Ethical and Aesthetical Dimensions
Edited By António Marques and João Sàágua
The essays presented here are the outcome of research carried out by members of IFILNOVA (Institute for Philosophy of New University of Lisbon) in 2016.
The IFILNOVA Permanent Seminar seeks to show how values are relevant to humans (both socially and individually). This seminar is the ‘place’ where different research will converge towards a unified viewpoint. This includes the discussion of the following questions: What is the philosophical contribution to current affairs and decisions that depend crucially on values? Can philosophy make a difference, namely by bringing practical reason to bear on these affairs and decision? And how to do it? Which are our scientific ‘allies’ in this enterprise; psychology, communication sciences, even sociology and history?
This volume shows the connection between practical rationality and values and covers the dimensions ethics, aesthetics and politics.
‘I’d rather be lucky than good.’ Ethical variations in Pickpocket and Match Point (Susana Viegas)
1. Ethics in cinema: An introduction
‘The man who said “I’d rather be lucky than good” saw deeply into life. People are afraid to face how great a part of life is dependent on luck. It’s scary to think so much is out of one’s control. There are moments in a match when the ball hits the top of the net, and for a split second, it can either go forward or fall back. With a little luck, it goes forward, and you win. Or maybe it doesn’t, and you lose.’ Match Point starts with this off-camera statement by Chris Wilton (Jonathan Rhys-Meyers). Chris talks to the viewers (and to the film director) as if he were the Voice of God commentator. The movement of a ball hitting the top of a net in slow motion is complemented by the Italian operatic singer Enrico Caruso, who sings ‘Una furtiva lagrima’ from the Italian Opera L’elisir d’amore by Donizetti. Caruso’s dramatic voice and the metaphor of a tennis match dictate the tone of the film.
What are the individual and social consequences of a rational decision that states that to be lucky is more important than to be good? Is this a practical and reasonable opposition? Can (good and bad) luck be an ethical principle and what is its role in one’s attitudes and decisions? These are nothing but some of the ethical and moral questions we pose to ourselves every day. In a broader ethical scenario, we may say that we must choose the best way of life and we must decide the best way to choose it properly. But to what extent can film be a useful tool to scrutinize these problems in a philosophical manner?
Today, film may play quite a relevant role in the philosophical study of artistic images and aesthetic thought, but ethics is still a slightly unimportant section of contemporary philosophy of film. Even if ← 373 | 374 → the panorama changed during the nineteen seventies and eighties with Stanley Cavell and Gilles Deleuze, ethics remains a secondary issue when compared with the ontological and epistemological questions. What is the ethical value of the aesthetic cinematic experience? How do we emotionally, existentially and ethically connect to the cinematic plot? Recently Robert Sinnerbrink defended a joint consideration of these different sides towards multi-layered artistic practice:
Ethics in cinema (and cinema as ethics) represent much more than a minor branch of the philosophy of film. This is arguably the most culturally significant way in which cinema can be understood philosophically. It not only makes a contribution to our philosophical understanding of the world but enhances our ability to engage with complex forms of moral experiences.1
Thus does Sinnerbrink present us with the result of his research on the possibility and limits of cinematic ethics. He divided the ethical analysis of any film into three parts that, ideally, should be a collective reading of the three aspects in any film: 1) the ethics within cinematic representation, 2) the ethics of cinematic representation (for instance, questioning the decision of whether or not to show explicit scenes of violence and the viewer’s response to these), and 3) the ethics of cinema as a cultural medium (as a medium for moral values, beliefs and ideological ideas). For this essay, I will restrict my analysis to the first one, analysing ethics in cinema via an analysis of the dilemmas, the themes and the film’s plot. The use of verbal rhetoric in a film intrigue can be a good starting point to analyse the current debate around moral values because together with the visual images and visual (non-verbal) rhetoric they organise the film as a whole.
