are long. I like to have the time to think about what is happening onscreen, to have the sense of someone behind the camera telling me the film. Otherwise, I feel that somebody wants to take me by the nose and make me smell different things in different situations, and that’s all. I get bored with that. I really enjoy not understanding what is happening in front of my eyes. I’m uncomfortable because it forces me to pay attention, to put myself in someone else’s shoes, and to learn something about myself. Sometimes I just get bored, but that’s not bad. I may not enjoy a film, but I can be curious about it. I can ask myself: why did it take so long to tell me about this little thing? An idea may stay with you through all the movies you see after this one. For me, that’s how cinema works. Just to feel some excitement, that there are still mysterious ways to tell things.

RATNER: Each image is about more than its current context, right? Each time anyone views something, they are bringing their experiences, both of other films and of life, to it.

ALONSO: I like to feel some kind of aesthetic pleasure. Probably it’s more like painting than narrative. I like to have the time while I’m watching a film to understand what is happening inside the main character’s head or what I would do in his situation. Maybe I’m very slow, but I need time to understand. But people are secondary. The location is central.

RATNER: At a recent press conference, you spoke about filmmaking as a means to spend time with people you would not ordinarily encounter, because it took you out of your familiar surroundings. Your earlier films were contemporary and observational, but in 《Jauja》 you’ve made a period piece. I wonder whether your own sense of disorientation in the earlier films influenced this project?

ALONSO: It’s a complicated question. I put the crew, the actors, and myself in unexpected places. We didn’t know what we would get or how I would use a particular image or frame. But that’s fine, it’s enjoyable. With my first film, I realized that I didn’t control more than twenty percent of what was going on, but nevertheless everybody was really excited. In 《La Libertad》 we took some risks, we didn’t control the images but I really like that sensation when I’m making a movie, knowing I will learn a lot from the movie or the image. There are actually a lot of questions people ask me about my films for which I don’t have answers. I’m not trying to be an idiot or an arrogant guy. I really don’t know how I choose this or that. When you see some painting you never ask why this blue or red, or what is this triangle or circle. It is what it is.

RATNER: Did you do all the shooting at once?

ALONSO: The last part of the film was the first thing that I shot, in 2012. We stopped for a year waiting for Viggo to confirm. Then he had room in his full schedule. It was a risky structure. I enjoy that: if the films are good at the end, that’s wonderful, but if they are bad, they’re not going to kill anyone. If I learn something during the shooting that’s the most important thing to me; that, and to be working with other people. When you get out of your home and you spend two months just living like gypsies, you depend on others. There’s no phone, no internet. It feels like a nice family.

RATNER: A functioning family?

ALONSO: Or dysfunctional. But to share that feeling with a guy like Viggo and with nonprofessional actors made me feel like we are all on the same level. We were working in a serious way on the film. There’s no boss. And I really like to feel that way, as if everything could be that way.

RATNER: Did having such a big star throw things off balance?

ALONSO: Viggo was the first to wake up at seven in the morning. He got the tripod and started knocking on all the doors and said: it’s time, let’s go. During dinnertime, he’d just disappear. We said: where the fuck is Viggo? He was doing the dishes for thirty-five people! So that was quite an experience for me and for the people I worked with. They thought that since Viggo is a star he was going to be a pain in the ass. At first, everyone judged him. But by the second week, everybody was having drinks with the guy, completely in love. He took a risk being in the film. He told me he liked my films, especially 《Los Muertos》, but he worried because he read that I never know how they will end. I will appreciate his risk for my entire life. I feel very lucky to get to know an actor and a producer like Viggo.

RATNER: Do you have ideas for what you might do next?

ALONSO: (Shrugs) I don’t know. Am I going to shoot with some professional actors again? I don’t know, probably yes. Am I going to a wild location? Probably yes. Should I make the next movie more artificial or go back to the more observational contemplative way? I don’t know. I’m curious to keep getting farther from the way I live, so next time I hope to be near the Amazon. It’s like a dream for me to get inside of the real jungle and see what happens.

RATNER: Have you been there already?

