On the Remake. A cinematic phenomenon.
Part Two. Rewriting, Remembering,
Mechanising, Historising, Forgetting.
rewriting
Literature has seen many examples of characters and plots been retaken by writers. Since the Greek, plays and later novels have been adapted and reoriented. The success of certain figures lies in the amount of their renewal - at least with regard to their contemporary impact for the thinking of the respective time. Many of the famous characters are themselves taken from sources, often situated somewhere in-between literary and historical origin as in myths and legends (Electra, Parceval, Hamlet, Faust). Some characters even get more famous than their creators. They start to live on their own, leaving the point of historical departure and their author behind (Don Quixote, Carmen).
That functioning of literary production has nothing unusual. It does not prove a lack of imagination, on the contrary. Culture and tradition are built on repeating. Only where is repetition, things can differ. Though, we do not find a term comparable to the remake in literary jargon. The adaptation or eventually the arrangement of a text seems to signify something different, all the more adaptation is a cinematic expression, too, as if to signify that the explicit literary work stays in the tradition of literature. But doesn't a film have to be considered as a text to be remade? And as a text, doesn't it have to be rewritten? What is the difference between an adaptation and a remake?
The adaptation plays an entirely different role in cinema. Quite a number of adaptations insist on the faithfulness towards the original by keeping its dialogue, structure or whatsoever (Madame Bovary by Claude Chabrol, for instance). Films that adapt freely well known sources are often criticised for the missing of consistence. In one word: the new film is not lowered in rank by the existence of an original, and the original is not pushed aside by the film. Both live in harmony even if the film is a bad one. Taking into account that the majority of film production is based on novels, one could go even further: If cinema were to literature what theatre is to drama? If it were for that reason that we often hear that plays cannot be adapted in cinema being the wrong medium to do so? And if cinema therefore were a subordinate medium serving only to fulfil the literary mission?
the mnemonic technique
Right after its invention, writing needed a less codified medium as completion. While it served well to record literature, the performing aspect was lost. Writing did not only ruin natural memory, but literature as a performing art. The epistemic answer to the invention of writing in the Greek culture, says Harald Weinrich, is the invention of a mnemonic technique, the art of memory. "It comes along with the passage from poetic art (in the widest sense of the word) transmitted in bounded form to the rhetoric of prose literature. Because the mnemonic technique is made for prose that has to abstain from such mnemonic aid as metre and rhyme." [1]
In the mnemonic technique the memory is spatialised. The memory artist memorises a fixed number of places that he knows well (Greek topoi, Latin loci). In that virtual landscape he puts the contents and ideas he wishes to remember in a definitive order, after having changed them into images, if they are not some anyway (Greek phantasmata, Latin imagines). He does so by virtue of his imagination (Greek phantasia, Latin imaginatio). Then he has only to walk along the places in his memory (Latin permeare, pervagare, percurere) to call one image after the other and to give his speech without difficulties.
A number of ideas visualised and fixed in a definitive order within a virtual space to be presented to a group of persons - the art of memory is not only an art of space (Weinrich. p. 23.), it is a cinematic technique long before the invention of cinema! This cinema avant la lettre stays important until the late Middle Ages. With the mechanisation of writing, it looses its influence. The moralists first (Montaigne), the enlightenment later (Descartes to Kant) question the accumulation of knowledge towards the criteria of reason. (Weinrich. pp. 100, 58-105.) The same epoch sees the development of a new literary form, the modern novel. It is a literature that is entirely based on writing and that can hardly be perceived other than by reading (the reading aloud stays exceptional). Mirroring the new importance of the individuum in the age of enlightenment, it is received by a single reader and only occasionally by a group. The rising of copyright I have discussed earlier can be seen in this context as another result of the individualisation (see part one). The beginning of cultural mass production therefore is equivalent to a sequestering of the recipients.