I will not consider film as a privileged medium for philosophising nor to illustrate someone’s philosophy, whether the filmmaker or the main character in the film. Instead, I will look into these two films and read them as different fictional thought experiments that present us with vivid moral judgements and ethical dilemmas. If not fictionalised, some of them would not even be considered. But as fictions we certainly envisage and debate them in a different way to how we would ← 374 | 375 → with a documentary film (maybe because we think that ‘documentaries address the world in which we live rather than a world imagined by the filmmaker’, as Bill Nichols says2). Besides that, it is important to stress that the general idea guiding this essay is not that of knowing if a work of art can be limited or criticised by moral values (is Riefenstahl’s Triumph of the Will/Triumph des Willens (1935) a good work of art even if it disseminates Nazi propaganda?), or if taste and aesthetic judgement should contain other values besides purely aesthetic ones (is a film considered good only when it is not the medium for the dissemination of racist and hateful feelings?).3 Let us recall here Berys Gaut’s definition of ethicism: ‘Ethicism is the thesis that the ethical assessment of attitudes manifested by works of art is a legitimate aspect of the aesthetic evaluation of those works.’4 However, as Gaut also notes, it is most important to clearly distinguish the effects of a work of art that might morally corrupt its viewers from the effects of a particular character who represents dishonesty and immorality.5 In this sense, Pickpocket, written and directed by Robert Bresson (1959), and Match Point, written and directed by Woody Allen (2005), are good works of art that do not intend to morally corrupt their viewers with negative, dishonest or hateful feelings, even if we may state with certainty that their infamous anti-hero protagonists are not ethical role models.
2. Gilles Deleuze: Ethics as ethology
When watching a film we do not just see it and hear it – we respond to it emotionally, existentially and ethically. We are not indifferent to what we see and hear in a fictional film. We may ‘feel for’ the character’s feelings and actions (because we understand them), or ‘feel with’ the character’s feelings and actions (we respond to the character’s feelings but ← 375 | 376 → we do not share them, we do not feel the same).6 As viewers, art gives us an ethical-existential dimension within which we analyse the moral and ethical qualities of any work of art. How can a fictional work as a film help us with the problem of the intertwining of ethics with aesthetics?
Gilles Deleuze had an immanent conception of ethics. Although he did not write a specific book on ethics, it is possible to find some remarks in the books he wrote with Félix Guattari and also in his two books on cinema. His ethics is defined as immanent and ethological,7 as a divergent path from deontological ethics with normative and universal values. In this sense, Deleuze begins by opposing ethics (or moralism) to morality: ‘morality presents us with a set of constraining rules of a special sort, ones that judge actions and intentions by considering them in relation to transcendent values (this is good, that’s bad…); ethics is a set of optional rules that assess what we do, what we say, in relation to the ways of existing involved.’8 For Ronald Bogue and D. N. Rodowick, to talk of a Deleuzian immanent ethics means to talk about cinematic ethics, especially the cinematic ethics of the time-image.9 But when considering film, Deleuze does not have a single ethical view of it. Instead he presents us with two different approaches when considering pre- or post-Second World War films. In Deleuze’s reading of film, films solve the existential crisis and the separation of the world during the post-war period. In the movement-image regime of the action-image as in the films directed by Eisenstein or John Ford, there was an identity between the human and the world. In this action-thought the subject of any film is not the individual and lonely hero, but the ‘dividual’, the collective subject. However, we can find in the action-image some films that ‘vacillate’ between the certainty of this regime towards the effectiveness and value of the actions in the world and some affection-images as in Dreyer and Bresson.10 If in the movement-image regime there is a wide range of possibilities through the character’s dilemmas and choices, in the time-image regime there is only one possible choice to make: ‘to believe in this ← 376 | 377 → world.’11 The link between the movement-image and the time-image regimes is precisely in the modes of existence of the one who chooses.