ALONSO: No. I only go [to a location] once I’m shooting or I get blocked. But once I finished 《Jauja》, I immediately began thinking of the jungle, probably because in this film there were no trees. I like to be surrounded by green and trees, to get a sense of what it must have felt like four hundred years ago.

RATNER: You open 《Los Muertos》 with a view of trees, in and out of focus, very much like a child’s view. It’s certainly not a city dweller’s view.

ALONSO: I prefer not to shoot in Buenos Aires, but I keep asking myself why in every film I choose to shoot people far from civilization, far away in time. But I guess we are not that different from those guys. It might seem like there’s a lot of difference between a New Yorker and an Indian guy who doesn’t know how to read, but they’re not all that different.

Author’s Note

Special thanks to John Wildman of the Film Society of Lincoln Center for help in arranging this interview.

“Los antiguos decían que Jauja era una tierra mitológica de abundancia y felicidad. Muchas expediciones buscaron el lugar para corroborarlo. Con el tiempo, la leyenda creció de manera desproporcionada. Sin duda la gente exageraba, como siempre. Lo único que se sabe con certeza es que todos los que intentaron encontrar ese paraíso terrenal se perdieron en el camino.”

片子運用了大量的景深長鏡頭，非常工整的風(fēng)景畫，有些像《哈利波特》里有魔法的照片或者簡報，人物在里面走來走去。那里就是阿根廷，我第一次聽是《曉松奇談》里說那里有世界上最大最豐饒的草原。后來我來到了南美，了解到盡管如今已是科技時代，南美的工業(yè)與科技都還不發(fā)達(dá)，但這片土地所給予的豐衣足食以及流淌在人民血液里的及時行樂，它還是撫慰了現(xiàn)實震蕩下的靈魂，并平添了一份魔幻的色彩。 影片至七十多分鐘處才出現(xiàn)配樂，畫面中是絢爛的星空，風(fēng)塵仆仆行路的人終于在那底下沉睡，夢仍然是流動的。究竟是為什么放棄了家園去找尋“安樂鄉(xiāng)”卻迷失在了顛沛的路途之上？而“鄉(xiāng)愁”終究是對放棄了原有家園的追思還是始終未能到達(dá)之地的妄念？就像有一首歌里唱的，“我們都是單行道上的跳蚤”，回不去也走不遠(yuǎn)。

蘇珊·桑塔格在《中國旅行計劃》中說“有什么穿過了供血充沛的胚胎外膜”，于我亦是，如若按“但求心安是吾鄉(xiāng)”，阿根廷便是我的Jauja。在向往了十年之久后，我終于踏上了南美這片熱土，又雀躍又緊張以為靠得有足夠近了，卻因為一場意外不得不重將自己流放一般于遠(yuǎn)方，幾乎被打擊得再也沒有了一絲去渴望的力氣。直到經(jīng)歷了如同影片中遇見擁有一只狗和一口井住在山洞里的“女巫”一般具有魔幻色彩的事，我暗戀了三年的男孩子在我?guī)缀醪荒苷褡髌饋淼臅r候突然邀請我去他的家鄉(xiāng)，我開始相信“念念不忘，必有回響”。 許多人說我這樣做叫“追夢“也好“隨心”也罷，我自己清楚我只是選擇了逃避現(xiàn)實，將自己放逐虛無。最近和幾個“三十歲的女人”聊天，她們也都有著和我一樣的迷茫，“安樂鄉(xiāng)”究竟在哪里，在找尋的路上她們早也已經(jīng)迷失。我們在小酒館里喝了幾杯，感到一種心灰意懶后的安穩(wěn)，它即使短暫，即使明日我們又要再強(qiáng)打起精神。人生向死而生的路徑之上，是永恒的寂寥與孤獨，唯與你煮酒聽雨方一解鄉(xiāng)愁，另日又隔千里，但那路徑之上，總算悲傷有時起舞有時，顛沛有時安樂有時。

