And Freud’s great achievement, as Badiou sees it, was the “eventalization” of childhood, that is, an understanding of childhood not as an innocent parenthesis (a simple “before” adulthood) or a moment of training and development (of “dressage”), but rather as a sequence of events whose consequences are duly assumed by the unconscious subject. This allowed for an analysis of childhood as an unfolding process of creative thought, that is, of thought able to transform itself. Freud’s most essential insight was “Something has happened, it cannot be erased, and the constitution of the subject depends on it”. —Hallward. Badiou: Subject to Truth. p113.
They play at fighting like brother and sister, courting precautions are left behind.
How did you know I’d respond to you the way I have?
I saw myself in you.
As Deleuze and Guattari call it, the double:
“My project is a temporal form where I await myself in the future, where I make an appointment with myself on the other side of that hour, of that day, of that month. Anxiety is the fear of not finding myself at that appointment, of no longer even wishing to be there in the first place.” —Sartre. Critique of Dialectical Reason pt1. xxx.
Then before the experimentation can ever take off, oedipal monogamy sours the deal. She invents something that could be broken, which retroactively distorts things towards misogyny.
There was even a germ of what could be an erotics of sadness. What remains inexplicable for me throughout the whole film was the melancholic overtone. Her speechlessness and outgrown attachment to a past lover, her hypnosis instead of giddiness at work, her boredom waiting at his place, the spot-on ’80s decor and smoky lighting, the artwork in her slideshow, and so on. And then the breakthrough exodus from the Chelsea and live porn theatre, kissing a stranger in riposte, the proximity of sobbing and sex and her running eyeliner . . . anticipated, had visions, what’s going to happen next, are they becoming part of the show, conjugating the gathering, deterritorializing the theatre, where next, where next . . . ?
Wikipedia says, “the film is now well known for its erotic sadomasochistic content” –besides that fact that there was none, 9 1/2 Weeks nonetheless hints at an intense antipode of this phantasmatic film medium. That is, ‘real-life’ power games, where one really never knows if s/he is playing games with me or how serious the stakes are –performative undecidability. In stark contrast to the real thrill of citizen-play, BDSM dungeons like porn shoots are a calico-world of erotic bathos. Remember Kracauer’s sense of catastrophe discovering the eratz cosmos of the film studio– “the ruins of the universe are stored in warehouses for sets, representative samples of all periods, peoples, and styles.” With the client-supplier dungeon, you’d have to be high to get aroused by such stupidity of premise and statement. It’s more like the words themselves are what arouse and not the gear, sets, roleplaying, or commands. As if taboos cease to exist, and only irregularity excites: “Figure out if you want to be a commonwealth or a state, wetback!”
As Trecartin’s Auto Ceader says, “Britt plans sexy and it’s gross. Someone needs to hang her from her freaking foot so the blood rushes to her head so that she has better ideas. Ones that aren’t so sexy. I’m embarrassed that I have things that are sexy in my life. Why isn’t she?”