Interviews and Film Scripts


by

Charlene Regester

University of North Carolina, Chapel Hill


Copyright © 2000 by Charlene Regester, all rights reserved. This text may be used and shared in accordance with the fair-use provisions of U.S. Copyright law, and it may be archived and redistributed in electronic form, provided that the editors are notified and no fee is charged for access. Archiving, redistribution, or republication of this text on other terms, in any medium, requires the notification of the journal and consent of the author.


Review of:

Trinh T. Minh-Ha Cinema Interval . New York: Routledge, 1999.


  1. Cinema Interval capitalizes on two sides of the same self of Vietnamese filmmaker Trinh T. Minh-ha. Through the publication of interviews previously conducted with Deb Verhoeven, Homi Bhabha, Annamaria Morelli, Berenice Reynaud, Margaret Kelly, Linda Tyler, Sarah Williams, Toroa Pohatu, Tessa Barringer, Kim Hawkins, Paul Kalina, Nancy Chen, Gwendolyn Foster, and Mary Zournazi coupled with film scripts from "A Tale of Love," and "Shoot for the Contents," Trinh Minh-ha reveals much of herself as well as her intentions as a filmmaker. Not having seen any of her films, I cannot deconstruct these filmic representations as they coincide with her views. This limitation, however, might actually prove an asset: my critique will have had to invest entirely in her verbal revelations and reflections, which are moving, empowering, and intellectually challenging in and of themselves.

  2. To contextualize this review, I refer the reader to her other, more readily available written work, such as Woman, Native, Other: Writing Postcoloniality and Feminism (Indiana UP, 1989), or perhaps, When the Moon Waxes Red: Representation, Gender and Cultural Politics (Routledge, 1991). More specifically, When the Moon Waxes Red reflects the conceptualization and formation of ideas constructed by Trinh Minh-ha regarding otherness, being both an insider and outsider, while Cinema Interval seems to reflect the application of these ideas to both her filmic representations as well as to her self-perception as both participant and observer of the Third world. Whereas in When the Moon Waxes Red she explains, describes, and discusses the position of insider/outsider, in Cinema Interval she conveys the applicability of such notions explicitly demonstrated in her own effort to produce a documentary on Africa though positioned outside the culture. Trinh Minh-Ha responded to her unique subject position suggesting that she negotiated her precarious position as a member of the Third world by providing a voyeuristic gaze of another Third world culture in that she acknowledged her similarities to and differences from this culture. It is the hybridity of this culture to which she was both attracted and fascinated by. Therefore, while When he Moon Waxes Red represented her attempt to verbalize and articulate such conceptions, it is in her later work, Cinema Interval, that we witness the application of these critical conceptualizations developed to enhance her own filmmaking endeavors and to reflect her now matured and more critical eye.

  3. Titling the work Cinema Interval was most appropriate because it is at the level of intervals that the work best speaks to what the filmmaker is attempting to achieve on screen. In fact, she prefaces the interviews conducted with a discussion, associating them with the theory of intervals proposed by Dziga Vertov. "In his 'hall of intervals,' where 'frames of truth' are minutely edited, all is a matter of relations: temporal, spatial, rhythmic relations; relations, as he specified, of planes, of recording speed, of light and shade, of movement within the frame" (p. xii). The notion of intervals introduced in this work is apparently one that she has been re-thinking because even in When the Moon Waxes Red, one segment of her book is entitled, "She, of the Interval." Therefore, it is at the interval that she, as both filmmaker and scholar, forces us to re-examine our pre-existing views of imposing either/or positions in interpreting the world. It is her contention that if one is positioned as an outsider then one occupies the space of both containment and confinement. And as such, the position of outsider while being doubly determined can be both privileging and de-privileging. It is as though Trinh Minh-ha is constructing a third gaze that is somewhere in between the object and subject that makes her work insightful and compelling.