那么，是否最終到達(dá)“安樂鄉(xiāng)”還有什么重要。追到了也會再推遠(yuǎn)了。結(jié)尾處女兒從睡夢中醒來，較于前戲恍若滄海桑田斗轉(zhuǎn)星移。不論前面是她的一場夢魘，還是與前完全獨立互文的分段。那一刻的她都不再掙扎，向往遠(yuǎn)航，隨即就將當(dāng)初自己珍視的土著木偶拋向池底。我們尋找的是什么？什么也不是。為那些虛妄空泛的念想而流離失所是為了什么？不為了什么。這樣的結(jié)局究竟是一種達(dá)觀還是虛無的態(tài)度？還是說，時間一如既往的流逝中，唯有愛與知足常樂。

作者 / 羅莎·瑪?shù)贍柕隆ぬ┫Ｂ?/p>

譯 / tunmii

首發(fā)于《拉美電影迷宮》公眾號：//mp.weixin.qq.com/s/_Uu_ZG_p8leyUFrY1PFZuQ

引言

本文通過解讀利桑德羅·阿隆索 (Lisandro Alonso)的電影《安樂鄉(xiāng)》 (2014)，闡釋了米歇爾·?？绿岢龅臑跬邪詈彤愅邪罡拍?，以便通過電影來理解?？碌睦碚摶A(chǔ)，及阿隆索對此的批判性看法和他采用的敘事結(jié)構(gòu)。我們試圖表明，這部電影和阿隆索其它的作品都在經(jīng)歷著從烏托邦到異托邦的轉(zhuǎn)變，他借用一種新的講述方式，在不失連貫性的情況下對空間進(jìn)行著穿越與彌合。

關(guān)鍵詞：安樂鄉(xiāng)，烏托邦，異托邦，轉(zhuǎn)變

“古人說，安樂鄉(xiāng)是一個神話般富饒、幸福的土地。許多探險隊都在尋找它，證實它的存在。時間逝去，這個傳說逐漸失信。唯一可以確定的是，所有試圖尋找這個天堂的人，都在旅途中迷失了方向?！?/span>

引自《安樂鄉(xiāng)》（Jauja,2014）

歷桑德羅最新的電影《安樂鄉(xiāng)》（Jauja）以此題詞開頭。這片土地——真實抑或想象，人與空間的關(guān)系，居住者與行者，物質(zhì)和精神——便是其戲劇性發(fā)展的源泉。顯然，《安樂鄉(xiāng)》隱射的并不是秘魯?shù)哪骋怀鞘校且粋€中世紀(jì)的傳說，一個富饒的、自得其樂的領(lǐng)土。當(dāng)西班牙殖民者到達(dá)美洲，尤其是當(dāng)皮薩羅到達(dá)了安第斯城市Jauja時，大肆揮霍著財富與食物，安樂鄉(xiāng)的神話因此被改寫。讓我們對上面的引言感興趣的是阿隆索最后的那句話。到達(dá)、遷移和尋找一樣毫無意義，因為所有試圖去向那里的人都“在旅途中迷失了方向”。我們從中可知，阿隆索不再試圖將目光放置于尋找的旅途，對烏托邦的盼望以異托邦終結(jié)。

換句話說，從幻想到確定，從一個不存在的空間到另一個空間，這是未能接近烏托邦空間的挫敗感的產(chǎn)物。因此，這篇文章便是為了研究《安樂鄉(xiāng)》中的旅程是如何以?？掠?966年12月7日在法國文化無線電會議作為理論支撐的，其致力于探討烏托邦和文學(xué)的關(guān)系，即烏托邦和異托邦。

“安樂鄉(xiāng)”一詞沒有在電影里出現(xiàn)過，只出現(xiàn)于題詞。這指涉了一個真實的烏托邦，歸因于福柯的定義過程：

沒有實體的國家和沒有年表的歷史都存在。城市、行星、大陸、宇宙，它們的蹤跡無法在地圖上被定位，也無法在天空中被識別，這僅僅是因為它們不屬于任何空間。毫無疑問，這些城市、大陸、行星都是由人的頭腦所構(gòu)造，又或是從話語的間隙中產(chǎn)生的。口傳的故事、夢中出現(xiàn)的場景，都是內(nèi)心的空虛。我所指的，以上所有，都是那甜蜜的烏托邦。（?？?，2008）