A close reading of the two perspectives, although without any evolutionary intention between them, delineates Deleuze’s cinematic ethics. ‘Affect as immanent evaluation, instead of judgement as transcendent value: ‘I love or I hate it’ instead of ‘I judge’.’12 This immanent evaluation is a reminder of Deleuze’s reading of Spinoza. The focus is on what one can do, on what one might do, and not on what one should do. What is the relationship between one’s life as an authentic existence and one’s decisions and attitudes? Spinoza’s ethology implies that there is a singular connection between ethics and ontology with the way that affects (the power to affect someone/something and also be affected by it) shape a certain mode of existence. In this sense, first and foremost, there is no divorce between human and the world, but there is only one substance. This Spinozism perspective was the inspiration for the two principles of the Deleuzian immanent conception of ethics: 1) to choose to ‘believe in this world’ (and not in another, transcendental, world) is the only authentic ethical choice to make after the crises of the action-image and the breakdown of the sensory-motor regime (to see and hear replaces to act/react). This world in which we should believe is the world of the permanent becoming and change that manifests and expresses the power of time; 2) this choice is based on the purely intensive criteria of an ethics of affect that again has the power of time as a mechanism for change.
The different modes of existence express different types of forces, either positive, negative or indifferent. For Deleuze, Michel in Pickpocket represents the grey character – someone who is indifferent to his choices, who is dominated by uncertainty about the good and evil of a normative system. This does not mean that he should become good or evil, but that by being indifferent to his spiritual alternatives he has become a slave of his first choice. This means that he only had the opportunity to choose once and since that moment, he has become entrapped by that first choice and has lost the opportunity to choose again. The spiritual choice of the grey character is, according to Deleuze, a false choice (as it is a false choice to only choose good or evil).13 On the contrary, an ← 377 | 378 → authentic choice would be the one made by someone who knows that a choice can be made and who is able to choose differently each time. A true choice is to restart each time and have the opportunity to choose again and not be entrapped by a choice made before. An authentic choice creates affects, immanent evaluation, and is defined by its power and not by its content. Deleuze opposes cinematographic expressionism to lyrical abstraction: if in Murnau there is a clear ‘struggle of the spirit with darkness’14, in Dreyer and in Bresson there is a spiritual choice, an alternative (either… or…). These alternatives are what Kierkegaard identifies as the three stages of the existential dialectic: the aesthetic, the ethical and the religious. According to this dialectical progression, the agent of the choice is in a permanent becoming. The question is how to choose what can be chosen. However, for Deleuze, without a belief in this world there are no reasons to choose properly. This will be the irrational point, as in Pascal’s wager, and the illogical move of a leap of faith.15
Post-Second World War films do not register the world – they believe in this world as it is: ‘The intolerable is no longer a serious injustice, but the permanent state of a daily banality.’16 If before the historical fact of the Second World War, cinema were able to show us the different modes of existence of the one who chooses (through the choices that a character must make), in the post-war period this process was conveyed by the viewer’s mode of existence. But how did we get to this point of not believing in this world? What disconnected humans from the world? To believe in this world decides both the original scepticism of Stanley Cavell’s philosophy and the state of disbelief that Deleuze mentions.17 For Cavell, cinema touches philosophy’s main question: the epistemological scepticism about the existence of the world. According to Cavell, the photographic origin of cinema allows us to see and to think a world that is independent and exterior to any subjectivity. Thus, film refutes any metaphysical and subjective isolation. But in order to have an ethical experience from this aesthetic experience it is mandatory that a change take place: how to re-establish contact with the world? ← 378 | 379 → To Cavell this ethical encounter transforms the sceptical subject (moral perfectionism), not the world. To Deleuze, cinema also explores new modes of existence in a way that interferes with the world. Thus the ethical dimension of film is for Cavell an ‘ethics of self-transformation’ and for Deleuze it is a ‘belief in this world’ through a leap of faith, as in Pascal. But if Cavell does not have a political reading of the moving image, Deleuze stresses the political vision with the idea of a ‘people to come’. One of the most political and social (collective) consequences of this immanent conception of ethics is that becoming (other) is always possible. As a consequence, the agent does not have to carry the weight of his actions (in the sense that becoming comes from the past into the future) but can restart as something new, as something other (the becoming comes from the future and falls into the past).
