爱的奥特莱斯

习惯了精致的电影刚开始会觉得只有看似“小儿科”的推拉拍摄手法、英语书对话式的台词、尴尬的表演…像是戛纳的电影吗？

是洪尚秀导演的作品吗？

是年代比较久远电影的摄影艺术还在研究吗？

慢慢的会发现这部电影是细腻的、直白的，没有过多的技巧，只运用了基本的推拉、变焦、一镜到底，看似尴尬的英文对话，但它确实这部电影里的唯一语言，洪尚秀能在短短的七十分钟内成熟的打造一个环绕结构，将金敏喜得美表达的特别细腻，中间那段无厘头的谩骂高潮其实特别的强，台词里暴露出苏导演对“美女”的刻板印象，女老板对万熙的嫉妒，克莱尔对万熙美的欣赏，以及万熙自己内心的温柔和细腻，与其说是三个人对万熙的美的影响，不如说是洪尚秀对金敏喜美的三种不同幻想吧，化身为中年女老板的嫉妒、男导演的爱而不得、女摄影师将她视为灵感缪斯的模特….三个不同身份的人对万熙的美产生了不同的影响，人物刻画十分成熟。

看似儿戏的呈现手法，实则是一部十分成熟的电影，就像是洪尚秀的随笔，最浪漫最令人佩服的是，洪尚秀导演边参加戛纳边花9天时间拍摄出这部属于金敏喜的《克莱尔的相机》。

Your mileage may vary, but for this reviewer’s money, one’s appreciation of South Korean auteur Hong Sang-soo is an acquired taste, veering from a vapid non-starter IN ANOTHER COUNTRY (2004), which more or less flounders in its rigid formality where connotations are lost in translation, to RIGHT NOW, WRONG THEN (2015), a revitalizing two-hander that redefines film’s narratological possibilities, and hits the home run with reverberating impact for all its niceties and relatability. 2017 proves to be the most prolific year for Hong to date, with three films released within a calendar year, ON THE BEACH AT NIGHT ALONE debuts in Berlin and Kim Min-hee nicks a Silver Bear trophy for BEST ACTRESS, THE DAY AFTER enters the main competition in Cannes, where CLAIRE’S CAMERA also has a special screening in the sidebar, all in the aftermath of the cause célèbre, Hong’s cut-and-dried extramarital affair with his muse Kim Min-hee, which both acknowledge with rather admirable candor in public. Therefore, it is particularly intriguing for aficionados to tease out any clues of Hong’s own response to the scandal in these three films, all encompass infidelity with Kim Min-hee playing three different characters in the center, as Hong is astute enough to make hay while the sun shines as far as self-reference is concerned. ON THE BEACH AT NIGHT ALONE can be easily construed as an explicit response to the explosion of Hong’s private life, but mostly from the viewpoint of Kim, structurally a lopsided diptych, its first 20 minutes takes places in a Mitteleuropean town, actress Young-hee (Min-hee), visits her lady friend Jee-young (Seo), to cool her heads off after the scandal of her affair with a married movie director breaks out, after that, she returns to South Korea and touches base with her old acquaintances, including Myung-soo (Jeong Jae-yeong, who is so adept in inhabiting an anodyne man’s aw-shucks front), Chun-woo (Kwon Hae-hyo) and Jun-hee (Song Seon-mi, who steals a cute girl-on-girl kiss), during dinner, she lets rip her “entitlement to love” statement to a stunned audience, apparently is jilted by the director, a lonesome Young-hee seeks for a closure, and one day on the beach alone, she might find a way to achieve that, Hong struts his illusory sleight-of-hand with distinction. THE DAY AFTER is shot in a bleached monochrome, Bong-wan (Kwon, promoted to a leading role, whose multifaceted ability, including tear shedding, is as protuberant as his underbite) is a married man who runs a small publish house, who has an affair with his assistant Chang-sook (Kim Sae-byuk, who is extraordinary in showing up a temperamental paramour’s blandness and selfishness), while their relationship breaks off, he hires a new assistant Ah-reum (Min-hee). On the first day of her job, Bong-wan’s wife Hae-joo (Yoon-hee, geared up with a fishwife’s voltage), alights on a billet-doux written by him, rushes to the publish house to confront Ah-reum, whom she mistakes as the mistress. The misapprehension takes a nasty turn when Chang-sook returns