“That’s why he’s going to be brought up where you can’t get at him.”
Orson Welles’ masterpiece, with its obvious Oedipal overtones, provides a lively vehicle for discussing two of Zizek’s essays about the complex relationship between this concept , and the “Big Other.”  In the first essay, Zizek uses the story of Hamlet to start off his discussion of transformations of the Oedipus myth.
Although the Welles film has a vastly different setting from the Shakespeare play, it does begin at a castle. (Instead of armed guards, however, this palace has only a fence with a “No Trespassing” sign for protection. To ominous music, we slowly approach the building through a murky fog and various landscapes strewn with decaying riches, including a cage of monkeys and a drawbridge flanked by Bast  statues. From each perspective, the castle looks dead except for a single lit window always uncannily shown in the same spot on the screen. As we come close to the window, the light goes out. We then see it from the inside – a cathedral window which dominates the frame, dwarfing a figure lying stiffly in front of it. The camera cuts to a log cabin in a blizzard and then pulls out to reveal that we had been looking through a snow globe. A mouth whispers “Rosebud,” then a hand drops the globe. A nurse enters and pulls the man’s covers over his head. The sun starts to appear, then the screen fades to black. The opening, guiding us through ancient ruins to a death scene, echoes this early portion of the first essay, describing
…the grounding myth of the Western Greek civilization (the suicidal jump of the Sphinx representing the disintegration of the old pre-Greek universe); and it is in Hamlet’s “distortion” of the Oedipus that its repressed content articulates itself – the proof of it being the fact that the Hamlet matrix is found everywhere in pre-Classic mythology, up to … Ancient Egypt itself whose spiritual defeat is signaled by the suicidal jump of the Sphinx. 
Blaring music breaks the mood, and a newsreel quotes the first words of the poem “Kubla Kahn”  about his pleasure dome, “Xanadu.”  We see the castle, playground of the rich and powerful, as a pompous narrator describes its contents — “loot of the world” and “the biggest private zoo since Noah.” The voice, comparing the owner, Charles Foster Kane, to the Pharaohs, announces Kane’s death and gives us a long and scattered biography, including: descriptions of Kane’s empire growing then shrinking, the source of his fortune (his mother received a deed to an abandoned, supposedly worthless, mine shaft from a defaulting border,) and a range of labels given to him – from Wall Street banker Mr. Thatcher, his former guardian (We are told here that Kane, on meeting him, had attacked him with a sled,) who calls him a “communist,” from a union speaker, who calls him a “fascist,” and from his own words, describing himself as “an American.” We are told that there was “no public issue on which Kane papers took no stand,” from promoting the Spanish-American War to denouncing World War I, and that there was “no public man whom Kane … did not support or denounce – often support then denounce” (at this point we see footage of him with Hitler.) The narrator tells us that Kane was married, and divorced, twice, and that his first wife and only child had died in an auto accident. The newsreel ends by telling of a scandal that had ruined his budding political career and that he had outlived his power to make history in a “nation that had ceased to … trust him.” Setting, as it does, the historical frame and Kane’s (failed) mythological status within it, the newsreel can help us remember Zizek’s point about how Western myth has interacted with the enlightenment in our era:
Enlightenment always already “contaminates” the mythical naive immediacy; … And what is postmodernity if not the ultimate defeat of the Enlightenment in its very triumph: when the dialectic of Enlightenment reaches its apogee, the dynamic, rootless postindustrial society directly generates its own myth. 
In a dark, smoke-filled room filled with faceless reporters, Mr. Rawlston, owner of the company that produced the newsreel, complains that all it showed was a big American – it didn’t tell the viewer who Kane was. Rawlston claims that an understanding of Kane’s last word would provide an answer. He sends a reporter, Mr. Thompson, to ask those closest to Kane what they knew about “Rosebud” – Rawlston is groping for a myth to center his unwieldy story. Similarly, according to Zizek,
…philosophy needs the recourse to myth, not only for external reasons, in order to explain its conceptual teaching to the uneducated crowds, but inherently, to “suture” its own conceptual edifice where it fails in reaching its innermost core, from Plato’s myth of the cave to Freud’s myth of the primordial father and Lacan’s myth of lamella. Myth is thus the Real of logos: the foreign intruder, impossible to get rid of, impossible to remain fully within it. 
