In this blog post, we explore how masks reveal the self through the film Talk To Her, and why Benigro’s love led him to ruin.
Film is often called an art without a muse. From a technical perspective, this opinion holds some merit. Although the medium of ‘moving images’ possesses a continuity very similar to our everyday ‘seeing’ experience, film is fundamentally framed. We perceive the discontinuous sequence of countless frames as ‘continuous moving images’. Therefore, I strongly support film’s artistic potential.
Film is fundamentally a matter of direction. That is, film is directed. In fact, much of what we ‘see’ is directed. Advertisements, novels, performing arts—all are examples. Where does the reality in direction come from? Merely from perfect restoration? Or from sincere direction—that is, from a lie we are willing to be deceived by?
Let me briefly introduce a passage from Slavoj Žižek’s ‘Enjoy Your Symptom!’.
There is no ‘true self’ beneath the mask. It is not that the true self wears a mask; the mask itself is the true self. When you remove the mask, there is actually nothing beneath it. What is truly false and nothingness is the ‘true self’ hidden beneath the mask one wears. Therefore, the path to a ‘true’ subjective position is a movement from the ‘outside’ to the ‘inside’. Initially, we mimic someone else (like parents or teachers) and act as if we were them. Yet gradually, we actually become that way. Within this paradox, it’s not hard to discover the ‘logic of habit’ Pascal spoke of: “Act as if you believe.” The performative aspect at work here is established through the symbolic efficacy of the ‘mask’. By wearing the mask, we genuinely become the person we are acting as.
The conclusion to be drawn here is diametrically opposed to the commonplace wisdom that ‘human actions (achievements, accomplishments) are, when dug down to their core, merely actions (gestures, appearances)’. That is, the only authenticity that liberates us is the authenticity of ‘pretending to be something,’ the authenticity of ‘truly embracing the act (attitude).’
I have named this ‘the authenticity of the mask.’ The authenticity of the mask—how can we possibly guarantee that we are not directing our own lives? That is why Sartre stated in his book Nausea: “But man must choose. To live or to narrate.”
Now, let’s discuss realism. Kojin Karatani states in his book The Origins of Modern Japanese Literature that ‘modern reality is achieved through the discovery of landscape.’ He adds that this is accomplished by the inner human. Therefore, the realist is always the inner human. In this film, the inner human is, of course, Benigro. Benigro’s inner humanity and its cinematic effect will be discussed in detail later.
I’d like to briefly add the scene of Benigro’s psychiatric consultation that appears midway through the film. Here, the doctor does something interesting. That is, rather than first classifying whether the patient has an illness, he listens to the patient’s past story. However, in reality, what Freud did when pioneering the field of psychoanalysis was the exact opposite. Freud believed that when neurosis arose, there must have been problems in childhood. Yet, as his theory shifted into educational theory or child-rearing theory, attempts emerged to protect children by eliminating childhood conflicts or contradictions. Ko Jin referred to this as ‘a situation Freud never imagined.’ And the psychiatrist in the film is contributing precisely to that situation.
In fact, film deceives us from the very beginning. Doesn’t it create continuity through the frame? So film reveals its own mask to us from the start. But that alone isn’t enough. For this reason, which is also a limitation of film, we cannot affirm the reality of filmmaking. Rather, this characteristic of film hinders us. Paradoxically, though, the harder it is for cinematic art to achieve reality, the more successfully it achieves ‘defamiliarization’. When it succeeds in this, it pushes us into that unfamiliar space in a far more complex way than other fields like literature.
Now, let’s examine the cinematic reality presented in ‘Talk To Her’. Unusually, this film pushes the audience out of the screen to secure its own reality. For instance, the narrative suddenly leaps forward in time, interspersed with moments of humor. One example is Lydia’s TV appearance scene. The film, which had maintained an angle as if we were watching TV, suddenly screens a comedy sketch. A live broadcast, a rude host, and a guest storming off—it’s a truly absurd scene. Is it simply a uniquely Spanish talk show? Probably not. Even Spaniards find talk shows where guests suddenly bolt out of the studio strange. The director makes us laugh like that, reminding us of our role as the audience. Another scene is Benigro and Marco’s meeting, where Benigro’s lines suddenly leave us bewildered. That’s how the director makes us question things, and the film deliberately remains silent on those questions. That’s how we’re left with a diversity of interpretations. Personally, Lydia’s accident scene also feels like that. I got the sense Lydia might have caused the accident intentionally. And Lydia, the film, remains silent.
The discussion so far doesn’t determine whether ‘Talk To Her’ is a cinematic success. Diversity of interpretation doesn’t automatically equate to depth of meaning. Here, the role of the character Benigro is paramount. Let’s explore this.
I’ve titled the discussion to follow “Who Killed Benigro?” Who could have killed him? The film repeatedly, indeed consistently throughout, portrays Benigro as an oddball. Alicia’s father, several nurses, and later even his friend Marco urge him to snap out of it. But Benigro remains steadfast. His love for Alicia is intense. Yet this man, who seemed unshakable, changes. He impregnated Alicia. He hadn’t had sex with her once in four years—could that one time have just accidentally gotten her pregnant? Actually, that doesn’t really matter. He knows everything about Alicia. Her menstrual cycle, of course. For him to have sex with her that day and ejaculate inside her—it’s hard to see that as mere coincidence. This wasn’t just about having sex with Alicia. What happened to Benigro?
The day before, Benigro watched a silent film. In that film, the man gradually shrinks. The woman relentlessly searches for him, and they reunite. On their first night together, the man stands before the woman’s genitals, then with a solemn expression, enters her naked. That is how their love was consummated. Benigro did not see himself shrinking there. Nor did he feel jealousy toward the man who achieved love that way. Before Alicia, Benigro never felt himself shrinking, nor did he ever identify himself with that man. But precisely because of that, Benigro was shocked. A woman can find a man. A woman loves a man. Benigro had believed for four years that he alone loved her. But the woman in that film loved a man and finally found him. That fact shattered him. Alicia was not the woman who would find him. Or rather, that was what he had believed. Benigro saw in that film the image of a man, not himself. That shattered him. A crack appeared in his love.
Benigro raped her the next day. It’s unconvincing that he, who knew everything, happened to forget that fact that day. Benigro wanted to leave Alicia the result of his love. Since Alicia couldn’t be the one to find him, he forced himself to become small. Benigro collapsed like that, and that’s how he died.
Now, let’s draw a conclusion. Benigro died because of love. But it wasn’t simply because his love was intense. It was because his love was flawed. His love was cinematic. He couldn’t shed his mask. No, the mask was him. Benigro could only have been saved by removing his mask. But because that couldn’t be done, he died.
