Every film must state how it enters the theory

The vase still life intervenes between the daughter’s smile and tears. Rather than symbolize a psychology, it places change within time’s unchanging form.

Ruins cease to be an environment that action can repair. The child becomes a seer before the intolerable, and the action-chain collapses from within.

In the factory, the protagonist sees not a social problem awaiting solution but an optical situation too strong for habitual ethics of action.

The volcano’s beauty and pain exceed any executable response, turning the protagonist from agent into a seer struck by a limit situation.

The disappearance ceases to propel action as a solvable mystery; islands, architecture, and bodily attitudes give duration to the void within relations.

Witnesses do not assemble one past; they search different sheets of the past for a Kane who cannot be actualized as a complete truth.

The hall of mirrors becomes crystalline not through mirrors alone but because bodies, doubles, deception, and destruction lose stable ontological priority in reflection.

Its bifocal construction matters: Robbe-Grillet organizes incompatible peaks of the present, while Resnais places characters in coexisting sheets of the past. It is not merely a puzzle of true versus false memory.

Private memory and historical catastrophe do not represent one another; sound and image place incommensurable experiences within one interval, making forgetting temporal structure.

The time machine cannot return to a former present with precision; it throws the protagonist among repeatedly contracting sheets of the past.

Each expert, forger, director, and narrator passes the tribunal to another. The question becomes not who tells the truth but whose power can create.

Reality, memory, fantasy, rehearsal, and the film project crystallize together; the unfinished work is both seed and environment absorbing life.

Artistic ideal, aristocratic world, and decaying body are caught in a crystal of too late; preservation simultaneously reveals decomposition from within.

The visitor’s arrival distributes consequences like a theorem, yet his departure leaves an unsolved problem. Bodies, desert, and scream force thought toward an outside.

Tableaux vivants, factory labour, and failed production do not converge on an answer. The film turns theorem into problem and relinks bodies, images, and sounds across intervals.

Voices no longer belong to visible bodies and images do not illustrate voices; two autonomous series meet at the edge of an absent event.

Space is not merely a setting but a topology of the brain; HAL and humans mirror one another across automatism, choice, and thought’s impotence.

The maid’s small morning tasks are no longer compressed into narrative transition. Seeing, waiting, and fatigue give everyday life optical density of its own.

After characters and rendezvous withdraw from the ending, places, objects, wind, and city noise persist. Time is no longer measured by relational action.

The exchanged identity does not restore a masterful subjective centre; relations between camera and character perception unsettle the objective/subjective divide.

Hands, pockets, wallets, and relays connect a space that can never be surveyed as a whole. Tactile relations replace mastery through complete action-space.

The camera withdraws to hold the figure, then advances into a corridor that now belongs to her home. False continuity detaches space from action’s coordinates.

The father’s tears after the wedding are not elevated into a decisive, destiny-changing instant. Death, separation, and grief remain within the series of the everyday.

Words, colours, bodies, songs, and quotations no longer obey one internal monologue. Thought is forced in the intervals between their series.

The recollection circuit in the sealed room organizes the past as destiny. It also shows why flashback remains a recollection-image rather than becoming direct time merely through retrospection.

Multiple recollections do more than supply backstory; they return to conditional points where time might have taken another course, exposing its forks.

The absent woman’s voice hangs over three marriages at once. Its displaced source and three possible consequences make time fork around one threat.

The musical is not merely an episode inside a character’s head. Sets, colour, and ensemble movement carry the whole world into motion as an implied dream.

Street, rain, props, and studio cease to be backgrounds for action and become a world capable of moving through the musical itself.

Glass, reflections, machine noise, and distant actions disperse the comic centre. Sonic gags no longer function as subordinate effects of visible action.

The circus present rolls a series of virtual pasts inside itself. Flashback is a route through the crystal, not the sufficient condition for one.

Theatre and life, masters and servants, roles and reality nest within one another while retaining a fissure through which escape remains possible: the cracked crystal.

Deleuze explicitly calls it a turning crystal: mother and wife, childhood and present, memory and perception exchange actual and virtual positions.

Memory acquires an actual body on Solaris, forming a circuit with the virtual past. Cinema 2 uses it only as a nearby brief example, not a sustained central analysis.

Differences among repeated scenes cannot be reduced to one true version. Each present holds in its own right, forming inexplicable peaks of the present.

