On March 4th. The third psychoanalysis and cinema evening of ARTS-Connexion was successfully held at the Ariel cinema in Mont Saint-Aignan. A large and attentive audience came to discover, or riscover Oipus Rex, a dazzling film by Pier Polo Pasolini, an autobiographical and styliz adaptation of the ancient tragy by Sophocles. Our guest, Fabrice Bourlez. Philosopher and psychologist. Author of a book entitl Pulsions pasoliniennes [2] came to share with us his passion and enthusiasm for this extraordinary artist Fabrice Bourlez .
Together we question Fabrice Bourlez the scope
of this strange and magnificent film, both by its singular, poetic and baroque treatment of the myth itself, and by the ever-current questions it raises: would the modern Oipus resemble this man running, screaming, sweating under a phone number list burning sun in front of the camera, fleeing knowlge, a real plaything in the hands of his impulses, battling endlessly against a lawless reality? Pasolini mixes the fabulous and realism, the quest for link to conversations from audit and reports the sacr and the exploration of impulses, referring in essence to the strangest of references: the absolute Elsewhere of dreams. He moves the myth to an a-temporal, a-historical, universal place and yet shows us the most intimate of human passions.
Sophocles in his tragy shows
his Oipus “determin to his own destruction, according to Lacan, by his obstinacy in solving an enigma, in wanting the truth. Everyone tries to hold him back, especially Jocasta, who tells him at every moment – that’s enough, we know enough. Only he wants to know, and ends up knowing [3] “.
In Pasolini’s film, Oipus jostles the Sphinx and kills him without trying to solve the enigma, “I don’t want to know, I don’t want to see you, I don’t want to hear you” he shouts. Oipus is here portray in childish attitudes – he cheats, bites his hand like a child facing loss, separation – and adopts rebellious postures, defiant in the face of authority with sudden impulse .
sensual, terrifi by his own desires, behaves unprictably as if fac with a story with deadly stakes which, despite his refusal to know, inexorably catches up with him, a life, a destiny that he painfully understands in dazzling moments book your list of lucidity, of cruelty too, thus progressively dislodg from the innocence of maternal fusion.
Oipus here seems more driven by action than by thought, thus distinguishing himself from that of Sophocles. His path is not the great straight line but is made of zigzags, chicanes, stops and starts in this blind investigation into his own identity.
These very particular choices mark the Pasolinian adaptation, give it its carnal, almost erotic specificity.