The link between the human and the world is broken and it will never be fixed; it is impossible to link them again. However, the link can only be the subject of faith. We may decide not to give this leap of faith and never restore the connection, making any ethical view of the human’s actions impossible. But we may also decide to believe in this world again. Just as in Pascal’s wager, everything changes with this move. That way, the human (the viewer) can be connected with what he sees and hears.
3. Character Dilemma
According to Robert Sinnerbrink, cinema provides ‘new ways of evoking and expressing ethical experience: not only emotional engagement facilitating moral sympathy and empathy but also emotional estrangement through which conflicting, clashing, or incompatible ideas, commitments, or beliefs can be revealed.’18 Both Pickpocket (Robert Bresson, 1959) and Match Point (Woody Allen, 2005) are films with an obviously ethical dimension providing emotional estrangement. Their protagonists can hardly be considered heroes in the classical sense of the term, as role ← 379 | 380 → models that do the right thing, that fight against injustice and that put the collective above the individual interest. They are closer to being negative heroes, not positive ones. In the classical films of the action-image driven by moral judgements, such as those by Griffith, Ford and Eisenstein, the true hero is the collective, the community that fights against evil believing that a better society is possible.19 On the other hand, we should not mix up the film’s plot, which might magnify the negative hero’s actions, with the filmmaker’s intention and, regarding this issue in particular, it is important to bring together the aesthetic qualities and the ethical values of films. How do we respond to the character’s fate, such as in Pickpocket and in Match Point? What are the implications of Deleuzian immanent ethics, the necessity to have faith in this world, in these two movies? Both films raise important questions concerning decisions, values and consequences within different ethical backgrounds.
In Match Point Jonathan Rhys-Meyers plays Chris Wilton. Once a professional tennis player, he is now a tennis instructor at an exclusive club in London. During a night at the opera, La Traviata, he meets the sister of his new friend Tom Hewitt, Chloe (Emily Mortimer). He admits to her that tennis was an easy way to escape poverty in Ireland when he was a kid. Their different status is very evident in the film although his genuine interest in the arts is a way to overcome the monetary gap between them. Hard work is important, but for Chris luck plays an important role in life. But then, Chris falls in love with Nola Rice (Scarlett Johansson), Tom’s fiancée. Eventually Tom breaks up with Nola but by chance Chris, who in the meantime has married Chloe, bumps into her at the Tate Modern. They restart their affair. Everything changes for him with a moment of bad luck when Nola gets pregnant when Chloe has been trying for years without success. However, although he feels guilty about the irony of the situation, Chris does not want to do the right thing and so plans to murder his lover. That way he would be able to continue with his own life project.
Chris dismisses an ethical life (to be good) in favour of what good luck can bring him. He commits two murders, which he disguises as a robbery (just like Raskolnikov in Dostoyevsky’s Crime and Punishment), but he does not seem to be bothered by any feelings of guilt. He delivers his life and actions to the uncontrollable forces of luck (thus presenting ← 380 | 381 → us with a different version of the literary character of Raskolnikov, who had an obvious influence on Woody Allen’s film). At the end Chris is the opposite of a man consumed by guilt, a recurrent murderer character in Allen’s films such as Peter Lyman (Hugh Jackman) in Scoop (2006), Ian (Ewan McGregor) in Cassandra’s Dream (2007) and Abe Lucas (Joaquin Phoenix) in Irrational Man (2015). In one of the first scenes in the film, Chris is reading Crime and Punishment but he switches his reading to The Cambridge Companion to Dostoyevsky. Shahrzad Siassi, who compares Match Point with a previous movie by Allen on the same topic, Crime and Misdemeanours (1989), argues that this switch is proof of Allen’s existential atheism and nihilism20: unlike Raskolnikov, the protagonist does not believe in the (Christian) redemptive power of guilt, but instead prefers a more rational, expository, philosophical and theoretical analysis of these moral dilemmas (Fig. 1 and Fig. 2). The aleatory effects of luck replace the role of God in this godless and meaningless world.