The automation of the arts of space (photography) is causing a third push of innovation. After the artificial memory of writing and the generalisation of archiving it by mechanical reproduction, the memorising of locations and a bit later of durations becomes possible. The invention of moving images is nothing but the mechanisation of the art of memory. In other words, it is the completion of the mechanisation of writing. It recreates the opportunity of collective reception nonetheless keeping the possibility of single perception alive. It gives back to literature its performing aspect. For some reason therefore, cinema can be seen as the fulfilment of literature. So much more as in the case of the missing of a literary source it produces its own text to adapt, the screenplay. (Even documentaries use to have some sort of a screenplay at one point of their production.) But what happens, when cinema becomes its own text? When a film is no completion any more of a written source, but the completion of a completion?
success
The remake reminds of the older film, but it does not remember it. For that reason I believe that Harvey R. Greenberg's somehow seducing theory of oedipal inflections as reason to remake a film does not lead very far. Greenberg bases his theory on a lecture of Robert Eberwein who suggests that "a remake always exists under the sign of erasure, effecting 'a kind of reconstruction of the original' - [T]he remaker's efforts invade implicitly forbidden territory, analogous to the child's 'invasion' of the primal scene." [2] Eberwein and Greenberg feel that there is something paradoxical about the remake. Its production often is perceived as an aggression against the older film, as an attempt to replace the older, to make it forgotten by the new success. For only the success can erase the original.
"It seems to be that it is the essential of success to get further than the father and that it still is forbidden to wish to surpass the father." [3] Sigmund Freud's remark on success leads right away to the oedipal complex. Eberwein and Greenberg follow this pattern. But if the remaker is the son and the filmmaker of the original is the father, who is the mother? It cannot be the remake, because it is the product and not the companion of the father. The remake rather stands for the taboo that is broken by the wish to have the same or even more success than the father by - naturally - using the same means. In fact, the mother cannot be anything but the audience. It is clearly the female part in the story, because it has this strange active passivity psychoanalysis certifies women since Freud at the very latest. In one word, Eberwein and Greenberg implicitly say that the remaker is a motherfucker. Their oedipal approach contains a hidden reproach against the production of remakes as an opportunist and deceitful act towards the audience.
Under this angle, to come back to Gus van Sant's Psycho once more and the reproach of grave-robbing (see part one), Psycho is the perfect subject for a remake. Since the mother is dead for long time, the father does not have any importance, and the son tries to kill in the dress of his mother her potential competitor - we find a complete theory of film production. The past audience of the original serves as a pretext to attack a new audience. The absence of the original auteur only is mirrored in the fact that the remaker tries to hide its individuality under the sham of a reference to a past public. The implicit theme of necrophilia gives the talking of grave-robbery a different sense. Of course, the relation of film production to the public is most ambivalent. It longs for acceptance and tries at the same time to free itself from anticipation. But more than that: Making a film is making things pass away. As any reproducing art, cinema is an art of the elapsed. The original always is a grave. There is nothing vivid about it. However, Jean Cocteau says in Orphée: The death of the death of the poet is his immortality. The remake, a grave of a grave?
déjà vu
There seems to be a strange mixture of old and new, known and unknown, dead and alive, or better a perpetual dying and arising, a paradoxical coexistence of originality and repetition at the same moment. Much better than by the oedipal complex the remake can be described in psychological terms by the déjà vu-experience. The déjà vu marks a feeling of acquaintance in an episodically new situation accompanied with the almost immediate impression that the acquaintance is not reasonable. [4]. The paradoxical character of the familiarity on the one hand and the doubt of its correctness on the other hand are essential. Though, the experience often comes along with a certain nostalgia, a nostalgia of a pastness that has as much to do with the past as with the present (since the past only seems to be an idea of the present). "We do not, continues L. L. Jacoby being quoted by Jansen, experience a feeling of familiarity when we encounter a colleague at work, but would experience such a feeling and would be aware of recognising the colleague if we encountered him in an unexpected location. The feeling of familiarity seems to rely on a discrepancy reaction of some sort or a direct question about recognition that calls for an attribution to be made. Indeed, it would be incredibly disruptive, if a subjective feeling of familiarity intruded every time we encountered a previously experienced person, location, object or event." [5] An episodically new situation therefore depends on the outer distance of the experienced in regard to the personal experience up to the actual point.
Applying these short considerations to the role and the reception of the remake, we find some congruity. The relation of the remake towards its original seems to be as difficult to describe as the experience of the déjà vu. Although the impression of familiarity is given, the remake is entirely unknown. A frequent nostalgia concerning the loss of the old film is woken up by the remake. It might lead to an attribution against it. The outer distance as a condition for the déjà vu we have seen in the first part as a necessary condition for the remake as well. Jacoby gives the explication for it pointing out that familiarity relies on discrepancy. Other than appropriation in the fine arts, the remake does not stand for a historical reflection. It is not the trace of something that happened, it does not testify of an act of repetition. It even can be considered as completely unhistorical in regard to the original. It does not say anything about it. The apparent insolence of the remaker becomes understandable under this angle. The remake might have less to do with its original than an ordinary genre film with any other film of its genre. And as a remake there is no connection to other remakes neither. For that reason I do not think that the comparative analysis of a film and its remake teaches anything about the phenomenon of the remake. It might teach a lot about two films and their historical situations. It might show intertextual relations between the two films. But it does not give any information about the existence of the remake.