影片中唯一可能提到烏托邦——一個甜蜜的烏托邦空間——的地方，就是當(dāng)皮塔盧加中尉提到祖魯阿加上尉的時候，后者就像是原住民的烏托邦世界的管理者。但迪內(nèi)森船長的目標(biāo)不是去找到這一烏托邦，他希冀能找到另一個被稱為“苦痛”的烏托邦空間。對祖魯阿加領(lǐng)土的影射切合了整個故事。因此，人們可能想知道為什么阿隆索會以一個烏托邦空間來命名自己的電影。只有向烏托邦邁出第一步，才能更接近它的幻滅。對?？聛碚f，它的“蹤跡無法被定位”。烏托邦所指的是一場重大的價值探尋，而它不存在于任何地方。而同時，與此相反的，他深刻描述了“人類頭腦中”的構(gòu)想，以及是什么驅(qū)使著他們走向瘋狂，就像阿基爾或迪內(nèi)森上尉。

迪內(nèi)森船長出發(fā)尋找女兒，她的缺席在短短幾分鐘內(nèi)就使他產(chǎn)生了“內(nèi)心的空虛”。盡管知道，對于一個本就不屬于這個地方的人來說這樣的尋找十分困難，他還是出發(fā)了。皮塔盧加中尉提出要陪伴他，但他拒絕了：這是他的使命，他必須前往一個一無所知的終點（潘帕斯草原是如此相似），但他相信他最終能夠到達(dá)某一個地方。這條道路是唯一一個能將他與他的文化、他的空間、他的生活聯(lián)系起來的重逢之路，但也同時是一條與本我分離的道路。當(dāng)他知道自己的血統(tǒng)已經(jīng)喪失，他便出發(fā)去尋找血統(tǒng)。這是一條充滿挫折與困頓的旅程。

然而，我們認(rèn)為，這部電影最主要的發(fā)展并非一種烏托邦式的愿景，而是與福柯相吻合的異托邦理論；或者更確切地說，正是由于烏托邦，觀眾才發(fā)現(xiàn)了異托邦：與空間相對，其它空間成為了“對我們所處的現(xiàn)實空間的神話式的、現(xiàn)實的反駁”。（?？?，2008）因此，阿隆索勾勒了一個恒定的異托邦空間，這是一個沒有終點的、沒有時間的、邊緣化了的空間。簡而言之，他者與無數(shù)的鏡像空間都會不斷出現(xiàn)。為了與《安樂鄉(xiāng)》相對應(yīng)，我們將參考?？滤岢龅漠愅邪顚W(xué)說和異質(zhì)拓?fù)鋵W(xué)原則，通過文本解讀來進(jìn)行分析。

第一個原則，他假設(shè)“或許任何社會都存在異托邦”（?？拢?008）?！栋矘粪l(xiāng)》中描繪的社會就是建構(gòu)的社會。實際上，迪內(nèi)森船長正在構(gòu)造著什么。在潘帕斯草原之中，沒有房子，沒有城市化，空間里唯一的住宅空間是幾個零星的帳篷，以及一個顯然只能僥幸寄居的洞窟。就其整體而言，這個空間處于另一種社會的邊緣位置，它有組織、法律、傳統(tǒng)，例如有能力組織一場舞蹈。影片中提到的戰(zhàn)隊領(lǐng)袖不住在潘帕斯，他或許住在某個城市，住在一個端莊的、資產(chǎn)階級的、受人尊敬的地方，在那里甚至可以舉辦一場宴會。然而，潘帕斯平原開闊、奇異的空間與掌權(quán)者所在的地方不同，它是一個“椰殼”般的空間，人們通過工具手段一點一點地對其進(jìn)行侵略，以此消除了它是異質(zhì)空間的可能性。占有空間是支配空間的前提。