The reporter tries to interview Susan, Kane’s second ex-wife, a singer in a sleazy nightclub, but she, exhausted, rebuffs him, asking, “Why don’t you people leave me alone? I’m minding my own business. You mind yours.” The head nightclub waiter tells Thompson to come back later. The reporter then visits the stark marble Thatcher Library. A monumental statue of the “grand old man of Wall Street” looks down on the librarian, Miss Anderson, and at Thompson before Anderson brings the reporter to a vault and allows him to look at pages 83 – 142 only of Thatcher’s diary, adding that he must leave the room at 4:30 promptly. The door closes on him (revealing a camera’s shadow ,) then we see Thatcher’s ornamental script dissolve to a flashback of Kane as a boy throwing a snowball against his mother’s boardinghouse sign. Inside, his mother, Mary, calls for him to pull his muffler around his neck. His father weakly protests about Mary’s appointing Thatcher as Kane’s guardian until Thatcher mentions the enormous allowance he and his wife will receive from the Lode money. When they go out to tell him about the separation, we see Kane’s love and respect for his Mother and, even before they tell him he is going with Thatcher, Kane’s resentment of the man. When they do tell him and Thatcher tries to shake his hand, Kane attacks him with the sled, leading to a family skirmish and the exchange quoted at the beginning of this entry. Since this scenario, with a powerful man coming between Kane and his mother (and rendering his own father powerless,) is reminiscent of the one in Hamlet, we’ll use it to bookmark Zizek’s discussion of the relationship between that work and the Oedipus myth.
The standard, pre-Lacanian, “naive” psychoanalytic reading of Hamlet, of course, focuses on Hamlet’s incestuous desire for his mother. Hamlet’s shock at his father’s death is thus explained as the traumatic impact the fulfillment of an unconscious violent desire (in this case, for the father to die) has on the subject; the specter of the dead father which appears to Hamlet is the projection of Hamlet’s own guilt with regard to his death-wish; his hatred of Claudius is an effect of Narcissistic rivalry – Claudius, instead of Hamlet himself, got his mother… 
Thatcher describes Kane’s continuing resentment throughout these pages, from Kane’s sarcastic “Merry Christmas” when Thatcher gives him a new sled to his lack of interest in the holdings he receives when he reaches his 25th birthday – except for one – The New York Inquirer. After gaining financial independence from the “grand old man,” he uses the newspaper to launch an extended attack on Thatcher’s corrupt firm. These expressions of resentment can symbolize what Zizek, in writing of the current weakening of the Oedipus myth and connecting it to the increasing inefficiency of the symbolic order (the big Other,) describes:
[F]ar from cheerfully assuming the inexistence of the big Other, the subject [of today’s “culture of complaint”] blames the Other for its failure and/or impotence, as if the Other is guilty for the fact that it doesn’t exist, i.e. as if impotence is no excuse. The more the subject’s structure is “narcissistic,” the more he blames the big Other, and thus asserts his dependence on it. The “culture of complaint” thus calls on the big Other to intervene, and to set things straight … they, translating their demand into legalistic complaint, confirm the Other in its position by their very attack. 
Thatcher visits the newspaper’s headquarters in time to overhear Kane tell a reporter that he will “supply” a war in Cuba. When Thatcher confronts Kane about his attack on his firm, pointing out that Kane is the largest stockholder in the firm, Kane replies that Thatcher is talking to two people – the owner of 82,634 shares of Public Transit Preferred, who offers to contribute $1,000 to a committee to boycott The Inquirer — and the publisher of that newspaper, whose duty and pleasure it is “to see to it that decent, hard-working people in this community aren’t robbed blind by a pack of money-mad pirates just because … they haven’t anybody to look after their interests.” We can use Kane’s conflicting self-identifications to note the duality in the ancient and early modern forms of the Oedipus myth; Oedipus was able to act as he did because of his ignorance, while Hamlet could not because of his knowledge – formulas that mean the difference between tragedy and melodrama — the
…couple of “he doesn’t know it, although he does it” and “he knows it and therefore cannot do it”: … [The] first formula covers the traditional hero and the second one the early modern hero… 
To Thatcher’s warning that his newspaper is losing a million dollars a year, Kane replies wryly that at that rate he would have to close it — in 60 years. The narrative skips 34 years ahead to when Kane signs an agreement relinquishing his newspaper – the paper has gone bankrupt. As he walks toward the back windows, complaining about how Thatcher was “always too old,” we see how small Kane is in comparison to them. As he returns to the foreground, we are told that he is to retain a large “measure of control” over the papers. Musing about how he had only used his fortune to “buy things,” Kane says that he might have been a really great man if he hadn’t been so wealthy. When Thatcher asks what he would like to have been, Kane replies bitterly, “everything you hate.” This introspection helps us reflect on a third formulation of the myth, combining knowledge and act in an ambiguous way, accounting for the late modern-contemporary hero. This formulation
… allows for two thoroughly opposed readings, somewhat like the Hegelian speculative judgment in which the lowest and the highest coincide: on the one hand, “he knows very well what he is doing, and he nonetheless does it” is the clearest expression of the cynical attitude of moral depravity – “Yes, I am a scum, cheating and lying, so what? That’s life!”; on the other hand, the same stance … can also stand for the most radical opposite of cynicism, i.e. for the tragic awareness that, although what I am about to do will have catastrophic consequences for one’s well-being and for the well-being of those who are nearest and dearest to me, I nonetheless simply HAVE to do it on account of the inexorable ethical injunction … in short, the properly modern post- or meta-tragic situation occurs when a higher necessity compels me to betray the very ethical substance of my being. 
