By Rebeka Milius

Illustration by Marlon

In general, when people go to the cinema they say: “Ah, it’s great. I didn’t see the time

passing.” But time is all we have in life. And in fact, when we don’t see the time pass it is

as if we have 2 hours of our life stolen. So, for me, going to see one of my films is living an

experience inside yourself, which is an experience both obviously visual but also of time

passing in itself. – Chantal Akerma

This touching reflection by filmmaker Chantal Akerman invites us to reconsider how we experience time in the cinematic space. The experience of watching a film often leads to a paradox: while we may feel entranced, suspended in a narrative universe, there is an underlying tension in the awareness of time slipping away. In the wake of the magazine’s 20th anniversary, this article will reconsider the complex relationship between film and the passage of time, drawing on Akerman’s insights and the philosophical framework provided by Gilles Deleuze’s notion of the “time-image.”

Film, as a medium, has an intrinsic relationship with time. The very act of watching a film unfolds over a predetermined duration, often eliciting a unique psychological experience of time’s passage. When a viewer declares that they “lost track of time,” they express a profound engagement with the filmic narrative that goes beyond mere entertainment. This phenomenon invites questions about the nature of temporality itself: What does it mean to experience time while being absorbed in a story? And how does film manipulate our perception of this elusive concept?

Akerman’s work, characterized by its attention to duration and rhythm, serves as a compelling case study. Her films often challenge conventional pacing, inviting audience members to inhabit moments as opposed to rushing through them. For instance, in Jeanne Dielman, 23 quai du Commerce, 1080 Bruxelles, the seemingly mundane routines of the protagonist stretch into elongated sequences that compel viewers to come face to face with the weight of time in everyday life. This confrontation becomes a possibility for introspection, a reflection on existence itself, as viewers are made aware of each minute passing.

Gilles Deleuze’s concepts of the “movement-image” and the “time-image” explore how films engage with time. In overly simplified terms, the movement-image corresponds to classical cinema, where time is linear, characterized by a cause-and-effect logic. It understands the image as concerned with movement, in every sense of the word. In contrast, the time-image emerges in post-World War Two cinema, representing a rupture in traditional narrative structures. Here, time becomes fluid and nonlinear, allowing filmmakers to explore the internal experiences of characters and the viewer’s consciousness. Rather than only following a storyline, the audience is encouraged to engage with the film’s temporalities. This can manifest through long takes, repetitive sequences, or the portrayal of subjective time. In the time-image, time is not merely a backdrop against whichaction unfolds; it becomes an active element of the narrative, presenting itself as layered, fragmented, or even cyclical.

Akerman’s cinematic style, with its focus on duration, aligns closely with Deleuze’s thoughts. By foregrounding the passage of time as an important component of storytelling, Akerman invites viewers to reflect on their own temporal experience, echoing Deleuze’s claim that cinema’s potential is to be found in its ability to capture the complexities of time. Akerman’s assertion that attending her films is akin to “living an experience inside yourself” resonates deeply with the immersive nature of cinema. As viewers lose themselves in the unfolding narrative, they also engage in a profound exploration of their temporal existence. This is particularly evident in films that employ slow cinema (for lack of a better term), where the pacing encourages contemplation and introspection.

Take, for instance, the works of a director like Andrei Tarkovsky whose films often dwell on themes of memory, existence, and the passage of time. In Nostalgia, Tarkovsky crafts a narrative steeped in reflections on time and memory, encouraging viewers to grapple with the fluidity of past and present. The slow unfolding of images encourages a meditative space, influencing audiences to confront their own temporal realities. Similarly, Akerman’s films invite viewers to dwell in moments, fostering a deeper emotional connection to the experience of time itself.

Beyond personal introspection, the passage of time in film can also carry significant political significance. Akerman’s exploration of time often intersects with themes of identity, memory, and history, particularly in relation to gender and cultural experience. In a world where time is often commodified and fragmented by modern life, her films reclaim the act of slowing down as a form of resistance, pushing for survivance.

In fact, Deleuze’s theories further illuminate this aspect. The time-image allows for a disruption of dominant narratives, giving voice to marginalized experiences. Films that explore historical trauma, such as those addressing colonial histories, often utilize the time-image to convey the weight of memory and the intricacies of lived experiences. In these instances, time is not only a narrative device but a means of political and social reflection.

Akerman’s quote serves as a poignant reminder of the value of time in our lives, emphasizing the importance of being present in our experiences. Through the lens of Deleuze’s time-image, we gain a deeper understanding of how filmmakers can manipulate time to evoke emotional responses, challenge narratives, and illuminate the complexities of human existence.

As we engage with film, we are invited to confront the passage of time—not merely as spectators but as participants in a shared temporal experience. The cinema becomes a space where time unfolds in different ways, urging us to reflect on our own lives and the world around us.