However, the importance of the public for the production of remakes is not excluded from a theory of déjà vu. "There are dreams of landscapes or locations, where in the dream the certainty is stressed: Once I was here. This 'déjà vu' has in dreaming a particular meaning. The location always is the genitalia of the mother; in fact one cannot pretend of any other with such certainty to have 'already been there'." [6] The public might not only play an important part for the remaker, but for the artist in general, because he once was a part of this public. Before making films (or any other art), he is going to the cinema (or the museum) and he is starting to want to "make cinema" (or "make art"). Any artist in a way is a remaker in the beginning of his career. The question, whether he has something to say and whether this something is of any originality comes later.
anachronism
In Jorge Luis Borges's story Pierre Menard, Author of the Quixote, Menard does not want to copy mechanically Quixote or to write a different version, he wants to literally rewrite the novel. The condition of an outer distance for a remake is given with Menard being a Frenchman of the early 20th century rewriting a Spanish text of the 17th century. Although the project is to rewrite word for word Miguel de Cervantes's Don Quixote, Menard does not want to read again the novel that he had read as a youngster. (The refusal calls back Luis Buñuels refusal to watch Jean Renoir's The Diary of a Chamber Maid when he made his adaptation. However, the situation is slightly different, for Buñuel remakes a film he has never seen by adapting the novel a second time.) For Menard the indistinct image of a book before writing it resembles the vague remembrance of Quixote that he had read a long time ago. Of course, it is nothing different but the feeling of déjà vu.
Writing again a pre-existing novel with the knowledge of the historical events having happened after the books publication enriches the older story and makes it more subtle. Borges gives an ironic but convincing example: Cervantes's choice of the poor provincial reality of his country as contrast to the knightly fantasy production is much poorer than Menard's choice of the country of Carmen's origin - who has been written some 250 years after Quixote. But not only the idea of historical superiority is leading Menard as if he were benefiting from Helmut Kohl's "mercy of late birth" (since we are already talking about anachronic relations). What is important for Menard is that the original takes advantage of chance. The rewriting on the contrary does not profit of the aid of spontaneity. Own impetuous, formal, or psychological ideas have to be wiped out by irrefutable rational argumentation. The accident is rejected as origin of the artwork. Inspiration is despised as arbitrary and therefore as replaceable by any other inspiration. The original in the sense of the first enunciation of an idea, an event, or a form is called into question. (Under this angle, the copyright looses all right to exist.)
the impossibility of the remake
"There is no intellectual act that after all were not useless". [7] This statement refutes all critical comments on the remake. Redoing something is not more absurd than having done the original. Only redoing is more difficult. Pierre Menard's work must stay a fragment. (His Quixote contains only the 9th, a fragment of the 22nd, and the 38th chapter of the novel's first part.) In comparison with the "finite original", as puts it Borges, it remains a never-ending gesture of redoing. But it lets appear the novel Don Quixote under different light. The lecture of the rest of the original text that has not (yet) been rewritten is already changed by Menard's vision. (Recently a reconstructed version of the Quixote has been published. A numerous group of specialists has been working on the fragments left by Cervantes to find the original version. In a way the destiny of Orson Welles' film on Quixote resembles the original's destiny: the fragments become highly estimated and the subject of probably hopeless (donquixotesque) research of any original form. Since I do not have read the "new" original Quixote, I do not know, whether the scientists took into account Menard's lecture. But they might ignore that their reconstructed version only is the result of the 21st century. Reconstruction and remake are twins of the same feeling of loss of the beloved original.)
The remake stands for the anachronic thinking of history the other way round. Not haphazardly, Borges's narrator quotes both Cervantes and Menard on truth and history: "The truth, whose mother is history, the rival of time, the archive of all deeds, witness of the past, example and advice of the present, warner of the future". He comments on this extract (the one of Menard - being the same - having much more intriguing implications, of course) that history is not the investigation of reality, but its origin. Historical truth is not the event that happened, but our judgement on it. The original does not have a status quo. It changes as time changes, and what is more, it better does so! Because if it would not, it would quickly disappear with time. To the original can be applied what Wolf Biermann says about men: Only who changes remains faithful to himself.
