In cinema, as in theatre (as Peter Brook) argues, the crucial ‘character’ is the spectator. We can remark, in passing, that this is also the case with VR. All three of these art forms require a consciousness, a discerning subject, to exist (in the human sense). Put another way, and to widen the scope of this argument, Art and, therefore, artefact, have a necessary and sufficient condition: that of perception, therefore, interpretation by a human person…or, might one say, a human subject, for in the act of interpretation the artefact subjects the person at one and the same time as the person subjects the artefact – a symbiotic relationship.
As I watch a film – or rather take part in a film – its meanings, its boundaries, are established by my knowledge and experience. There is, however, another factor in play here: these boundaries can be extended by the film creating in me a desire to expand my knowledge. For example, in Godard, my post-viewing desire to identify this quotation, that piece of music, that painting, will enable me to develop my understanding; not simply of the film, but also of how I now relate to human existence – What has changed in me? How does this quotation used in this particular context transcend the moment of its production when combined with my knowledge and experience? What does this mean for my relationship with the world and those in this world? How does this mean for me?
The other crucial concept here is what we might call the anti-Aristotelian ‘disposition’ of these artefacts. In The Poetics, Aristotle identifies the formula that governs, and still to this day governs, theatre, poetry, the novel and film: give the spectator a character with whom they can identify, then create desires in the spectator which are, by the ‘end’ of the artefact in question, ‘satisfied’ (catharsis). For example, in a generic police procedural, create an identification with the detective and a desire to see the villain caught and punished. Formulate this as a quest. Ensure the text (using this in term in the Derridean sense) appears to refer to nothing beyond itself, in that the artefact is apparently a “self-contained world”(although it never is). We can detect the same kind of formula, in a slightly altered state, in music, whether popular or classical (a disputable term, but you know what I’m referring to).
What this formula does is establish, and constantly reiterate, the idea of the individual who moves through a world of social process which impinges on them only as it affects their sense of self. We might call this the colonial dynamic – I first noticed it when studying 19th century literature written by Irish authors in English, authors such as William Carleton and Sheridan Le Fanu: they were critically ‘pilloried’ for not being able to grasp the form of the novel. What they were engaged in was ‘smuggling’ the Irish experience of colonialism – the colonial imposition of history – into the literature of the colonising nation. Their novels and short stories are informed by the thematic concerns that dominate the world. They transcend the moment of their production in a similar way to the work of Godard, Resnais and Bunüel, Pollock and Rothko, Pinter (who also wrote splendid screenplays) and Churchill.
In all of these folks’ work, there is no self-contained world, no disconnection from the lived experience of the spectator/reader, no final ‘wrap’ in which all the narrative threads are nicely tidied up. These works sprawl into the lives of the spectator/reader, demand attention longer after they are ‘over’ – in fact, we cannot use that term. These works are never ‘over’, in that they become part of the spectator/reader, altering all that has gone before and all that comes after. They have no end, no final act of closure; they expose the fragmentary character of existence, the metaphysical contradictions, the illusions and deceptions of (capitalist) individuality.
In cinema, these films are defined against what is described as the ‘mainstream’ (those which follow the Aristotelian formula): there are a variety of terms – Art cinema; Arthouse; World; Experimental – each of which indicates a ‘deviation’ from the colonial/imperialist norm of the ‘mainstream’ which, in itself, is another word for ‘American’.
In film terms, the deconstruction of cinema begins with Godard’s A Bout de Souffle, a cinema which is conscious of itself as a construct, although we can see an ‘origin’ in Soviet directors such as Eisenstein and Vertov. These three forego traditional narrative structure in favour of enabling their understanding of cinematic form.
We can also find the initial deconstruction of the form of the novel in Laurence Sterne’s The Life & Adventures of Tristram Shandy, a work that examines the (colonial) assumptions of the novel in English – a black page; an invitation, with a blank page to draw our own picture of a character; a wiggly line which we’re told represents the ‘direction’ the narrative will take.