His time up, the reporter leaves, disappointed that he found no mention of Rosebud. He then interviews Mr. Bernstein, Kane’s general business manager. An enormous portrait of Kane dominating the wall behind him, Bernstein recounts how Kane took over the Inquirer and how he generated a scandal about a missing woman, evicting the paper’s standing editor-in-chief and planning to accuse and bully the woman’s husband. Bernstein then tells how Kane, trying to make his paper stand out above all others, wrote a “Declaration of Principles” for its first issue, promising to provide the people of New York City “with a daily paper that will tell all the news honestly” and with “a fighting and tireless champion of their rights as citizens and as human beings.” As Kane’s most loyal follower, Bernstein (and his story) can guide us through Zizek’s discussion about yet another permutation of the Oedipus myth – one that Freud wrote of in his book, Moses and Monotheism. The book, according to Zizek,
turns around … the dispositif of Totem and Taboo: the father “betrayed” and killed by his followers/sons is NOT the obscene primordial Father-Jouissance, but the “rational” father embodying the symbolic authority, the figure which personifies the unified rational structure of the universe (logos). Rather than the obscene pre-symbolic father returning in the guise of his Name, of symbolic authority, we have now the symbolic authority (logos) betrayed, killed by his followers/sons, and returning in the guise of the jealous, vengeful and unforgiving superego figure of a God full of murderous rage … Only after this second reversal of the Oedipal matrix do we reach the well-known Pascalean distinction between the God of Philosophers (God qua the universal structure of logos, identified with rational structure of the universe) and the God of Theologists (the God of love and hatred, the inscrutable “dark God” of capricious “irrational” predestination). 
Bernstein warns Kane against making promises he wouldn’t want to keep, and Kane’s best friend, Jedediah Leland, points out that Kane starts two sentences in a row with “I.” Kane answers that people must know who’s responsible, that they’re getting the truth without interference from “special interests.” Leland asks if he can have the original statement after it is printed, saying he believes it could turn out to be important. In this scene, Kane, as opposed to his two companions, is in shadow, portending his transition, which again shows his duality – and which gives us a chance to elaborate on the
God of groundless Willing and ferocious "irrational" rage … the God who, by means of his Prohibition, destroys the old sexualized Wisdom, thus opening up the space for the de-sexualized, "abstract" knowledge of modern science. The paradox is that there is "objective" scientific knowledge (in the modern, post-Cartesian sense of the term) only if the universe of scientific knowledge itself is supplemented and sustained by this excessive "irrational" figure of the prohibitive father; Descartes' "voluntarism" (his infamous statement that 2+2 would be 5 if such were God's Will, there are no eternal truths directly co-substantial with the Divine Nature) is the necessary obverse of modern scientific knowledge. 