考慮到廣闊無邊的潘帕斯平原也同樣存在著邊緣自治社群，祖魯阿加上尉——他居住在一個被現(xiàn)行法律所抵制的地方——便是這個異質(zhì)空間中的一個有趣的阻礙因素。他像一個瘋子，?？聲阉胖糜谒岬降漠愘|(zhì)空間：精神病院。他對異托邦異常性的描述為：“這樣的地方為那些行為與平均的、正常的行為有所偏差的人設(shè)立”（?？拢?008）。祖魯阿加上尉從一開始便產(chǎn)生了偏差，那是一個受法律所管控的地方。換句話說，在這個已然是另一個潘帕斯的平原，有著印第安的、椰殼”般的領(lǐng)地，有著一個空間專門為那些脫離了現(xiàn)世社會而存在。如果從克里奧語來看異托邦，從原住民的角度來看烏托邦：迪內(nèi)森船長作為文明世界中一個土生土長的歐洲人，是為了什么而來到這樣一個不同的空間？在那里，他唯一的愿望是保護(hù)他的女兒、他最寶貴的財富，以免受來自南方的、其它大陸和文化的污染，并在那一空間中屈服。他想由支配者轉(zhuǎn)為受配者，也或許是以免轉(zhuǎn)變?yōu)樗肋h(yuǎn)不想成為的另一個人？如果他的女兒茵格不反抗他，沒有在幸福的“安樂鄉(xiāng)”土地上追求自由和獨立的愛情，她會怎么樣？因此，潘帕斯可以被認(rèn)為是丹麥女孩茵格的烏托邦，在這里她有幻想愛和自由的空間；同時這也是她父親的異托邦，它使他擯棄了現(xiàn)實的桎梏，將他復(fù)制為一個新的居住者。

因此，我們可以看到，這一故事角色們所在的重要空間有著有趣的模糊度和復(fù)雜度，這有助于將故事視為能被不同居民所能感知到的移動的、動態(tài)的空間。在此，電影對凝視、感知的興趣，不僅僅在角色們在功能維度的興趣，還有觀眾的興趣——他們必須不斷地變更自己對故事發(fā)展的看法，且持續(xù)對微弱的情節(jié)保持注意力。而微弱的故事并不是零敘事?！氨绕鹉芙o多少信息，我的電影更注重和觀眾的直覺交流。如果沒有觀眾，我的電影就沒有信息。”（克拉普，2014）

福柯的第四條原則陳述如下：

事實證明，異托邦通常與單一的時間片段有關(guān)。如果各位能夠接受，這是一種異時性……最后，還有一些異托邦與通道、轉(zhuǎn)化和再生有關(guān)，而不是節(jié)典。（?？拢?008）

在這里，?？滤傅氖?9世紀(jì)的學(xué)校和軍營，它們的存在是為了讓青少年、男性和監(jiān)獄承擔(dān)二十世紀(jì)的再生功能。我們能明顯地在《安樂鄉(xiāng)》中看到迪內(nèi)森船長穿越潘帕斯草原這一異托邦將他卷入了另一個時間，一個錯位的、制造了有趣轉(zhuǎn)變的時間。從個人層面而非社會層面來說，迪內(nèi)森進(jìn)入了一個不確定時間，一段架空的歷史，可能來自夢，也可能來自幻覺。洞穴——另一個異托邦——隱藏在社會空間的暗處，是一個躲避社會的地方（就像?？绿岬降募嗽海?，成為了幫助船長認(rèn)識自己、觀察自己的空間。這不僅僅發(fā)生在某一邊界或邊緣地帶。空間已不再重要，唯獨時間。之后，觀眾對一系列的都會鏡頭感到疑惑。比起在另一空間內(nèi)的表現(xiàn)，更重要的是它們在另一個時間內(nèi)。對這一系列鏡頭的疑問各種各樣：我們看到的是迪內(nèi)森船長的夢境、想象，在那里他為女兒規(guī)劃了一個幸福的未來，其中卻沒有他自己的存在——他是與潘帕斯草原同化了，又或許是已然死亡？若我們看到的正是船長詩意的死亡的隱喻及其危險旅程的終點，如同一場沒有指南針的尋找（指南針在茵格手中，洞穴中的女人卻擁有了它），這是否說明了我們看到的影像便是對上尉死亡的確認(rèn)？