As anybody knows, Quixote is a stupid fool who tries to live again the epoch of knights. He is practising the anachronic gesture and, of course, he is failing. But in the end of Cervantes's novel, the vicar, the baccalaureus and the barber seem to regret Quixote's final conversion. They believe that he has become mad once more when his talking all of a sudden is making sense, and they feel that this madness of the mad is normality. As the reader of Borges's story we are convinced all the same by Menard's absurd efforts. That stupid fool Menard trying to write again Quixote fails as well with this anachronic and impossible attempt. But his failing is his victory, for it makes him become Quixote himself, who - trying the impossible - became one of the most famous knights ever. (The failing of the other fool Van Sant is of a different character: Finishing a film that resembles, but is not identical, he fails to fail. Therefore he cannot become Quixote, and his anachronic act stays rather conceptual.)
"for what is remembered has been, is repeated
backwards,
while the real repetition is remembered forwards"
Sören Kierkegaard
Not haphazardly, Borges takes Quixote as figure of bow for his theoretically most important text for the arts of the 20th century. Quixote obviously is a performer. Menard does get one as well without a great physical effort. Not his writing matters, but the act of his writing. The performance of an idea becomes more important than the idea itself in a time that thinks it has seen all ideas and developed all ways to express them. Expressing this aspect of performance through repetition, Borges not only gives us a theory of the remake, but of the reproducing arts in general. When I said above (see part one) that the performing arts can be called reproducing arts as well, we now can invert that sentence: The reproducing arts must be called performing arts, too.
Under this angle, the remake becomes a paradigm for the reproducing arts in general. By repeating a foreign or lets say found, i.e. not originally created content, it does explicitly what the reproducing arts necessarily and cinema in particular do. Producing a film means to repeat each take again and again until it resembles the intended form. A take cannot be improved itself like a painting, it has to be repeated to be ameliorated. (Digital technologies - though the impact of post-production is known - cannot change that fact as long as one is working with actors.) In a way, a film is already its own remake for any take has been remade a several times. The original in cinema does not exist.
Now becomes apparent why the take can be considered as a readymade not only in the sense of a trace (see part one), but because of its unoriginality and its repeated nature. Like a found object, the take is not created, but chosen from a number of other possible solutions. It is given new meaning by its presentation within a new context. Its repetition changes its former sense. Kierkegaard's remark that "real repetition is remembered forwards" has to do with this paradoxical fact that repetition changes the repeated. It should not be mixed up with remembrance, at least in the modern sense of the word. To remember things we tend to put them into museums, to close them up, to conserve monuments and historic buildings against any changing, in one word: to mummify our own culture. (Even after the end of the communist era the first reflex was not to destroy the statues of Lenin and the others, but to put them into museum parks - remember the burial procession for a huge Lenin statue in The Glance of Ulysses by Theo Angelopoulos.) That sort of remembrance has a lot to do with an angst of loss, but nothing with an idea of continuity. Remembering is orientated towards something past and gone. Being based on the logic of technical invention, modern society denies continuity but believes in the principle of quantum leaps. Suggesting that repetition is to modern men what remembering was to the ancient; Kierkegaard takes into account that if there is such a thing like remembering in modernity comparable to the ancient culture of continuity, it is not the backwards-orientated remembrance. To the ancient, taking conscience is remembering. To the modern, living is repeating. [8]
The logic of variable invariability
The coexistence of known and unknown already in antiquity has lead to the conviction, attributed to Pythagoras, "that the phenomenon of déjà vu contains the proof of an earlier individual existence." [9] Reincarnation is based on the idea that you are the same without nevertheless having anything in common with your earlier existence. Some years ago, a famous German publicity campaign used this complicated relation in order to create sympathy for recycling. A sweet little tin-bear was smiling down from the hoardings saying: I used to be a can. Since, recycling as a form of material reincarnation has entered the creative production. Recently the architect Shigeru Ban came up with his paper tubes-constructions. His houses can be entirely recycled and the material can be used again for different applications. The paper material, of course, is an allusion to Japanese architecture and its light, open form. But the strategy of an architecture carrying its replaceability already in its material makes as well think of loam architecture, where after each rainy season the houses and mosques have to be build again. However, Ban's use of recyclable material is not oriented towards a continued esthetical reutilization. Like the publicity campaign, the reincarnation of the material is a utilitarian one: it is the material, not the articulation that is recycled. In that sense Ban joins the occidental way of thinking. He takes into account that fixation comes along with finiteness.
