《雕像也会死亡》的影评大全
《雕像也会死亡》是一部由阿伦·雷乃 / 克里斯·马克执导，Jean Négroni / François Mitterrand / Sugar Ray Rob主演的一部纪录片 / 短片类型的电影，特精心从网络上整理的一些观众的影评，希望对大家能有帮助。
《雕像也会死亡》精选点评：
●台词是亮点也是败笔
●法國 1953
●完全听不懂
●看的我好害怕。。。
●移动的照片 沉默的诗
●前半段好像是在参观博物馆，后半段又如同预言警世
●黑人艺术文化抗争简史，诗一样的解说加上迷人的剪辑，三十分钟用得恰到好处。
●疾风骤雨 高潮在敲鼓那里 太棒的平行
●这片子探讨的东西太多了吧 西方人制造和购买的非洲艺术形象 跳开非洲的更加广泛的强与弱的艺术关系问题到现在不但没好转反而愈演愈烈
●毫无疑问雷奈是我最喜欢的两个法国导演之一，另一个是格里耶
《雕像也会死亡》影评(一)：殖民的学问，艺术的学问
1.
“当人死去的时候，他便进入了历史；当这些雕像死去的时候，它们进入了艺术；这种关于死亡的学问，我们最后称之为文化。”
(When men die, they enter into history. When statues die, they enter into art. This botany of death is what we call culture.)
在Alain Resnais 1955年的纪录片《雕像也会死亡》中，导演追溯了殖民者对非洲手工艺品的两个最主要的侵吞方式：变成人类学博物馆的展品或旅游商品。殖民者的眼光引发的自我反思的复杂形态——把『他者』据为己有，作为对自我的（反面）肯定。
Chris Marker典型知识分子的文本，旁白写得极佳。虽说如今看来可能有种过于学术的腔调，丧失了电影本身的美感，但毕竟是在严肃讨论。
这部《雕像也会死亡》因冒犯到法国的殖民政策，而被当局禁播了十年。
从影片中看到的是，西方殖民主义者利用这些黑非洲的艺术品，满足其上层阶层对于自身世界的反面想象，以“热爱”占有，但是：对于西方殖民主义者来说，“非洲手工艺品”既不是“艺术”，其本身也不具有“神圣性”，因为在它们所处的这个世界里，这些范畴毫无意义。
更悲切的是，对于被殖民者来说，这些面具原本保护他们抵抗死亡，然而在西方世界中却失效了。(The magic devised to protect them when they die on their own account is powerless when they die on our account.)
2.
电影过去半个世纪有余，这些观念是否应当改变呢？
如果不是这部电影，我确实对所谓西方文明对落后地区的介入感到一丝欣慰。7月在Tangier American Legation，美国唯一地处国外的National Historic Landmark，我很惊讶地发现Paul Bowles有整整一个大房间的陈列。他做的最主要贡献不是写了几本异域风情的书那么简单，而是在洛克菲勒基金的资助下，收录了70余卷的摩洛哥传统音乐，将所有主要的摩洛哥音乐元素都找遍了。——这种工作，当地人不仅仅缺乏保护意识，也缺资金和人员。
如今当然可以将这些记录归于民族志的范畴。而对于文明世界里的人来说，何尝不想摆脱伪善贪婪的标签？但是内心深处，仅仅只是博物馆参观者和艺术品购买者的我们，确实无法做到真正地认识了解接受另一个文明。
《雕像也会死亡》影评(二)：博物馆和电影
在WJT Mitchell的“Empire and Objecthood”中，他追溯了艺术和帝国的关系。他写道：审美评判的整套语言，尤其是艺术品与普通物件的区分，早已被殖民话语充斥。（the whole language of aesthetic judgement, especially of the distinction between art and objecthood, is already saturated with colonial discourse。” 书中他论述，将被拯救的（the redeemed）和被诅咒的(the damned)区分开来，即是美学的核心。帝国将殖民地的“坏物品”同它自己本身的纯洁的、文明的物品做出分别。
那么按照这种逻辑，博物馆这一专门为了展示艺术品和其他“不平凡”的物品的空间就无法避免地被牵扯进有关殖民的争论中。博物馆的展品很多都是从别的文明抢夺而得，被放下异国的美学标准下审视，这一现象在人类学博物馆中更甚。那么，非洲艺术如何存在于博物馆以及博物馆以外的空间？这正是《雕像也会死亡》所探讨的问题。
把任何一件物品置于博物馆中即切断了它和生命的关联，宣告了这件物品的死亡。De Groof概括了非洲研究学者们的观点：将非洲物品纳入博物馆中不仅仅意味着将非洲视作遥远而神秘的土地，更是将非洲与西方从时间维度上分隔。非洲代表了西方的“当代祖先（Contemporary Ancestors）。通过把非洲塑造成原始的形象，西方明确的创造并定义了一个“他者（the other），”从而完成了自我定义。如果说人类学的展示已经使得非洲文化物品死去，那么将他们审美化则是更进一步扼杀它们。
因此，影片宣扬一种对非洲艺术的复兴。这是一个现在时的、博物馆外的复兴。新的生机勃勃的非洲艺术正是对反殖民和政治不平等的抗争。死亡的雕塑变形成为其他形式的非洲艺术：例如街头抗议中的黑人身体。
我们可以进一步跳出博物馆的物理定义，一个展览空间，而把它抽象为一个观看主体与客体的关系：站在玻璃展览柜之外的人注视柜子里面的物品。这一视觉关系和电影本身非常相似：屏幕外面的人注视屏幕里面的世界。在人类学博物馆以及传统民族志电影中，某种对于西方陌生的文化被殖民者观看，前者是被沉默的，后者是享有话语权的。《雕塑也会死亡》在内容上拒绝了博物馆这一实体空间，在形式上也挑战了西方习惯性的殖民注视。
《雕塑也会死亡》的开头便颠覆了西方的观看主体位置。“在我们消失后，我们的物品会被放到现在放置非洲物品的地方：博物馆。”伴随着这样的旁白，我们看到一个想象中的展览：人类照片下面配有“祖先画像”的注释；一组奇奇怪怪的物体被标注为“实用艺术，来源未知。”一个后人类社会对于人类的误读正是西方对于非洲误读的比喻。
博物馆展览物品，电影展览画面。那么在这个反殖民的“电影博物馆”中，什么样的画面被展出了呢？我们看到电影中不止有非洲的画面。《雕塑也会死亡》的后半段将重点转移到西方的殖民行为：白人视察艺术摆件的制作、为黑人做医疗检查、乘飞机和汽车巡逻非洲街道。因此被审视的不再是非洲，而正是西方对非洲的作为。
也许在博物馆无法走出其殖民主义的原罪时，电影可以提供一种新的思路，将生命重新归还于非洲文化。
W.J.T. Mitchell, “Empire & Objecthood”
Matthias De Groof, “Statues Also Die -- But their Death is Not the Final Word”
《雕像也会死亡》影评(三)：les statues meurent aussi [英文旁白全文]
wirtten by: Chris Marker 影片本身为法语，下文是对应的英语翻译，来自 https://wiki2.org/en/Les_statues_meurent_aussi，油管所用英字亦为该版本。 *部分单词旁出现的中文解释为笔者所加，方便阅览，如有错误欢迎指出* When men die, they enter into history. When statues die, they enter into art. This botany of death is what we call culture. That’s because the society of statues is mortal. One day, their faces of stone crumble and fall to earth. A civilization leaves behind itself these mutilated ［毁坏的］ traces like the pebbles ［卵石］ dropped by Petit Poucet ［小拇指：童话故事中的人物，靠沿路丢弃白色石头并做记号，最终找到回家的路］. But history has devoured ［吞噬］ everything. An object dies when the living glance trained upon it disappears. And when we disappear, our objects will be confined to the place where we send black things: to the museum. Black art, we look at it as if it had its reason for being in the pleasure it gives us. The intentions of the black who created it, the emotions of the black who looks at it, all of that escapes us. Because they are written on wood, we take their thoughts for statues and we find the picturesque there, where a member of the black community sees the face of a culture. It is its smile of Reims that she gazes upon. It is the sign of a lost unity where art was the guarantee of an agreement between man and world. It is the sign of this gravity which delivers her, beyond métissage ［杂交］ and the slave ships, that ancient land of the ancestors, Africa. Here is the first division of Earth. Here is the fetus ［胚胎］ of the world. Here is Africa in the 11th century. 