We see the transition begin as Kane “buys” the reporters of the rival paper, the Chronicle. In a masterful segue, a photograph of the Chronicle’s staff, which we learn that paper had taken 12 years to acquire, “comes to life” as Kane’s photographers shoot them in the same relative positions. Kane says that he had looked at the older picture 6 years previously feeling “like a kid in front of a candy store” and that now he has his candy. We see the room full of celebrants and decorated with three ice sculptures – one of the letter “K”  and the others caricatures of Bernstein and Leland. He brings out skimpily dressed (especially for the time) female dancers and a band (featuring a strangely smiling African American musician,) and they perform a number, singing his praise as someone who would “do all he can” for the poor. Kane steals a kiss from one of the dancers, who gracefully pushes him away. Leland joins in the singing, if a bit satirically, but suggests to Bernstein that the new reporters will change Kane. Bernstein kids his boss about his fetishistic collection of statues, and Kane jokes back; then, delirious, asks his new staff, “Are we going to declare war on Spain or are we not?” Later, when Kane is travelling through Europe, adding to his collections, Bernstein asks Leland why he didn’t accept Kane’s invitation to accompany him. Leland replies that he wanted Kane to have fun and asks him, “Am I a stuffed shirt?” Bernstein answers, “If you thought I’d answer different from what Mr. Kane tells you -well, I wouldn’t.” Bernstein’s response is like that of “faithful followers” who
…should conceal from the paternal figure of the leader … precisely this gap between the leader in the immediacy of his personality and the symbolic place he occupies, a gap on account of which the father qua effective person is utterly impotent and ridiculous. 
Bernstein also tells Leland that Kane wants to buy the world’s biggest diamond. When Leland says that diamonds are not things Kane collects, Bernstein clarifies that this purchase is to “collect somebody that’s collecting diamonds. Anyway, he ain’t only collecting statues.” The doubling of the wording and its implication about Kane’s feelings for his first wife, Emily, brings up
A further paradox … that this “irrational” God, as the prohibitory paternal figure, also opens up the space for the entire development of modernity, up to the deconstructionist notion that our sexual identity is a contingent socio-symbolic formation: the moment this prohibitory figure recedes, we are back into Jungian neoobscurantist notions of masculine and feminine archetypes which thrive today. This point is crucial if we are not to misunderstand completely the gap which separates the “proper” authority of the symbolic law/prohibition from the mere “regulation by rules”: paradoxically, the domain of symbolic rules, to count as such, must be grounded in some tautological authority BEYOND RULES, which says, “It is so because I said it so!” 
After tersely saying that Kane’s first and second marriage “ended,” Bernstein suggests that Thompson see Leland, a man from “one of those old families with a father that’s worth ten million and then one day he shoots himself and it turns out there’s nothing but debts.” We meet Leland on the sunny porch of a nursing home. Welles shows Leland’s memory of the deterioration of Kane’s first marriage through a montage of scenes from affection and intimacy to alienation, their final exchange ending with Kane’s assertion that people will think what he tells them to think.
To Thompson’s question about whether Kane was ever in love with Emily, Leland answers that Kane’s basic motivation was an insatiable need for love – “he just didn’t have any to give. Well, he loved Charlie Kane of course, very dearly, and his mother, I guess he always loved her…” This insight brings Leland to Charlie’s political career and to his second wife (whom Kane once called “a cross-section of the American public.”) The next flashback shows him meeting Susan, who offers him hot water to clean off mud that a passing carriage had splashed on him. In her apartment is the snow-globe, positioned in front of a dressing table mirror in which we see both him and Susan as he tells her to look at him. He shuts her door, but she reopens it, protesting that her landlady prefers it open when she has a “gentleman caller.” He discloses where he had been going before he met her – to see some items that had been brought back from where they had been kept after his mother died. When Susan says that her mother had wanted her to be a grand opera singer, he demands to know what happened to that dream. Although she says that her voice is not right for opera he has her sing for him. Charlie’s applause for her singing dissolves into applause from a rally for his campaign for governor of New York. We cut to him promising to convict the incumbent, “Boss Jim Geddes.” Finding out about the budding affair, Geddes gets Emily and Charles to go together to Susan’s apartment, where he confronts Kane and threatens to tell all the newspapers if Charles doesn’t withdraw from the race. Kane refuses, over his wife’s and Susan’s objections, saying he won’t let Geddes and Emily “take the love of the people of this state” from him. After telling Kane that he would need – and will get – “more than one lesson,” Geddes walks away while Charles screams after him. “I’m going send you to Sing Sing … Sing Siiiiing!” A shot of the front doorway then becomes the photo on a newspaper with the headline, “Candidate Kane Found in Love Nest with ‘Singer.’” We can couple the previous scenes with Zizek’s distinction between someone’s persona as a “big Other” and the human carrying out that position:
One can see, now, why, at the level of individual libidinal economy, Lacan calls this prohibiting God the “real father” as the “agent of castration”: symbolic castration is another name for the gap between the big Other and jouissance, for the fact that the two can never be “synchronized.” 
