Eric Brooks - Final Paper

Eric Brooks

4/25/2010

Film Theory - Final Paper

Why I Keep Watching

My movie-watching behavior might be described, with equivalent accuracy, as habitual by a polite-minded companion, or compulsive by someone with less tact. I am not insulted by either, especially the later. There are a great many things which I feel justified in being compelled to do (breathing being the most principle example). Then there are those compulsions which are less easily dismissed, like procrastination, a practice which most if not all of the creative-minded people I know engage in, as if a religious ritual, despite its consistently negative consequences. Then there are those compulsions which slide along the infinitesimal line between corrosiveness and utility. Food consumption stands as the most ubiquitous example of this last category. The necessity of eating can be easily proven. One need only try to interview those that find the practice extraneous to see just how spare these misguided souls are. Eating only crosses the line from useful to corrosive when it becomes indulgent. When the act of eating gains a significance beyond that of refueling nutrients, we are at risk. The question becomes not why we eat, but rather why do we keep eating. It’s no coincidence that the second question produces much longer books.

The negative effects of healthy eating suggest to me an imperative for maintaining control over our lives. In regard to those compulsions which can be both useful and corrosive, we must force ourselves toward self-awareness. Perhaps truly understanding the root of what attracts me to movie-watching can prevent me from slipping into maladaptive gluttony. Our responsibility extends beyond mere recognition to that of true understanding. The following discourse is in its strictest sense an introspective exercise. What any reader might benefit from reading this discourse is unclear, other than the possibility of learning that we are all much more alike in our tendencies and vices than we wish to admit. I cannot deny that “Why I Watch” is an indulgent title with indulgent content. At a minimum, the only results will be esoteric and ill-defined. What I hope will come from this, however, is an articulate “thought-map” which others might be able to follow on their own self-exploratory journeys.

I knew that I enjoyed watching movies but it was not until I read Laura Mulvey’s articulate and contentious essay “Visual Pleasure and Narrative Cinema” that I began to question why. In this essay, Mulvey uses the language of psychoanalysis to argue that the traditional film form of mid 20th century Hollywood arose out of men’s fetishization of the gaze, the objectified woman being the specific subject of that gaze. In the filmic period to which she refers, she argues that the principle female character often existed divergently from the narrative, her only significance being her “to-be-looked-at-ness.” The male figure drives the story forward, while the female has to accept the meaning which is impressed onto her. Mulvey argues that one of the principle reasons for men’s indulgence in the sexualized gaze is an effort to overcome castration anxiety. The woman, and her lack of a phallus, represents the threat of castration for the male. This anxiety can only be alleviated by either “investigating the woman, demystifying her mystery” or transforming the threat into a fetishized object. According to Mulvey, film presents the first form which allows for the male spectator to feel comfortably protected from these threats, while also providing the perfect environment for him to exercise his scopophilia, sexual pleasure from the act of watching. Hollywood’s traditional and most popular film form developed because it allowed for the fullest objectification of woman as sexualized objects, while also allowing for the identification with an idealization of masculinity.

The analysis is more than alarming. What I once took for granted as an innocent time-killer had been accused of being a misogynist exercise which suppressed women and reiterated the ruling patriarchy. Most unsettling was how much I agreed with her observations about the objectified role of women in film. Take for example the reemergence of the “Beauty and the Beast” genre, those movies in which the narrative revolves around an “unattractive” man falling in love with an “attractive” woman, the woman ultimately managing to see past the man’s looks to the good heart inside ¹. While not in and of itself offensive, when considered in the greater context of the populist cinematic landscape, it is symptomatic of the same gender discrepancies Mulvey observed. In these stories, the burden of overcoming superficiality rests entirely on the woman. The man gets what he wants, the physically attractive woman (coincidentally, the physical beauty of these female protagonists reflects their inner beauty), and self-validation. The alternative ², where an unattractive woman wins the heart of a less attractive man, is far less common.

But while I agreed with Mulvey’s observations, I had reservations about the psychological theories she credited with bringing about these conventions of populist cinema. My biggest grievance was with the idea of scopophilia, that humans watch movies because of a sexual satisfaction we derive from the act of watching. This is an irrefutable hypothesis, as the proposed scopophilia occurs on the level of the subconscious, and cannot be directly observed or quantified. I can at least say that it is incomplete. The act of watching is not enough to provide me pleasure. I admit that I enjoy looking at women that I find attractive, often for prolonged periods without ever considering their personality or system of values. Whether this voyeurism be out of some biological imperative or scophophilic indulgence is not the matter I wish to address. Rather, I’m interested in the phenomena that I enjoy looking at some women more than others. In Mulvey’s in depth analysis of the male gaze, she never delves into the idea of content, not just what is being stared at, but the specific features which delineate one “object-of-the-gaze” from another. Content matters. I would rather watch the sulky waves of the Atlantic catch the colors of a setting sun than a blank concrete wall through a motel window. Whether the act of watching in and of itself is providing me with sexual satisfaction, there are still things I’d rather watch than others. There are movies that leave me euphoric, even upon multiple viewings, and there those which leave me flat and empty. This means that there must be, beyond Mulvey’s psychoanalytic conclusions, narrative and aesthetic properties which I find preferable to others. It is these properties which I hope to identify.

