Irma Vep (1996) is a miraculous trilogy inside a singular feature: economic adaptation vs. neorealist invention, revolutionary politique vs. modern popularism, general entertainment vs. individual expressionism. Godard's Passion (1982) fucks Hollis Frampton's Pentagram for Conjuring a Narrative, pregnantizing Huxley's baby, becoming a modern caveman in the exploding urban Sprawl. Working in Andy Warhol's Factory with the Oompa-Loompas, it is creating beautiful art by hypocritically utilizing the "tool" called money, eating itself and shitting itself out. Living in the subjective "dreams" of Freudian desire, while mirroring Jung's objective archetypes that build the tiny chunks of consciousness, "inventing" the imaginary spirituality via theft of the representation of historical-fiction, or fictional-history. The film projects the production of itself, promising its personal lack of aiming for eternity, creating a project that breaks itself, creating something more or less "new," montage-ing its own deconstruction, still stuck in the past while running towards the invisible cliff, and jumping off, falling into their own stained vision that contains the thing that remains unseen, until the map reveals itself on top of the surface, and as we begin to watch ourself as it watches itself, we learn how to direct itself. #irmavep #olivierassayas #passion #godard #pentagram #hollisframpton #abravenewworld #aldoushuxley #thefactory #andywarhol #freud #dreams #carljung #archetypes #entertainment #popcorn #expressionist #auterism