When the counts show that Kane will lose, his newspaper goes to print with the headline, “Fraud at Polls.” A drunken Leland answers Charlie’s sarcasm that “It’s obvious the people prefer Jim Gettys to me” by pointing out that Kane had always talked about giving the people their rights as if he “can make them a present of Liberty, as a reward for services rendered,” adding that if he found out that the people didn’t need him, Charlie would probably “sail away to a desert island … and lord it over the monkeys!” Leland asks to be transferred to the Chicago newspaper, and Kane reluctantly consents. After Emily divorces him, Charlie quickly marries Susan, and intersubjectively  tells one of his reporters that “We’re going to be a great opera star.” Kane builds an opera house to showcase his new wife (as Leland says to Thompson, to give lie to the quotes that rival papers had put around the word “singer” when reporting his affair.) Leland, forced to review Susan’s debut in the opera, Salammbo , and expected to flatter it, passes out, drunk, before typing more than a couple of disparaging lines. Charlie finishes the review as scathing of Susan as Leland had started it, then fires him. In the Leland scenes, watching the descent from the heights of Kane’s power to his disgrace and his disavowal of that disgrace, we can imagine
in what precise sense perversion enacts the disavowal of castration: the pervert’s fundamental illusion is that he possesses a (symbolic) knowledge which enables him to regulate his access to Jouissance … So when one speaks today of the decline of paternal authority, it is THIS father, the father of the uncompromising “No!”, who seems effectively to be in retreat; in his absence, in the absence of his prohibitory “No!”, new forms of the fantasmatic harmony between the symbolic order and jouissance can thrive again. 
Thompson returns to interview Susan, who is more amiable now if still worn out. After she says that everything (except her leaving him) was Charlie’s idea, we flash back to a vocal trainer tormenting her out of fear for his reputation as Kane insists that he prepare for her opening at his Chicago Opera House. Later, after seeing “Leland’s” review of it, she berates Charlie for having sent him a $25,000 severance check. A messenger delivers Kane an envelope with the check torn to pieces. Charlie’s “Declaration of Principles” is also enclosed. Susan asks what he is reading, and Kane calls it an “antique.” This revelation about Charlie offered by his old friend can represent the
move also apropos of the notion of Dieu obscur, of the elusive, impenetrable God: this God has to [b]e impenetrable also to Himself, He has to have a dark side, an otherness in Himself, something that is in Himself more than Himself… Perhaps, this accounts for the shift from Judaism to Christianity: Judaism remains at the level of the enigma OF God, while Christianity moves to the enigma IN God Himself. Far from being opposed to the notion of logos as the Revelation in/through the Word, Revelation and the enigma In God are strictly correlative, the two aspects of one and the same gesture. 
Susan, humiliated, says she is through singing, adding that she never wanted to in the first place. Then we see Kane’s shadow fall over her and her frightened expression as he says, “You will continue with your singing.” During the subsequent montage of Susan’s various performances, her voice gets progressively weak, and then we see a shot of a theatrical light burning out. We next see her passed out in a locked room as Charlie forces the door open – She has poisoned herself. He disavows her suicide attempt as a mistake, then Susan tells him, “I couldn’t make you see how I felt, Charlie. But I couldn’t go through with the singing again. You don’t know what it means to know that people are…that a whole audience just doesn’t want you.” He relents. He builds Xanadu, where he retires with her into the insulated world filled with servants and wealthy pleasure seekers. She quickly gets tired of being hostess to the fantasies of the superrich, but he ignores her pleas to go away, even to New York for an evening, saying sternly, “Our home is here.” She uses puzzles of various exotic places to give her the illusion of travel. These puzzles can stand in for the
paradoxical result of this mutation in the “inexistence of the Other” (of the growing collapse of the symbolic efficiency) [ — ] the re-emergence of the different facets of a big Other which exists effectively, in the Real, and not merely as symbolic fiction. 
One day, Kane decides to invite all his guests to a picnic and to spend the night in the Everglades nearby — over Susan’s protest that this is just an excuse to order everyone around. The trip, however, gets her to think about their relationship, and she tells him, similarly to what Leland had said long ago, that tokens of his “love” are bribes to get others to love him. Kane slaps her. Later, when she tells him she is leaving, he tries to dissuade her, promising to do things her way, saying, “You can’t do this to me.” She answers, “I see. It’s you that this is being done to! … I can’t do this to you? Oh, yes I can.” We return to the present, where Thompson tells Susan that he feels sorry for him. She replies, “Don’t you think I do?” Charlie’s dissociation and Susan’s insight and sympathy can symbolize a point at the end of Zizek’s essay, “From the Myth to Agape”:
This divine self-abandonment, this impenetrability of God to himself, signals God’s fundamental imperfection. And it is only within this horizon that the properly Christian Love can emerge, a Love beyond Mercy. 