However, arguably, the most ‘influential’ author in regard to “Arthouse cinema” is Bertolt Brecht. His concept of Epic Theatre, which he opposed to Aristotelean Theatre, can be seen as a direct precursor of self-reflexive film. For Brecht, the concept of the artefact was to provoke and educate, not to provide entertainment or confirmation of the spectator/reader’s bourgeois ideology. The central idea was (is) to eradicate the division between the artefact and ‘reality’, to encourage (or, we might say more accurately, to make it impossible for the spectator/reader to ignore) making connections between what was (is) seen on stage (onscreen, on page) and the reality of living experience: the artefact IS reality, the ideological contradictions are those of everyday life. Thus, the encounters we have with said contradictions and the fragmentary on stage are those we encounter in our living reality. These kinds of artefacts make us uncomfortable, strike continuing blows against our complacency, challenge the (quite bizarre) idea of ‘happiness’ being one borne from material possessions or social ‘position’.
The central concept here is, I think, that of being ‘uncomfortable’; I don’t use this term (and I think, in regard to Art, it deserves to be classified as a term) as a throwaway. Art has become ‘entertainment’, a ‘distraction’ from the ‘reality’ of our lives. We see this taking place across the spectrum of artefacts: critics focus on performers, actors, authors, artists. It is no longer the work that counts, it is the individual who creates the work whose life, apparently, is the key to meaning. This is, and always has been, a bourgeois distraction, designed to detract – to enable the dismissal of a work’s meaning as a result of individual foible.
Although this sleight of hand is much older, it is particularly noticeable in the 19th century. In the apparently “great age of industrial capitalism”, the artist is marginalised, seen as someone who does not inhabit the same ‘reality’ as the general population, therefore, their socio-political/socio-cultural critique can be dismissed. This also has the added benefit (to industrial capitalism) of suggesting that Art is a “specialised field” which has a tendency to be the preserve of the monied middle-class and the aristocracy. It requires ‘education’ but, above all, it requires free time and the ‘luxury’ of being able to escape the consuming need to simply survive, to ensure one’s ability to continue living.
What develops with this is the concept of “the individual”, a disconnected, non-communal, basic unit of capitalist society that has continued to be ‘refined’. From this has flowed the ideas of “the lazy”, “the less fortunate”, both of which imply that a human person’s ‘circumstances’ are result of their own failings, rather than of the system under which they must live. In our contemporary present, we can add “the immigrant”, “the refugee” and those who live on ‘benefits’. Apart from a brief period in the 20th century – 1945-1979 (which might seem a random choice of years, but covers the period from the end of WWII to the rise of Regan and Thatcher) – this nostrum of the individual has continued to hold sway. With the advent of ‘mindfulness’, we have seen a retrenchment of ‘individuality’, whereby the stress and deprivations of living in a capitalist society are seen as individual ‘faults’ and ‘lacks’, rather than the result of applied, ‘socialised’ ideology.
The concept of “the uncomfortable” is one that goes beyond a mere fleeting feeling of disquiet; the uncomfortable artefact returns again and again, engages in ‘ambushes’, gradually permeates the total consciousness of the spectator/reader. It causes hitherto unremarked links to be realised between the artefact’s ‘message’ and the living experience of the spectator/reader, chips away at the complacency of contemporary life. For example, the banality of Pinter’s dialogue focuses our attention on everyday speech, then gradually reveals the violence and evasion of responsibility which this speech enables. The laughter at a Pinter performance is at best hollow, at worst incomprehension. His characters flow from the stage into the audience.
These artefacts – those that do not follow the conventional patterns of ‘entertainment’ – make the spectator/reader uncomfortable over time. The crack that they create in the ideological framework – the wall – expands. The ‘plaster’ falls away, exposing the rough stone beneath, then the stone erodes…I could continue this, but I won’t. It’s a terrible metaphor, but says what I want to illustrate. Suffice to say, the spectator/reader can try to plaster over the cracks, but that is a cosmetic exercise, simply concealing what lies beneath rather than ‘fixing’ it, because it cannot be fixed.
All Art, as I said earlier, essentially says to the spectator/reader, “Don’t look at it like that, look at it like this”. Art is a result of conflict with established ways of perception, establishment perception. Art does not, as Heidegger claims, make society (rather than vice versa). What would this be like? A perpetuation of “the traditional”? Stagnation? Art is an act of protest, of rebellion, against society as it exists at a particular moment, in a particular epoch. Artists are involved in a dynamic with the society of which they are a part, yet also in antecedent societies.
That’s the next question.
Murmurs from the Forest 