The practise of loam architecture expresses a different attitude towards culture. Not the shaped material is supposed to last forever, but the form - independently to the material. Hans Wichmann has called the loam construction "architecture of transitoriness" [10]. "In the contrary to it, explains Wolfgang Lauber, stays the occidental conception of life with its ambition to create durability, to conserve souvenirs in the monumental, in constructions of granite, reinforced concrete, refined steel and glass. Models for that were the early cultures of the Egyptian Nil valley that continue to live in our heads after centuries with their granite monumentals, granite panelled pyramids, and their cuneiform inscriptions, engraved in everlasting stone boards. This attitude towards transitoriness was passed on by the Greek and the Romans to the occident up to our days where even grave stone grotesquely tempt to endure the death of man." [11]
The European longing for durability is testifying of great fear of changing. Once fixed, a form does not permit any modification (- at least not at first sight: Some methods of restoration change the original stones of old churches for synthetic material, which resists better modern air pollution.) A continuity in the African sense is not thinkable, where some traditions even require regular modifications. The Go e.g., the granary of the Dogon in Mali, has to be renewed ritually. [12] Similarly the annual recrépissage of the mosque of Jenné by the Songhai takes place in April on two successive Sundays before the onset of the rainy season. [13] The angst of loss, the fear of changing in the occidental practice comes along with a logic of loss and a necessity of changing: The definitive fixation does historise a form. It becomes the context of newer forms that inevitably have to be different to have a reason to exist. [14]
amnesia
We must affirm that the fluidity of a medium favours the resistance of an aesthetic or intellectual articulation. The transient loam architecture as a fluid medium expresses enduring thinking, whereas the lasting stone architecture is based on passing ideas. The constant performance guarantees the continuance of a traditional articulation. That tradition ceasing, the articulation looses its sense, but the articulation being mummified, the tradition will fall into oblivion, too. Lassana Cissé discusses this fact in connection with the Dogon architecture: "We have to come to the obvious conclusion that the protection of the architectonic inheritance of the Dogon may not and cannot be reduced to a scrupulous conservation of the material store." [15] In principle the difference between European and African culture seems to lie in their different attitude towards performance - performance of changing (event) in the first, performance of continuity (ritual) in the latter case. The theatrical direction and re-direction in the occidental tradition might not represent a culture of continuity in the African sense. (The term of continuity is relative, of course. The African history has seen a lot of changing as well, and contemporary ethnology does not share the idea of an unhistorical culture any more.) But we can observe that in theatre the same plays are performed again and again without any annoying effect. Even more: a piece becomes only established, when it is performed again. The missing of a rigid medium demands the maintenance of remembrance. There is a special job description in theatre, the evening director, who has to look after keeping a particular direction going. What seems to be a logical side effect of the missing of fixation in theatre is nevertheless of decisive importance to understand the difference to and the particularity of the remake.
The remake is neither an analogy to theatrical performance of continuance nor to the reconstruction of loam architecture. The rigid medium film mummifies an articulation. Remaking therefore signifies the historisation of repetition. If we read the remake in the sense of Kierkegaard as repetition forwards than the performance of the remake is a double paradox. The first lies in Kierkagaard's term itself, the act of repetition forwards, the second in the attempt of fixation what can only be an act. The remake therefore does not stand for a modern kind of remembrance. I agree with Robert Eberwein's saying that it "exists under the sign of erasure". Only, the oedipal reading is suggesting a somehow aggressive motivation to make the original forget (be it conscious or unconscious). The double paradox moreover demands a more passive understanding in relation to the medium itself. We have seen that the mummification of an articulation in a rigid medium can lead to the oblivion of the tradition or the specific sense it stands for. That characteristic of the medium does not disturb in a culture, where progress counts most, which is the reason why Plato's warnings have not been heard (see part one). But it must necessarily do so, when it comes to the remake. The two movements forward and backward, repetition and fixation (i.e. historisation) neutralise each other. They seem to give promises they cannot keep in any direction. Pretending to be performing art (repetition) and reproducing art (fixation) at the same time, the remake seems to suggest that there is another way besides original and plagiarism. (Performing and reproducing arts converge literally in a remake of Fail-Safe. George Clooney had convinced Les Moonves, the president of CBS, to remake Fail-Safe, a war movie done 1964 by Sidney Lumet. Under the direction of Stephen Frears and with Clooney, Richard Dreyfuss, Brian Dennehy and Harvey Keitel the remake was broadcasted on 9th April 2000 in black and white and - live.[16]) This might be the reason for the provocation it represents and the taboo it breaks: It opposes the two columns of occidental arts. But the remake cannot keep the promise of a third way. Rather the contrary is the case. Neutralising its own content, the remake produces and stands for a certain amnesia. It is the amnesia of its medium (film) towards the recorded, the amnesia of the outer distance towards its original, and the amnesia of the present to the past as well as the past to the present. Refusing the logic of continuity and improvement just as the nostalgia of a golden age, the remake - phenomenon resulting out of a technical invention at the dawn of modernity - expresses the loss of identity of modern man. It must be considered as one of modernity's great artistic expressions.