later that very day, conniving together with Bong-wan to get an upper hand, at the expense of the innocent Ah-reum, which concludes “the day”, then “after” an indeterminate time, Ah-reum revisits the publish house in the epilogue, plus ça change, a man is eternally obsessed with his “wife, lover, potential lover” circle of fantasies, his self-deception (or short memory) like a cold rapier thrusts into an ingénue’s expectation, for old time’s sake? But one day does hardly amount to an “old time”. CLAIRE’S CAMERA is the shortest, runs succinctly about 69 minutes, suitably as a digestif after the one-two punch, and reunites Hong with Isabelle Huppert as the titular Claire, a French high school music teacher (here, Hong hints the connection with ON THE BEACH AT NIGHT ALONE in the interrelationship), visiting Cannes during the festival season, and habitually takes pictures with her obsolete instant camera, befriends a Korean girl Man-hee (Min-hee), an employee of a Korean film sales company here in town for business, who has justly received a kiss-off by her boss Yang-hye (Chang Mi-hee) for being “dishonest” albeit her goodheartedness, only through Claire’s photos, who also fraternizes with a visiting Korean movie director So Wan-soo (Jin-young, is assigned with an unthankful job of mansplaining that might get one’s back up) and Yang-hye, the real reason of her abrupt dismiss will dawn on a befogged Man-hee, but nothing is set in stone yet. Watching three movies in a row, Hong’s modus operandi is destined to loom large: his trademark racking focus shots, the omnipresent facing-off composition, interrupted time-line in the narrative to jostle for a viewer’s attention and comprehension, a keen eye to the background movement, and a curiosity to the sea, all leads to his philosophizing approach, to entangle gender politics, relationship hiccups, emotional complex among coevals and exotic friendship through garden-variety dialogues, often synchronizing with the intake of food and beverage. While THE DAY AFTER loses some of its luster by emphasizing a treacherous scheme that one might question its credence, and CLAIRE’S CAMERA feels like an extemporaneous dispatch when Hong realizes he has some time to expend in Cannes during his festival junket. It its ON THE BEACH AT NIGHT ALONE leaves the strongest impression, not just for Kim Min-hee’s much layered interpretation of a woman’s bewilderment, disaffection and desolation, but also Hong’s absurdist inset that piquantly ties viewers in knots (what is the deal with that mysterious man-in-black?), that is definitely a welcoming sign for any number of established auteurs. referential entries: Hong Sang-soo’s IN ANOTHER COUNTRY (2012, 4.6/10), RIGHT NOW, WRONG THEN (2015, 8.4/10).

当我谈万熙的时候我是没法不谈金敏喜的 哪有什么万熙 那只有金敏喜其实很心疼女boss 她说自己曾经那样年轻美丽 当导演抓住她的手时 她卸下了全部防备 搔首弄姿的样子甚至让人不舒服 可是她也年轻过 也曾有过与她相配的爱情 但是她输了 我们也会输 整个世界都会输给金敏喜 所以整个世界都得到了斥责她的权利 但她还是那么美 就像海伦导演或许试图分出自己的一部分成为克莱尔 或者希望观众可以是克莱尔——忠于属于自己的 一段单方面逝去的感情 欣赏她 陪伴她 不用面对世论指责 最好连她的语言也不会 却能用另一种美丽的语言朗读诗歌 但他又一定不会甘于此 所以他宁愿一次又一次的出演自己 不清醒的 感性的 懦弱的 狼狈的 恼羞成怒的 恬不知耻的 中年出轨导演渣男般的怒吼其实是缴械投降的示爱和寻不到出路的绝望一边拍摄着美丽的情人 一边任凭世人评头论足 我曾觉得他们是厚脸皮 是所谓为了爱情不顾一切 现在我觉得他是在用这种方式赎罪【或者说他没法不这样拍下去】 向自己 向世界 也向他善良但不诚实的爱人也许金敏喜也会老吧 但她在克莱尔的相机里 仍是海伦【我也不知道我怎么就成了金敏喜脑残粉了 真的抵挡不住 我现在就觉得我特懂洪导😔】

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 breakdownWomen’s Experience Matters: Redefining Feminist Cinema through Claire’s CameraAs 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 CitedButler, 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.