12th. 15th. 17th. From age to age, as its shape slowly unraveled ［阐明］, Africa was already the land of enigmas ［难以理解之人事物］. Black was already the color of sin. Travelers’ tales spoke of monsters, flames, diabolical apparitions ［恶魔显灵］. The whites already projected onto the blacks their own demons as a way to purge ［净化］ themselves of them. And yet, once beyond deserts and forests, which he believed to be bordering on the kingdom of Satan, the traveler discovered nations, palaces. Which song cradled this little princess？ This little orange ripened in the caves of Benin ［贝宁：位于非洲西部］？ Which cult presided ［主持、主掌］ over this little republic of night？ We don’t know any more. These great empires are now dead kingdoms to history. Contemporaries of Saint Louis, of Joan of Arc, they are even more unknown to us, than those of Sumer and Babylon. In the last century, the flames of conquerors turned this whole past into an absolute enigma. Black upon black, black battles in the night of time, the sinking has left us only with this beautiful striped wreckage which we interrogate ［质询］. But it their history is an enigma, their shapes are not foreign to us. After the Frisians ［弗里西人：古代位于现荷兰及德国内靠近北海南部地区的一族人，日耳曼民族中的一支少数民族］, the monsters, the helmeted Atrides of Benin, all the vestments ［圣衣、祭服］ of Greece over a people of a sect ［宗派］, here are their Apollos from Aifé ［艾弗：女武者，爱尔兰神话人物］ which strike us with a familiar language. And it is fair that the black feel pride about a civilization which is as old as ours is. Our ancestors can look at each other face-to-face without looking down with empty eyes. But this brotherhood in death is not enough for us. It is much closer to us that we are going to find the true black art, that which puzzles us. The enigma begins right now, here, with this poor art, this art of hard wood, with this plate for divination, for instance. It is not very useful for us to call it religious object in a world where everything is religion, nor to speak of an art object in a world where everything is art. Art here begins in the spoon and ends up in the statue. And it is the same art. The wisdom in art and the ornament of a useful object like the head support and the useless beauty of the statue belong to two different orders. Here, this difference falls apart when we look closer. A chalice ［圣餐杯］ is not an art object, it is a cult object. This wooden cup is a chalice. Everything here is about cult. Cult of the world. When he makes the chair rest upon human feet, the black creates a nature in his image. Hence, every object is sacred because every creation is sacred. It recalls the creation of the world and continues it. The broadest activity cooperates with the world as a whole where everything is fine, where man affirms his reign over things by imprinting ［铭刻］ his mark and sometimes his countenance ［面容、表情］ upon them. Animal shapes like the one over this weaving bobbin ［编织线轴］, plant shapes like the ones over these ornamented boxes, all of creation moves in formation under the fingers of the black artist. God showed him the way, he imitates God and this is the way in which he invents man. Guardians of graves, sentinels ［哨兵］ of dead people, watchdogs of the invisible, these ancestors’ statues are not made for the cemetery. We put stones over our dead in order to prevent them from escaping. The black maintains them nearby to honor them