Image 1 and 2: Chris prefers the Companion.
Chris decides that he would prefer to be lucky than good. Thus he commits a crime and expects that, with this decision, he can fulfil his life goal (to be married to a rich wife) without being caught. The film shows us the various circumstances in which luck prevails over bad luck thus guiding the consequences of his decision and somehow putting them beyond his control. He disguises the murder as a failed robbery and on several occasions he is not caught just by a fluke. When he throws the stolen jewellery into the River Thames, one ring hits the top of the railing (a similar visual composition to the ball in the film’s beginning) and we imagine that the ring can either fall back and he will be caught, or fall forward into the river (Fig. 3 and Fig. 4). The ring falls back. Luckily for Wilton, someone finds the ring and picks it up. Later, the same person is involved in another crime related to drugs. He is caught with the ring and is formally accused of a crime of robbery and murder that he has not committed.
Image 3 and 4: If the ring falls back, Chris must lose.
In Crime and Punishment, Raskolnikov robs and murders a woman and her daughter but, consumed by his guilt, struggling with his most rational thoughts to justify his actions, he ends by confessing his crimes to the police and being exiled to Siberia. To be capable of killing someone (as a principle that justifies the crime) does not make that agent either superior or extraordinary. With that punishment, justice is established and Raskolnikov can finally restore his ethical (and religious) integrity. When the spectre of Mrs Eastby, Nola’s next-door neighbour, appears in a dream scene to Chris, he says to her that ‘the innocent are sometimes slain to make way for a grander scheme. You were collateral damage.’ In order to justify killing his unborn child, he adds that Sophocles said: ‘To never have been born may be the greatest boon of all.’ (The dictum ← 382 | 383 → slightly adapts the original one from the Chorus of the Greek tragedy Oedipus at Colonus.) The next scene, with Detective Mike Banner awaking from his dream and figuring out how Chris Wilton committed the two crimes, is one of the few from which Chris is absent. At that point, we fear for him; his luck may be over. Although we recognize him as the infamous anti-hero of the story, we do not dislike him.
As for Pickpocket Martin La Salle plays Michel, a different ethical version of the main character in Dostoyevsky’s Crime and Punishment. In Pickpocket Michel, unemployed, also commits a crime – pickpocketing. The film also uses first person speech as a tool of persuasion. However, Michel’s thoughts (including his fears and joys) are addressed to the viewers not as the Voice of God commentator, but in an intimate, confessional way. He does not see himself as an ordinary thief but as a pickpocket, a superior and extraordinary man, but he is willing to change his life and redeem himself. Michel prefers to have good luck than to decide his own fate. This decision is not a judgement. He steals because doing so he feels superior – Bresson never explains the character’s true intention in picking the pockets of others, why he never visits his dying mother, what his life project or ‘grander scheme’ is. His hands, his artful skills and his good luck make him feel superior to others: ‘I was in control of the world,’ declares Michel in voiceover at the beginning of the film. He knows it is wrong (‘People can know that an act is ugly and still commit it,’ he declares to Jeanne (Marika Green), his mother’s neighbour, after she becomes aware that he is a pickpocket), but he does it because he can do it well. In the final scene, Jeanne visits Michel in prison and the two become closer, which seems to be the precise opposite of the ending of Match Point. However, Jeanne and Michel are apart, divided by the jail bars. The final scene reveals that the world is fully restored at the end, even by the strange and paradoxical lines when Michel finally understands that he is in love with Jeanne: ‘Oh, Jeanne, to reach you at last, what a path I had to take.’ But it is restored with irony: it may not be the expected Christian redemption of the criminal who accepts his guilt and finds love. In this case, Michel’s face remains blank as in another scene (a particularity of Bresson’s style). It is a face without affects but where all affections can converge. According to Brian Price, the irony relies on the intertextual interpretation of the soundtrack of Jean-Baptiste Lully’s Atys, an opera ← 383 | 384 → possibly composed as a response to Louis XIV’s attempt to clean Paris of all deviant behaviours (vagabonds, homosexuals, those who did not work, etc.): ‘As Foucault has shown, the rise of the prison system in the time of Louis XIV was predicated on the latter’s antipathy for beggars, sexual deviants, idlers, and those who challenged the authority of the state more generally.’21 Thus, cinema is the art that makes visible the invisible everyday life of the common people, possibly of the infamous who are socially condemned and publicly judged: it may be a portrait of the life of chance of a murderer who leaves no clues behind, or of the daily training of the subtle movements of a pickpocket’s hands.