或許，所謂阿隆索借用了大衛(wèi)·林奇風(fēng)格的這一說法很難讓人理解：

“人們能夢見自己從未見過的東西嗎？這些東西拓寬了我的局限”，阿隆索說，他詢問了另一種意見，又或是在思忖是否與他的相似；但他很快就把它放在一邊，“我發(fā)現(xiàn)很難找到電影中用以描述事物發(fā)生的語言，我更愿意沉溺于圖像。這就是我經(jīng)常遇到的情況，比如，我沒有興趣和林奇進(jìn)行比較。你不知道某事為什么會發(fā)生，但總有什么在等待著你，就像我看到一幅我很喜歡的畫一樣；也許我無法解釋、破譯它們，但這些東西令我望而卻步。它們從未將我拒之于外，可總有什么是存在的。這一點我希望能通過電影來表達(dá)。（克拉普，2014）

電影的最后一段是否對應(yīng)了一個空間，一種拓普斯，或一個女孩失去了雙親的現(xiàn)實？她迷途而返，渴望著“四處跟隨她的人”；這個人就像一條異化為人的幼犬，它一直想念著她，并因她的缺席而困頓？我們相信，出于分析和解釋的目的，質(zhì)疑、提問比提供答案更為重要，這促使我們找到這部電影的意義：從烏托邦過渡到異托邦的公路電影，將觀眾帶入了一種感性之旅，改變了他們對故事的感受。它削弱了透明度和因果關(guān)系，卻向詩的維度、幻想的維度開放。

?？碌淖詈笠粭l原則指出：

正是在這一點上，我們無疑接近了最重要的異托邦。所有這些對其它空間的挑戰(zhàn)皆以兩種方式來進(jìn)行：要么像阿拉貢所說的那些妓院，它們譴責(zé)現(xiàn)實世界，使得除其自身之外的現(xiàn)實成為幻覺；又或者正好相反，它們創(chuàng)造了另一個如此現(xiàn)實的完美世界，它是那么細(xì)致和整潔，而現(xiàn)實世界卻如此失序、混亂。（福柯，2008）

這最后一點無法不令人聯(lián)想到與電影可能的聯(lián)系。迪內(nèi)森船長出發(fā)去尋找一個烏托邦世界：他要在某處找到自己的女兒，無人知曉如何抵達(dá)，彼處又會是哪里；他拒絕當(dāng)?shù)厝说膸椭?，帶著軍刀和武器，穿著制服獨自上了路?/p>

要在荒蕪的潘帕斯草原上實現(xiàn)烏托邦式的愿望，不論怎么看，他都會被一個不屬于他的空間所淹沒——這一空間屬于他者，屬于那些創(chuàng)造烏托邦以及異托邦的人——他承載著這種挫折，企圖創(chuàng)造一個“真實的、完美的、細(xì)致且有序的空間”，就像洞窟——一個想象性的空間——“當(dāng)我們的空間是無序的、混亂的、令人困惑的”。尋找烏托邦的徒勞無獲使他創(chuàng)造了一個異托邦：洞窟。在其中，他發(fā)現(xiàn)了一個混合了現(xiàn)實和想象的容器空間（福柯反復(fù)命名的妓院構(gòu)建了異托邦，于此處人們在現(xiàn)實世界中尋找違禁品），它允許宣泄，用自己偏好的言語進(jìn)行對話，一種滿足饕餮盛宴的可能性。

又或許：茵格已經(jīng)老去；在迪內(nèi)森船長想象中的烏克蘭世界中，這個女人沒有忘記自己的語言，沒有伴侶，只有一條狗的陪伴？這一空間甚至可以成為另一個空間的發(fā)生裝置：它清晰、明亮，是一片失落的故土；一個年輕女子僥幸留下，愛犬圍著她，她幸福卻失落。人的心靈能否制造這樣的空間，以保護(hù)自己免受苦難和不幸？就像阿隆索提出的：“你能夢見一些你從未見過的東西嗎？”問題的答案，就在《安樂鄉(xiāng)》的圖像中。

從烏托邦到異托邦

在第二部分里，我們將不再以此前的分析來解讀影片的敘事策略。專注于空間價值的基礎(chǔ)概念讓我們能夠繼續(xù)深入研究歷桑德羅·阿隆索電影中獨特的敘述方式。因此，我們回到之前引用的前言，它正是可作為參考文獻(xiàn)，并具有指示功能的目標(biāo)文本。