and benefit from their power, in a basket overflowing with their bones. It is the dead who own all the wisdom and all the security. They are the roots of the living. And their eternal countenance takes, sometimes, the shape of a root. These roots flourish. The unvoluntary beauty of animals and plants shines in a girl’s face. And we can take its light for a smile, or else its glow for a tear, and feel touched, on the condition of knowing that these images ignore us, that they are from another world, that we have nothing to do in this gathering of ancestors who are not our ancestors. We want to see suffering, serenity, humor, when we know nothing. Colonizers of the world, we want everything to speak to us: the beast, the dead, the statues. And these statues are mute. They have mouths and don’t speak. They have eyes and don’t see us. And they are not so much idols as toys, serious toys, which have no value except for what they represent. This is less idolatry here than in our saints’ statues. Nobody worships these severe dolls. The black statue is not the God, it is the prayer. Prayer for motherhood, for the fertility of women, for the children’s beauty. It can be covered with ornaments which have the value of illuminations. It can also be rough, like this earthen ball protecting the harvest, or, still, connected to the earth, to death, by means of shape and by means of matter. This is the world of rigour ［严厉、精确］ , each things has its place within it. These heads don’t have to frightening, they have to be fair. Look carefully at their scars, this magnetic field where every shape from sky and earth comes into being. There’s no need for the object to exist and to serve. This overflow of creation, which deposits ［沉淀］ its signs like shells upon the smooth wall of the statue, is an overflow of imagination, it is freedom, turning of the sun, flower knot, water curve, fork of the trees, one after the other, the techniques are mixed, the wood subtly imitates the fabric, the fabric takes its motives from earth. One realizes that this creation has no limits, that everything communicates, and that from its planets to its atoms this world of rigour comprises by its turning the world of beauty. A god made these gestures. The god who wove this flesh taught them by its turn to weave the cloth and its gesture sends back every second to the weaving of the world. And the world is the cloth of the gods, where they received man. Try to distinguish here which one is the Earth and which one is the cloth, which one is the black skin and which one is the Earth seen from an airplane, which one is the bark ［树皮］ of the tree and that of the statue. Here, man is never separated from the world, the same strength nourishes every fiber. Those fibers, among which, the foremost sacrilege ［亵渎神灵］, lifting the Earth’s skirt, has discovered…death. Beast’s mask. Man’s mask. Mask which participates of both beast and man. House-mask. Face-mask. Pierrot ［哑剧男丑角］ of the rivers. Harlequin ［滑稽角色、丑角］ of the forest. These masks fight against death. They unveil that which it wants to hide. Because the familiarity of the dead leads to the domestication ［驯养、教化］ of death, to the government of death by means of spells, to the transmission of death, to the charming of death by means of the magic of shells. And the sorcerer captures in his mirror the images of this country of death, where one goes by losing one’s memory. But, winner of the body, death cannot do anything against the vital strength spread through every being and which composes its double. Through life, this double takes sometimes the form of the shadow or of the reflection in the water and more than one man gets angry for being hit right there. But death is not only something one bears, it is something one gives. Here is the death of an animal. Where has the strength which inhabited this hand gone？ It is free now. It wanders. It will torment the living until it has taken on its former appearance. It is to this appearance that the blood of sacrifice is addressed. And it is this appearance which is fixed in these legendary metamorphoses in order to appease ［使平息、使满足］ it until these winning faces are done repairing the fabric of the world. And then they die, in their turn. Classified, labelled, conserved in the ice of showcases and collections, they enter into the history of art, paradise of the forms where the most mysterious relationships are established. We recognize Greece in an old African head of 2000 years; Japan in a mask from Logoué; and still India; Sumerian idols; our Roman Christ; or our modern art. But at the same time it receives this title of glory, black art becomes a dead language and that which is born over its death is the jargon ［行话、术语］ of decadence ［堕落、腐败］. Its religious requirements are followed by commercial requirements. And given that the white is the buyer, given that demand outstrips supply, given that it is necessary to go fast, black art becomes indigenous handicraft. Each time even more degraded replicas of the beautiful pictures invented by African culture are fabricated. Here, the village is vulgarized ［通俗化、庸俗化］, the technique is impoverished ［穷困的、用尽了的］. In the country where every form had its signification, where the gracefulness of a curve was a declaration of love to the world, one becomes accustomed to an art of bazaar. These fake jewels, which the explorers offer to the savages ［未开化的人］ in order to please them, end up being sent back to us by the blacks. The particular beauty of black art is substituted by a general ugliness. An art where the objects become bibelots ［小摆设］, a cosmopolitan art. An art of the flower-pot, the paperweight and the souvenir pen-rack, where one sees, transparently, the Tower of Babel. Also an art of portraits. Henceforth incapable of expressing the essential, the sculptor seeks after resemblance. We taught him not to carve farther than the tip of his nose. But that which we make disappear from Africa doesn't count for much among us compared to what we have in store. That's because we are the Martians of Africa. We disembark ［登录］ from our planet with our way of seeing, with our white magic, and with our machines. We cure the black of his diseases, it is certain. He catches ours, it is certain as well. Who loses and who wins in the exchange has been of no concern whatsoever. The magic devised to protect them when they die on their own account is powerless when they die on our account. Against the Christian paradise and the lay immortality, the cult of ancestors evaporates ［消失、不复存在］, the monument to the dead substitutes for the funeral statue. All of this dominated by the whites, who see things from their heights, which rise above the contradictions of reality. From these heights, Africa seems orderly, rich, covered with people from modern cities, filled with its concrete igloos ［雪块砌成的圆顶小屋］ like white blood cells of civilization. From such heights, Africa is a wonderful laboratory where it is possible to partially prefabricate the kind of good black dreamt up by the good whites. Then all this protective apparatus which gave sense and form to black art dissolves and disappears. It is the whites who intend to take on the role of the ancestors. The true statue for protection, exorcism ［驱魔］ and fecundity ［多产、肥沃］ hecenforth is their silhouette. Everything unites against black art. Caught in a pass between Islam, enemy of the images, and Christianity, which burns idols, African culture collapses. In order to lift it up again, the Church attempts a métissage: the black-christian art. But each of the two influences destroys the other one. And this flawed wedding makes Catholicism in Africa lose its exuberance ［活跃、强壮］, its glow, everything that blacks, indeed, anyone had recognized in Europe. Temporal power practices the same austerity ［艰苦朴素、苦行、禁欲生活］. All that was pretext ［托辞］ for works of art is replaced be it clothing, symbolic gestures, intrigues, or talking. One says "yes, yes, yes". Sometimes, one says "no"! There, that is the black artist who says it. And so a new form of art shows up: the art of fighting. Art of transition for a period of transition. Art of the present time, between a lost greatness and another to conquer. Art of the provisional ［临时的］, whose ambition is not to last, but to witness. Here the problem of the subject is not posed. The subject is this naturally ungrateful earth this naturally troublesome climate and inside work, at an unfathomable ［高深莫测的］ scale, the rhythm of the factory confronting the rhythm of nature: Ford meets Tarzan. The subject is this black man, mutilated from his culture and without contact with our culture. His work is able to provide neither spiritual nor social sustenance ［实物、营养、养料］, he works for nothing, his reward is nothing but a derisory ［嘲笑的、嘲弄的］ salary. Into this country of gift and exchange, we have introduced money. We buy the blacks' work and we degrade it. We buy their art and we degrade it. The religious dance becomes spectacle. We pay the blacks to give us the comedy of their joy and their fervor ［热情］. In this way, by the side of the black-slave, appears a second figure, the black-puppet. His strength serves us, his prowess ［勇猛］ amuses us, on the side, he serves us as well. Nations which are endowed with racist traditions find it all the more natural to trust to men of color the concern for the nation's olympic glories. But a moving black is still black art. And in sport the black can find, hoping for the best, a good terrain for mystifying the white's pride. The white does not always appreciate the joke. It happens that he cries "foul" when things are turning out bad. If a black boxer manages to defeat a white one in a country marked by Hitlerian racism they try to break him down with blows of menacing insults and projectiles ［射弹］: he had better stay in his place. And when it's no longer for play, when the blacks, for instance, join the labor struggle, it's the blows of guns and batons ［警棍］ that break up the demonstrations. This climate of premeditated ［预谋的］ menace drives the black artist into a new metamorphosis and, in the ring, or in an orchestra, his role consists in returning the blows that his brother has received in the street. And witness here, far from the appearances of black art: for the art of communion, the art of invention finds accomodations within this world of loneliness and the machine. The man who had impressed his mark upon things accomplishes now empty gestures. What we have is this, from the bottom of this loneliness, that which will create a new community. Black art was the instrument of a will to grasp the world and also of the will which undertook to change its form. Look well at this technique, which frees mankind from magic. It presents sometimes with magic a strange relationship of gestures. It is always against death which one fights. Science, as magic, admits the necessity of the sacrifice of the animal. The virtue of blood. The harnessing ［利用］ of malevolent ［恶毒的］ forces. The sorcerer captures images every day. And death is always a country where one goes forth at the cost of one's memories. No. We are not redeemed by shutting off the blacks within their own celebrity. There would be nothing to prevent us from being, together, the inheritors of two pasts if that equality could be recovered in the present. Less remarked, it is prefigured ［预兆］ by the only equality denied to no one......that of repression. Because there is no rupture ［决裂、断裂］ between African civilization and ours. The faces of black art fell off from the same human face, like the serpent's skin. Beyond their dead forms, we recognize this promise, common to all the great cultures, of a man who is victorious over the world. And, white or black, our future is made of this promise. THE END