When Thompson says that he will be going to Xanadu, Susan suggests that Thompson talk to Raymond, the butler, who “knows where the bodies are buried.” Pairing the expression with the place returns us to the loss of “the big Other” in the following description of its consequences:
… on the one hand, the failure of symbolic fiction induces the subject to cling more and more to imaginary simulacra, to sensual spectacles which bombard us today from all sides; while on the other, it triggers the need for violence in the Real of the body itself. 
Raymond offers to tell Thompson about Rosebud for $1000. We flash back to Kane’s rage after Susan had left, knocking over and breaking things in her room until he sees the snow-globe. He stops, picks it up, and says “Rosebud” walking away with tears in his eyes, unconscious of the many servants watching him. In the present, Thompson decides that this information isn’t worth the money Raymond had requested, and he turns down Raymond’s offer to answer more questions. The reporter decides that “rosebud” would just be another piece of a jigsaw puzzle and leaves. Raymond, in charge of disposing of Xanadu’s “junk,” watches a workman throw an old sled into the furnace. We see the name “Rosebud” on it before the camera cuts to an exterior view of the castle, smoke issuing from its chimney. Then, as in the beginning, we are shown a “No Trespassing” sign. This sign can direct our attention to the paranoia that Zizek defines as
The belief in the big Other which exists in the Real … so that, two features which characterize today’s ideological stance[;] cynical distance and full reliance on paranoiac fantasy are strictly codependent: today’s typical subject, while displaying cynical distrust of any public ideology, indulges without restraint in paranoiac fantasies about conspiracies, threats, and excessive forms of enjoyment of the Other. Distrust of the big Other (the order of symbolic fictions), the subject’s refusal to “take it seriously,” relies on the belief that there is an “Other of the Other,” a secret, invisible, all-powerful agent who effectively “pulls the strings” behind the visible, public Power. This other, obscene, invisible power structure acts the part of the “Other of the Other” in the Lacanian sense, the part of the meta-guarantee of the consistency of the big Other (the symbolic order that regulates social life). 
As an alternative to this stance, and also
[i]n contrast to the pagan celebration of the Divine (or human) Perfection, the ultimate secret of the Christian love is, perhaps, that it is the loving attachment to the Other’s imperfection. And THIS Christian legacy, often obfuscated, is today more precious than ever. 
1. Herman J. Mankiewicz & Orson Welles. Citizen Kane (1941.) in: dailyscript.com. (Note: the script has many parts that had been edited out of the film.)
2. Slavoj Žižek. “From The Myth to Agape.” Journal of European Psychoanalysis. No. 8/9, p. 3-20, 1999. (English). in: The European Graduate School. (1997 – 2012).
3. Slavoj Žižek. “The Big Other Doesn’t Exist.” Journal of European Psychoanalysis. Spring – Fall 1997 in: Lacan.Com. Undated.
4. “Bastet.” in: Wikipedia. December 13, 2013.
5. Žižek. “From The Myth to Agape.”
6. “Kubla Kahn: Theories about the meaning of the poem.” in: Wikipedia. December 20, 2013.
7. “Xanadu (Citizen Kane).” in: Wikipedia. November 21, 2013.
8-9. Žižek. “From The Myth to Agape.”
10. Emphasizing power’s ability to safeguard itself from any oversight.
11. Žižek. “From The Myth to Agape.”
12. Žižek. “The Big Other.”
13-14. Žižek. “From The Myth to Agape.”
15-16. Žižek. “The Big Other.”
17. Perhaps a foretelling of Welles’ 1962 movie, The Trial and of aspects of Stanley Kubrick’s work inspired by Kafka (and Welles)
18-20. Žižek. “The Big Other.”
21. Here’s a link to a discussion of this concept from an earlier entry.
22. “Salammbô.” in: Wikipedia. June 15, 2013.
23. Žižek. “The Big Other.”
24. Žižek. “From The Myth to Agape.”
25. Žižek. “The Big Other.”
26. Žižek. “From The Myth to Agape.”
27-28. Žižek. “The Big Other.”
29. Žižek. “From The Myth to Agape.”