事实上，我并不觉得这部电影跟洪导演其他几部类似的电影有多少区别，或者它们真的可以被定义为电影吗？

在以前我的印象里，电影就是要“隆重”，会有长长的厂商片头，干脆利落的剪辑以及至少跌宕起伏的剧情、对话，看一部电影之前是要有所“期待”的……原来电影也可以这样，就简简单单，甚至都鲜有配乐，看之前也不需要有什么“心理负担”和期待，就只要看就好了，就像要吃饭、喝水、睡觉一样自然，类似翻阅生活的日常片段……另外，只是单纯地觉得，能看到她，能听到她说话，心情就会变得美丽。

（题外话，法语并不好听，说话像咯痰一样……）

感觉还行吧剧情，已经是变换较少得镜头，已经是美丽的金敏喜。

感觉像在同一个时空里，她们就像在眼前。

自己对剧情的理解是：店主莫名其妙把万熙开了（万熙视角），导演莫名其妙把店主甩了（店主视角）。

情感说不清啊，谁在高位谁就有say goodbye的权利。

而且，店主真得超爱。

尴尬的时候真的尴尬，就是搭话尬聊的时候，突然的沉默，我不太理解为什么不熟的人能聊起来，尤其是也没啥功利性，不是为了拓展业务，甚至连名片也没交换，只是为了拍照片吗？

印证自己心里的猜测，觉着他是酒鬼艺术家？

哦对了，还有导演和万熙重逢的时候，生气的那一段。

我的理解是：在导演的逻辑里，他首先觉着男性都是上位者审视者观察者被讨好的，女性是下位者被审视者被观察者讨好者，男性看待穿热裤短裙对女性是带有情色意味的不尊重，同时，希望万熙好，希望她不要被男性审视，不要因为男性的审视而获得简单的便利。

这逻辑很无语啊，你很重要吗？

你以为你是谁啊，全世界女性都围着你转啊

今天，放假无聊的于佩尔阿姨带着相机，在法国遇到了几个韩国人。

一个韩国男人跟她用英语尬聊：Where are you from?I am from KoreaOh, so you are korean...Then where are you from?I am from PairsSo you are French...说了几句废话之后，两人到了图书馆。

男人让于佩尔阿姨读了一首一个快25岁男子想要去死的故事后来于佩尔阿姨遇到了金敏喜，两大文艺女神商业互吹。

于佩尔：You look like an artist, it makes me feel good金敏喜：I am not an artist, I wish I was.其实这两人不用尬聊，光同框已经让姬圈姐妹们及文青们疯狂了然后金敏喜发表了对自己的职业销售的看法：Selling is no fun , we should not sell anything哦豁，这实在太符合文艺女神人设了，但是别的销售要哭了哦豁，中年男导演实在有些油腻了（可能洪导演在自嘲）BTW，他拍的金敏喜是真好看，于佩尔和金敏喜手拉手的时候我总是很兴奋怎么回事

克莱尔与万熙的相遇，到底发生在克莱尔与导演相遇之前还是之后？

理清这个问题，成为了解决《克莱尔的相机》叙事难题的关键。

因为一如既往，洪尚秀继续在电影中打乱叙事的时间线，留待读者去猜测和解析。

线索藏在了克莱尔为万熙和导演拍下的照片中，正是在两次观看照片的过程，将矛盾激发了出来。

首先我们看到，克莱尔在与导演一起就餐时（一同的还有万熙的女上司，正是她强行解雇了万熙），克莱尔偶然拍下的万熙照片被导演看到了，导演疑惑万熙怎么还留在戛纳，她理应已经回国才是。