一開始，古人將自己確定為知識的主要載體，而這個定義脫離了語境，含義模糊。語言的歧義便是阿隆索想要在電影的結(jié)構(gòu)中展示的意圖：一種模棱兩可的語匯，通過特定的敘事加以表述。古人是誰？答案可以有很多，每一個都可以成立。他們可以是單獨的個體，多樣的村落，甚至是征服者本身。那么，這些古人都在預(yù)言著什么？烏托邦存在，那是一片富足的、幸福的、神話般的土地。

這個形容詞的使用可以達(dá)到同樣的效果?！鞍矘粪l(xiāng)”在想象中的真實社會里是一個神話，但在敘事中，它對很多人來說似乎是一個現(xiàn)實的存在。皮塔盧加中尉也如此承認(rèn)，并非毫無懷疑?！鞍矘粪l(xiāng)”是一個可被理解的空間。但如果從烏托邦中選取一個地點，不論怎么樣，那都會是一個將永遠(yuǎn)被找尋的空間；也就是說，會開始一場冒險、一條行路、一種企圖，以便尋找一個或許存在的實體，哪怕人盡皆知這一可能性的渺茫（“人們一如既往地奢求”）。他們探尋著很早就知道了的東西（“他們清楚地知道”），搜索是毫無意義的。這一模糊的歧義變成了矛盾，在文本的最后被清晰呈現(xiàn)：所有試圖到達(dá)安樂鄉(xiāng)的人都失去了方向。簡而言之，正如上文所說，尋找的目的便是為了不再尋找。具有價值的正是尋找行為本身，對烏托邦的探索、對真實異托邦的發(fā)現(xiàn)都是值得的。我們相信這便是阿隆索創(chuàng)作這一敘事結(jié)構(gòu)的原因，在他之前的作品中便可見其端倪，尤其是《再見伊甸園》（2004）和《利物浦》（2008）——角色們出發(fā)去尋找，但無從得知他們是否找到了他們所尋找的東西，甚至很難去設(shè)想他們是否能夠找到。這不是去尋找女兒或母親，或再一次尋找女兒。這其中有太多意義需要在旅途中被找到；若沒有找到，一種變革性的體驗也會在途中出現(xiàn)。

《安樂鄉(xiāng)》可以被認(rèn)為是一部典型的公路電影。雖然作為主角有著明確的旅行目的，但最重要的，是在這一尋找的路途中發(fā)生了什么，是對這片土地的探索，以及他是如何轉(zhuǎn)變的。而這種私密的轉(zhuǎn)變甚至和人物的心理有關(guān)。人物的轉(zhuǎn)變并不是這部電影唯一感興趣的東西。影片中，涉及變化的有多個不同的層次，這其中包含了一種復(fù)雜的概念框架。只有通過分析性的視角，我們才能觀察到電影中不同的過程、段落與轉(zhuǎn)變，以便重新定義烏托邦向異托邦的過渡。

首先是迪內(nèi)森船長作為主角的轉(zhuǎn)變——從尋找女兒到尋找自己的身份；尋找烏托邦的目標(biāo)向?qū)ふ耶愅邪畹哪繕?biāo)進(jìn)行轉(zhuǎn)化——尋找他的女兒，便是尋找他的幸福、他的欲望、他的安適，尋找一個靜止的空間，或甚至是尋找自身與祖魯阿加土地（同時也是“安樂鄉(xiāng)”的土地）之間的可能關(guān)聯(lián)；這一特殊的空間直接指向了與庫爾茲上尉1所在空間的互文：他正在尋找一個收容空間，收容他尋而不得的痛苦。從潘帕斯草原到洞窟，每一個他者空間都孕育著夢幻的、通靈的、如真實一般虛幻的扭曲。

