The following text in italics is a translation from the French, made by the author of this post, of some fragments of a conversation between Michel Foucault and Werner Schroeter, written by Gérard Courant, included in his book Werner Schroeter, published in 1982, Paris. The rest of the text was written by 
I
During the premiere of The Death of Maria Malibran in 1973, the philosopher Michel Foucault was seduced by the film...so much so that he wrote a beautiful text that delighted Werner Schroeter; since then, each time he's asked what he thinks of the various analyses of his movies, the German director renders homage to Foucault's text, which he considers the must precise and pertinent analysis of his work.
Although, neither the philosopher, nor the filmmaker had met each other.
Thus, when I proposed to him to write a book about his work, a thrilled Werner Schroeter accepted, but he insisted to me to organize an informal meeting between Foucault and him, which I gladly made.
When we met (Schroeter, Foucault and I) in the philosopher's house, at the beginning of December of 1981, the following conversation was developed by an air of friendship and camaderie: Michel Foucault whilst stretched out on the rug, Werner Schroeter was sitting on the couch, enlivening the room with his gestures and potent voice. Between them a recording.
I, after making the proper introductions, chose to be as discrete as possible with end of not interfering during their dialogue. They talked for a while. Michel Foucault asked me to rewrite the conversation for the convenience of the reader. But when the transcript of the recording was finished, I realized that it was impossible to rewrite a Foucault.
With the end of not falling in a speculative style, which would be nothing more than a quasi-Foucault, I opted to preserve the spirit of the parley, with its errors and vacillations, including its repetitions, and not to transform their discussion.
[...]
The Death of Maria Malibran
A film review
When Rossini was asked which were the greatest singers that he had met, he aswered:
Many singers of my time were great artists but there were only three geniuses: Lablache, Rubini and that little girl so spoiled by nature, Maria Malibran.
The great European diva, Maria Malibran, was one of the greatest sopranos during the 19th century. To her vocal talent, it was added her cream and cultivated musicality that allowed her to interpolate the most audacious and difficult ornamentations according to her will.
On the other hand, her dramatic talent dazzled critics and audiences. Every heroine she played was absolutely unique, whether in comedy or drama. Her unique nature allowed her to be passionate and genial like Semiramide, or profoundly melancholic like Desdemona in Rossini's Otello, happy, mischievous and graceful like Rosina, she could make to her public burst into tears. Thus it was impossible to imitate her, either because of the genius of her singing or because of the vivacity and flexibility of her performance.
During a hunt, she fell off her horse which caused her countless internal injuries and, despite their severity, Malibran refused to see the doctors, according to many, for fear of having her leg amputated. It is believed that the singer sensed death, hence, both her passion for music (it is said that she spent hours sitting at the piano, playing and singing fervently), and her way of acting on stage became extremely intense. Malibran refused to rest and continued to fulfill his commitments. Finally during the rehearsal of an opera, the singer fainted after a duet that involved a greater effort than her body could handle. She died a few days later. She was only 28.
II
Gérard Courant:
Michel Foucault, which are the things that marked you when you saw The Death of Maria Malibran for the first time?
Michel Foucault:
The things that marked me the most when I saw both The Death of Maria Malibran as well as Willow Springs, is that they are not films based on love, but on passion. [...]
What is passion?
It is a state, is something that falls upon us, that startles and pierces us: is a condition that does not recognize a pause, and has no origin. In fact we don't know its origin. Thus passion came. Is a mobile state that does not direct to any specific point. There are strong and weak moments, and moments that collapse into incandescence. It floats and lurches. It is a kind of unstable instant that keeps still for dark reasons, maybe because of inertia. Passion seeks to maintain itself and disappear, au cointraire to love. [...]
Werner Schroeter:
Love is less active than passion.
Michel Foucault:
The state of passion is a mix between all the parts involved.
Werner Schroeter:
Love is a state of grace and restraint. That's a discusion that I recently had with Ingrid Caven, she said to me that love is a selfish emotion because it only concerns to the one who feels it.
Michel Foucault:
It is possible to love without the other part loving you back. It's a matter of solitude. That is the reason why, in some way, love is always full of requests from one part to the other. That is the inherent weakness, because we usually ask for something to the other, while in a state of passion, between two or three people, is something that allows an intense communication.
Werner Schroeter:
Which means that passion contains within it a great communicative force, while love is an isolated state. It is very depressing to me to know that love is an interior creation and invention.
Michel Foucault:
Love can become passion, that is, this kind of state we were talking about.
Werner Schroeter:
...Then this suffering.
Michel Foucault:
This state of mutual and reciprocal suffering is truly the communication. It seems to me that this is what happens between these women [the characters, the actresses of Willow Springs and The Death of Maria Malibran]. These faces and these bodies are not crossed by desire but rather by passion.
[...]
One could expect, after reading the title and learning the amazing story behind the rise and fall of the European diva, Maria Malibran, a traditional biopic...but this would have to be assuming that one does not know Schroeter's previous work, since the film is loosely connected to the reality behind the events of the death of the singer ... and in fact, connected to any reality.
Tableau: an arrangement of people who do not move or speak, especially on astage, who represent a view of life, an event, etc. Cambride Dictionary
The film follows the tableaux format and, in each one, you can see several exaggeratedly made-up women, while there are operatic and classical music, American popular songs of the time, narrations of extracts from Shakespeare's Hamlet, in the background. Each tableau has a different motif, and each one possesses aesthetic elements that can be between a pre-Raphaelite decadent romanticism, as well as typical clothing of any edition of a Vogue of the 40s.
Like the story of a soprano, of course, there is magnificent music in all the tableaux. Like the antinarrative structure, the unsynchronized audio experience and the strange visual motifs, the soundtrack is chaotic and intriguing, powerful and repetitive. You cannot take anything literally, not even the music that flows through the movie.
It is truly challenging for its antinarrative and oneiric elements. Even so, some of the tableaux that we can contemplate on the screen are the following:
A close-up of two women standing still, while a German opera aria can be heard in the background. A town is seen in another tableau on the other side of a river during sunset. In another tableau, another woman appears singing on blackface some blues in English. In one more, four women are still, while a fifth naked woman crawls on the floor in front of them, while, on the soundtrack, a male voice declaims some lines of Shakespeare about war and battle. Two women see each other and then start kissing, while we hear The Rite of Spring's Sacrifice, by Igor Stravinsky...
In my opinion it is very hard to try to find the details of Malibran's history in this chaos. Rather, one has to contemplate (and not analyze) the multiple symbolisms. Since the actual death of Maria Malibran was provoked because she refused to seek any help after her horse accident, as well as an inexplicable and passionate commitment to artistic performance after it, the film may be quite appropriate, like a post-modern Dadaist and filmic poem of this historical event, a dead girl at twenty-eight years old "for having sung too much": death by a passion and artistic dedication.
In the next part of these series, I'll continue with my translation of the Conversation Between Foucault and Schroeter, as well as a little review, similar to this one, of Willow Springs. Follow me to read it! Don't forget to upvote this post if you enjoyed it!
I'll like to thank 