Is Chris Wilton willing the eternal return of his actions (being a liar, being a killer)? Is he strong enough to deal with it? We certainly would share with Chris his own hopeful words: ‘It would be fitting if I were apprehended… and punished. At least there would be some small sign of justice – some small measure of hope for the possibility of meaning.’ At the end of the film, with Chris moving away from the rest of the family welcoming his newborn son, thinking that he is safe from the crimes he has committed but that at the same time he is trapped in a mere pointless existence, the viewer remains with a lost sense of meaning, of a world without any sign of justice and without any measure of hope. His grander scheme is accomplished but still there is no answer to his nihilism. He has no faith in this meaningless, intolerable and unjust world. From the classical Aristotelian conception of a good tragedy, we do not find a complex plot as there is no reversal moment (peripateia) that could free the character from his suffering and the viewers from their expectation of catharsis.
Is it possible to make an ethical judgement of Chris Wilton’s initial statement (‘I’d rather be lucky than good’)? It seems to us that the film ← 384 | 385 → is a way for Woody Allen to call into question this first premise. It is not without irony that Chris and his wife are portrayed. Allen is never sympathetic either to the couple in love or to the deceived wife, who is represented as being naïve. In the end, to be lucky is not a good, universal, ethical principle because it neutralizes all actions. Wilton’s decisions about his actions will not become good just because he becomes unlucky and is arrested, and they do not become bad because he got lucky and escapes punishment. It does not matter if one’s actions are good or bad: as long as one is lucky the actions are not qualified as good or bad. In this sense, good or bad luck is incompatible with ethics because it puts consequences beyond a person’s control. Putting all one’s faith in good and bad luck is a way of not being responsible for one’s actions because it does not matter if what you decided to do is right or wrong as long as you were lucky – and in a deontological system to have luck is a totally arbitrary principle over any (im)moral choice. Chance just substitutes the role of God in this ethical understanding of actions. To be able to succeed with his ambitions (not be caught by the police for his crime and to marry his rich fiancée) cannot justify Chris’ decision (to kill his lover, Nola).
An immanent perspective on ethics defends that someone’s actions are driven by their power and qualities and not by a deontological orientation. That way, someone’s decisions are not judged for fitting or not fitting the same deontological system that is at its origin. This is a fictional experiment that makes us rethink how we normally judge the other’s decisions and the importance we give to them or the disappointment we feel. Someone’s decisions express the qualities by which those actions are inscribed in the world and in the agent. Thus, not to believe in the existence of a link between the human and the world becomes a real problem and, as Deleuze states, to choose to choose is a way of restoring that gap. As we saw, Michel and Chris are cinematic examples of the grey character, the protagonist of uncertainty and indifference. They have made the first choice but then got trapped in the consequences that followed. But they certainly hope for some justice in the world. Chris never achieves it and is not capable of confessing his crimes to the police, accepting the universal injustice of the world and that ‘so much is out of one’s control’. He does not believe in inscribing his intensive actions in the world. Only Michel can accept the world as it is and he ← 385 | 386 → acknowledges his crime by being arrested. That way, Michel knows that by choosing to believe some choices are no longer possible; he knows that becoming is always possible and a new mode of existence is possible. To be lucky makes Chris and Michel feel superior, a feeling they would not have had if they had decided to do the right thing, to be good, because in this case, eventually, they might very well have had to deal with the unlucky. They anticipate the risks they are taking by not being good and they calculate the best way of not being caught and punished for their decisions, but even so they decide to go that way. Ethics does not apply to a pure luck-driven decision but, however, it can apply to Chris’ initial statement (‘I’d rather be lucky than good’). That statement makes us rethink which values we take for granted in our everyday life by exploring fictional different and changeling modes of existence.