第二點，烏托邦景觀的轉(zhuǎn)變明確指向了物理空間；而烏托邦景觀指向的即是心靈空間。其次，則是從現(xiàn)實景觀到夢幻景觀的一種轉(zhuǎn)化。或許反之而言，在《安樂鄉(xiāng)》里，什么是夢境，什么又是現(xiàn)實？整部電影都可以被看作是一個當(dāng)代的丹麥姑娘住在鄉(xiāng)間別墅時所做的一場夢；也就是說，電影在最后的幾分鐘之內(nèi)改變了觀眾對故事的看法。

第四點便是邏輯的轉(zhuǎn)變，同時也是敘事方式的轉(zhuǎn)變：從因果到聯(lián)想。電影反映現(xiàn)實的觀念在慢慢轉(zhuǎn)變，對夢的現(xiàn)實性、無序中的意識和出于聯(lián)想的理性因果論的限制都在逐漸消除。第五點，觀眾的轉(zhuǎn)變：信息從被動地給予到策略性的刻意隱瞞，觀眾的感知和認(rèn)知因此發(fā)生改變，“一種讓我們觀察去觀察的電影，它激發(fā)感知，最終作用于思想（……）它讓觀眾不禁自問：‘這是什么電影？’”（貝登多夫，2007:35）通過這樣的方式，利桑德羅·阿隆索在接受帕梅拉·比恩佐巴斯的采訪時解釋說：

“我想在主角意識到他不會再見到女兒的那一刻之后，他一定會受到情感的沖擊。我想把這一時刻作為將電影的分節(jié)點，因為我覺得這個角色開始崩潰，這看似奇怪，實際是開始了另一個維度的敘述、另一個層次的閱讀，等等。如果觀眾始終保持平靜，他則是想拿走這份平靜。他一點點加大力度，給觀眾施加刺激——我也喜歡看那些給我?guī)磉@種感覺的電影，這施與我壓力——并讓他們?nèi)ビ^察這個故事能發(fā)展到何處?！保ū榷髯舭退?，2015）

第六，與之前的作品不同，我們可以在這部電影中看到利桑德羅·阿隆索對攝影策略的改變：一條重要的線索保持了電影的連貫性，這讓我們能把它看做一個復(fù)雜的、多維的整體。利桑德羅本人也指證了這一點：這部作品相較于過去的確是一個轉(zhuǎn)變（或轉(zhuǎn)型）？從一種混合了敘事與非敘事的粗糙的、極致的現(xiàn)實主義到人為參與。這一跡象在這部作品中得到集中體現(xiàn)。阿隆索選擇帝莫·薩爾米寧作為該項目的攝影指導(dǎo)并非巧合，后者指導(dǎo)了大部分阿基·考里斯馬基的電影攝影，其電影的攝影風(fēng)格都以非自然主義為標(biāo)志。

“有時候我會問：‘帝莫，這光是哪來的？這看起來像在拉斯維加斯?！麜粗?，回答說：‘光來自燈。我們必須創(chuàng)造一種幻覺?！瘜λ麃碚f，電影正是為了制造幻象。如果你創(chuàng)造了幻覺，那就忘了它，不要害怕人們是否會思考它是否真實。這是一個新的嘗試。過去，我的電影都不會激勵我，因為我覺得那很假。我不敢放手去做或制造幻覺。我其它的電影更貼近現(xiàn)實，都是真實的、確切的行為，它拒絕謊言、偽造，從不試圖去說服什么，而是盡可能地保持客觀，而不是通過我的雙手來組織故事。”（比恩佐巴斯，2015）

結(jié)語

利桑德羅·阿隆索的電影是異托邦電影，一種置身于另一個邊緣空間的電影，設(shè)計了不同的制作和敘述模式，位于主流之外。愛德華多·盧梭將阿隆索電影中的差異性定義如下：

阿隆索一直在設(shè)計的那種影片，除了專注于講故事（一種基于良知的、圍繞著假定命題而建立的永恒使命），還要求這一藝術(shù)形式具有更基礎(chǔ)的意義：為某種文化作出視覺和聲音的貢獻(xiàn)，擴(kuò)大觀眾對時空構(gòu)成的視聽認(rèn)知。（盧梭，2011:20）

注釋 1弗朗西斯·科波拉 (Francis F. Coppola) 1979 年電影《啟示錄》中的角色。