Let’s first take what appears to be the simplest example; I’d rather watch a sunset than a concrete wall. The features which distinguish the sunset on a contextual level are plentiful. I’m probably in a much better mood if I’m relaxing on a beach than if I’m in some confined industrial space. Contextual factors cannot be ignored, although they subvert any claim to universality, because this is an introspective exercise, and my entire concept of preferences comes from retroactive judgment of personal experience. I associate the beach with my feet sinking into their own impressions in the sand, seagulls swimming across the sky, the euphoric feeling of ignored responsibilities. In contrast, I imagine a concrete wall through the window of a hotel room as being a foreign, claustrophobic space where one can’t turn his head without breathing someone else’s air. Even if I were given only a photograph of these two alternatives, these environmental cues would be recalled, and bring about certain sense memories; those of the beach far preferable to those of the blank concrete. Advertising companies are well aware of this, and make great money off associating their client’s products with pleasant memories and their opponent’s product with negative ones. This idea of associating images with products fits with the Eisensteinian idea of “associantionist” montage. “Catherine Denueve plus Chanel No. 5 signifies charm, glamour, and erotic appeal.” (Stam 41)

It’s impossible to distinguish whether images are preferable for the contextual cues they evoke, or for their purely aesthetic properties (i.e. color composition, symmetry/dissymmetry etc.). Trying to attribute the “percentage of pleasure” each can claim would be like trying to pull JELL-O out of carpeting using a kitchen sponge; a futile enterprise. I can say however, that I would prefer to watch a movie of a sunrise more so than a photograph. If presented with the choice, I would select the film, confident that it would hold my attention longer than the photograph. This prediction of preference is based, like all predictions, on past experience. Films have engaged my attention for hours at a time, something a photograph has never managed to do. This suggests that motion has properties which are more effective at capturing my attention than static images. However, not just any motion will suffice. Some films don’t engage me for even a few minutes. For example, I don’t suppose watching a movie of a sunset would carry my interest for a prolonged length of time. The closest I’ve come to testing this was watching James Benning’s 13 Lakes. The film consists of thirteen beautifully composed shots of lakes from around the United States, each shot lasting around ten minutes. The effect is more exhausting than one might expect. So what is it that distinguishes a film like 13 Lakes that I have to consciously exert effort to concentrate on as opposed to those films which engage my interest complicity?

Populist filmmaking is a democratic and capitalist enterprise. The market dictates the product. What the producers observe as being in high demand, they will provide, the hope being a maximizing of profit. With little effort, one can see that the primary form that cinema has taken in satisfying the masses is that of the individualized dramatic narrative. In this form, a narrative, driven by a cause-effect structure, follows the activity of a principle character as he or she tries with great gusto to attain a desire in face of repeated and ever-escalating resistance. Béla Balázs recognized the popularity of this form and, like Mulvey, theorized why it might have come about. Balázs seemed to engineer most of his criticism around the focus of subject matter. His views on subject matter were quite conservative. He felt that the most successful films were those that portrayed something recognizable as life through the form of drama. He openly disvalued films which experimented with subject matter to the point where narrative became incomprehensible. He did not call for cinema to “grasp reality” insisting on the impossibility of such an effort, but he did call for cinema to present “truth” about the human experience. He draws an interesting distinction between “reality” and “truth.” He said that while nature is one aspect of reality, truth can only be found through the “humanization,” or subjectifying, of that nature. He advocated filmic “distortion” but not so far that the original object became unrecognizable. His belief in the “humanization” of nature formed the basis of his admiration for the screenplay. In his view, a film needed its screenplay, which for Balázs existed as its own, fully realized form of art, to help the film “…find truth in the incomprehensibility and noise of reality.” (Andrew 94) He advocated the conventional narrative experience, where general truths are meant to be expressed through the individual drama. In sum, he felt that spectators are drawn to these sorts of individual dramas because we recognize in them “truths” about the way in which our own worlds operate.

