"In 1998, Jean-Luc Godard made a short video entitled Adieu au TNS (Farewell to the TNS). Never released (or intended to be), the video is nearly impossible to see and has not been included in any Godard retrospectives to date. A consequence of this deliberate unavailability has been instances of inaccurate descriptions of the video in Godard criticism [1]. More important than the manner in which the video’s form and content have been inaccurately described, however, is the manner in which its production history and Godard’s reasons for making it have been purposefully decontextualized in Richard Brody’s Everything is Cinema: The Working Life of Jean-Luc Godard (Metropolitan Books, 2008) in order to misleadingly implicate the video in some kind of cryptic, but sympathetic, engagement with anti-Semitism and/or Fascism that Brody feels runs throughout Godard’s work. Ultimately, these claims – at the very least in regards to this video – are just smoke and mirrors. Unfortunately, Brody’s book remains more or less the only source of information in English about this little-seen video. While the book as a whole was taken to task upon its publication by scholars Adrian Martin and Bill Krohn [2], I think it is worthwhile to focus on this particular passage in Brody’s book in order to clear up any misunderstandings and misperceptions English-language readers might have as a result of the book’s claims. Everything is Cinema devotes three short paragraphs (eleven sentences) to Adieu au TNS (pages 579-580). As this is a minor work, this is not, in and of itself, surprising. However, rather than simply describing the video and contextualizing it in Godard’s life and work, Brody insinuates much while saying very little, exploiting the video’s unavailability and its unfamiliarity to Godard scholars and the general public. The first paragraph does not directly address Adieu au TNS, but introduces another video, one made by French writer Philippe Loyrette [3] in the mid-1990s in which he is videotaped “chanting, in psalmodic incantation, the poetic ‘testament’” of “fanatically anti-Semitic and pro-Nazi writer Robert Brasillach.” The video was sent to Godard. The connection being made and the insinuation quickly becomes clear: Brody suggests that Godard made a video that, inspired by the recitation of a poem by a fanatic anti-Semite and pro-Nazi, is evidence or an admission of his own anti-Semitism. That French writer, literary critic and collaborationist Robert Brasillach was an anti-Semite and supporter of the Nazis goes without question, but in what way was Godard inspired by Brasillach or his words in making Adieu? Is there an important and relevant connection? Brody continues, in the second paragraph, by explaining that Loyrette’s video “made a strong impression on Godard” and that Godard “used it as the basis for a videotaped recitation of his own, in 1997, after [actress Bérangère] Allaux ended their personal and working relationship.” From this, then, it seems to follow that the video was inspired by equal parts Brasillach and Allaux. However, despite the many pages of Everything is Cinema spent chronicling the history of Godard’s failed attempts to have a relationship with Allaux, who had acted in For Ever Mozart (1996), and attempting to emphasize just how badly her rejection hurt him, exactly how Adieu au TNS is related to either her or Brasillach will remain vague. The Loyrette video has also never been easily available (aside from an audio excerpt Godard uses towards the end of Episode 1A of Histoire(s) du cinéma – Loyrette reciting the first two verses of Brasillach’s poem), but Brody draws two comparisons between it and Adieu, perhaps in lieu of any direct comparisons between Adieu and Brasillach. “Like Loyrette, Godard used accordion music as the background to his chant” and “Like Loyrette, Godard intoned the text by himself, standing alone in a bare room.” There is some kind of accordion-like music in the background of Adieu au TNS and Godard does recite the text alone in a room – though it is furnished with a desk and some shelves – but if these are the main similarities, it remains unclear from Brody’s description why it was so important to stress Brasillachs’ anti-Semitism and pro-Nazi sentiments. Brody cites only one line of Godard’s text, presumably the most likely source of any similarities between Brasillach’s words and Godard’s video: “he lamented having ‘pursed a princess into a theatre – heavens, what misfortune!’” This avoidance of Godard’s words is not surprising. If Brody cited any more, he would undoubtedly be forced to give more of the background, contextual information he has so far left out. The third and final paragraph in Everything is Cinema addressing Adieu au TNS quickly outlines how Godard “never showed the tape publicly.” He cites an interview with Alain Bergala in which Godard says that he “made it on the basis of this other actor and his music, and having lost the cassette, he would not be able to “cite the source, it would bother me.” Though he provides no source, Brody assures readers that “Bergala considered this to be a ruse: several years later, Godard found Loyrette’s tape, but he still did not show his film.” The mention of Alain Bergala in the third paragraph is crucial. Bergala’s interview with Godard, La vie vécuee depuis…[4] , is the primary – possibly only – source of information on Adieu au TNS and this period of Godard’s life. All that Brody and Antoine de Baecque relate about this film in their respective biographies comes more or less entirely from this interview – de Baecque quotes Godard more and presents a slightly clearer course of events, though not without factual errors of his own. While it is true that Brody does offer the background, biographical details to the making of Adieu au TNS, he does not offer an explanation of the acronym ‘TNS’ and even if he did, readers might be confused because when he refers to the TNS earlier, he uses a different name, never directly linking the background information with the video. The TNS is the National Theater of Strasbourg (Théâtre nationale de Strasbourg). The theater has an acting school that Brody inaccurately refers to as the “École nationale de l’art dramatique” (it is actually the École supérieure d'art dramatique). Rather than explaining what TNS stands for and how Godard’s involvement with the school may have prompted or inspired the video, Brody prefers to obscure this fact in order to stress his own point. That Godard feels guilty of something should be clear, Brody implies, from his refusal to show the video. Adieu au TNS, in fact, has absolutely nothing to do with anti-Semitism, collaborationism, Robert Brasillach or Nazis. It is a bitter and mournful farewell to the National Theater of Strasbourg, as would have become clearer had Brody cited any more of the recited text. And Godard’s reluctance to show it publicly makes sense once it is understood that it was made as a piece of correspondence, to be viewed by its recipients. The video’s seven minutes consists of three shots: a wide shot of Godard standing in a room that might be his office, looking ragged, lighting a cigar and proceeding to recite a poetic farewell to the school of his own composition, and a medium shot and a close up from the same angle and camera position, separated by black during which we can hear Godard walk to the camera and zoom in. In typical Godardian font, the words “ADIEU” “AU” and “TNS” appear onscreen at various points. There is some mournful accordion-type music playing quietly in the background. In the late 1990s, Godard attempted, as did his partner Anne-Marie Miéville, to secure an academic position in France. He looked for employment at La Fémis, a French filmmaking school, the Collège de France, and, most relevantly, the National Theater of Strasbourg. La Fémis was not interested in hiring Godard and his candidature for the Collège de France – aided by Pierre Bourdieu and Philippe Sollers – was denied. Having worked with several actors from the TNS while making For Ever Mozart (1996), including Bérengère Allaux (with whom he was evidently quite taken), Godard decided to contact Jean-Louis Martinelli, the director of the theater – which also, as mentioned above, had an acting school – to see if he could work with the school in some way. He proposed working with ten students in order so that he might learn about theater, and making a documentary film about the school. What exactly his work with the students involved is not entirely clear. It does not seem like he taught a class or a seminar, and, according to Godard’s own account, it would seem he never met the students in person (although Brody and de Baecque claim the students traveled to Rolle to visit Godard at his home).