这说明了克莱尔为万熙拍照的事件发生在克莱尔与导演相遇之前，不然无法说清这张照片从何而来。

但接下来，当克莱尔与万熙一起在住的地方吃韩国料理的时候，相似的场面再次发生了：万熙在翻看克莱尔拍摄的照片时看到了导演的身影，这张照片正是克莱尔在餐馆与导演一同就餐时拍摄的（电影之前交代了这个动作）。

但克莱尔没有向万熙说明导演也认识万熙，在餐厅上他们还一起谈论过她。

如果与导演的偶遇发生在与克莱尔相遇之前，克莱尔理应会向万熙说明这些情况的，她没有隐瞒的任何动机。

这个矛盾说明了两种可能，要么洪尚秀抛弃了现实生活的运作逻辑，将两次相遇弄成是在两个平行空间发生的事情；要么我们必须从电影给出的其他信息中找到新的线索，来解释此处的逻辑错误。

如果是前一种可能，整部电影很可能因此失去魅力——既然现实的逻辑也可以超越，那么还有必要玩弄时间线的错乱吗？

这是没有意义的。

所以，最终我们只剩下从后一种情形中去找到突破口，来将所有动作在现实生活中还原。

整部电影最奇妙的一处地方在于：克莱尔和万熙相遇并一同前往万熙的住处去吃韩国料理之前，她重新折回与导演一同就餐的餐馆，拿回了她遗落在那里的米色风衣；当克莱尔拿回风衣折回时，克莱尔正等在门口。

这是整部电影中惟一一处三位主角同时处于同一个时空，虽然万熙与导演并没有相互见到。

作为中介的克莱尔于是成为万熙与导演两方沟通的桥梁：此刻，不仅万熙还不知道克莱尔之前一同与导演就餐过，导演也不知道克莱尔与万熙“再次”相遇了。

就是在这里，我们开始搞不清楚克莱尔与万熙、克莱尔与导演相遇时间的前后。

只有等到下一个镜头的出现，谜团才能解开。

这一个镜头显然发生在更早之前，紧接着万熙被女上司解雇之后：穿着超短牛仔裤和宽松T恤的万熙倚靠在栏杆上，背向着观众。

先是穿着正装、即将前往活动的导演发现她，并前来和她说话，对她过于暴露的穿着和浓重的妆容发表了一通义愤填膺的职责。

然后克莱尔出现了，拍了一张照片后匆忙离开。

而这张照片正是导演在餐桌上翻看克莱尔的照片时发现的那张，而不是克莱尔在海边与万熙相遇时为她拍下的那一组照片中其中的一张。

如何解决最开始提出的那个谜团？

我想这里已经给出了最终的答案。

我们说，克莱尔与万熙的相遇，既发生在克莱尔与导演相遇之前，也发生在克莱尔与导演相遇之后。

这样讲并不是说克莱尔有一种超越时空的能力，不是的；而是因为克莱尔在酒店平台上与万熙的相遇只是匆匆一别，两个人并没有相识，克莱尔当时很可能并没有记住万熙的脸。

因此，当克莱尔后来在海边再次偶遇万熙的时候，她并没有认出对方就是酒店平台上站立的那位美丽女子，而是直接把她当成了另一个人。

这解释了为何当万熙在看到克莱尔拍下的导演照片时，克莱尔没有说她已经告诉了导演她和万熙相遇过的事情。

因为在克莱尔看来，她遇到的其实是两个人。

而洪尚秀在电影中设置的微小元素，也帮助解释了这个可能。

站在酒店平台上的万熙与她平时优雅的打扮非常不同，而且还花了浓妆，克莱尔在与导演吃饭时也提到了她在酒店平台上遇到的女子脸上的妆很浓，导演也感到惊讶，因为万熙平时并不是这样妆扮的。