My preference complies with that of the majority. If asked to choose, I would be more apt to choose a film which features an individualized narrative drama than one that doesn’t. However, I too find this idea incomplete. There are films which dutifully fulfill the individualized narrative drama, but are still painful for me to watch.

What engages me in a story? That’s the question I must then ask. In thinking about this, I came up with this example. In story 1, a man knocks on his neighbor’s door, because he needs to borrow a VCR to watch his old copy of Big starring Tom Hanks. The neighbor answers, and asks what the man needs. The man tells him that he wants to borrow his VCR. The neighbor nods, disappears back into his house, and returns with the VCR. The man accepts the VCR, thanks his neighbor, and returns home. This brief narrative fulfills the most base requirements for the individual drama: a cause-effect structure and a hero with an unsatisfied desire taking action to satisfy that desire. This story would leave me wanting if adapted to filmic form. What is it about this story which I find incomplete? I think the answer lies in the idea of the photograph, and why I’d rather watch a film than observe a photograph, even if they showed the same space. In some sense, the film at least holds the possibility for change. In the photograph, the image is permanent. Once I’ve taken it in, I can’t ever be surprised again. In the film, however, the temporal constancy allows for infinite possibility. As long as there is a next frame, the next frame can be anything. At any moment, the gap between expectation and reality can open up, and therein lies the stories I enjoy, somewhere in the rift between expectation and reality. In the above example, this rift never opens (depending on how shocked you are that anyone still owns a VCR). Imagine this story instead. A man knocks on his neighbor’s door, because he needs to borrow a VCR to watch his old copy of Big starring Tom Hanks. A chimpanzee opens the door, drinking a beer, and smoking a cigarette. “What do you want?” asks the chimpanzee. I find the second story more engaging. My expectations are now discordant with reality. I think it is the novel and profound ways in which this rift between expectation and reality is opened that carries the principle role in my enjoyment of a movie. This rift can be opened in every field of interaction. In the previously mentioned Big, this gap opens in a big way when a young boy wakes up to find himself transformed into an adult. The gap can exist on a more intimate, emotional level as well (You give a birthday cake to your nine-year-old daughter and she bursts into tears). In order to keep me fully engaged, a narrative must open and close this rift in new and exciting ways over and over and over again. If it does, my interest will remain piqued, and I will enjoy the experience.

Please note that in this exercise, I have tried to avoid quantifying preference. The only way to do would be in a binary way. Either choose Option A or Option B. That’s not what this is about. The film-watching experience carries through all different sort of emotions at varying intensities. Just because I would count a film as one I enjoyed does not mean that I endorse every moment. The post-viewing reaction is far different than that of the mid-viewing reaction. Some films lend themselves, on the very individual and personal level, to reflection better than others. That is because those films present questions to which we don’t immediately know the answer. That’s why we keep watching. That’s why I keep watching. How can I find the answers if I haven’t heard the questions? I can watch the some films many times and still enjoy them, but not always for the same reason. Maybe I’m looking for one of life’s questions in one viewing, while in another I’m trying to find the answer. Or maybe, like the photograph of the beach, the film recalls an environmental context that I’d like to revisit. I understand life’s temporal limitations, specifically that it will end before I want it to. It seems that some have begun to fear pleasure, but pleasure should not to be feared. It should be nourished. I have found something that I truly enjoy; the cinema. Maybe Mulvey’s right, and I’m just acting on my scopophilic impulse. Or maybe Balázs is right and I’m attracted to film because I can recognize what’s on screen as humanized nature, exposing the truth in reality. Perhaps I’m right, and I’m addicted to the gap where expectation fails to match reality. All I can know is that the pleasure is real, and I’m going to keep on watching.

Textual Notes

1. Some examples include, but are not limited to, Knocked Up, She’s Out of My League, Revenge of the Nerds, Say Anything, and the example which provided the name for this genre Beauty and the Beast

2. Some alternatives include, but are not limited to, Bridgett Jones’s Diary, Must Love Dogs, and Shallow Hal.

Works Cited

13 Lakes. Dir. James Benning. 2004.

Andrew, Dudley. The Major Film Theories: an Introduction. London: Oxford UP, 2001. Print.

Big. Dir. Penny Marshall. Perf. Tom Hanks. 20th Century Fox, 1988.

Mulvey, Laura. "Visual Pleasure and Narrative Cinema." Film Theory and Criticism: Introductory Readings. Ed. Leo Braudy and Marshall Cohen. New York: Oxford UP, 2009. 711-22. Print.

Stam, Robert. Film Theory: an Introduction. Malden: Blackwell, 2007. Print.