Bogue, Ronald (2007). Deleuze’s Way: Essays in Transverse Ethics and Aesthetics. Abingdon: Ashgate.
Bogue, Ronald (2010). ‘To Choose to Choose – to Believe in This World’, in D. N. Rodowick (ed.), Afterimages of Gilles Deleuze’s Film Philosophy. Minneapolis and London: University of Minnesota Press: 115–132.
Deleuze, Gilles (1995). Negotiations 1972–1990. Trans. by Martin Joughin. New York: Columbia University Press.
Deleuze, Gilles (2008). Cinema 2. Trans. Hugh Tomlinson and Robert Galeta. London: Continuum.
Deleuze, Gilles (2009). Cinema 1. Trans. Hugh Tomlinson and Barbara Habberjam. London: Continuum.
Gaut, Berys (1998). ‘The ethical criticism of art’, in Levinson (1998): 182–203.
King, Alasdair (2014). ‘Fault Lines: Deleuze, Cinema, and the Ethical Landscape’, in Jinhee Choi and Mattias Frey (eds), Cine-Ethics: Ethical Dimensions of Film Theory, Practice, and Spectatorship. Abingdon and New York: Routledge, 2014: 57–75. ← 386 | 387 →
Levinson, Jerrold (ed.) (1998). Aesthetics and Ethics: Essays at the Intersection. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.
Nichols, Bill (2001). Introduction to Documentary. Bloomington: Indiana University Press.
Price, Brian (2011). Neither God Nor Master: Robert Bresson and Radical Politics Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press.
D. N. Rodowick (2010). ‘The World, Time’, in D. N. Rodowick (ed.), Afterimages of Gilles Deleuze’s Film Philosophy. Minneapolis and London: University of Minnesota Press: 97–114.
Siassi, Shahrzad (2013). Forgiveness in Intimate Relationships: A Psychoanalytic Perspective. London: Karnac Books.
Sinnerbrink, Robert (2015). Cinematic Ethics: Exploring Ethical Experience through Film. London: Routledge.
Smith, Daniel W. (2007). ‘Deleuze and the Question of Desire: Toward an Immanent Theory of Ethics’, Parrhesia 2: 66–78.
Smith, Daniel (2012). ‘The Place of Ethics in Deleuze’s Philosophy: Three Questions of Immanence,’ in Essays on Deleuze. Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press: 146–159.
Uhlmann, Anthony (2011). ‘Deleuze, Ethics, Ethology and Art’, in Daniel Smith and Nathan Jun (eds.), Deleuze and Ethics. Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press: 154–170.
1 Sinnerbrink (2015: 9).
2 Nichols (2001: xi).
3 Levinson (1998).
4 Gaut (1998: 182).
5 Gaut (1998: 188).
6 Smith (2003: 90 ff).
7 Uhlmann (2011: 154–170).
8 Deleuze (1995: 100). Also in Deleuze (2009: 119).
9 Rodowick (2010: 97–114); Bogue (2007); Bogue (2010: 115–132).
10 King (2014: 59).
11 Deleuze (2008: 172).
12 Deleuze (2008: 136).
13 Deleuze (2009: 117–118).
14 Deleuze (2009: 115).
15 Deleuze (2009: 117).
16 Deleuze (2009: 164).
17 Rodowick (2010: 99)
18 Sinnerbrink (2015: 8).
19 Deleuze (2009: 115).
20 Siassi (2013: 133–146).
21 Price (2011: 32).