Each telling transforms narrator, characters, and world instead of leading back to a hidden correct version. Falsification becomes a power of becoming.

The meal repeatedly restarts through dream, performance, or interruption. Present versions replace one another without a final hierarchy; Cinema 2 treats it only briefly.

The Algerian War past cannot be summoned as a complete scene; short montage, rooms, and speech continually transform it across different sheets.

Participants narrate and perform their journey after the fact, making filmmakers and characters become other through the story rather than documenting fixed identities.

Borrowed names, post-recorded voices, and lived experience rewrite one another. Fiction does not conceal reality but opens minor speech and collective enunciation.

Reviving the beluga hunt is both action and storytelling. Through filming, the community reinvents memory and produces an unfinished people in speech acts.

Choice no longer follows calculable consequences but becomes a mode of existence. Bodily attitudes and disconnected planar relations let belief replace knowledge.

Laughter, fatigue, drunkenness, and suddenly frozen faces no longer lead to stable psychology. The linkage of bodily attitudes directly reveals time wearing relations down.

Family order cannot normalize attitudes into readable behaviour. Hesitation, excess, and waiting retain their own bodily time. Cinema 2 mentions the film only briefly.

Cooking, cleaning, waiting, and counting appear in their full duration. Minute disorder first develops in body and ceremony rather than being explained by plot.

Hotel, maze, corridor, and repetition form a world-brain circuit in which inside and outside, perception and hallucination, can no longer be stably decided; the spatial series itself becomes the machine of terror.

Popular myth does not speak for an already completed people. Trance, violence, and shifting allegiance expose a people still missing and therefore needing creation.

Landscape does not illustrate the historical text. Present land and invisible class struggle form strata while sound and visual image retain their boundaries.

Mythic text, postwar resistance, and filmed land form distinct strata. Speech acts do not explain the image but awaken its historical pressure across irrational cuts.

Archive, puppet, performance, recording, and myth are not sutured into transparent history. The information machine itself becomes the spiritual automaton under critique.

Human action leaves the centre; waves, driftwood, moonlight, frogs, and rain become temporal events that must be watched and heard.

The reflected double is not an appendix to subjective fantasy; it continually transforms the actual body and identity in return.

Documentary performance training and fictional roles alternate between clarity and opacity; no stable true identity stands behind performance.

A theatrical seed crystallizes an urban environment until the duplicate world absorbs reality; local and total continually produce one another.

The dead, the living, animals, and former lives do not queue into the present; incompatible times hold on the same perceptual plane.

The single take does not restore history to a linear present; the Hermitage becomes traversable sheets of the past.

Actors and workers share the form of testimony; truth and falsity are not pre-adjudicated by face or identity but reproduced by the narrative series.

Six bodies do not imitate one unified Dylan; identity emerges among heterogeneous attitudes, voices, and bodily surfaces.

Dictionary, blackboard, command, attitude, and rank assemble bodies into institutional ritual; gestus is a configuration of social relations.

Black stage, white lines, and invisible doors turn setting into a map of thought; space reveals a relational machine rather than representing nature.

City, memory, body, and possible futures interweave; viewing cannot be completed by recognizing objects but requires reading relations among image strata.

Corridors, music, rehearsal, and repetition let an unrealized relation persist virtually. This is a contemporary analytical proposition, not Deleuze’s own case.

Identity, performance, and memory rewrite one another; a valid analysis must specify the actual/virtual circuit rather than merely invoke a dream twist.

The film’s rupture produces a new perceptual regime among love, legend, human-animal becoming, and forest; it should test the postwar European model rather than merely occupy a ready-made slot.

The repeatedly failing night search lets landscape, waiting, corpse, and ordinary labour form a spectral temporality of death, explicitly argued in the 2025 special issue.

Re-enactment, archive, and absent bodies suspend genocidal time; this is a contemporary time-/death-image analysis advanced by the 2025 issue.

It is not a time-image merely because it is slow. The analysis lies in how theatre space, spectral spectators, waiting, and cinematic memory deprive action of its object.

The long take is not the criterion. Analysis must show how the Dangmai sequence lets search, past, future premonition, and spatial traversal coexist within one present.

The key is not the 2D-to-3D shift or dream as such, but whether dream repairs action or opens an indiscernible actual/virtual circuit.

Demolition space, broken relations, and sudden unreal objects remove the coordinates of action; local history must be analyzed so European theory does not overwrite Chinese experience.