Here’s what happened: A pair of eyes closed forever. Not just any, that of Jean-Luc Godard, the filmmaker, the shrewdest film historian of our age drowning in images. With him thinking in images, I felt as Pasolini felt in one of his great, revealing long poems – at the heart of a desperate vitality tracing a crisis: “Like a Godard film: alone / in a car, the on the highway / of romantic neo-capitalism – back from the airport”.
Durs Grünbein on the death of Jean-Luc Godard: Godard, the film thinker – culture