  4. In discussing her film, "A Tale of Love," Trinh Minh-ha demonstrates her skill in forcing the gaze back onto the us -- the audience, the reader, the spectator. She notes that "death is in every moment of life; it is, crudely speaking, something we live with the moment we step into life. So although there's nothing more old-fashioned than narratives of love, we continue to produce and consume what, in the widest sense of the term, always comes down to the love story. " (p.7).

  5. Because "A Tale of Love" wrestles with questions of power, Trinh Minh-ha comments on the symbolism associated with the protagonist, Kieu.
    Kieu's tumultuous and wretched love life, her being forced into prostitution, her passion and sacrifice have all been extensively written about and used as an allegory for Vietnam's destiny. But no one has really linked Kieu's denouement to Vietnam's geopolitical, socioeconomic, or artistic and ethical situation today. Perhaps I can venture into saying that independence entails complex forms of re-alignment, and that Vietnam's opening up, which for many means assimilation of the free West, can be, despite all the mistakes and drawbacks, a way of keeping Her distance from all three power nations: China, Russia, and the U.S. Infidelity to others and to one's own ideals, even when dictated by circumstance, can only lead to difficult places, and hence, there's definitely no simple happy ending here (p.8).

  6. If the film becomes symbolic of Vietnam's attempt to be both embraced by world powers yet not consumed by these world powers then the difficulty that Vietnam faces becomes glaringly apparent. The implications rendered by Trinh Minh-ha's assessment of Vietnam's unique position are far reaching to the extent that any Third world culture attempting to establish its space and liberation is forced to interconnect with those in positions of power and dominance and who in doing so run the risk of being influenced by these powers; an influence that could have dire consequences both internally and externally.

  7. At times, Trinh Minh-ha is politically empowering when questioned regarding the commonality of experience shared by oppressed or marginalized groups. She responds by saying that what is important is not the diversity of experience, but the discovery of whose interest it serves to make separations between oppressed groups.

  8. In responding to questions concerning "Surname Viet" and "Shoot for Contents, " she explains that these films reflect the use of a documentary style that involves re-inscription, construction, and de-construction. It is these attributes unique to the documentary that she finds adaptable to her own filmmaking style and technique. Moreover, Trinh Minh-ha declares that she has found way of affirming difference through the technique of repetition. Rather than reproducing the same, Trinh-Minh-Ha contends that repetition allows one to continue saying the same but with a slight shift in focus which ultimately becomes creative.

  9. As for "Shoot for Contents," Trinh Minh-ha is forced to come to terms with her similarity to and difference from Chinese culture with which, historically, Vietnam has had a strained relationship. A character in her film [Dewi] proclaims, "I'm an American-born Chinese, and I find myself in a very fascinating position of trying to understand China, but being American. So, I have the pull: one hand on dryland over here, and one hand on dryland over there. And yes, my position is just as fragile, I feel sometimes. Because, with my hands spread out I find my feet wet" (p.176). Perhaps, this position reflects Trinh Minh-Ha's own position as a Vietnamese now ingratiated into American culture but not in abandonment of her own. Even more so it is through this characterization that she can contest, challenge, and attempt to resolve her own inhibitions or idiosyncracies regarding Chinese culture in view of the historical struggles shared with her own country. This identity problematic was again re-visited in "Surname Viet," where she claims "I have finally been able to come to terms with Vietnam or with a national identity; a film focusing on Vietnamese women or on female identity and difference That's why it was extremely important for me not to approach it from a legitimized 'insider's' point of view, but rather from a number of spaces locating me somewhere between an insider and an outsider" (pp 29-30). Addressing her own position as a female filmmaker, Trinh Minh-ha argues that she positions women in that space for both political as well as aesthetic reasons and it is a choice made not to exclude but rather to include. She expands her views on the privilege associated with occupying such a position by asserting that when you are thrust into the position of other, you are often forced to have to face yourself and when you opt to avoid such a position you are merely delaying the benefits that this de-priviledged position provides.