因此，唯一的可能是克莱尔在海边与万熙相遇时并没有认出她，她觉得看到的是和酒店平台上站立的那位女子不同的人。

这解释了我们在将打乱的时间线还原时遭遇的困境，如果在克莱尔看来，遇到的是两个女人，那么一切都说清楚了。

整个故事可以还原如下：万熙被解雇；万熙因航班问题继续留在戛纳；克莱尔在酒店平台上遇到万熙，她刚刚从巴黎来到戛纳，也许是为了放下携带的行李；克莱尔在咖啡店门口偶遇的导演，一起和导演到图书馆找书并教他念诗，然后是两人一些吃饭，吃饭时导演翻照片的时候发现了万熙；克莱尔吃完饭后就走了，但忘记拿风衣；在海边，克莱尔再次遇到万熙，但没认出来，以为是又一个陌生人，两人相约去万熙住的地方一起吃韩国料理，然后中途克莱尔想起风衣拉在餐馆，于是回去拿，万熙在门口等她；两个人去住处吃韩国料理，饭毕一起看照片，万熙发现导演的照片；最后是女助手来找万熙。

还有一些疑问，比如最后的那个镜头是发生在万熙解雇之前，也就是说和第一个镜头发生的时间基本同一；还是说这个动作是所有动作结束后才发生的，也即女助手找到万熙后，将她重新复职，万熙做回了原先的工作。

但与我们前面解决的根本问题相比，这已经不算是什么问题了。

两种情况都有可能，这无非是“狡猾”的洪尚秀设置的又一个迷惑点，就像克莱尔手上的那台相机真的是向导演克莱尔德尼借来那样，只能提供一丝趣味，却在根本意义上造成理解的困难，观众想以哪个角度理解都可以。

并且不要忘记电影中出现的导演伏在沙发上背向观众沉睡的镜头，整部电影都可以解读为是他做的一个梦（这都是洪尚秀的雕虫小技了）但对于那个根本问题的解决，却无法这般马虎，我们得说：真实的情况是克莱尔在海边没有认出万熙，将两次遇到的同一个人当作了两个人。

8.3，北京电影节巨幕场。

我承认我偏爱洪尚秀，能在大银幕上看到《克莱尔的相机》也是三生有幸，可看度较低，但文本上的延展性前所未有。

站在制高点自由叙事，将观众置于一个未知因素居多，非包裹性的叙事结构中，用非线性碎片化段落去反构电影，这么做难免不讨喜，但你无法否认影像迷人的细腻。

没错，还是自省式的故事，还是探讨男女关系，新颖地是尝试将无来由的感伤做到了道德化，公认化，并适时地将情感剪碎，使得故事又回到了起点，可视作一次饱含爱意的文化侵袭。

金敏喜可真美，可惜她不是克莱尔，不是本国中“异国者”。

6.5洪老师的每一次剧本都是一种试验 对别人也是对自己 我不用去揣度他的用意很可能他自己也并非十分确定 于是 平常的几件小事情在时间的平行空间里窜梭甚至可以无目的 结尾可能看作未来她又回去工作了虽然我觉得可能性不大也可能就丢一个早就想好的开头到拉里罢了……洪老师对于一个场景的处理是一镜到底 省了无谓烦杂的剪辑但事先需要做好充足的安排 还要演员不能NG情绪始终连贯像演话剧一样的要求 就是里面那些感觉无理由的推拉常让我感觉不适虽然次数还克制（其实也不是没理由 一般处理都会蒙太奇割开好像把姑娘丑的那面遮去不见 这儿就是啥都给你看 whatever）两个非英语国家的人用英语交流用词自然尽量简单 口音也各有特色若不是有剧本我还真不信她们一路会无阻 还有情绪上的表达也有问题 至少于老师的“oh yes”就瞬间让我尴尬…… 所以她们的交流更多是在剧本上的也就是说流于表面的 亚洲人和欧洲人对“礼貌”的身体力行上截然不同 前者有虚伪之嫌后者坦荡（我有时候非常讨厌这种“虚伪”却又常不知为何 现在好像明白一点也）