- The End -
Jan Speckenbach
© 01/2002
[1] Lethe. Kunst und Kritik des
Vergessens. München 1997: Beck. p. 100. My
transl. > back
[2] Harvey R. Greenberg. "Raiders
of the Lost Text: Remaking as Contested Homage in Always." In
Play It Again, Sam. Retakes on Remakes. Edited by Andrew
Horton and Stuart Y. McDougal. Berkeley, Los Angeles, London 1998:
University of California Press. And Robert Eberwein.
"Remakes Writing under Erasure," presented at the
Florida State University Conference on Literature and Film 1988, p.
127. >
back
[3] Sigmund Freud. "Brief an Romain
Rolland. (Eine Erinnerungsstörung auf der Akropolis)" (1936).
In Studienausgabe. Psychologische Schriften. Frankfurt a.M.
2000: Fischer Taschenbuch. My transl. > back
[4] Compare Johannes Jansen. Das Déjà
vu-Erlebnis. Frankfurt a.M., Bern, New York, Paris 1991: Peter
Lang (Europäische Hochschulschriften: Reihe 6, Psychologie.
p. 23ff.) >
back
[5] Jacoby. "Memory observed and
memory unobserved". Quoted by Jansen, p.
42. > back
[6] Sigmund Freud. Studienausgabe.
Die Traumdeutung. Frankfurt a.M. 2000: Fischer Taschenbuch. p.
390. My transl. >
back
[7] Jorge Luis Borges. Erzählungen
1935-1944. After the transl. by Karl August Horst revisioned by
Gisbert Haefs. In Gesammelte Werke Bd. 3/I. München, Wien
1981: Carl Hanser. p. 122. My transl. from the German
transl. >
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[8] Sören Kierkegaard. Die
Wiederholung. Ein Versuch in der experimentierenden Psychologie von
Constantin Constantius. In Gesammelte Werke. Die
Wiederholung. Drei erbauliche Reden: 1843. Edited by Emanuel
Hirsch and Hayo Gerdes. German transl. by Emanuel Hirsch. 3. Aufl.
Gütersloh 1998: Gütersloher Taschenbücher. p.
7. > back
[9] Sigmund Freud. Studienausgabe.
Schriften zur Bahandlungstechnik. Frankfurt a.M. 2000: Fischer
Taschenbuch. p. 234. My transl. > back
[10] See Hans Wichmann (Editor).
Architektur der Vergänglichkeit. Lehmbauten der Dritten
Welt. Exp. catalogue. München 1981: Neue Sammlung. Staatliches
Museum für angewandte Kunst. > back
[11] Wolfgang Lauber. "Die
traditionelle Lehmbauweise der Dogon." In Architektur der
Dogon. Traditioneller Lehmbau und Kunst in Mali. Edited by
Wolfgang Lauber. München, New York 1998: Prestel. p. 57. My
transl. >
back
[12] See Lassana Cissé. "Zwischen
Kultur und Natur: Die schwierige Erhaltung der traditionellen
Architektur der Dogon." In Architektur der Dogon. p.
25. >
back
[13] Adria LaViolette.
Ethno-Archaeology in Jenné, Mali. Craft and status among smiths,
potters and masons. Cambridge 2000: BAR International Series
828. (Cambridge Monographs in African Archaeology. 49.) p.
127. >
back
[14] Claude Lévi-Strauss teaches some
of cultural development in The way of the masks. German
translation Der Weg der Masken. Transl. from French by Eva
Moldenhauer. Frankfurt a.M.: Insel 1977
[1975]. >
back
[15] Lassana Cissé. "Zwischen
Kultur und Natur: Die schwierige Erhaltung der traditionellen
Architektur der Dogon." In Architektur der Dogon. p.
25. >
back
[16] Süddeutsche Zeitung. Feuilleton.
Saturday, 8th April 2000. p. 17. > back