  10. Regarding her style as a writer, Trinh Minh-ha asserts: "one movement is to go forward in an argument; another movement is to constantly come back to oneself; and the third, for example, is to create form and with the unintended reflexive communication among words themselves" (p.37). Structurally, Trinh Minh-ha's deliberate and contrived effort to provide a third voice represents the in-between position of subject and object similarly observed in her commentary on writing.

  11. Envisioning herself as one who gives voice to Third world cultures, Trinh-Minh-ha comments on how and why she finds the stereotype useful. It is her contention that the stereotype can be skillfully used to deconstruct the type in a way that results in not perpetuating the type but in diminishing the type.

  12. Although at times, Trinh Minh-ha is ambiguous, her ambiguity both represents her brilliance and yet also creates discomfort in the reader seeking clear cut answers. She turns the question back onto us, asking, "When some of us call ourselves Asian Americans, or gays and lesbians, are we simply endorsing the labels that we have been given, or are we re-appropriating these labels, thereby situating politically such namings, not in the phase of assimilation-for-survival, but rather in a phase of struggle where marking is also affirming ourselves critically?" (pp 48-49). In this instance, she again explores the two-sidedness of an issue such as marking which can be both enslaving and liberating. Yet, it is her assertion that marking can be utilized to affirm rather than to placate to the label that has been imposed for politically charged identifiable purposes.

  13. Interviewer Berenice Reynaud noted that "The truth is, a first encounter with Trinh's films is often unsettling for the viewer, because it decenters his/her positioning as a subject. Instead of centering the subject/viewer with the comfortable notion that a quantum of 'knowledge' about something was provided by the film, it sends him/her back to his/her own essential displacement — what Trinh calls 'the trial of the subject'" (pp 51-52). In this regard her films then force us a spectators to become more critical in our viewing and more questioning of our selves.

  14. Trinh Minh-ha shares her views on how her work is likely to be received, declaring that your identity will often become the focus in criticism of your work and this remains inescapable. Thus, as a filmmaker or artist these are the conditions or constraints under which you have to operate — as you become the subject of another's gaze.

  15. Cinema Interval concludes with a return to the insider/outsider positioning, when Trinh Minh-ha states of "A Tale of Love" that:
    It is through the politics of denationalizing the refugee and the émigré, that a person-who-leaves becomes normalized, being systematically compelled to undergo the process of giving up their home, their country, their language, their identity, their proper name. … Hardly have the newcomers reached the host territory that they're made to experience the mutilation of their name which, if not entirely changed, can only survive in fragments — shortened, misspelled, mispronounced, or replaced by an equivalent. In this denationalization of the foreigner, we can better grasp the complexity of loyalty and betrayal in relation to love, to freedom, to one's own subjectivity…." (p.264).
    It is her insight in reading how Third world cultures are viewed and the critical eye which she has developed for discerning how otherness is constructed that keeps her work fresh, provocative, intriguing, and invigorating.

  16. The strength of Cinema Interval is its ability to capture the intersection between the filmmaker's intellect and her skill as an artist. However, for me, a film historian and not filmmaker, this same strength becomes potentially a weakness. In fragmenting her work, with film scripts and interviews, her work at times seems too multi-varied in its intent even though the film scripts are often interspersed with visual photos from specific film scenes--she perhaps will lose some of the readers, particularly those on-the-fringe whom she most dearly sought for ingathering. Yet, for filmmakers and scholars, or even for just seekers of intellectual open-mindedness concerning marginalized groups, this work is a challenge worthy of the effort to fathom and appreciate it. The fusion of multiple positions and perspectives produced out of a discourse centered around the juxtaposition of self/other, insider/outsider, scholar/filmmaker, westerner/non-westerner infuses a work designed to capture both the intellectualism of a scholar and the aesthetic skill of a filmmaker. For those already fascinated with Trinh Minh-ha's work as both filmmaker and scholar, Cinema Interval, by Trinh Minh-Ha, is a must-read.


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